Unscripted Read Online Free Page B

to the conference room?” announces a tinny-sounding voice over the intercom system. “We’re having a staff meeting in five.”
    Oh well, I guess my very important work will just have to wait. I close my laptop and bump into Grant as I head toward the conference room. His eyes are watery and his nose is red. He obviously has the plague that’s been going around the office.
    “Well hello there. You look like crap,” I say, keeping my distance.
    “Thanks, Crabby. Don’t I get a hug?” Grant reaches his tissue-laden hands out to me. He looks like a deranged zombie with cold-face.
    “Don’t touch me!” I skirt around him, laughing. “I don’t want your disease.”
    “Then you won’t mind that I licked your phone earlier.”
    “You are a child. So what’s this meeting about?”
    “No idea.” Grant takes out another shredded tissue from his pocket and blows his nose. “Probably just to give us the new production schedule for next month.”
    I nod my head and take a seat across the table from him. He pulls a mock-hurt face. Nothing against Grant, but I cannot afford to get sick right now. There really is no such thing as a sick day in production. We don’t get paid for time off, and if you have to take it, you’re going to be working late the next day to make up for what you missed.
    I watch as several female production assistants meander in, immediately gravitating toward the empty chairs next to Grant. He’s a pretty good-looking guy, despite his on-again, off-again frat boy demeanor, so I’m used to the girls flocking to him like little twittering birds. The girl to his left leans in and whispers something in his ear, oblivious to the fact that he’s sick. Yeah, he’s got the dark wavy hair and chiseled cleft chin of a 1930s film star, but right now he looks like a walking germ to me.
    As everyone finishes filing in, Rob closes the door. “Thanks for coming, everyone. I’ll make this quick. As you know, ratings for Matchmaker have been down. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that the network has pulled the plug on the show. We’ve been cancelled.”
    Shit.
    “We’ll finish editing the three dates from last week and then that’s it.”
    Shit, shit.
    “So, essentially, with the exception of a few editors, everyone’s last day will be today.”
    I can feel the blood rush to my face. I try not to let the panic take over, but I’ve got that rolling feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was expecting this job to last seven more weeks. It always takes a few weeks to find the next gig, so I need that lead-time. I should be used to the freelance world by now, but every time a job ends, I feel like I’m jumping off a cliff.
    I look around the table at the twenty or so faces and recognize the usual mix of emotions that normally follows news like this. Everybody that works in reality is freelance, but not everybody is used to the roller coaster. You have the newbies with that dazed look of Bambi in the headlights. Then you’ve got the mildly seasoned professionals, such as myself, who appear totally pissed off, but not at all surprised. And finally, you have the long-time players. These guys know the drill inside and out and are already flipping through the Rolodex in their heads, securing a position for their next gig. I look across the table at Grant as he quickly texts someone. Bastard always gets unsolicited job offers. He probably has three offers lined up already.
    While everyone drags themselves back to their desks, I continue to stare at Grant from across the table. “This totally sucks and I’ve only got $1,000 in my checking account,” I say to him as he continues to type away on his BlackBerry.
    “I told you to open up that ING account,” he says as he begins to cough uncontrollably.
    “Serves you right.” I squint as Grant turns back to his phone to finish off his text. “Whatcha got there, Sparky?” I raise my chin a bit to try and catch a glimpse at the message he’s