will have a huge variety, and you’ll have the next best thing to a vacation once we finish the Central American trip. I will have done all the legwork.”
I searched their faces for something sympathetic and didn’t find it. “No doubt I’ll get food poisoning somewhere along the way, and you can have all sorts of fun with me and that purple crêpe-y toilet paper.” No agreement from either of them, though Marcie looked thoughtful, probably gauging the degree of grossness they could sneak into the show. They’d filmed me crawling across a floor in agony once when something cooked in too much dendê oil got the better of me.
“We can make this work for the show, Jude, but it isn’t going to happen today. We need to get back to New York.” Sam could shoot me down now, but I was going to have the last word, just not here. I shut up until we were in line at the airline counter.
“I’m going to change my ticket,” I told them, and shouldn’t have.
“Oh no, you’re not,” Sam snapped. “You’ve got a contract.”
“Be reasonable, Jude. You need to come back to New York.” Marcie pushed between me and the camera box. “Plan ahead, then take a few days and come back.” That was Marcie all over. Plan ahead, have the ducks as much in a row as possible. It worked with hotel rooms and guides, but not for this.
“There won’t be anything to come back to.” We shoved the baggage forward step by slow step, and I dug in my computer bag, making sure I had the converter I’d need to keep my computer running. It was essential for my plans. I didn’t, but Sam did. I fished it out of a zipper pocket on his suitcase.
“Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?” Sam slapped my hand away from the coveted silver box.
I slapped back and dared him to take it away—the bared teeth should have been a hint. “I need to charge up before we take off, asshole.” The pungent language drew us some looks from others in line.
I did my best to look sad but compliant right up until we reached the head of the line at the ticket counter. The next agent opened up. I let Sam and Marcie go in front of me, and I waited. The next agent, blessedly on the other end of the counter, motioned me over. I scurried, wanting this to be a done deal before my keepers, er, my production crew, noticed the perfidy.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I need to rebook this for the seventeenth of next month.” Offering my printed ticket, my passport, and a credit card, I smiled my most winsomely and was rewarded with much tapping of keys and a new itinerary. I left the counter with my baggage and hope, only to run smack into Monster and Sadist.
“Why do you still have your suitcase?” Marcie demanded.
“I might need a change of clothing in the next month?” I hazarded. “The ones I’m wearing could get pretty ripe otherwise.”
“You changed your ticket, didn’t you?” Captain Obvious didn’t quite shriek. “You have post-production in New York!”
“ You have post-production; I have voice-over, which is about six hours at most.” I’d thought about who did what, and this would work. “If you don’t have enough of my babbling on tape already to piece together anything we need, I’ll do it over the phone.”
“This is a pretty one-sided thing to do to the team, Jude.” Sam would side with Marcie in this.
“You don’t have any room to talk, friend.” I moved us out of the flow of travelers on their way to security. “Did I ever mention to the top brass that you went on that two day bender in Sydney?” He and Marcie hadn’t been getting along so well, and he thought drunk surfing was a fine way to prove his manhood, thus stranding the team and putting us behind schedule while we found new local hosts for two segments. “Your lords and masters still don’t know about that, but they would not approve. And even after that dumb-ass stunt and all the scrambling, I still didn’t make you eat the witchetty grubs with me.”
A year
I searched their faces for something sympathetic and didn’t find it. “No doubt I’ll get food poisoning somewhere along the way, and you can have all sorts of fun with me and that purple crêpe-y toilet paper.” No agreement from either of them, though Marcie looked thoughtful, probably gauging the degree of grossness they could sneak into the show. They’d filmed me crawling across a floor in agony once when something cooked in too much dendê oil got the better of me.
“We can make this work for the show, Jude, but it isn’t going to happen today. We need to get back to New York.” Sam could shoot me down now, but I was going to have the last word, just not here. I shut up until we were in line at the airline counter.
“I’m going to change my ticket,” I told them, and shouldn’t have.
“Oh no, you’re not,” Sam snapped. “You’ve got a contract.”
“Be reasonable, Jude. You need to come back to New York.” Marcie pushed between me and the camera box. “Plan ahead, then take a few days and come back.” That was Marcie all over. Plan ahead, have the ducks as much in a row as possible. It worked with hotel rooms and guides, but not for this.
“There won’t be anything to come back to.” We shoved the baggage forward step by slow step, and I dug in my computer bag, making sure I had the converter I’d need to keep my computer running. It was essential for my plans. I didn’t, but Sam did. I fished it out of a zipper pocket on his suitcase.
“Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?” Sam slapped my hand away from the coveted silver box.
I slapped back and dared him to take it away—the bared teeth should have been a hint. “I need to charge up before we take off, asshole.” The pungent language drew us some looks from others in line.
I did my best to look sad but compliant right up until we reached the head of the line at the ticket counter. The next agent opened up. I let Sam and Marcie go in front of me, and I waited. The next agent, blessedly on the other end of the counter, motioned me over. I scurried, wanting this to be a done deal before my keepers, er, my production crew, noticed the perfidy.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I need to rebook this for the seventeenth of next month.” Offering my printed ticket, my passport, and a credit card, I smiled my most winsomely and was rewarded with much tapping of keys and a new itinerary. I left the counter with my baggage and hope, only to run smack into Monster and Sadist.
“Why do you still have your suitcase?” Marcie demanded.
“I might need a change of clothing in the next month?” I hazarded. “The ones I’m wearing could get pretty ripe otherwise.”
“You changed your ticket, didn’t you?” Captain Obvious didn’t quite shriek. “You have post-production in New York!”
“ You have post-production; I have voice-over, which is about six hours at most.” I’d thought about who did what, and this would work. “If you don’t have enough of my babbling on tape already to piece together anything we need, I’ll do it over the phone.”
“This is a pretty one-sided thing to do to the team, Jude.” Sam would side with Marcie in this.
“You don’t have any room to talk, friend.” I moved us out of the flow of travelers on their way to security. “Did I ever mention to the top brass that you went on that two day bender in Sydney?” He and Marcie hadn’t been getting along so well, and he thought drunk surfing was a fine way to prove his manhood, thus stranding the team and putting us behind schedule while we found new local hosts for two segments. “Your lords and masters still don’t know about that, but they would not approve. And even after that dumb-ass stunt and all the scrambling, I still didn’t make you eat the witchetty grubs with me.”
A year
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