How to Get Ahead in Television (6 page)

STEP 12 – NEVER, EVER CRY

T
HE NEXT DAY
, after the longest, quietest road trip of my life, and a stopover in Carlisle, our sorry little party finally arrived in a small village just north of Stirling called Balquhidder. Two fields had been packed full of Nissen huts, trailers and tents to make a temporary production base for the show.

Rhidian and a pretty girl with black bob greeted us in the field designated ‘Car Park'.

‘Hello, Ms Decouz, how was your journey?' asked the girl, opening the door for Valerie.

‘It was frightful, Trisha. Thank you for asking.'

Rhidian started helping Nick unload his camera equipment. Trisha was about to whisk Valerie away when Valerie turned to say something to me.

‘Poppy.'

‘Yes, Ms Decouz.'

‘However bad things may get, however awful your day may seem, try not to cry. Nothing that happens at work should ever be worth crying about.'

‘Yes, sorry about yesterday, I—'

‘No, it's not about yesterday, Poppy, I'm just giving you a piece of advice for your future career. People don't like it when you cry at work, especially as a woman. That's one thing I've learnt in my forty years in the industry: never, ever cry. Don't cry over a man, don't cry over work – save your tears for a time when it really matters.'

I nodded subserviently, and then Valerie was gone. I wondered what else, besides men and work, might be worth crying about in Valerie's eyes. I mean obviously death, but that didn't happen very often. Natalie once cried when I ate her M&Ms at school. I don't think Valerie would have approved of that.

‘Are you okay?' Rhidian asked once they had gone.

‘Thank you so much for helping me out yesterday,' I said. ‘I'm not usually that hopeless, I just… I just haven't driven on a motorway before and I…'

‘No problem,' Rhidian said. He looked momentarily bashful at my thanking him, but then smiled and said, ‘Don't be too grateful, Penfold, it's still going on my chart.' I rolled my eyes at him. ‘The good news is, you don't have to drive the car back, they've asked me to take it south tomorrow.'

‘Ah good, thanks,' I said.

‘But you're staying up here for a couple of days to help, right? Let me show you around; this production is unbelievable.'

Rhidian looked like he'd caught a bit of a tan, even in this Scottish September sun. As he took me around the production site, I noticed how many girls said hello to him, or gave him a flirty little wave. We walked up some steps into a trailer marked ‘MAKE-UP'.

‘Hey, Sonia,' Rhidian said to a tall, thin brunette girl. She had swans tattooed on both arms and thick sweeps of eyeliner around each eye. She was wearing tiny hot pants over silver leggings with a T-shirt that said ‘My Way or the…' and then a picture of a highway.

‘Rhidian, sweetie! How are you, hun?' Sonia gushed.

‘You done with everyone's make-up?'

‘Nah, still got a few more to come through later. You want me to do you?' Sonia stroked Rhidian's arm playfully with a make-up brush.

‘Yes please.' Rhidian's face creased into a huge smile. ‘Give me a shadowy-eye look, that's on-trend this season, right?
Oh, Sonia, this is Poppy, by the way.' He finally introduced me. ‘She's another runner at RealiTV.'

‘Isn't he a doll?' Sonia said to me.

‘Um, yeah.'

‘Look at his arms, grrr…' Sonia did a tiger impression and grabbed one of Rhidian's biceps. ‘Couldn't you just eat him for breakfast?' she said, letting out a hyena-like laugh.

I was starting to feel uncomfortable, so I began to fiddle with a few of the make-up brushes on the shelf in front of me.

‘Don't mind, Sonia,' Rhidian said to me, ‘she's like this with everyone.'

‘Don't touch those please,' said Sonia, suddenly serious. ‘All my brushes are in order, I don't want you moving them.'

I quickly stopped fiddling. Sonia was evidently not ‘like that with everyone'.

At the end of the site tour we went back to the car and Rhidian said he'd drive me over to the local Travelodge so I could check in.

‘So how are you finding all this?' he asked me once we were back in the car.

‘This show?' I replied.

‘Well, all of it: the placement, being a runner… the competition.' He turned to wink at me.

‘Fine.' I shrugged. ‘It's kind of what I expected, I guess.'

‘You've worked in TV before?' asked Rhidian.

‘I did a bit of work experience down in Bristol,' I said. ‘How about you?'

‘No. It's all new to me.'

‘So why do you want to work in TV anyway?' I asked. ‘I picture you more in a career like…'

‘Like?' he asked.

‘Like you'd be the guy who models slippers in one of those free magazines you get tucked inside the
Daily Mail
at the weekend. Velour old man slippers for £9.99.'

‘Do I take that as a compliment?' Rhidian laughed.

‘If you like. But seriously though, why TV?'

‘Lots of reasons, I guess.' Rhidian shrugged.

‘Like?'

