Paranatural

Chapter One

    “What makes me qualified to be on your show? I can see ghosts…” a long, awkward pause followed as Evan Baker stared into the camera. “I don’t know what else you’d want from me. I see ghosts.”
    Bill Lendon hit pause on the TV and carelessly set the remote down on his spacious desk with a clunk. The image of Evan taken in his dimply lit parent’s basement froze on the flastscreen in an unflattering expression with his mouth agape. Leaning far back in his chair, Bill kicked his one leg up over his other knee and rested it there and he placed his fingertips of his right hand against his jaw thoughtfully.
    Evan grinned sheepishly at the man behind his desk. “Do you want to know what I think about this tape?” he asked in the rushed manner Evan had become accustomed to since meeting him. “I think its crap.”
    It was hardly the reaction Evan had been expecting. After all, his audition tape had landed him a trip out to L.A. to meet with the reality TV producer in private. It had come as a shock to him when he received the invitation not three days prior. He scarcely remembered even sending the video, which he had made with low expectations in mind. One of his followers in his chat group had suggested  he submit after hearing about the casting call for a new reality series that was supposed to be premièring in the fall.
    Thinking that he was supposed to respond, but not knowing what he was going to say in his defence, Evan opened his mouth, “Well I…”
    Bill cut him off, “When people turn on their Tvs, they want to see someone exciting. Someone who can command a presence. What do you think they’d think when they see you?”  he gestured vaguely at Evan in what might have been disgust. “I mean you come in here all dressed in black like you’re either a wannabe Johnny Cash, or some Emo kid. You look like you’ve never ever seen the sunlight. I have a stack of tapes like this,” he held his hands apart, “of people who look just like you, making all these bullshit claims. What’s your claim to fame? What do you have on them? Nothing! Just look at this,” he reached out and opened a folder on his laptop. “You’re a blogger? Wow, that’s still a thing? And with what, 20,000 followers? My cat has a twitter feed with that many followers. I’m not even making that up. I make my assistant do it. I read your blog, like, before you came in here. If someone sent me a script with that many grammatical errors I’d have them fired.”
    “Well I don’t really have an editor,” Evan coughed into his hand.
    Bill reached into his desk and pulled out a can of antibacterial air fresher and sprayed it in Evan’s direction a couple times. “Do you know who we had lined up for this show, before she bailed? Those plumber psychics. Their contract was supposed to be up in June and we could have nabbed them, but they got a new deal inked and we were left out in the cold. Now I’m here, scrambling to fill the spaces, and I’m left with few options. I wanted Celebrity names. That’s Celebrity with a big, ‘C,’ and I got little ‘c’s instead. Do you know how many years I’ve been doing this kind of crap? I basically invented reality TV back before 9/11. Don’t listen to that prick over on the big network that will remain nameless in these halls saying that he’s the genius behind, ‘Big Eye.’ That was my idea to steal that show from Sweden and he stole it from me,“ he sighed. Getting up from his chair, he paced over to his window looking out at a smog-shrouded Hollywood sign. “So I got stuck here on cable making shows with genetic defects and failed rap acts trying to bump uglies. I’ve had people in here that are so far down the food chain that I had to have the whole place disinfected. Fact is though, those are the kind of people who make money. Make me money. You,” he turned around sharply and pointed a finger at him, “you don’t look like you’re going to make me money. Do you even have a job?” he asked in disbelief.
    “Well there’s my blog,” Evan insisted.
    “That’s not a job!” Bill laughed. “That doesn’t pay for the electricity. Christ, look at your tape again,” picking up the remote, he rewound the the video and played it from the beginning.
    “Hi, my name’s Evan…. Uhm, I heard you were auditioning for this new show about the paranormal and ghosts, and all that, and you were looking for experts in the field. What makes me qualified to be on your show? I can see ghosts….”
    Bill paused it again in disgust. “The video is only like fifteen seconds long,” he exaggerated. “Did you think this was going to win me over? I’m looking to fill twenty-two episodes and you give me this? You’re on screen for like ten seconds and you’re putting me to sleep. Look!” he walked over to the fifty-inch plasma screen and pointed to a section of Evan’s face. “Is this a zit? You’re like thirty years old!” Evan was actually twenty-five, but he chose not to correct him. “There’s only so much make-up artists can do. You remember Shaquifwa on, ‘Ho for a Pimp?’ That’s how she looked after forty minutes in the chair.”