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The Grinch’s Last Chance
April
"You should be grinning from ear to ear right now," my uncle told me, leaning across his mahogany desk and jabbing his finger into the brown paper blotter on its surface to make his point.
I was definitely not grinning. I’m pretty sure I was frowning. And I’d been doing a lot of that lately, probably, but I hadn't had a lot to smile about since my life had imploded three months before. I’d lost my job and my self respect in one dramatic moment totally worthy of the reality television show that had inspired it.
"You came to me desperate. With nothing. Begging, April. You begged." He raised his bushy gray eyebrows and sat back, letting that sink in.
Ouch. The truth hurt.
I shifted in the leather seat, my suit skirt threatening to burst at the seams, thanks to the stress eating I’d been doing since I’d ruined everything. But cookies still loved me. And cookies never looked at me like Uncle Rob was looking at me now. My uncle's office was intimidating, with its dark-paneled walls and Emmy awards and Golden Globes perched on the shelves around us. It hadn't been easy calling him. It had been downright humbling. He was the one who'd inspired me to get into television in the first place, and to come to him now was beyond embarrassing.
"I know, Uncle Rob. It's just…I mean…Holiday Homes?" I cringed even saying the name of the show I most despised.
Rob grinned. "Holidays. Homes. What's not to love?"
When I didn't jump up and clap my hands, his smile dropped. I tried, "There's really nothing else? Something un-Christmasy? MaybeFix it UporHating to Dating?I'm good with people, Uncle Rob. Not houses."
"Look April, I'm gonna tell it like it is. You screwed up a good thing—with people—and there's not a lot of ways to come back from that. You had a top gig producingRun Away with the Bridegroom, but maybe someone should've pointed out to you that you were not actually supposed to be the one doing the running away with the bridegroom.”
My stomach twisted at the painful reminder of the most humiliating moment of my life. "We didn't run away…" I began, realizing too late that bringing up the details of the scandal that had ended my high-profile position at my last show probably wouldn't help.
"No, but you probably should have. Far, far away. To get caught on camera making out with that sleazy jerk…" My uncle's words were coming faster, and his eyes scathed the surface of my face before searching the room, probably seeking a less disappointing subject to observe. "Ape, you made a mistake. A big one. And you got caught. Though that little twist did give the ratings a pretty solid boost…" He sighed and his eyes returned to mine.
"I'm really sorry, Uncle Rob."
"I know you are, darling, and that's why I'm willing to pull these strings and get you another chance. You're sorry, and you're a damned good producer when you're focused on your job and not on the assets of the cast." He leaned back in his chair and watched me, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. His voice softened. "Did you love the guy?"
I swallowed hard and dropped his gaze. It would almost have been better if Ihadloved Antonio, the bachelor from my last show. But I didn't love him any more than he loved me, or any of the fifteen women he was supposed to be courting on television. I was a conquest, and if I was honest, he was a conquest for me, too. "No," I said firmly. "I don't think I do love."
"Well, that's the right attitude if you're sticking to television. A hell of a lot cleaner that way."
I’d tried love in college, but I just wasn't very good at it. I got bored, distracted. I knew I got that from my father, another trait I wished I could cut from my personality somehow, but had long since accepted. "Right," I said, hoping my agreement could put an end to the rehashing of all the ways I’d screwed up my last job.
Rob placed a contract in front of me. "So four specials annually—takes a little of the pressure off, not having the weekly churn, right? Next one is the biggest one by far, the Christmas home tour."
I tried to keep my face neutral as I imagined the sheer quantity of holiday cheer I’d have to withstand to make this work. "But I just handle initial setup and pick targets, right? Take care of contracts…you've got the location producer for the actual show?"
"Kind of. No picking homes. For this first one, Juliann will handle the details of actual production. She's done the Christmas show for years. You just get the homeowners finalized—like I said, most have been on board for months. Just get them to sign on final details and behave, and then throw the reins to Jules."
I relaxed a little bit. I could do this. I wouldn't have to décorate, or set up any fake snowmen. Maybe I wouldn't even have to enter any artificial-snow-encrusted, pine-tree smelling, twinkling houses. That part was Juliann's gig. I would just be getting things ready for Juliann, who could waltz in wearing striped tights and a felt elf costume, for all I cared. I, myself, would be far away by Christmas, enjoying a tropical drink on a hot beach somewhere, pretending it was any other day.
Uncle Rob’s phone rang on his desk and he raised a finger to me as he picked it up—the universal symbol for 'you're not as important as this potential telemarketer.' "Rob here."
Uncle Rob's eyes found mine as he listened and his eyebrows shot up comically as I watched. "Oh," he said, little lines appearing around his mouth. "Two casts, huh?" He paused, his lips pressing into a firm line. "Traction?" He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Well I'm glad you're okay, Jules."
My attention riveted to the phone in his hand. Jules? Was that Juliann? What was that about casts and traction? My stomach tightened and I sat up straighter.
"Well you don't need to worry about anything here. You just focus on healing," Uncle Rob said. "The network will send along a fruit basket."
"A fruit basket?" I yelped and then slapped a hand over my mouth as Uncle Rob's eyes narrowed at me.
"Bye now." Uncle Rob chuckled as he put down the phone. He looked up at me. "All that stuff I just said? Scratch it. You're it. Juliann's out."
"What?" I heard myself ask, my voice higher than usual.
