Something You Want Show Pitch

Finishing up the complementary spaghetti late afternoon dinner special served by a very supportive group Geraldine Raygun picked up her professional materials and moved on to the next assignment.

“Good luck Gerri,” the manager screamed, “hope you use that ray gun personality to your advantage.”

“Thanks,” she carefully grimace heading straight across the street, towards the unknown office complex where George Town housed their production offices.

“A story about something,” she mumbled to herself, “I do not know if it's good, evil, satanic or glorious, at least it's something to pitch.”

Commanding her way through the revolving doors that never halted spinning, unless you pressed someone’s button, the writer headed through the lobby only stopping at the security point.

“I have a happy hour meeting,” the attractive brunette wearing off the glossy magazine cover business attire announced, “pitching my show about something?”

“Does it have a plot?” The watchdog inquired.

“Yes, of course it has a plot,” Gerri answered, “something is wrong.”

“I guess that would fall under,” the officer paused, “man versus God only knows what you are talking about,” stated the figurehead in charge, then taking one more breath reported, “you will be visiting with A Newman?”

“You mean A Newman the salad dressing king.”

“No, A Newman, God only knows where you got this from, sixth floor room sixty-six.”

Encountering the elevator bank, Gerri noticed that all the flashy signals seemed to be descending, “excuse me,” Gerri requested, “all these send me to the basement below. Is something wrong?”

“No,” a voice shouted back, “just deal with it.”

Taking the strong advice, the doors suddenly opened, and the magical number glowed on the panel. Once touched the lift started rising, reaching its destination, where it revealed a hallway. Following the even number arrows Gerri soon found the location. Turning the knob, a real opportunity appeared, after seeing a research group memorized, watching a gigantic monitor showing an ocean movie.

“I wonder who pitched that?” Gerri contemplated performing her best strut, “Gerri Raygun here to see A Newman.”

“A Newman will be out right away, just have a seat.”

Quietly finding a comfortable chair, the video now featured a shark eating a guppie, “that small fish in the big pond never had a chance,”

“Miss Raygun, we are ready to see you,”

Standing up the creative entrepreneur followed the escort turning into a room where a devilish programmer displayed an executive presentation.

“You must be A Newman,”

“There are other Newmans, but I am A Newman,” her dark close to red skin commented outstretching a trusting hand.

“I am Geraldine Raygun and I have a show about something,” Gerri proudly boasted.

“Before you start, I really enjoyed that audio tape you're selling about the busted water gate,” A Newman informed, “you are right, the plumber should have been called, such a thrilling conspiracy theory.”

“It was something to write about,” Gerri felt confident.

“Now about this show about something,”

“Yeah, something happened which makes it entertaining,”

“Something like?” A Newman started addressing the thorny issue, “someone gets hurt physically or emotionally?”

“Yes,” Gerri agreed, “the audience loves to feel their pain.”

“You got a point there,” A Newman responded, “a show about something, sounds great, have you ever read Ford’s work?”

“Ford, the one built tough?”

“No, M Ford,”

“What does M stand for?

“Madame Maria,”

“No, I have not,” Gerri replied cautiously, noticing there were two ‘M’s.

“It could make you a better writer,”

Taking the comment in stride Gerri rose from her submissive position, “I hope you enjoyed my time. Is there something you wanted to add?”

“If I do, I will get back to you,”

“Well, thank you,” Gerri pleasantly smiled.

Next day she returned for the free marinara sauced pasta and opened her laptop, “so did they like the idea?” The Italian restaurant proprietor asked.

“We had a good conversation about something then I told her ‘Go to Hades’,”

“And did she?”

“Took the next elevator after me down,” Gerri said, “isn’t that something.”