Sellevision (17 page)

“Camera One, go in for an extreme closeup.”

“Measuring it for you, it’s almost a quarter of an inch across . . . and almost half an inch long.”

“Camera Two, we’re taking that medium shot again. Trish, gimme some more ring-talk.”

Trish rested her elbows on the glossy black table in front of her and clasped her long fingers together. “Gold is a material of the material world. Jade is a material of the spiritual world. And that’s what we have here tonight, this absolutely stunning ring that joins two important worlds together. So whether . . .”

“Great, Trish. Camera One, we’re going extreme closeup again—move frame right.”

“. . . you’re wearing jeans or you’re all dressed up, this ring can take you anywhere. It can make you feel good about yourself, because you know that you’re really treating yourself to something special, and that is so important these days. Because honestly, who is not under pressure? I mean, we all see the news.”

“Camera Two, going medium—standby.”

“And if you think about it, one seventy-nine is a very reasonable price when you consider how much this ring can offer you in terms of different looks. And of course, there’s the . . .”

“Wow, she’s really
on
tonight. I mean for somebody who was just told two hours ago that she had to fill in for Peggy Jean, she’s like, amazing,” Rob commented to the room, then wiped his pizza-mouth on the back of his hand.

“. . . spiritual importance, because as we all know, angels and the life
beyond
are all very important fashion trends. Now, let’s take a caller. Millie from San Francisco, welcome to Sellevision. Do you love this ring?”

“Oh yes, Trish. It’s beautiful. And I love what you were saying about angels, because I collect angels and love anything that has something to do with them.”

“That’s terrific, Millie. And this ring really does have a certain
something
about it.” Trish paused, stroking the jade stone of the ring. “It’s like wearing it, you can feel there’s something almost mystical about it, that it has an internal power.”

“Yeah, Trish, go, go go. We’re getting really limited, less than two hundred, so wind this up and let’s get on to the next thing.”

“Oh, my. I can’t wait to receive this ring. I mean, I can almost feel that energy you’re talking about over the television set, like there really is . . .”

Trish interrupted Millie from San Francisco. “I’m sorry Millie, but I’m going to have to say good-bye. The ring is just about sold out.” Then, holding up a delicate pearl ring, Trish asked, “Think pearls are just for grandmothers? Think again! I’m going to show you a brand-new pearl ring that’s going to change the way you think about pearls and glamour in general.”

eleven

M
ax took the elevator to the seventeenth floor reception of Goodby Silverstein Grey advertising and told the receptionist that he was there for a voice-over audition.

“And whom shall I call to inform that you’re here?” she asked pleasantly.

“Buzz Davidson.”

“Certainly, have a seat and I’ll inform Mr. Davidson of your arrival.”

Max walked over to one of the many black leather Knoll chairs and took a seat. The wall of floor-to-ceiling windows to his left presented a spectacular view of the Hudson River and uptown. The raw, unfinished ceiling with exposed pipes and electrical cables was a nice juxtaposition to the clean, highly polished wood floors. The place reeked of money. This made Max feel hopeful. Television commercials played silently on a large HDTV screen directly across from him. As he stared at the commercials, he thought back to his most recent conversation with Laurie.

“Well, he said that he felt you just really didn’t understand modern news, that you didn’t know how to ‘work’ a story.”

“Great. I don’t know how to ‘work’ a story, whatever the hell
that
means. So anything else? Did you get a hold of anybody at KRON in San Francisco?”

“I did, they’re only interested in serious journalists. You know, it’s the whole CNN, MSNBC thing. I mean, they’ve just made all the local stations panic. Now everybody needs a journalist. It’s a shame because that eliminates a lot of really attractive, charismatic people.”

“That’s so unfair,” Max agreed. “What happened with QVC? Did you call them?”

“Penis-thing is still too fresh. They said we could check back in a year.”

“Home Shopping?”

“Same story.”

“This is just awful, Laurie. I’m getting really depressed.”

“Look, Max. Commercial voice-over work pays a lot of money. We’ll get you some jobs, the money will start coming in, and pretty soon you’ll forget you were ever on Sellevision.”

“You think?” Max said, wanting to believe her.

“Of course. Ad agencies are just filthy rich. And they don’t care about controversy—in fact, they love it. Ad people are morally bankrupt. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Sweetie, I’ve got to run, I have a gazillion messages I have to return. Listen to me: You’ve only had two interviews so far. There are a lot of ad agencies in New York and I have plenty of cable shows to contact, so perk up.”

The conversation had lifted his spirits. And she was right, he had only been on two interviews. Why not do some advertising voice-over work until he could get back on television?

A tall, handsome man that Max pegged at about forty-five walked toward him across the expansive lobby. As the man walked, he gave Max a smile. Then he stuck his hand down the front of his pants, tucking in his shirt and, Max noticed,
adjusting
himself. He then took that same hand out of his pants and extended it for Max to shake.

“Max Andrews? I’m Buzz Davidson, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Max found the man attractive, for an older man. He had all his hair, and a really good body for someone his age. The man was wearing tan slacks and a pink-and-white striped shirt. He looked like somebody who grew up sailing and might have gone to school with one of the older Kennedys.

Buzz led Max back to the elevator banks.

“My agent told me you’re auditioning for some art gallery or something?” Max said.

The elevator arrived with a pleasant
bling
and the men stepped inside. Buzz pressed
fifteen
. “That’s right, we just won a new account. It’s small but there’s a chance to do some really good work, maybe win some awards.”

“Great, that’s great. Congratulations.”

As he followed Buzz through a maze of hallways, Max looked at all the framed print advertisements on the wall, many of them familiar.
It must be cool to be in advertising
, he thought.
Just sitting around all day thinking up fun ideas
. “Wow, you guys did that?” Max asked, pointing to one of the ads. The photograph featured a tree with melting pats of butter instead of leaves.

