Part 12
"I'll come along." You agree easily. "But we don't have to walk all the way, do we? We're on holiday."
"I suppose not," John agrees. "TIM, can you find us somewhere a couple of minutes walk from the studios?"
"Of course." TIM agrees as you both step onto the Jaunting Pad. "Good Luck, John!"
You emerge from hyperspace in a bus shelter on a quiet street behind the studio building. It doesn't take the pair of you long to walk around the concrete edifice to the front door though. You walk through the revolving glass door and into a large reception area. A girl in her twenties with a clipboard in her hand is waiting just inside the door and she glances up at you quickly before looking back down at the board. Several other people are standing around awkwardly, some clutching autograph books and waiting for a glimpse of their favourite stars, others just waiting for meetings of one kind or another. Sickly looking pot plants are scattered around the room beside worn, plastic coated sofas and a bored looking but decorative receptionist is seated behind a much too large counter against the opposite wall. On either side of the counter are two white doors one clearly marked 'Audience' while the other is marked 'Stars'. You can't help wondering where the staff and maintenance people are meant to go.
[It's a television studio, Jay.] John tells you telepathically, reminding you to raise your mental shields a little higher. [Everything they deal in is impressions and make believe. Having a 'Staff' door would shatter too many illusions. And speaking of illusions....]
You are approaching the reception desk now and John coughs to attract her attention and then forces a very slight stutter into his voice as he speaks to the woman behind it.
"E..Excuse me? I'm here for an interview?"
"I see." She answers looking John up and down dismissively. "And who are you here to interview?"
John frowns in apparent confusion.
"I..I don't understand. I..I'm the one w..who is mean to be interviewed. I was told I would be met at reception?"
You watch John in some surprise and can't help admiring the note of plaintive confusion he manages to project. The receptionist also looks at John with surprise.
"Perhaps we're here on the wrong day, John?" You ask, sensing that the woman needs a hint. You watch her mulling over the name John and making connections.
"Of course, sir." She says, suddenly all smiles and courtesy. "If you'll just take a seat for one moment, Miss Thorne will be with you momentarily." But her eyes are on the woman standing by the door and as soon as John thanks her and you drift towards one of the sofas she leaves her desk to talk to the clipboarded girl.
"Well," John murmurs to you when she'd out of earshot. "That went well, they were expecting someone arriving in a flashy car and smart suit."
"Look on the panic on that face." You smirk as Miss Thorne hurries over to you and the receptionist returns to her station.
"Hush now, Jay." John warns.
"Sir, I am so sorry that I wasn't here to meet you." Miss Thorne sounds breathless, almost as she'd afraid of losing her job. "I must have been ... momentarily distracted. I do hope you weren't too inconvenienced."
"Th..that's okay." John tells her looking around with apparent awe, "Is this really a TV station? I thought they'd be lights and cameras and things?"
"Those are all upstairs, Sir." You can almost hear her reassessing the man in front of her. He seems harmless enough, not at all the spoilt rich kid he was expecting. In fact, he seems okay, almost dull. She turns her gaze on you and sees just an average teenage boy looking at her curiously.
"And who is your companion?" She asks politely.
"My kid cousin, Jay." John tells her. "He wanted to see how c..cameras worked so I let him come along." He frowns. "That is okay?" He asks nervously.
"I'm sure we can find someone to look after him." Miss Thorne notes with the resigned look of one who can see a new burden landing on her shoulders. "Shall we go on up, Sir?"
You follow the woman through the door marked `Stars' and both of you comment in awed tones about the privilege. As the lift you enter ascends, John stands in a corner staring at his feet as if his mind has been switched off. You play your role by asking constant technical questions about the cameras that you can see are going well over the girl's head.
Miss Thorne sighs in relief as the lift doors open and you troop out onto the fourth floor of the building. A long white corridor stretches in front of you, lined with still more dying pot plants, unable to survive in the artificial light. The sight leaves you unusually irritated. It just seems like a senseless waste of life, even such simple life. You quell that anger though as Miss Thorne leads you into a plush office, lined with photographs of television and film stars, some of which you recognise, some you don't. One end of the office is dominated by a huge black wood desk. It's smooth reflective surface is empty except for a single trophy of some kind, not far from one corner as if casually put down and forgotten but no doubt placed for maximum effect.
