(d)OOM: In the Network's administration building, some time during mid-late January.

[blue_eyed_lord]

"Sir, you're expected in the boardroom in twenty minutes," Christof's assistant, Chloe, reminded him as she set down his morning's third cup of coffee.

"Hm?" Christof looked up from the calender he had been perusing, a faint line visible between his drawn-down eyebrows. "Oh, yes. The interviews are today." Gingerly taking a sip of the scalding black coffee, he looks down at the calender on his desk again, specifically at the day in March that is circled in red, labeled clearly as "Due Day". "About time, too. We're cutting it close as it is."

Such a nasty business, this horrid winter. Construction work and costume production had miraculously been ahead of schedule, but then that freak blizzard had descended upon them and everything ground suddenly to a halt. It had been like the whole city was dead, the only noise being that of the wind and the ice. It had been January before things began to thaw a bit, as the disaster relief people had come in to help restore power to the city. Snowploughs had been brought in. It was a terrible time, Christof knew, as many homeless people had died and there had been fires in the poorer sections, where people had left their stoves on overnight in an effort to stay warm, but most important was that the lives of two of his key staff had also been claimed in one of the many car accidents caused by the sudden blizzard.

Christof didn't have the time to spare to go over the qualifications of the many underwriters and minor advertising managers to see who might take on the roles that had been left empty; their chosen star, an unborn girl from an unwanted pregnancy, was due in March (Christof had decided long before they found a suitable star that her name would be Evie), and time was short. He felt that some new blood was needed in the crew: fresh talent, who might make the network's rebound from Truman's disappearance that much greater.

Today, he had the task of finding those who would have the talent and ability to fill such demanding roles.

Christof closed the tome-like calender of deadlines and appointments and put it away, taking his coffee with him. Time to get things done.

* * *

"Good morning, everyone," Christof said as he walked into the board room, still trailed by Chloe. After everyone had replied their greetings, he continued, taking his seat at the head of the table. "We have some work ahead of us, today. We need a new head of the Scenario and Script Departments, and a new head of Advertisement. The loss of Bill and Mary hit us all hard, I know," he lowers his head for a moment, more in regret for the delay in preparation the deaths caused than actual grief, "but we must press on. I understand that this is a somewhat unorthodox method, not promoting from within our own ranks, but I feel that fresh talent is needed in our new start. That way," he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit, "we can make this even better than what we have done before. Our creation," my creation, he thinks, "will continue to grow."

The interviewers, all higher-ups in the various parts of the network administration, nodded agreement.

Christof sipped his coffee again before putting the mug down and taking his Mont Blanc from his pocket, looking up at Chloe. "Go tell those waiting outside that we'll be interviewing for the Scenario and Script-writer position first, and send the first one in, will you?"

Comments

[hands-unclean.livejournal.com]

The law of numbers would seem to dictate that even in Los Angeles, one or two qualified writers would be at their door, waving an acceptable resume and demonstrating something resembling a viable story. Los Angeles, however, was full of surprises, and the candidates were so uneven that the board room had come to the silent and unanimous conclusion that they were, in fact, uniformly unhireable.

"Is it possible our vetting board simply wasn't paying attention when it let through a candidate with the goal of turning Seahaven into Blade Runner?" said one when they had the room to themselves again.

"It's easier to just get a new hiring staff," sighed another. "We'll know for next time this happens. Let's move on, shall we? One left -- are we gluttons for punishment, or should we break for lunch?"

"No," said Christof, steepling his fingers. "No, let's talk through this a little more. Did we see anyone we liked, even a little?"

Everyone knew the answer; but Christof was a thorough man. There were always options, especially this early in the game.

[blue_eyed_lord]

None of them really wanted to discuss those applicants they had already seen; all of them knew the level of dedication and hard work it took to make it in one of Christof's projects. Each would-be scenario writer had some little flaw that completely cut them from consideration. No one gave the first candidate a second glance: he had been so terribly nervous, being new in the industry and the first to be interviewed, that coherency was all the success they could hope for, from him.

The eleventh did not have the qualifications that the interviewers were looking for.

The second, fifth, sixth and twelfth had family obligations which would have meant that they could not commit the amount of time needed for the show, even though they had all said that their families would not detract from their level of commitment to their work. Christof dismissed them. Families always got in the way of full devotion to one's work.

The ninth had turned out to be one of those protestors, having gotten through the screening process, who didn't want them to go ahead with the new show, shouting that it was inhumane, cruel, playing god like that with a human being's life- Christof had security escort him off the premises.

The third, fourth, seventh, eighth and tenth... there was no way any of the administration could have agreed to working with them, or could have agreed to let them put their ideas into the show. The eight's ideas were just... worrisome.

