The Reality of TV

"Will Jillian be out of surgery in time to film tomorrow's episode?" Max asks with his cellphone pressed to his ear, aghast. His back is to Gardina, the frame of the young man she once loved visible under the slump of his shoulders. His gray hair was styled as if there wasn't a year that had gone by, yet his gruff words showed that more than time had passed.

"A gallbladder? She was supposed to fix her rack..." The man who used to pick her flowers trails off, listening to some quick jab from the other end. "Yeah!" He laughs, "Had to stuff the left side with socks to even her out!" he loses it, and so does Gardina. She strides away from the doorway before Max has even noticed she is there.

Years ago he had been studying to be a biologist, now he profited on turning debauchery into 'reality'. Max continues pontificating on the breasts of his big star, Jillian Reznor. Gardina hears him as she wanders away, lost in the walls she had inhabited for the last 20 years. Photos from their wedding lined the hallway, mixed in with the snaps of Rachael she could not bear to take down.

Gardina doesn't look at them, yet she sees each photo in her mind. Rachael, 1 year old and laughing, she squeezes her stuffed duck Mackie tight. And now she's 4, running, she has ribbons in her hair. She stumbles into middle school, sliding into the grass in her goalie uniform. Rachael, she's 16 and stands on the bridge before her favorite park. She will never age another year.

^{Photo by emz993}
Gardina stumbles forward to pull the cork from a bottle of red, tears blurring the lines of the elaborate kitchen as she fills a crystal Bordeaux glass. The details of the imported marble and custom framed art from prestigious galleries outline the road to purgatory. She hears the Max of another time expounding on the virtues of women, it echos through the grand space.

"The show is called 'Beach Babes', Marco, you got to read the room." Max strides into the kitchen of her memories, so engrossed in the response that comes in through his headset, that he does not look at them. Rachael perches next to her at the island countertop, intent on gleaming an insight into what made these women make it.

"Bud, I can't believe I have to spell it out. She came into the audition in all her four eyed glory, she looked like a bum..." Max nods in response to an interruption. "Okay, Marco? You're not going to make it in this town if you try to push slobs. Get your girl some contacts." It's clear he's hung up, because he notices them finally. "Some people, huh?" Max chuckles as he turns around.

Rachael throws her glasses down onto the counter, her golden-brown hair falls into her face as she rushes away. Max tuts, "What's her problem?"



It's June, and Rachael has finished her second year of high school. Gardina watches her discreetly; the shadows fall across her face as she peers out into the night. Rachael leans into the open window of a car. Whoever is in the drivers seat takes a long drag of a cigarette, illuminating the plastic bag in her hand briefly. She shoves it into a pocket, and heads off to her own car.

Gardina had been relieved that Rachael was getting social traction... Wasn't she doing what all teenagers did? Remembering the way Max stared blankly at the officer who appeared at their door the next morning, she reels. Crumbling into the foyer beside him, he'd insisted he would take the day off work tomorrow after the door had closed.

"I hate you." Gardina spits, unsure if she's addressing herself or her husband.

She drains her glass of wine and pours the rest of the bottle. "She needs lipo on those thighs before I can consider season 2." rings out from Max's office. Gardina presses her glass against her artificially full lips, looking at the reflection of herself in the microwave through a haze. Her curves were the best money could buy, she truly had everything cash could offer.