“This is Studio Sixty,” the page said, leading the small tour group past the art deco building. “Here, obviously on the Sunset Strip in the shadow of National Broadcasting Service headquarters, it is an old theater artfully converted into a television studio where the appropriately named Studio 60 On the Sunset Strip is filmed and broadcast live twenty-two Friday nights every year. It’s got comedy, music, and will occasionally make you think.”
At this point, the page’s infectious grin faded slightly. “The only problem is the producers,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “Usually they’re even-tempered, well-adjusted gentlemen, but sometimes…”
He motioned to a black, nondescript SUV that had pulled up to the studio. The first person to emerge, a tall, well-built man with straight hair. “I don’t get what you’re worried about,” he said, walking towards the entrance without looking back.
If the first person stepped off the set of Friends, then the second person stepped off the set of The West Wing. His curly hair and glasses put him in stark contrast to the first. “You know exactly what I’m worried about,” he said, storming after the first person. “It’s the exact same thing you’re worried about.”
“That has nothing to do with this conversation!” the first yelled as he walked into the building, the second following close behind.
The page rolled his eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen, Matt Albie and Danny Tripp, the executive producers.” He dropped the exasperated act and gave a genuine smile. “In all honesty, they’re probably getting ready for the season premiere in two weeks, so we’ll cut them a little slack.”
“Your generosity is amazing,” the second man, Danny, said as he and Matt walked into the studio. “Where were we?” he said as he resumed his conversation. “Oh, yeah. I get that you want Hofferson as the new News 60 anchor, but I’m not convinced we should be putting her in that role.”
“You think she’s a flake.”
“I don’t think she’s a flake.” They turned up the stairs.
“You think she’s a flake.”
“She’s the opposite of a flake, she’s a climber!”
“She’s got talent and the drive to actually use it.” They passed a fire escape ladder with someone climbing in the window.
“And she’s going to ride it right out of our studio as soon as a bigger opportunity comes along and we’ll be having this conversation again!”
“There are no bigger opportunities here!”
“There are always bigger opportunities here!”
Matt walked in his office. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we keep her, then.” He smiled condescendingly and shut his door.
Danny sighed and turned around to find someone just finishing climbing in the window. “Can I help you?” he said, his voice louder and shriller than he meant it.
The person–a man, probably fresh out of college–froze for a second then started babbling in a nasally voice. “Uh, hi… yeah, I was just… um… coming to work?” His hair waved back and forth as he motioned with his hands (which had as much of a grasp of the conversation as he did).
Danny raised an eyebrow. “Through the window?”
“Um…” He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah?”
Danny kept his eyebrow raised. “And you work here, I suppose?”
“Uh, yeah. Where do the writers go?”
“The basement.”
“Thanks.” He visibly relaxed and took two steps forward before stopping and awkwardly turning back to Danny.
“Stairs are that way,” Danny said, motioning the way he had come. “And what’s your name?”
“Hiccup, sir; Hiccup Haddock, Horrendous…” He shook his head. “Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, sir. The third.”
Danny blinked. “The third.”
Hiccup nodded and gave a wry smile. “The third.”
Danny blinked again. “And you came in through the fire escape.”
Hiccup’s smile faltered. “Yes.”
Danny blinked twice. “You’re late,” he said, and motioned toward the stairs.
Hiccup nodded and scampered toward the stairs.
Danny stared into space for a full three seconds before turning to Matt’s office and yelled, “Matt, you hired another crazy!”