The man lounging casually behind the enormous desk seems larger than life too and the smile seems fixed on his face as he comes out from behind his status symbol with arms outstretched. You recognise the presenter from a thousand celebrity interviews. A mere conversation with this man on camera had shot several minor stars to fame and fortune. Of course, that is exactly what you're trying to avoid.
"John!" He enthuses, "You don't mind if I call you John, do you?" He wraps a companionable arm around John's shoulders and guides the stunned looking young man to a chair as if greeting an old friend. Already though, you can see a considering and slightly disappointed look in the older man's blue eyes. He is assessing John with the cold eyes of a journalist and he doesn't like what he's seeing. He turns to you with the same weighing eyes and even before he speaks you know he's dismissed you as an irrelevance.
"And who is this fine young man?" He asks with a twinkling smile and immediately you hate his patronizing manner. You switch from irritating child to sulky adolescent in an instant and just offer him a scowl.
"This is Jay, Mr. Hendry." Miss Thorne steps in before the man's smile can do more than fray at the edges. "Why don't I take him to look around the studio?" She offers in a tone which barely hints at the resignation which she radiates.
"That might be a very good idea." Hendry agrees and Miss Thorne nods as aware as you of the 'keep him away from me' vibe from Hendry.
[Be careful, Jay.] John reminds you silently. [And remember to keep your shields a little higher. It's all good practice for you. How am I doing?]
[Almost too well!] You tell him. As Miss Thorne leads you away you hear the conversation behind you resume.
"This is a v..very great honour, Mr. Hendry" John is saying.
"Not at all, my boy." Hendry enthuses. "Now why don't we get you down to wardrobe and find you something nice to wear?"
"But this is what I always wear." John protests. "I..I'd feel all wrong in someone else's clothes...."
The studios are interesting for the intricacy of the procedures that go on behind the scenes. You never really appreciated all the work that went into the programmes that appear to run so smoothly on the telly. True to her word, Miss Thorne introduces you to the camera technicians and you're forced to endure almost half an hour of conversation about the mechanics of image capture and playback. Perhaps a month ago it might have fascinated you (although you doubt that) now after seeing TIM and all the equipment in the Lab, you are amazed at how primitive it all seems.
You're feeling strangely depressed about the mundane reality behind the magic of broadcasting. You can't help wondering if everything on Earth is going to lose its magic for you now.
"I'd like to see John, now." You tell Miss Thorne after a while.
"Now I'm not sure if your cousin will be able to see you just at the moment, Jay." She answers wearily. "He should be in make-up by now."
"Oh, John doesn't believe in make-up." You answer airily. "He doesn't believe in hiding what he is."
"Oh alright then." She gives in. "Let's go and see."
She leads you through yet more of the institutional white corridors, past more of the dying pot plants. Already saddened, you stop beside one of them.
"Why do you do this?" You demand, waving a hand at the plant beside you. Miss Thorne glances at it in blank incomprehension.
"Do what?"
"Kill the plants like this."
"Oh well." She makes a vague, dismissive hand gesture. "I suppose it makes the place look good. When they wilt too much the cleaners just get some more in."
"And what happens to the old one?"
"It's thrown away, I should imagine." Miss Thorne shrugs. "It's just a plant."
"It's a life." You say softly. You finger the broad leaves, imagining generation after generation of plant yellowing, dying on a rubbish heap. You wish you could save even one of them, you wish you could make it better. You're not aware of it when your special powers respond to your subconscious command. You only know that the leaf beneath you hand is thickening, growing more rigid, its colour deepening. The stem of the plant thickens as other leaves begin to swell and the topmost buds reach further towards the hidden sky. In moments a healthy, burgeoning plant stands where before there was only a weak shadow of what it could be.
You hear Miss Thorne gasp behind you and she seizes your shoulders from behind as she leans forward to see more closely.
[Jay, is everything alright?] John asks in the silence of your mind. [I felt something strange]
[Um, not exactly.] You admit. Miss Thorne is looking at you now with eyes the size of saucers.
Do you:
a) Try to laugh it off?
b) Pretend nothing has happened?
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