All of the interviewers had headaches by the time the discussion was over; one was rubbing her temples, another was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Let us get this over with before we break for lunch," Christof said, tapping his chin with the earpiece of his glasses. He, too, was disappointed by the wasted morning. "Chloe, send in the last one." He put on his glasses and turned to the last resume in the stack with a sigh. "And we'll see if this venture is not entirely without hope."

[hands-unclean.livejournal.com]

The hour passed quickly. The hunger in their bellies moved to their eyes as they listened to the thirteenth man.

He shone, above all the rest. His ideas were fresh, and sustainable. His resume spoke of tremendous accomplishment. ("How come we've never heard of him before?" one or two were surely asking themselves; but they soon realized that the best writers are invisible behind their work, and this could mean little else than that this candidate was simply the most superlative of them all.) The man had no ties: his craft was his life, and his workplace, his home. His devotion to his art -- the art they all shared -- lit up his face and reflected in the eyes of the board.

The hour stretched, and became an hour and a half. The room was enthralled with his command of language and plot, with his vision, and his understanding of human drama. Even Christof smiled, just a little, and that was when the board could relax, because their job was suddenly half-done. Adrian Doyle was a gift; little Evie was bound to rise to his occasion.

When the door shut behind him, everyone basked in the afterglow. "I think he's good," someone ventured.

"Yes," Christof said, eyes fixed on the vanished figure. "Very good indeed."

[blue_eyed_lord]

They were still discussing him when they returned from lunch, how suddenly Christof's idea for new blood for a fresh start now seemed wholly logical, and how they may be able to make up for lost time, now. Adrian had ideas for the new show, and knew what the other candidates had not seemed to get: that the audience is of prime importance. Christof's dream was for them, not for the people working for it. It was rather refreshing, Christof found, to find an applicant who understood his intentions so clearly, though it was a pity that Adrian hadn't applied sooner. Had he applied earlier, they could have saved themselves the wasted time spent interviewing sub-par candidates.

As they sat down again around the table, Chloe finished setting resume-copies of each place. Christof was the last to seat himself, reaching for the fresh cup of coffee that was already at hand. Truly Chloe was a wonder of an assistant, he thought to himself as he took a sip. "Now. Let's hope the afternoon goes as well as the morning did," he says, the corners of his mouth turned up, slightly. Everyone smiled back, nodding and murmuring agreement. "Send in the first one, if you would, Chloe."

[hands-unclean.livejournal.com]

Christof understood the need for marketing and public relations. He himself was always uncomfortable with it, though. He enjoys orchestrating from behind the television screen: better to know how to recognize a good director than have to learn how to be one on top of everything else.

The first woman had recently been fired from a reality show, and was only allowed fifteen minutes of their time. The second candidate was attractive, but dim. Another used to be an MTv VJ, and craved celebrity over message. Another was smart, and driven, but mumbled, and had no charisma.

The winter darkness fell early in the afternoon; they drew the shades. The board grew restless, but didn't dare interrupt Christof, whose jaw was set and determined to finish the day. "Chloe," he said, never raising his voice, "how many are left?"

"One more, sir," Chloe said from behind his chair. The board held its breath and watched him.

He took his glasses off and folded them, examining the frames. "All right." He glanced at the resume, and slipped the glasses back on. "Send her in."

[blue_eyed_lord]

This being the only 24-hour, world-wide-broadcasted, live and unedited show, the situation with the show's advertising was a unique one. It would take a unique person.

Christof and the others conducting the interviews got the distinct impression that Rosalind Gower was a unique person the moment she walked in. She moved like a person who knew herself well, personable and engaging in the conversation that arose during the interview. She had extensive experience in the field of wrangling with companies sponsering different programs, and knew how important proper product placement was.

Rosalind was eloquent, clearly a good people-person, and very professional in speech and bearing. To Christof, she looked like a person who could do wonders. Bill, may he rest in peace, had had no problems with the sponsering companies, but had had trouble getting new companies to become sponsers. Rosalind looked entirely capable, and her situation in life was ideal. New to the area, one of the many who have come to seek bigger and greater things. Single, but not too young that her maturity or experience were called into question, and also not too old that the group feared she might not be able to keep up with the fast pace of the program.

Over an hour later, a smiling Christof thanked her and the group watched the door close behind her stylish heels.

[hands-unclean.livejournal.com]

Who could believe it? A stroke of luck! Even LA had a surprise or two left in it.

"You think she'll hurt our ratings?" one of the junior execs quipped. "I might change the channel to see her do a press release."

The board all looked at him. He shrank against his chair a little.

"It seems," Christof said, in the ensuing silence, "that the only player missing now is our little star." He uncrossed his legs. "Very well. We have a show to put on; meeting adjourned. Let's get back to work."