‘Well, if you must know,' Rhidian looked pensive for a moment, ‘one of the reasons is because of my grandma.'

‘Your grandma?'

‘My mum was very ill for a long time and died when I was sixteen, so my gran was a big part of my life growing up.'

‘I'm so sorry.'

‘Thanks. Anyway, my gran developed Alzheimer's when I was at uni. It was really quick, her memory went, just like that.' Rhidian clicked his fingers. ‘We had to move her into a home and after six months she barely knew my dad and me.'

‘That must have been tough.'

This was really not where I'd expected this conversation to go, and my attention was held rapt by this unexpected new side to Rhidian.

‘It was strange though,' he went on, ‘the one thing she kept a memory of was her TV shows. She loved
Dad's Army
and these other old shows. What was the one about the two dressmakers in the twenties?'

‘House of Elliot
. My gran loved that one too.'

‘That's it, she loved that. Anyway, her care home were really good at putting on the old programmes that they remembered, and I would sit with her while she watched them. You know it was the only time she would remember my name.' Rhidian went quiet for a moment. ‘She'd say “Rhidian, I like this episode, do you remember? Oh, we do like Captain Mainwaring, don't we?” and it was like, for half an hour, she was her old self again. It sounds silly, but it was as though the TV was my last link to that part of her brain that knew me and knew we used to watch these shows together.'

‘Wow, that's amazing…' I said, feeling a tear welling in my eye. ‘So you wanted to work in TV to be close to your granny?'

‘No, I wanted to work in TV because there are loads of fit girls and you get to travel the world.' Rhidian laughed. ‘I just told you the granny story to make you think I was a nice guy.'

‘What?' I said, punching him on the arm a bit too hard. ‘You made all that up?'

‘Ow!' Rhidian laughed again. ‘No, I didn't make it up.' He paused. ‘That's all true about my gran. But it's just not necessarily the reason I want to work in TV.'

‘You are unbelievable!' I said.

‘Though I guess visiting her care home did make me see how important TV can be to some people. It makes a lot of people happy, keeps them connected with the world.'

‘So all of the above, but mainly the fit girls and the travelling?' I surmised.

‘Something like that,' Rhidian said, grinning at me.

He was infuriating. I'd been practically on the verge of tears about his grandmother, and now I wasn't even sure how much of it was true.

We arrived at the Travelodge and Rhidian helped me get my bag out of the car.

‘So you've got a few hours before they start shooting the first episode,' Rhidian explained. ‘Shannon said you should help out in the gallery later, getting the execs coffee. That sound okay?'

‘Great, sure.'

‘There are production cars going from here back to site all the time, so when you've had a chance to unpack, just head back that way.'

‘What are you doing tonight then?' I asked.

‘Oh, they've got me lugging cabers around for one of the games. Anyway, listen, Poppy.' Rhidian reached out and touched my arm as he got back into the driver's seat. ‘Will you let me know as soon as you are feeling better about the whole car incident? I'm dying to take the piss out of you for nearly killing Valerie Decouz.'

STEP 13 – IF NOTHING ELSE, AT LEAST GET PEOPLE'S COFFEE RIGHT

TO
:

FROM
: <
[email protected]
>

SUBJECT
: Runner Driving Policy

Dear all,

After a recent incident, it will now become company policy that no talent should be driven by anyone on production below the age of twenty-five. For A-list talent, Production should ensure they hire a qualified chauffeur or use Bell Cars, with whom we have an account.

If anyone has any questions about the new policy, please get in touch with me directly.

On another note, if there is an incident where talent become displeased or upset, please ensure you make someone up the chain aware of it, so that the first I hear about it is not through our lawyers…

Thank you,

Jack Chamberlain

CEO

RealiTV

Because a real workforce makes real TV!

I
DECIDED THERE
was no point in berating myself over ‘cargate'; it was done now. I headed over to the gallery truck with a renewed sense of purpose. Inside the truck was a huge wall of TV screens showing a clear view of each games arena. Shannon Long was seated next to the gallery director behind a huge control panel. A row of empty seats lined the back of the gallery, ready for executive producers and the channel commissioner to watch the live action from.

I slipped quietly into the back, fearful of interrupting. After a few minutes, Shannon noticed my presence.

‘Ah, Poppy,' Shannon said. She still had the look of someone who thought the apocalypse was impending. ‘I'm sorry you had to deal with all that drama with Valerie. It was my fault; we shouldn't have asked you to drive all that way if you weren't confident. It's one of those crisis situations where the wrong decisions get made.'

This was not what I'd expected her to say at all.

‘Oh no, it's okay. I'm so sorry I made a mess of it, Shannon.'

‘No, seriously, you're all right. I can't believe the old bitch called her lawyers on us though.'

‘Is it going to cause a lot of trouble?'

‘No, she's a renowned shit-stirrer, plus this is the biggest presenting gig she's had in about a decade, so she doesn't want to piss us off too much.'

