Boob Tube (A Soap Opera Novel)

DEDICATION

Dedicated to the late Philamena Medeiros, the biggest Days of Our Lives fan ever. We hope there are soap operas in Heaven.

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He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.

-Nietzsche

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Prologue

His battered body tumbled backward over the balcony and plummeted toward the roaring waves below. His aching lungs strained for air, and he hadn’t even hit the water yet. He hoped to avoid landing on the sharp boulders abutting the vertical cement seawall, though it was too dark for him to see his final destination. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t control his trajectory at this point. As he waited for impact, his mind flashed to a series of disturbing images. Gina. Misty. Eden. The sound of gunfire. Twice.

He smacked the water back-first and disappeared beneath the cold, frothy waves. He flailed his arms, searching for an exit. An angry swell thrashed him against the seawall, then carried him back out to sea.

He gasped for air. Another wave swallowed him. The currents dragged him under for what felt like an eternity, tossing and tumbling him like laundry in a washing machine.

A cresting wave lifted him and, in what seemed like slow motion, thrust him headfirst, vertical, onto a hard surface. He heard the vertebrae in his neck pop. I’m screwed, he thought. He felt excruciating pain, and wondered if his arms and legs still worked. He couldn’t feel his legs.

Starved for air, his lungs reflexively inhaled a mouthful of salt water. He gagged and swallowed.

He surfaced. His throat spasmed, reluctant to let the good air in or the bad water out. He forced a cough, and water sprayed from his bluing lips. Before he could take a full breath, the churning water pulled him under again.

He wished he was already dead.

His strength waned as the roiling water held him down. His oxygen-deprived arms ached, his body tangled in rubbery seaweed. He worked too hard for everything, to have it all undone by a soap opera actress! Not just any actress either, but Gina Martin.

Why couldn’t he recognize her for who she was? This strange crap was only supposed to happen in soaps. Damn them, he thought.

He stopped struggling. He figured he was good as dead anyway. He deserved this. Besides, he’d always heard drowning was one of the better ways to die. He allowed his arms to go limp and he gave himself to the current.

For the first time in his life, he prayed to a higher power for forgiveness. The searing pain turned to numbness. An imperceptible smile crept over his face as he waited for the bright light at the end of the tunnel people always talked about.

A moment later, the currents bobbed him to the surface like a cork. He coughed hard, followed by a slow succession of convulsive breaths. He looked around. The tide had carried him away from the pounding surf at the seawall. Less than 100 yards away he could see the gleaming white sand of a moonlit beach, and closer still was a dock.

ONE

Three Months Earlier

Jason Christiansen’s actors demanded Xanax and organic tampons. He had one hour to retrieve the items before afternoon production ground to a halt.

As the publicist for Tranquility Bay, daytime television’s number-two rated soap opera, he was accustomed to such requests.

The first panicked call came from Eden Jordan, a popular actress on the show. The 27-year-old was stranded in her dressing room, ill-prepared for the early onset of her period, and too embarrassed to seek help from anyone else. She refused to leave her room until Jason brought her organic tampons from Herganic, a store on Sunset Boulevard.

Scud Hudson, the actor who played Eden’s love interest, was suffering from an agoraphobic panic attack. He wanted Jason to pick up a Xanax refill from the pharmacist.

Jason took a deep breath. He’d been holed up in his office all morning, two floors above the network’s sprawling Burbank studio, without pause for even a bathroom break. In between the media requests for interviews and photo shoots, he’d written a press release announcing that Gina Martin, an up-and-coming actress from Pennsylvania, was joining the show to replace Misty James, who had quit one month earlier.

Misty’s manager told reporters she moved to New York to pursue a career in primetime and films. Soap actors quit all the time for this reason, but not mid-contract.

Thinking of Misty, he felt the familiar knot form in his throat. They were a couple, after all, and remained intimate on and off after their breakup a year ago. It was foolish maybe, but he never imagined her out of his life. He always hoped they would reconcile. With each passing day without a response to his calls and emails, he wondered if she ever made it to New York.

His attention returned to the work at hand. He inspected the mountain of unfinished work on his desk. Unread magazines, press clippings, memos and e-mails. Actor head shots waiting for his forged autograph. The taunting, blinking light of unplayed voicemail. A spoiling tuna sandwich wrapped in plastic. He closed his eyes and paused to consider the blur of the last seven years since graduating from college. Sixty hour work weeks. Lost weekends. No wife yet, as his grandchild-hungry mother was all too willing to point out at each holiday. Too much to do, and not enough time. It would all have to wait. He rushed downstairs to his car.

Forty-five minutes later he returned to the studio and knocked on Eden’s dressing room door.

She answered dressed in a low-cut red Versace evening gown, her wardrobe for the afternoon’s taping. Vanilla-scented candles flickered against the walls.

Hi, Jason, she purred, posing in the doorway.

He handed her the Herganic bag.

You’re so thoughtful, but my period stopped so I don’t need them anymore. Would you like to come in for a drink?

I didn’t know periods started and stopped on the same day, he deadpanned. It wasn’t the first time in recent weeks she’d sent him on strange errands. Last week she had him pick up her dry-cleaning – all bras and lingerie.

Oh come on, Jase, loosen up. Can’t you come in for just a second? She grabbed his hand.

He pulled it away. Sorry, I have to take care of Scud now.

What’s wrong? she said, pursing her lips. Don’t you like me?

Sure I like you. Nothing personal. No doubt, he reflected, she intrigued him. She was drop-dead gorgeous by any measure. But she also reminded him why he’d sworn off actresses since his breakup with Misty. Eden, like the last two actresses he dated, had long struggled with drug abuse, eating disorders and emotional instability. Hollywood bred these women, he was sure.

