"…A decision should be made later this evening, Adele Brodie, Channel 6 News." Adele looked seriously into the camera, counting the seconds until Doug gave her the signal to stop. He gave her the thumbs up and her whole body fell instantly into a slump.
          "Even though we were ten minutes late, I think you did well," Doug perked.
          "Huzzah for me, let's go," Adele demanded and headed back to the green Channel 6 van. She slid into the passenger seat and grabbed her mobile phone from the dashboard. She'd missed two calls, one from her mother and one from her closest friend Annabelle. As much as she appreciated the attention, she had no desire to talk to either and shoved her phone dejectedly into her bag.
          The trip back to the studio was less than exciting. Doug insisted on listening to some god awful commercial radio station where between the cat squealing, contrived plastic pop princesses and adverts there was the inane, over excited babble by some has-been comedian who was posing poorly as a DJ and trying to entertain the audience by embarrassing some nervous 14-year-old kid on air. It was a relief when Doug pulled the van to a stop in the Channel 6 carpark.
          "You want to drop the tape into editing?" Doug asked as he grabbed the tripod from the back seat.
          "Yeah, you get home to your wife and kiddies," Adele smiled, her tone mildly annoyed. She grabbed the tape and headed into the building, waving to the security guard as she went.
          Adele found the editing suite empty, but the half-filled coffee cups were enough to indicate those in charge were coming back. She hunted out a piece of paper and left a note with a few instructions on top of a pile of videos cassettes before she headed back down the corridor. Adele checked her watch and noticed it was nearly eight o'clock; she hadn't had a chance to eat and her make-up was starting to itch. She decided with people being few and far between she would sneak into the make-up room and hunt out some sort of remover.
          As she approached the door, Adele felt compelled to look over her shoulder in case a studio employee tried to lynch her and then entered. She stopped dead when she found the room was already occupied; a man sporting way too much denim was standing in the middle of the room with a pile of hand written notes.
          "Shit, I hope I'm not intruding…I just came in here to rehearse," he announced.
          "Rehearse?" Adele said, trying her best to not look annoyed.
          "Yeah, um, I'm Wes Addison. I'm on Eastman tonight," Wes smiled and extended his hand.
          "Congratulations, perhaps you'll get more of a laugh than he does," Adele chided and shook his hand.
          Wes raised his eyebrows, "Not a fan?”
          "You are?" she countered.
          "Hell no, he's a pretentious bastard. I'm here because I'm getting paid to be here.”
          "You and me both" Adele sighed.
          "You work on the show?”
          "Do I look like I work on the show? I'm a journalist for Channel 6 News.”
          Wes narrowed his eyes; "Did you do that story on that senator who got caught fucking his personal assistant?”
          "Yeah, that was me," she nodded.
          "That was a classic, lots of great material." Wes said excitedly, then seem to realise he was looking overeager, mostly because he'd spent the entire evening being ignored by important people and calmed himself down.
          "Why are you rehearsing in here anyway?" Adele asked, searching for the make-up remover and noticing Wes's sudden lack of ambience.
          "The international guest has requested that he gets the green room to himself," Wes groused. "Doesn't want to mix with the locals.”
          "Seriously?" Adele gasped. "What a selfish prick. I'd go in there just to spite him.”
          "I'm not going to risk loosing my gig for some zealous fucking yank.”
          "So let me get this straight. You're willing to let a foreign talent tell you what to do in your own country?”
          "A foreign talent who earns a hell of a lot more money than me.”
          "He's still a human being, he's no better than you.”
          "I saw a girl bring him a bottle of water before, no one brings me water.”
          "What's that got to do with anything?”
          "He's a superior human. I'm just an inferior d-list celebrity. The last gig I had was at the local RSL and what was his? He did a multi-million dollar movie.”
          Adele rolled her eyes and reached into her bag. "Here's a bottle of water," she declared holding out the half filled plastic bottle. "You're now superior.”
          Wes looked at her strangely, "What's your point?”
          "My point is," Adele sighed. "Is that you're not going to get anywhere if you let people tell you what to do all the time. You have every right to be in that green room, more right than any Hollywood actor.”