Buzz paused. “We sure did. TreeOla’s a great product. Ever try it?”

Max nodded. “Yeah, it’s the best.” He leaned forward and read the copy beneath the butter tree. “Only TreeOla is made from the natural goodness of trees. Cholesterol-free TreeOla tastes remarkably like your favorite margarine but without the aftertaste of guilt. Plus, it may help prevent cold sores. TreeOla. Another breakthrough from the maker of America’s favorite retrovirus inhibitor.”

“Clients these days believe in diversification,” Buzz commented as they walked down the hall.

Max thought, that’s all voice-over work is. Diversification. He smiled, pleased with his evolution as a professional.

Then Buzz gave Max a look.
The
look. And Max smiled back at him, giving him The Look in return. Hey, he was dealing with ad people now, and business is business.

Buzz led Max into a professional recording studio. The main room had all sorts of technical equipment, huge speakers and padded walls. A long table divided the room. On one side of the table was all the recording equipment and a place for the audio engineer to sit, on the other a row of ergonomically designed chairs for the ad people. On the table itself, telephones in front of each chair, pads of paper, each with a pen rested on top. On the far wall was a window, through which was another room, also padded, but furnished with only a microphone and a music stand.

Buzz handed Max a script and motioned for him to walk through a set of double doors into the soundproof recording booth. Max stepped into the room, approached the microphone and grabbed the earphones, which were slung over the music stand. He looked out the window at Buzz.

Buzz nodded and Max put the earphones on. He rested the script on the music stand in front of him. A technician entered the main room, settled into his chair, and pressed a button. Max then heard the man’s voice in his headphones.

This is just like recording a voice-over at Sellevision, he thought.

“Hi, Max, I’m Donny. Listen, I need to adjust the sound levels, so just speak into the microphone for me.”

“What should I say?”

“It doesn’t matter, anything. Tell us about the last person you fucked,” he laughed.

“Okay, um, testing, testing, one, two, three . . . testing, one, two . . .”

“That’s fine,” the engineer cut him off. “We’re all set, ready whenever you are.”

Then he heard Buzz’s voice in his earphones. “Okay, Max. Hi, it’s me. Listen, just read through the script, real natural—not too announcer-y. Make it very conversational, but also give it a slightly
important
edge, like this is really a big deal, very high class. But don’t make it snotty. Also, we’re talking to very well educated people here, with a lot of money, so don’t make it
too
important.”

Max nodded his head, pretended to understand.

The engineer said, “And this is take one.”

Max cleared his throat and was shocked by how loud and detailed it sounded in his earphones. He took a deep breath and let it out, then he read.

“His name was Pogo. And he was the Killer Clown. Executed for his heinous sex and torture crimes, John Wayne Gacy was himself tortured—a tortured artist. Now the Weidenbacher gallery is pleased to announce the exclusive world premier of his work—Gacy: The Death Row Retrospective. Join us next Friday at the Weidenbacher gallery for a champagne debut. Prices for the artist’s most infamous works begin at just ten thousand dollars. Gacy: The Death Row Retrospective, only at the Weidenbacher gallery. Where art is brought to life.”

Max looked out the window, saw Buzz on the phone. He waited.

The engineer’s voice filled his headphones. “Nice, Max. That was good. Hold on a sec while I get Buzz.” He turned, said something, and Buzz looked up from the phone.

Then the engineer told Max, “Okay, that was great, you can come out now.”

That’s it?
thought Max.

When he entered the main room, Buzz hung up the phone.

“Thanks for stopping by, that was great.” Then, standing, he said, “Here, let me walk you back to the elevators.”

As they walked through the twisting hallways, Max asked, “So was I okay? I mean, is that it?”

“You were fine, absolutely. We’ve got a lot of people to audition, so it’s gonna be a crazy day.”

Max stopped. “No, I’m serious. I mean, I didn’t get the job, did I?”

Buzz stopped, looked at Max. “The thing is, your voice is a little too—how should I put this—
soft
for this spot. For something else, I’m sure it’s right. But it’s not right for this. Sorry, but that’s the truth.”

They reached the elevators and Buzz pressed the down button. Then Buzz looked at Max. “Personally, I like your voice. A lot. It’s just that, well, you know how clients are.”

Max hid his disappointment and smiled. “Sure, no problem,” he said. And wondered,
Soft?

“But I wouldn’t mind getting together again, maybe talking about some other projects, if you know what I mean. You like sushi?” he asked, and then raised one eyebrow. “Or do you prefer beef?” Buzz was actually leering.

The elevator arrived and Max stepped into it, pressed L and said, “Actually, I’m a vegetarian.”

No matter how desperate, he was not going to fuck his way into a voice-over.

A

fter the family came home from church, Peggy Jean’s husband went directly into his office to work. The boys headed upstairs to their rooms and Peggy Jean took two Valium. The funny thing about Valium was that sometimes it worked, and sometimes she had to take two. Lately, it seemed she always had to take
at least
two.

That day’s sermon had been especially meaningful to her, and she thought about what Father Quigley had said as she unloaded the dishwasher.

Family is what gives us strength. Sometimes we may feel the world has turned against us. Perhaps our health fails. Or perhaps we are struggling financially. But it is with our family that we can find strength and comfort
.

How true, Peggy Jean thought as she placed a spatula in a drawer. Without her own family, how would she ever have coped with all the stress from work? The thought of having to face that Zoe monster, her own hormonal problems, and then that awful rat on her own was just beyond comprehension. Thank God she had a close and loving family to turn to. And thank God she had her faith.