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WANTED: One Superstar Executive Assistant for THE SUPERSTAR HIMSELF
A Glamorous Position available for supporting renown TV studio lead. Be a star in the office so that he can be the star of the show!
We’re looking for a go-getter that works well in a fast-paced environment, adaptable, organized, good bookkeeping and good penmanship. Must have basic knowledge of electronic adding machines.
Send Applications to:
1 TV WAY
TV WORLD, HOMETOWN, MA
00010
Attn: Mike
『••✎••』
“Aaaand that’ll about do it for today folks! Thanks again for tuning in and don’t forget to tune in tomorrow oooon
“TV! TIME!”
The studio audience applause faded as Tenna heard Mike shout “THAT’S A WRAP!”
Almost immediately, Shadowguys rushed onto stage, cleaning and breaking down set pieces from the show. One of them ran up to Tenna with a cup of water, which he gratefully accepted. He sipped and raised it to where he knew Mike’s chair was, silhouetted by the blinding stage lights.
“I think that’s another good one, Mike.”
“Yes, Mr. Tenna, good show Mr. Tenna.” Tenna jumped--Mike had materialized next to him, sweating profusely and barely managing to maintain his usual grin. “If you don’t mind…you have an appointment in five, in your office.”
Tenna smoothed his antennae against his casing, feeling his overheating screen. “Another appointment? Lemme guess, another interview?”
Tenna turned to the stage exit, Mike shuffling after. He handed the empty cup off to a random Shadowguy before barreling through the door. They walked briskly through the studio, through flurries of activity as shows wrapped up for the day. Pippins with armfulls of props passed, some of the lighting Darkners argued over diagrams as they walked and Lanino--draped in tomorrow's costumes--sashayed to his dressing room. It was Friday, so soon Tenna would have to go back into the fray himself for the late night live show. Tenna’s annoyance grew with each passing day he had to endure these interviews, but he desperately needed an appropriate candidate. Mike had been filling the role of both his personal assistant and the studio’s head producer and while Tenna appreciated his hard work, Mike was only one Darkner. He wasn’t even sure how one Mike did all the Mike things, let alone Mike and Tenna things.
“Tell me about this one, Mike.”
Mike yanked out a manila folder from his jacket pocket, handing it over. “This one’s from Cyber World, sir. Has a lot of retail experience, keeps a lot of books in his previous positions. I thought he’d be good for keeping your schedule neat, sir.”
“He?” Tenna flipped the folder open. The two pages within fluttered at his brisk pace. There was a short list of references, a digital certification Tenna didn’t recognize, and for some reason, a headshot. The subject was blinding white, with an equally blinding smile and an equally white pompadour. Eugh, an Addison.
“Now Mike, you remember the last time we had a guy applicant.”
“Yes, sir. You made him cry, sir.”
“And an Addison? Don’t we deal with them enough with the various Cyber sponsors?”
“That’s the thing, when I spoke with him over the phone, he had a similar reaction. I took it as a..sign.”
Tenna paused at his office door. The resume was very short so he wasn’t sure why he was still reading it over. “A sign, Mike?”
“Mr. Tenna,” Mike started. His smile rapidly flip-flopped into a frown and back. “We’ve been looking for a new assistant for you for five weeks. All the usual applicants…didn’t work out.”
“I’ll say,” Tenna scoffed, “They can’t even keep up with me in the interview! How are they supposed to keep up with me behind-the-scenes, during meetings--”
“Yes, Mr. Tenna, we have very high standards here at TV Time. Which is why it's very very important that we get someone else to do this position so that Mike--me--can focus on Mike things. Please give this one a shot.”
Tenna sighed, handing the folder back to Mike. He adjusted his tie. “Alright, Mike, let’s give it a shot. Showtime.”
Initially, his office looked empty as usual. Mike panickedly looked around. “He was s’posed to get brought here…”
“Welcome back, fellas,” a voice called.
