The A List

Sleep comes quickly. There is no time to dream… there is only brief moments of consciousness to wipe the sweat from your forehead, and throw off the comforter that is now soaked. It seems like moments that you put your head down when the alarm clock rings. Fuck you think. Couldn’t have this waited one more hour? You crawl out of bead with the lumbering moves of a sauntering  bear. Though the years have been quite good to you, the bathroom mirror uncovers a middle age man on the verge of crossing the line of lying about his age and actually having to come to terms with it. But then, rest assured, as long as you keep that body hot and on the right list, you will never be misplaced, and you will never be alone. Usually a streetcar would be your chariot for the ride to work. But today a cab would be the device of your travel, unable to handle the noise, people or the cramped quarters that predominated streetcars so early in the morning.  His arrival was met with the usual Monday morning enthusiasm – though he really didn’t care. Each place that he had worked was a vehicle, higher and higher, until, like his recreational time would allow, he was as high as he could go. He thought about breaking out on his own in the industry, the outlay of that kind of cash was not an attractive offer, so he chose to work for someone else, using bullshit and sucking –up that everyone recognizes as an asshole’s way to the top of the mountain.

“Good morning Mr. Granger,” he said.

Granger looked at him incredulously and said “You look like shit Carver.”

“I spent my week with my parents…nieces and nephews,” said Tim, “I’m just glad it’s over, and they’re not mine.”

Mr. Granger looked at Tim with  a disdainful look in his eyes. Tim had totally forgot that he had children of his own, and was very much a family man. He cringed involuntarily, knowing that Granger had marked his comment in his mental notebook, probably to be pulled out during the next round of promotions.

“But I completely love them,” he said, “they’re just hard to handle sometimes.” He knew it was a weak attempt at recovery.

“I need someone to do a double shift today Carver,” said Granger, “and since you’re the only one on the studio staff without a wife and kids, I’m betting you’re going to volunteer for the overtime.” Mr. Granger turned to walk away. The last thing that Tim wanted today was a double shift. But the consequences of saying no far outweighed his sketchiness.

“After all,” said Mr. Granger, “you are the only one on the studio staff without a family of his own.” Granger laughed at himself and walked down the hall toward his. office.

Tim and watched and cringed at the cranking sound of the new bureau printers. Between UN head Kofi Anan being questioned about scandal and the immoral actions of  one  alcoholic Republican Senator, the day was sure to be just full of things to do, and then some.  

No less than five minutes later, through the glass of his little studio, Tim witnessed what soon would prove to be the largest news worthy story that ever hit the newsroom. The on air talent was circling each other, each wanting to get the best sound bite for the broadcast. The news desk made every effort to control the overzealous writing staff, who immediately started drumming up copy and sending it directly to the wire. And as the talent came rushing towards time to get their bit of sound, Tim knew this was going to be a horrible day.

In between processing the raw audio for the prima donnas, Tim was also responsible for ensuring that all regular news feeds got out as well. Every second in the editing booth was filled with demands from a million sources. Satellite feeds had to be captured, news stories had to be written for 1000 radio stations, regular audio had to be clipped, and there was always an uplink request from an overzealous correspondent who wanted to get his piece of the action. There was no time to sit, no time to talk, and no time to waste. But as a consolation, the day went fast.

The day melted in his memory as he walked into the door of his walkup. This was his place of peace, which sometimes doubled as a Roman bath. There were times there were numerous people in his house, knowing only a few of their names. After all, the ad he placed on Craig’s List did say the orgy was open to those with great bods, and completely anonymous. Yet, he managed to maintain his abode; it was very clean, very comfortable, and very well decorated. He was particularly proud of the LCD TV hanging on the wall of his appointed multimedia room. He reminisced about the number of guys he had fucked in front of that, playing scene after scene of barely legal college boys fucking, sucking and cuming all over the screen.

The phone rang. Answering the phone seemed somewhat laborious after the day he had just had, but he looked at the call identifier and decided the caller was worthy, and he picked up like a queen.

“Allo, chateau Tim, how can I help you?” Tim knew who it was, and felt no shame hamming it up for him, after all, he had known Jimmy for years.

“Hey ya loser, what’s up?” Jim wasted no decorum on Tim. He and Tim had been friends since the beginning of time – which was when they first came out in high school.

“You up for a toot?” Jimmy grunted.

“Sounds like you started without me” said Tim, knowing full well that Jimmy was very most likely stoned out of his gourd.

“Had a hard day. Do you know how hard it is to dress Mickey Ronnie?” he grunted again, only this time it was accompanied by the sounds of a water pipe hard at work.