Free Done to Death by Charles Atkins

called Lenore Says without Lenore. Four hundred people were about to get their pink slips.
    And the bad-news buffet continued. Patty cleared her throat, no longer making eye contact as she read from a prepared statement. ‘All employees of LPP are to present on Monday. These are the exceptions: shows currently in production with scheduled tapings are expected to move forward.’
    Shit! He had to get out of there. He had work to do, and the more he thought about it the more he knew the window of opportunity, if there even was one, would slam fast. He had no illusion as to what was going to happen on Monday. Anyone without a current show in production would get fired. He, and his team, would show up for work and find their belongings in boxes and security guards with checklists wanting their badges and their keys.
    His time with LPP was up. The only sliver which might save his ass, his apartment and his career was to get Final Reckoning green-lit and in production − and do it now. It was a long shot − Antiques Roadshow meets The Hunger Games on the set of Gilmore Girls . It was what Lenore wanted, but with her dead, would anyone else? He knew he’d been stupid, he’d believed what he’d wanted to be true, that a producer position with LPP meant job security. That illusion was gone, replaced by a sucking pit of despair. He was so screwed. He thought of Jeanine, and that fucking Birkin bag. No, he could do this. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pulled a rabbit out of his hat. But if he couldn’t … he had no Plan B.

NINE
    A da and Lil awoke to a ringing phone. It was five a.m. It had been after midnight by the time they’d made it back home.
    â€˜It’s got to be for me,’ Lil muttered, assuming it was someone from the paper.
    â€˜Calls this early are never good,’ Ada said, bracing for news of some relative’s death.
    Lil focused on the caller ID. ‘I don’t recognize the number. Should I pick up?’
    â€˜Let the machine get it,’ Ada said. ‘Maybe it’s a wrong number … my head … how much Scotch did we drink last night?’
    â€˜We,’ Lil said, ‘not so much. You? You were pretty wired.’
    â€˜Remind me not to do that again.’
    The ringing stopped and their outgoing message clicked on. They listened as Lil’s voice ended and a chipper young woman spoke. ‘Hi Ada, sorry to call so early. This is Melanie Taft, I was hoping to—’
    Lil picked up the phone and held it toward Ada. ‘Hollywood calling.’
    Ada pushed back in bed, took the phone and clicked the green button. ‘Hello Melanie.’
    â€˜I’m so sorry if I woke you; it’s just that none of us have been to sleep and we’re driving out to Grenville.’
    Ada stared at Lil as Melanie blurted out Barry Stromstein’s and the company’s ambitious plans for the morning. ‘Dear,’ Ada said, trying to break into Melanie’s excited rant, ‘exactly how much coffee have you had?’
    â€˜Pots of it. This is so exciting. Barry thinks we can get a pilot shot by the end of next week. It’s crazy, but I think we can do it.’
    â€˜How is that possible?’ Ada asked, and immediately regretted it. She turned to Lil, who’d left the room. She heard her in the kitchen, and hoped she was getting her a cup of tea. She was going to need it.
    â€˜There’s so much to do. I’ll be coming down with David and a crew to start scoping locations. The big thing is how to get that first estate. I mean really it’s a fabulous idea, but the details. Ugh! Although you’d be surprised what people will do to get on a reality show. I don’t think we’ll have trouble. Neither does Barry, it’s just the time. Like there’s none of it. So your friend Lil works for the local paper; I was hoping she could help us place an ad, probably a few, one putting out a call for