Description: A new character enters the story in the form of Dollar Wallopston, a burned-out anchorman for General Television, who feels that he has been cheated out of anything that has ever meant anything in his life by being forced to cover this dumb-ass Miss Teenager Contest.
Bright Lights, Big Dreams. PART 5.
It was the night of the Miss Teenager pageant finals. Dollar Wallopston was nervous. He was the anchor for General Television evening news, the generic television station that didn’t even get an assigned channel. There was Channel 3 News at 5. Channel 4 News and Weather at 6. Channel 7 News at 8. Channel 9 in Spanish. Then there was General Television. He was tired of being the general anchor for that general news station, collecting a general paycheck for a generally modest salary. He was better than this. In his own humble opinion, if he was general at all, he was a general in the army of journalism everywhere. Not just in New York, no, but in Paris, too. Who cares if he had never been to Paris? Never even been to Tokyo either. Did that matter when it came to who was the best in the business? No, siree.
For his temper tantrum about losing the assignment to cover the Yankees playoff bid, he had been assigned to the Miss Teenager contest like purgatory for news anchors. Who in the world had even heard of a Miss Teenager beauty pageant, anyway, he thought? Well, after tonight, the whole world was going to hear about it. He and his camera crew would make sure of that. He had been given one shot to get it right or get thrown out onto his general bottom behind the general store in the general alley with all the other general winos. Well, that was just not going to happen. Not tonight.
His street interviews with people coming to the show and buying tickets out front didn’t help all that much. He would ask general questions like why are you here. They would always answer the same thing. Cute girls. Cheap tickets. Free popcorn. When he asked if there was a girl representing Manhattan or Brooklyn, a local favorite, no one knew or cared. Wait a minute, he thought. This was the finals! When the heck was the first and second round? Why hadn’t he been informed of this?
He came back to the van in a huff and threw his microphone down like a stick on a campfire. “How much time?” he blasted at his cameraman.
“About thirty minutes,” Bob replied annoyed. “Everything’s set.”
Dollar ran his hands though his grease-backed hair and exhaled hard. He was going to have to get a grip on his attitude starting now. This was his last chance, and he needed his team. He apologized to Bob and made his commitment to doing better. Bob nodded admiringly, thoroughly impressed. They high-fived. It was time to go to work.
Meanwhile, inside the theater backstage, Glenn Sabine was sweating bullets. For some reason, the bow tie he had ordered with the rented tux was three sizes too small. He was going to be on general television, for goodness sake, he couldn’t walk out there with a tuxedo and no tie! They’d laugh him off the stage!
As he was adjusting the tie, he was coaching the entire group of girls who were dressed in their bathing suits for the opening number and the ribbon of their hometown wrapped from shoulder to waist.
“The judges won’t give their final choice until the very end, so….” he said, choking from his tight tie. Then it was loose again. He got it! “…keep punching until the last event. Any questions?”
“Y-yes,” Eve Jones asked. “Is there a doctor in the house?”
The other girls chuckled. Very funny, Eve, Glenn thought. He had coached them for weeks on everything they needed to know, everything they needed to do. It was a walk in the park for all of them. So why were they all so nervous? Why was he? Oh, he knew why. This damn tie!
No matter what, he thought, tie or no tie, it was time to go to work.
