“No I didn’t,” he says, his voice almost patient. “I said she was sick and I needed to visit her. Both are true. I’m just not doing it.”
My mouth drops open. “You knew that’s what I’d think. You knew it was the only way I’d agree to work tomorrow. I can’t believe you’d do that.”
“This golf meeting is important,” he tells me. “It’ll benefit you, too.”
“How exactly?” I ask, my voice scathing.
“Because someone from the Network is coming down. A friend of Dan’s. He said they might have some plans for the weather desk. I want to find out what they are, and maybe you should, too.”
He means somebody from NTV – the national television network that WVFY is part of. They provide the national shows that everybody loves and talks about. We kind of fill in the blanks with news, weather and sport. Most local television stations are affiliated to or directly owned by a national network. We have a friendly rivalry with WVAT over in Huntingdon who are affiliated to BTV – Broadcast Television.
“Why would they be interfering with the weather desk?” I frown.
There’s a look of sympathy on his face that I don’t like at all. “You understand the station is losing money, right? They’re looking at every department for savings, including us. They don’t have to have a weather team, they could just buy in the forecasts.” He lifts a brow. “Everybody is expendable.”
“I haven’t heard that,” I tell him, shocked that we’re losing so much money.
“Because you don’t go to management meetings. Everything is on the line, Sophie, including your job.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “But don’t worry, I’m on your side.”
I shake my head because I know that’s not true. Michael is only ever on one side – his own. But I believe him about the rest. It makes sense.
“I need to go,” I tell him, because I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. As though I’ve already lost my job and can’t pay my rent.
“Sophie…”
“It’s fine.” I pull away from his touch. And I turn my head because I don’t want him to see my expression. “I have to be in work early tomorrow. Have a good time at the golf club.”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
SOPHIE
It’s Saturday and I haven’t stopped moving since I arrived at the station this morning. There’s a parade going on in town so I’ve been doing hourly updates on our social media platforms to reassure people that the clouds they’re seeing above are only cumulus. The little fluffy clouds we used to draw in the sky when we were kids. It isn’t going to rain on anybody’s parade today.
I also had to spend longer on my makeup than usual, thanks to the shadows beneath my eyes after my late night. I dab the concealer on as Adam from production rushes in and asks me if I’m ready to do the solo forecast for the website.
One of us records these each day. It’s an in depth look at the weather for today and beyond, which lasts around five minutes but usually takes half an hour to record. They squeeze me in around recorded news interviews whenever there’s a long enough break in the studio schedule. I finish off my under eye concealer and check the rest of my appearance.
It’s a sad fact that television cameras pick up every little imperfection. If your hair isn’t perfectly styled or your dress has wrinkles you can bet your life that viewers will notice and be tweeting about it before you’re even off air. It got worse when they introduced high-definition television a decade ago. There was a scramble for face lifts like you wouldn’t believe.
When everything’s ready, I follow Adam into the studio and fix my microphone pack to my leg, where the viewer won’t see it. I fluff my skirt over it then walk to the green screen. There’s a little piece of paper taped to the floor that says ‘weather’ which is my cue of where to stand. Unlike when I’m presenting live during the news, I don’t have to wait for the anchor to pass over to me, so I wait for Adam’s cue then smile as the camera starts to roll.
“Hello, I’m Sophie West and you’re watching WVFY weather…” The auto prompt screen rolls in front of me. I’ve written all these words, just as I created and loaded the graphics that will be superimposed onto the green screen behind me.
“As the evening draws to a close there’ll be more cloud accumulation,” I say, pointing at the green screen. Once upon a time we used to use sticky clouds to show where they’d be, but now I just have to hope to God I’m pointing in the right direction. “But don’t worry, they’ll be burned away by the sun first thing in the morning… oh shit.” My pointer clatters to the floor and I roll my eyes. “Sorry,” I say to Adam, leaning down to pick it up.
“S’okay. We’ll edit some photographs in here. Go again from ‘As The Evening’…”
The teleprompter rolls back up and I smooth my skirt and touch my hair. In my earpiece somebody tells me to add some more powder to my nose, so I walk over and do that before heading back to my spot in front of the screen.
In all, it takes three attempts to get the five minute recording. That really isn’t impressive, I prefer hitting it out of the park with the first try. But once Adam says we’re all good I head back to the office. The afternoon flies by as I respond to social media posts and questions. Then I go outside before the evening news and take an obligatory ‘isn’t this weather lovely’ photo and post it, wishing everybody following me on Twitter a great evening.
I also have to delete about ten DMs from guys who want to meet up, want to bend me over in front of the green screen, and one who insists that it’s going to rain because his penis is bendy today.
Yep, it’s a glamorous job.
By the time the late evening news comes around I’m lagging. It takes even longer than usual to make myself look perky. When I first joined the station we had makeup artists and hair stylists but they disappeared about ten years ago in an attempt to control costs. Right now I’d give my left arm to have one of them use their magic on me.
“Twenty minutes until live.” I don’t recognize the guy who shouts into the make-up room. Not that it surprises me, they use the new people on weekends, trying them out to see if they’ll make the week day cut. This one looks like he’s barely out of high school.