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Everything was awful. 100% completely and totally awful. And production schedules meant Wilford didn’t even get to avoid any future awful because he didn’t have a day off for another four days.
The door from Milliways opened back up to his dressing room. Buster loped in first, having to sniff at every flat surface in the room to make sure all was well. While he did that, Wilford wanted to just collapse on the sofa and ignore everything.
Except Nichola was there. On the sofa. Looking at her phone. Too bad for Nichola, because it was Wilford’s sofa, in Wilford’s dressing room, for Wilford’s TV show. He walked over and collapsed into the cushions, leaning the bulk of his weight against Nichola’s side.
“You weigh a ton. Get off!” she said, shoving him. He shifted just the smallest amount to give her room to breathe, but didn’t get up.
“That kind of day, huh?” she asked, still looking down at her phone.
“Don’t talk to me,” Wilford said flatly.
She didn’t after that. She kept tapping away at her phone while Wilford pretended to nap. He even tried to nap, but it wasn’t going to happen. He’d resigned himself to that fact long ago.
“We’re getting new neighbours nextdoor,” Nichola said after a long while, nodding in the direction of the building’s other studio. “Some kind of daytime talk show, it looks like.”
Wilford grumbled. “I don’t want them.”
“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Nichola reminded him dismissively.
“We were here first.” Wilford didn’t want neighbours. Especially neighbours with big crowds of middle-aged housewives hoping to win a free toaster.
“If only life worked that way.” Nichola continued to tap away at her phone. “One of them looks like your type though.”
“I don’t have a type.” It was a lie. They both knew it.
“Cute little Mexi thing. I think they call him Manny.”
Wilford groaned. “I would never associate with anybody who called himself Manny.”
Nichola laughed. “Okay, Grandpa.”
“Oh, shut up.” Wilford sat up and looked at the clock above his desk. “What am I doing today?”
“ADR,” Nichola said automatically.
Wilford didn’t want to do ADR. ADR was boring as hell and he hated it. “Tell what’s his name to come back in tonight. I’m going to the gym.”
“What time tonight?” Nichola asked, a faint trace of a sigh on the edge of her voice.
“I don’t care.”
Nichola got up, giving Wilford’s hair a little ruffle as she stood. “Come on, Dingbat,” she said to the dog. “Let’s go scare the neighbours so His Holiness can get the building back to himself again.”
Buster happily sprang to his feet to follow Nichola out of the room. Wilford waited a few minutes after they were both gone before getting up and heading out to his car. The gym he liked was close enough that he probably could have walked, but the heat was oppressive and he didn’t want to deal with Vinewood foot traffic. By the time he parked and pulled his bag out of his trunk, he’d already decided it was a weights kind of day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with cardio, or the patience to deal with anything that might potentially have to involve another human being. He changed quickly in one of the shower stalls and shoved his bag into his locker before heading out find something he wanted to do.
Nichola called twice before he was done - calls which he ignored. She called again as he drove home to shower and fix a quick dinner. By the time he made it back to the studio, the sun was setting and he had ten missed calls. And he was completely unsurprised to find an angry producer waiting for him in his dressing room with her phone to her ear, while Wilford’s buzzed in his pocket, ignored.
“How long does it take you to go to the gym?” Nichola demanded as he walked into the room. “It’s three blocks away.”
“As long as it takes me. Leave me alone,” Wilford said, heading over to his desk.
“Parker is waiting for you in the sound studio. Get your ass over there,” Nichola demanded.
“Give me a minute.” Wilford dug through his desk drawers until he found the old eyeglass case. A quick peek inside, and he was satisfied. He got up and shoved it into his pocket for later.
“Cancel everything tomorrow,” he said as he walked past Nichola to go to the sound studio. He could hear Nichola growl in frustration at him from out in the hall.
The door from Milliways opened back up to his dressing room. Buster loped in first, having to sniff at every flat surface in the room to make sure all was well. While he did that, Wilford wanted to just collapse on the sofa and ignore everything.
Except Nichola was there. On the sofa. Looking at her phone. Too bad for Nichola, because it was Wilford’s sofa, in Wilford’s dressing room, for Wilford’s TV show. He walked over and collapsed into the cushions, leaning the bulk of his weight against Nichola’s side.
“You weigh a ton. Get off!” she said, shoving him. He shifted just the smallest amount to give her room to breathe, but didn’t get up.
“That kind of day, huh?” she asked, still looking down at her phone.
“Don’t talk to me,” Wilford said flatly.
She didn’t after that. She kept tapping away at her phone while Wilford pretended to nap. He even tried to nap, but it wasn’t going to happen. He’d resigned himself to that fact long ago.
“We’re getting new neighbours nextdoor,” Nichola said after a long while, nodding in the direction of the building’s other studio. “Some kind of daytime talk show, it looks like.”
Wilford grumbled. “I don’t want them.”
“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Nichola reminded him dismissively.
“We were here first.” Wilford didn’t want neighbours. Especially neighbours with big crowds of middle-aged housewives hoping to win a free toaster.
“If only life worked that way.” Nichola continued to tap away at her phone. “One of them looks like your type though.”
“I don’t have a type.” It was a lie. They both knew it.
“Cute little Mexi thing. I think they call him Manny.”
Wilford groaned. “I would never associate with anybody who called himself Manny.”
Nichola laughed. “Okay, Grandpa.”
“Oh, shut up.” Wilford sat up and looked at the clock above his desk. “What am I doing today?”
“ADR,” Nichola said automatically.
Wilford didn’t want to do ADR. ADR was boring as hell and he hated it. “Tell what’s his name to come back in tonight. I’m going to the gym.”
“What time tonight?” Nichola asked, a faint trace of a sigh on the edge of her voice.
“I don’t care.”
Nichola got up, giving Wilford’s hair a little ruffle as she stood. “Come on, Dingbat,” she said to the dog. “Let’s go scare the neighbours so His Holiness can get the building back to himself again.”
Buster happily sprang to his feet to follow Nichola out of the room. Wilford waited a few minutes after they were both gone before getting up and heading out to his car. The gym he liked was close enough that he probably could have walked, but the heat was oppressive and he didn’t want to deal with Vinewood foot traffic. By the time he parked and pulled his bag out of his trunk, he’d already decided it was a weights kind of day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with cardio, or the patience to deal with anything that might potentially have to involve another human being. He changed quickly in one of the shower stalls and shoved his bag into his locker before heading out find something he wanted to do.
Nichola called twice before he was done - calls which he ignored. She called again as he drove home to shower and fix a quick dinner. By the time he made it back to the studio, the sun was setting and he had ten missed calls. And he was completely unsurprised to find an angry producer waiting for him in his dressing room with her phone to her ear, while Wilford’s buzzed in his pocket, ignored.
“How long does it take you to go to the gym?” Nichola demanded as he walked into the room. “It’s three blocks away.”
“As long as it takes me. Leave me alone,” Wilford said, heading over to his desk.
“Parker is waiting for you in the sound studio. Get your ass over there,” Nichola demanded.
“Give me a minute.” Wilford dug through his desk drawers until he found the old eyeglass case. A quick peek inside, and he was satisfied. He got up and shoved it into his pocket for later.
“Cancel everything tomorrow,” he said as he walked past Nichola to go to the sound studio. He could hear Nichola growl in frustration at him from out in the hall.