          "You know, you're right," Wes nodded. "I'm going to march right in there and take my place.”
          "Not going to get to the door and turn around and slink back in here?”
          "No, like you said I have a right to be there too," Wes nodded and then surprised her by gently reaching out to squeeze her arm. "Thanks for the pep talk. This is my first TV appearance and I'm totally shitting myself.”
          "It's not as scary as people make out," Adele shrugged. "Once you get your first laugh you'll be right.”
          "You're au fait with the psychology of comedy then?”
          "I know what I like," Adele nodded. "Eastman is so fake it’s painful.”
          "And me?”
          "I've never seen you perform.”
          "But you're gonna hang around and watch right?”
          "I hardly think Harry Eastman would want me within 5 metres of his firmly thatched locks," Adele chided. "Actually, if my earlier encounter with him is anything to go by. I'd be lucky to escape with a restraining order.”
          "Oh," Wes blinked fingering the water bottle. "What did you do?”
          "I kinda told him how to do his job," Adele shrugged as she finally located some make-up remover and cotton balls.
          "What on earth possessed you to do that?”
          "I'm easily annoyed by incompetent people who earn significantly more than me.”
          "Is that true?”
          "No, not really," Adele sighed looking down at a cotton ball that'd turned orange from the make-up. "It’s just that sometimes things are so obvious that of you don't speak up you'll explode." She paused and looked over at Wes who was looking both agitated and startled. "I mean if he had an ounce of respect for the people he interviews, Eastman would employ someone who knows what they're doing so he wouldn't end up getting sued after another 'Johnny Flax' incident.”
          "I know, what dickwit asks a married, short tempered movie star about his alleged fling with John his personal assistant?" Wes mused as he studied Adele a moment. "You don't really take your job seriously do you?”
          "Can you actually take being a media puppet seriously?”
          "I have no idea," Wes shrugged. "Comedian, remember.”
          "Attempted comedian," Adele smirked as she continued to remove her make-up. "You could seriously bomb out there.”
          "Oh gee thanks for the confidence booster," Wes huffed and fell silent for a moment. Slowly his eyes went wide. "Oh God, what if they hate me?”
          "I don't think Eastman audiences are intelligent enough to hate you.”
          "I could get booed.”
          "You're overreacting.”
          "They might drag me out under cover of a riot squad because the audience want my testicles on a pike for being so awful and ruining a minute and half of their time. A minute and a half they can never get back.”
          "Are you going to have an aneurism?”
          "No but there's a possibility I might hurl.”
          "Look, Wes was it?" Adele said blankly and Wes nodded. "If it helps, television show audiences are manipulated to laugh at your jokes anyway. So there's really no threat of you being booed unless you make some ill-timed gag about refugees or something.”
          "Manipulated," Wes frowned and then sighed heavily. "Thanks again for the moral support but despite it I think I'm still gonna hurl.”
          "Well there is one thing you can do, and only if all else fails," Adele suggested a wry smile creeping onto her lips.
          "What?" Wes asked, eyes wide and pleading. "Please tell me.”
          "Ok," Adele nodded and moved closer to Wes. "Take it from someone whose watched way too much of Harry Eastman, but if you're really struggling, make a joke about him. The crowd will roar with unmanipulated laughter and Harry will keep his smug mouth shut and whisk you off stage quicker than you can count his ex-wives.”
          "Are you serious?" Wes gasped, looking at Adele like she was insane.
          "Like I say," Adele sighed. "Emergency plan only.”
          Wes nodded, smiled and took a deep breath. "Well I should take my place in the green room before I lose the nerve and end up hiding in the toilet until everyone goes home.”
          "Good luck," Adele smiled, feeling pleased she'd helped ease the poor guy's nerves.
          "Won't need it," Wes grinned turning around as he opened the door. The second he did so it smacked him in the back of the head.
          "Are you ok?" Adele gasped, stepping forward.
          "Super," Wes beamed giving her the thumbs up. Adele watched the door close and heard the distinct cry of. "My head, my fucking head, oh that so hurts," from the other side.
          Adele giggled as she turned back to finish removing the last of her make-up.