thought you were happy with what we did at Bella Flora. Isn’t that why we’re here in Miami to…” She paused to regroup. She needed to stay direct and on target. “I understood we were shooting a show about renovating a really great home, but this is a—”
“Reality show,” Lisa Hogan finished for her. “I know. Lock a bunch of disparate people up in a stressful situationwith a camera rolling and watch what happens. It’s genius. And relatively inexpensive.”
“But—”
“Reality shows are huge right now, Kyra, and so is home renovation,” the network head said. “
Do Over
is a win-win as far as we’re concerned.”
“But…” Kyra’s stomach was churning from a particularly awful combination of horror and humiliation. How had she let this happen?
“Is there something else?” Hogan asked. “Because I’ve got someone waiting on the other line.”
“I can shoot what we need,” Kyra said. “We don’t need the crew. I don’t want—”
“The crew stays.” Hogan’s tone was crisp and firm.
“Then I need them to answer to me.” Kyra was scrambling now, looking for a way out. If she couldn’t be calm and collected, she’d have to settle for firm. “I can’t have them just shooting whatever they want whenever they feel like it. They’ll disrupt everything. No one will be able to relax long enough to focus on the work.”
“That’s a no,” Hogan said. “Troy and Anthony are network employees, so we really can’t have them answering to a freelancer. And especially not to a freelance talent.”
“I’m not talent,” Kyra said. “I’m a videographer and I understood that I was the show’s producer.”
“Sorry,” Hogan said, though it was clear she wasn’t. “I didn’t see that anywhere in the notes Karen Crandall left me or the contract you all signed. Troy and Anthony have their instructions and Troy will be feeding footage to my office on a regular schedule.”
Kyra took a deep breath and thought, briefly, aboutcounting, but she knew she’d be in the thousands before she cooled down. Lisa Hogan would have already hung up.
At the moment she was zero for two. It was time to focus on the most important part of the conversation.
“My son can’t be a part of that footage,” Kyra said. “I don’t want him on camera.” She stared out over the parking lot.
There was a silence. And then: “You’re joking right?”
Kyra didn’t answer. Partly because she couldn’t.
“Well, I’m afraid that belongs in the land of ‘not gonna happen,’” Hogan said. “Your child is Daniel Deranian’s son.” She said the last words slowly and with relish. “That alone will have people tuning in. I assumed you realized that was one of the reasons you were offered this show.” She no longer seemed in a big hurry to hang up. In fact, Kyra was getting the uncomfortable feeling that Lisa Hogan was enjoying herself.
“There have to be some camera-free zones,” Kyra continued. “I’ll shoot them myself so that footage exists, but your guys will have to acknowledge that certain places and times will be off-limits.”
“No,” Lisa Hogan said blithely. “That’s not going to work out either.”
Kyra’s stomach stopped churning. The anger was back and there was far too much of it even to feel her stomach, let alone what might be taking place inside it.
“The upstairs bedrooms and baths are off-limits,” Kyra said clearly. “And we get sunset toasts to ourselves.” She named the tradition her mother had started in the grimmest days at Bella Flora, when they’d each had to come up with at least one good thing that had happened that day.
“Oh no,” Hogan said. “I don’t think so.”
Kyra closed her eyes. The phone turned slippery in her sweaty palm as she prayed that the others would never find out about the gamble she was about to take with their futures.
“We get those camera-free zones and times,” Kyra said on held breath, hoping that twenty-four was, in
“Reality show,” Lisa Hogan finished for her. “I know. Lock a bunch of disparate people up in a stressful situationwith a camera rolling and watch what happens. It’s genius. And relatively inexpensive.”
“But—”
“Reality shows are huge right now, Kyra, and so is home renovation,” the network head said. “
Do Over
is a win-win as far as we’re concerned.”
“But…” Kyra’s stomach was churning from a particularly awful combination of horror and humiliation. How had she let this happen?
“Is there something else?” Hogan asked. “Because I’ve got someone waiting on the other line.”
“I can shoot what we need,” Kyra said. “We don’t need the crew. I don’t want—”
“The crew stays.” Hogan’s tone was crisp and firm.
“Then I need them to answer to me.” Kyra was scrambling now, looking for a way out. If she couldn’t be calm and collected, she’d have to settle for firm. “I can’t have them just shooting whatever they want whenever they feel like it. They’ll disrupt everything. No one will be able to relax long enough to focus on the work.”
“That’s a no,” Hogan said. “Troy and Anthony are network employees, so we really can’t have them answering to a freelancer. And especially not to a freelance talent.”
“I’m not talent,” Kyra said. “I’m a videographer and I understood that I was the show’s producer.”
“Sorry,” Hogan said, though it was clear she wasn’t. “I didn’t see that anywhere in the notes Karen Crandall left me or the contract you all signed. Troy and Anthony have their instructions and Troy will be feeding footage to my office on a regular schedule.”
Kyra took a deep breath and thought, briefly, aboutcounting, but she knew she’d be in the thousands before she cooled down. Lisa Hogan would have already hung up.
At the moment she was zero for two. It was time to focus on the most important part of the conversation.
“My son can’t be a part of that footage,” Kyra said. “I don’t want him on camera.” She stared out over the parking lot.
There was a silence. And then: “You’re joking right?”
Kyra didn’t answer. Partly because she couldn’t.
“Well, I’m afraid that belongs in the land of ‘not gonna happen,’” Hogan said. “Your child is Daniel Deranian’s son.” She said the last words slowly and with relish. “That alone will have people tuning in. I assumed you realized that was one of the reasons you were offered this show.” She no longer seemed in a big hurry to hang up. In fact, Kyra was getting the uncomfortable feeling that Lisa Hogan was enjoying herself.
“There have to be some camera-free zones,” Kyra continued. “I’ll shoot them myself so that footage exists, but your guys will have to acknowledge that certain places and times will be off-limits.”
“No,” Lisa Hogan said blithely. “That’s not going to work out either.”
Kyra’s stomach stopped churning. The anger was back and there was far too much of it even to feel her stomach, let alone what might be taking place inside it.
“The upstairs bedrooms and baths are off-limits,” Kyra said clearly. “And we get sunset toasts to ourselves.” She named the tradition her mother had started in the grimmest days at Bella Flora, when they’d each had to come up with at least one good thing that had happened that day.
“Oh no,” Hogan said. “I don’t think so.”
Kyra closed her eyes. The phone turned slippery in her sweaty palm as she prayed that the others would never find out about the gamble she was about to take with their futures.
“We get those camera-free zones and times,” Kyra said on held breath, hoping that twenty-four was, in
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