sense to Suze. With all these candidates, how could the millionaire possibly choose one person out of the crowd? What do you like to do on weekend nights? Tell me about your ambitions. What is your perfect first date? On it went. Suze was glad for her Zoom. It allowed her to self-edit as she went, then print out her paragraphs as neat labels to affix to the questionnaire. She made a mental note to recommend that the partners boost their investment in the next round.
The final question was the first one she had never had cause to answer before: Are you here for love or money?
I am here out of curiosity, she wrote. I understand that my chances of walking away with either love or money are low. It’s not that I’m a pessimist, but the odds are simply against it. However, if I did find love, or what promised to be a very high chance of true love, I would be willing to leave the money on the table. She leaned back to consider what she’d written before she printed it out. It was a logical answer. She imagined being happily married, and being offered ten million dollars to leave her husband. She would never do such a thing; therefore, love trumped money. Of course, it was hard to imagine feeling that way about a man she hadn’t yet met, but a hypothetical scenario could only have a hypothetical response. She hit Print, affixed the final label neatly to the questionnaire, and brought it back to the intake desk.
“Thank you,” the woman at the desk said. She scanned the application.
“Most of the applicants didn’t even bring something to write with. But you seem to have…what are these, labels?”
Suze smiled. “I love my gadgets.”
The woman smiled back at her. “Cool,” she said. Then she beckoned Suze closer conspiratorially. “You also happen to be one of the most beautiful women here. Remember to smile. You have a nice one, and he likes a smile. Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Suze said. She stood for a moment, hoping the woman might elaborate, but she was already calling the next applicant. Suze had been dismissed. He likes a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was all she was going to get. Well, at least it meant there was an actual human being somewhere behind this crazy scheme.
Chapter 6
This Monday morning Janey Ellis had no excuse for her tardiness. Her alarm had been functioning, but, damnit, the clock itself seemed to be moving faster than usual. That, or she was reluctant to face what awaited her at work. Two weeks of pitching new potential TV shows to cable stations had just concluded, and what did she have to show for it? Nothing. Not a single nibble. And this was following an equally dismal reception by networks. She’d worked like a dog to help her writers repurpose their pitches for cable—edgier, with antiheroes and preferably some form of sex that nobody had done yet (which was increasingly difficult to find). She’d never been in this position before. Entering pilot season with no shows to develop was grim. She’d be a team player—working her ass off to help out her colleagues on the two shows that Flowerpot had successfully sold—but the glory would be all theirs.
Stuck at the stoplight on the corner of Sunset and Crescent Heights, she saw it again. That ridiculous billboard. A lottery of love. People were truly starting to live their lives as if they were reality shows. Next thing you knew, people would be taking Survivor -themed vacations—forty days on a deserted island just for kicks and weight loss. Janey found herself wondering if the ten-million-dollar bachelor had a producer yet—but only for a minute. This was Hollywood. Of course he already had a producer. If he didn’t, he was a truly rare breed: rich and naive.
It seemed like a normal Monday. There was no sign of impending doom. Even in hindsight Janey would say that the office had its usual bustle. No funny looks or sympathetic smiles. She had just made her coffee when J. Ferris asked her into his office. He shut the
The final question was the first one she had never had cause to answer before: Are you here for love or money?
I am here out of curiosity, she wrote. I understand that my chances of walking away with either love or money are low. It’s not that I’m a pessimist, but the odds are simply against it. However, if I did find love, or what promised to be a very high chance of true love, I would be willing to leave the money on the table. She leaned back to consider what she’d written before she printed it out. It was a logical answer. She imagined being happily married, and being offered ten million dollars to leave her husband. She would never do such a thing; therefore, love trumped money. Of course, it was hard to imagine feeling that way about a man she hadn’t yet met, but a hypothetical scenario could only have a hypothetical response. She hit Print, affixed the final label neatly to the questionnaire, and brought it back to the intake desk.
“Thank you,” the woman at the desk said. She scanned the application.
“Most of the applicants didn’t even bring something to write with. But you seem to have…what are these, labels?”
Suze smiled. “I love my gadgets.”
The woman smiled back at her. “Cool,” she said. Then she beckoned Suze closer conspiratorially. “You also happen to be one of the most beautiful women here. Remember to smile. You have a nice one, and he likes a smile. Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Suze said. She stood for a moment, hoping the woman might elaborate, but she was already calling the next applicant. Suze had been dismissed. He likes a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was all she was going to get. Well, at least it meant there was an actual human being somewhere behind this crazy scheme.
Chapter 6
This Monday morning Janey Ellis had no excuse for her tardiness. Her alarm had been functioning, but, damnit, the clock itself seemed to be moving faster than usual. That, or she was reluctant to face what awaited her at work. Two weeks of pitching new potential TV shows to cable stations had just concluded, and what did she have to show for it? Nothing. Not a single nibble. And this was following an equally dismal reception by networks. She’d worked like a dog to help her writers repurpose their pitches for cable—edgier, with antiheroes and preferably some form of sex that nobody had done yet (which was increasingly difficult to find). She’d never been in this position before. Entering pilot season with no shows to develop was grim. She’d be a team player—working her ass off to help out her colleagues on the two shows that Flowerpot had successfully sold—but the glory would be all theirs.
Stuck at the stoplight on the corner of Sunset and Crescent Heights, she saw it again. That ridiculous billboard. A lottery of love. People were truly starting to live their lives as if they were reality shows. Next thing you knew, people would be taking Survivor -themed vacations—forty days on a deserted island just for kicks and weight loss. Janey found herself wondering if the ten-million-dollar bachelor had a producer yet—but only for a minute. This was Hollywood. Of course he already had a producer. If he didn’t, he was a truly rare breed: rich and naive.
It seemed like a normal Monday. There was no sign of impending doom. Even in hindsight Janey would say that the office had its usual bustle. No funny looks or sympathetic smiles. She had just made her coffee when J. Ferris asked her into his office. He shut the
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