Tenna spun to the left, to the desk where his assistant would be sitting if he still had one. Instead, a figure lounged with his feet propped up. Tenna wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or flabbergasted at his audacity. He had the vivid white skin from the photo but his hair was jet black. Instead of the flashy smile, he scowled. He swung his legs off the desk and approached the pair with his arm outstretched.
“Spamton G. Spamton at your service. Pleasure to meet you.”
Tenna watched him walk. He had the silhouette of an Addison but had they always been so short? He only stood just shy of Mike’s height and barely to Tenna’s waist. Tenna accepted his outstretched hand, his own engulfing it as he shook. The Addison didn’t react beyond completing the handshake.
“Likewise, Mr. Spamton. I’m Ant Tenna, and you’ve spoken to Mike already.”
“Mike. Right,” he said, giving the microphone a firm shake as well.
“Have a seat Mr. Spamton. I’d love to talk to you, get to know you more.” Tenna flourished a hand towards the two chairs facing his desk as he seated himself behind it.
Spamton and Mike took their seats. Mike fidgeted with the folder still in his hand, struggling to keep that shaky smile. Spamton seemed relaxed, one arm swung over the back of the chair. Tenna’s expression faltered at his lackadaisical demeanor. It struck him as uncaring, but then again, maybe someone cool as a cucumber was who he was looking for. His previous assistant, Crepe, had always had some kind of meditation or remedy to keep her head through particularly stressful times at the studio. Maybe Spamton’s cold demeanor was his ‘remedy’.
Spamton was the one who spoke first. “I notice you don’t have any computers or monitors or… anything.”
“Oh, I have my own ways of monitoring. We keep tight books around here, and as far as high quality displays go--” he coyly tapped his own head “--Guilty.”
Spamton raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
Tenna clasped his hands. “I hope you’re familiar with bookkeeping, Mr. Spamton. This position will require a lot of calendaring and keeping track of my expenses for our finance guys.”
Spamton waved a hand, finally giving a confident smile. “Bookkeeping is not a problem for me, big guy. It's the--it’s what I’m good at.”
Tenna raised a curious antenna. “Good to hear. Tell me, in your previous positions, did you have to run great distances to get particular orders? Like for instance, coffee?”
Mike made a frantic throat cutting motion to Tenna that both Spamton and Tenna ignored.
Spamton rolled his eyes. “Boy, have I. The person I last…‘supported’.” Spamton gave exaggerated air quotes, “always wanted the milk in first, then the espresso. A logical person might order a cappuccino, but if the receipt didn’t say ‘latte’, he’d freak. And you try explaining a dumb order like that to every barista in town.”
“So, you had to become an efficient communicator of this, er, unusual request?”
“Tch, no. I just bought a machine and pulled an espresso shot at the office. He didn’t know the difference. Cheaper, too.”
Tenna chuckled. “Resourceful! What about the receipt?”
Spamton pulled a crumpled receipt from his suit pocket. “Here it is, one special order latte coming right up.”
Both Tenna and Mike gaped, but Tenna’s nervous chuckle quickly turned into a full guffaw. He clutched his stomach. “And he never even knew??”
Spamton shook his head with a chuckle of his own. “Well, he's not the one keeping the books now, is he?”
Tenna collected himself. “Next question then. I ask this of all my employees: What’s your favorite genre or TV show?”
Tenna smiled pleasantly. This seemingly innocuous question was something of a personality litmus test. He didn’t particularly care what the answer was, so long as they had one, the more enthusiastic the better. It also sniffed out lazy brown-nosers who automatically answered ‘TV Time!’ with no elaboration.
Or worse yet, the stock Addison answer, which was typically ‘Advertisements’ and used as a way to push their goods or services even further.
Spamton had a single word answer. “Horror.”
His antennae rose. “Really? Do you have a favorite film?”