I couldn't believe Shannon Long was being so nice to me. I'd been steeling myself for a bollocking, practising my ‘not crying' face.

‘So are you okay to help out in here tonight? Just get everyone coffees and scripts. We've got a couple of producers coming up from RealiTV, so there'll be a few people to look after. This is Nigel, by the way.' Shannon introduced the gallery director.

‘Hi.' Nigel waved.

‘Can I get you guys some coffees then?' I asked.

‘Black, one sugar please,' said Nigel.

‘A chai latte for me. Thanks, Poppy,' Shannon said with a thin smile.

I skipped off to the catering van feeling incredibly relieved. If scary Shannon wasn't furious, then it must all be fine.

Tonight's show saw the first heat of a series-long competition. Scottish families would be pitted against each other in various gladiatorial heats, with the winning clan crowned Last Clan Standing. It was like an outdoor version of
Gladiators
, but with a lot more sporrans. Tonight was the MacLeods versus the Campbells.

As I queued for coffee at the catering truck, one of the assistant producers was freaking out to a producer.

‘They won't do it, trust me, Leon!' wailed the AP, a pale spotty boy with a ponytail who looked about my age.

‘Well, who the hell thought of a high-wire challenge without checking whether the clans would wear underwear first? We won't be able to film the game without featuring a face full of up-skirt!' Leon shouted at him.

I'd seen Leon around RealiTV. He wore square dark-rimmed glasses and had short black hair set in place against his scalp with some kind of pomade. Today he was wearing skinny black jeans and a lumberjack shirt done up to the top button. It looked slightly too tight around the neck, like he might be about to explode out of it.

‘They say it's un-Scottish to wear underwear,' cried the AP, gesticulating wildly. ‘Honestly, they're not budging!'

‘Okay, well ask Wardrobe if they can whip up some tartan shorts or something. This is an A-grade balls-up, Alan.'

I sidled up to the front of the coffee queue, trying not to get in their way.

‘Um, a black coffee and a chai latte, please,' I asked.

The big, burly Scottish man running the van glared at me with thunderous eyes.

‘Ye want a chai latte? Whaur dae ye think ye ur, lass? Whit is it wi' ye sassenach an' yer ponce coffee orders, fur feck's sake.'

‘Um, a plain latte then, perhaps?' I tried.

The man shouted at me again, a tirade of unintelligible Scottish.

‘Sorry?'

‘Tea ur coffee. Black ur white. Sugar ur nae sugar. Those ur yer choices,' he stated clearly, hand on hip.

‘Okay, two black coffees then. Thanks.'

I trotted back to the gallery, worried I'd failed in the first rule of being a runner: get people the right coffee.

‘Shannon, I'm so sorry, they, um, they didn't have any chai,' I explained, ‘so I got you a black coffee instead, is that okay?'

‘You met Reg then?' Shannon said with a smirk, taking the two coffees from me and turning back to the TV screens.

Oh great, so she did that on purpose. Maybe she
was
cross about ‘car-gate'…

The show rehearsals had started and I could see the presenters, Valerie Decouz and Hamish Robertson, running their lines on the central screen. A few people began trickling into the gallery, one of whom was JR. He swaggered in, laughing at a text on his phone.

‘Ah, Dangermouse,' he said as he saw me.

‘Excuse me?'

‘Surely your more adventurous alter ego, Penfold?'

‘Well, at least you're not calling me Pam any more.'

‘Touché,' he laughed.

‘So how come you're up here? Are you producing this too?' I asked.

‘This show was my idea, Penfold. Didn't want to produce it myself, nightmare to make, just here to check Shannon's not screwing up my format.'

‘I heard that, JR,' said Shannon without turning around.

JR walked past me and sat down next to her.

‘Can I get you a coffee, James?' I asked.

He turned to look at me again.

‘Shannon, I hope you're not wasting Penfold here on coffee-making. She's very well-informed, you know; she has an extensive knowledge of politics in the Middle East.'

I blushed. Shannon didn't look up from her script.

‘A skinny latte please, Penfold,' JR said, smiling at me.

‘Oh, ha ha, I've already fallen for that one,' I said.

‘What?'

I looked at JR, then Shannon. This was obviously some kind of joke they play on all the new runners.

‘You know, where you give me a super-ponce coffee order and I look like an idiot in front of the Scottish van man.'

JR looked at me blankly. ‘Super-ponce coffee order, is it? Well, you've certainly put me in my place!'

Oh dear, maybe I'd read this wrong.

‘Oh no, no, it wasn't ponce really.' I blushed. ‘It's just the van man says he just does black or white, sugar or nae sugar. There aren't a lot of options, I'm afraid.'

‘Well, whatever you can muster up.' JR looked at me strangely, our banterous little repartee well and truly over.