He shrugged. “I like the older stuff. Blood Crushers, Blue Harvest…Ones with practical effects--”
“I know right??? This new computer stuff, what are they thinking?”
“Yeah like, for action, maybe it works. But for horror it's so much more visceral when it's actually there.”
“Exactly.” Tenna beamed. He felt his screen brighten, letting himself hope that maybe he found someone to keep up with him. “Mike.” He turned to the microphone. Mike’s strained smile had somehow remained on his face, though it trembled. “Do you have any questions you’d like to ask Mr. Spamton?”
“Yes, Mr. Tenna!”
Mike had a much longer list of questions than Tenna, which Spamton answered simply. Most of them had to do with pesky things like job expectations and required skills. Tenna listened and commented occasionally, but mostly tuned them out. Spamton was aloof, but he didn’t seem like the type to flub simple questions like ‘can you prioritize meeting conflicts on short notice?’.
“One last thing, Mr. Spamton,” Mike chewed his cheek. “I wanted to ask what your goal will be if you work here at TV Time Studio. Why did you apply in the first place?”
“My goal?”
“Yes…we get a lot of ambitious types. W-which don't worry! That's our preference! But I think it's good to…lay all our cards on the table from the jump. Help us help each other out, ya know?”
Spamton hesitated for the first time in the interview. Even in the short time since Tenna had met him, he could tell Spamton wasn’t one for sugarcoating. And, going by his coffee story, he was pragmatic. An Addison to boot, so Tenna expected ‘making money’ to be one of his top motivators here. He leaned in, antennas bending with him as he curiously wondered what way ‘collecting a paycheck’ would come out of the aloof salesman's mouth.
“I'm gonna be a Big Shot,” Spamton said bluntly. Not a possible hope, a statement. “So if I'm gonna work for someone, they need to be a Big Shot too. I'll make them a Big Shot if I have to.”
Mike raised his eyebrows, clearly not expecting that answer either. Tenna couldn’t help but smile wider.
“Mr. Spamton, I'm confident you'll fit right in here. When--”
“We'll reach out to you,” Mike cut in, his smile had finally fled. “We have some other candidates to consider, but you should hear from us by the end of the day.”
The three business men exchanged final handshakes and pleasantries as Spamton was escorted to the exit by a security Zapper. When the office door closed, Mike let out a heavy sigh.
“Mike, what did I say about interrupting me?”
Mike took another breath. “My apologies, truly, but that guy is way too dangerous to be let near you.”
“Dangerous?! I thought he was pretty charming.”
“Mr Tenna. He’s an Addison. A rather…spunky one at that. He literally said to your face that you were a stepping stone.”
Tenna shrugged, smoothing his lapels. “I heard what he said. I know how to handle myself. You were the one that was all jazzed by him in the first place. ‘Give it a shot,’ I seem to recall you saying?”
“That’s--” he cut himself off, wiggling his fingers as if that would give him a better rebuttal.
“He said he likes horror. Don't think we've had an applicant say that yet, how interesting…”
“This! Is what I'm talking about! He's buttering you up, saying an answer he knows you'd like.”
Tenna seated himself at his desk again, looking at the abandoned resume. That blinding white Addison smile…was not what he saw in the interview. Spamton’s smile only appeared in brief spurts, cheeky and mischievous. The Addison in the photo was fiction, Tenna felt as if he'd met the actor behind the character rather than the character themselves.
“Addisons aren't that creative, not like that. Family-friendly marketing answers, maybe on a good day they'd say ‘romance’. I think this was his actual answer.”
“Maybe he said that because he'd known you would know that was not a typical Addison answer and so he said the thing you were expecting not to expect…!” Mike stammered.
“Ya know Mike, you've convinced me. If he's already in my head like that, then maybe he's the ideal assistant!”
Mike groaned loudly, head in his hands. “I'll…ugh. I'll call him. You need to be on set right now.”
“Splendid! Thank you, Mike!”
『••✎••』