Okay, she murmured, a quick question then. How does this dress look on me?

She followed his eyes as he gave her a hesitant once over. She wasn’t accustomed to working this hard for a man’s attention.

The material is transparent, he said, surprised to see so much of her. You should put on a bra or pasties.

She knew a bra wasn’t necessary. Ever since she upgraded from a C cup to a D, the implants provided all the support she needed.

He retreated into the hallway with her anatomical features seared in his mind. Trying to purge the intrusive image, he focused his thoughts on Scud.

The 25-year-old actor’s real name was Albert Tinkle, a fact known only to Jason. Scud once confided that he chose the stage name Scud as a reference to the SCUD missile, because, he believed, it sounded strong, confident and compellingly unpredictable. The last name, Hudson, was a bow to his favorite classic movie actor, Rock Hudson.

Jason knocked on Scud’s door. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. Concerned, he pressed his ear to the door. He heard movement inside. The door swung open and Scud bounded out, his tousled blonde curls matted as if he just rolled out of bed.

Jase, I’m so glad to see you! he exclaimed. He hugged Jason.

Jason handed him the Xanax. You alright? You look flushed.

Just out of breath. Come on in.

Jason stepped inside Scud’s dressing room. The walls were adorned with inspirational posters featuring one line messages such as, "Courage, Serenity and Strength." Above the mirror was a framed photo of Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard, a staple in the lives of many soap actors in Jason’s orbit.

Underneath the posters, Jason saw Spencer Douglas lounging on Scud’s white couch, his brown coif as precise and styled as ever. At 44, Spencer was considered one of Tranquility Bay’s older leading men, and was one of its most popular. Jason knew Spencer received more fan mail than anyone else on the show.

Scud was afraid to be alone, so he called me, Spencer offered as a greeting.

Sorry about the panic attack, Jase. Hasn’t happened in months.

No problem, Jason answered. You okay now?

Scud dropped his muscular hands on Jason’s shoulders, and flashed his trademark dimples. Buddy, you’re a life saver, he gushed, giving Jason a heavy slap on the back. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Jason shrugged off the compliment. He was finally free to grab lunch at the commissary.

TWO

Gina Martin pressed her cheek against the airplane window, her thoughts a jumbled mass. She strained to catch a final glimpse of her hometown of Hershey, Pennsylvania. Down below, amid the verdant farmland hills, she could see the sprawling corporate headquarters of Hershey Foods, where she worked in the public relations department for the last three years after graduating from Penn State with a degree in Communications and a minor in theater. Her job at Hershey helped finance her budding acting career, her true passion. Over the years, she’d built her acting resume with credits including regional theater, two off-off-Broadway plays and some modeling gigs.

She was about to embark on the biggest role – and challenge – of her career. Although television, and particularly a role on a soap opera, was always a goal, this was her big break.

Gina was no stranger to soaps. Throughout her adolescence, the sound of her mother’s ever-present soap opera was a comforting and familiar backdrop to her home life. It was a common interest her late grandmother passed on to her mother and her mother passed on to her. Tranquility Bay was their favorite. Gina’s childhood was filled with times the three generations of women gathered to watch their show together on the VCR while eating TV dinners from 50’s style TV trays.

Although Gina enjoyed soap operas, she never obsessed over them like her mother. Gina was often surprised at the profound, visceral impact the soap storylines could have on her mom. Her mom’s feelings would pour out as verbal rants and tirades against men – how they couldn’t be trusted – how they were all pigs – how they only viewed women as sexual objects. These discussions invariably degenerated into demonizing diatribes against Gina’s father. Gina guessed her mom never remarried because of this persistent anger and unwillingness to trust men.

Gina’s own views toward men were more positive. Growing up, she was a proud tomboy, and relished games of pickup football, baseball and soccer against the boys. In high school, as her figure developed and the boys’ interests changed, she found it difficult to maintain platonic friendships with them. Guys always wanted more. In college, when she was ready for more serious relationships, she was never without a boyfriend for long.

She always wondered if these men would still appreciate her if she ever gained weight or lost her youthful looks. A persistent fear nagged at Gina that she might wind up like her mom someday – bitter, unappealing and alone.

Her thoughts returned to her new job. In a few hours, she would meet her manager, Simon Mason. Her agent in New York arranged the introduction because he thought she needed someone in LA to oversee her career. Simon’s clientele included Misty James, whom Gina would replace on the show, as well as several other Tranquility Bay actors. He had a reputation as a heavy-hitter, a star-maker. Simon previously represented Eden Jordan, an actress Gina admired and who would play her half-sister on the show.

The Tranquility Bay audition process was a nerve-wracking experience. It began with an initial field of 100 girls at the first audition. Then Gina waited. Then the call-back. Then more waiting. Then a final call-back for a screen test against four other finalists. Even after the screen test, she didn’t expect to land the coveted role of Jasmine Everett. Lucky for her, however, she bore an eerie resemblance to her predecessor in the part, Misty James. She knew from experience that half the battle in show business was having the right look. This was especially true for a soap opera recast.

The night before, as she was packing, Gina found an old copy of Soap Opera World magazine with Eden and Misty on the cover. She compared her appearance to theirs. She shared a petite frame with Eden, but, unlike Eden, her curves were all natural. Whereas Eden’s hair was dark brown and curly, hers was dirty blond and straight. Eden’s eyes were the color of milk chocolate, and hers were emerald green. She didn’t look anything like Eden she concluded, but she was a dead wringer for Misty.

THREE

Sex? the LAPD police officer panted, wiping cascading beads of sweat from his brow. At 280 pounds, and in full blue uniform with a bulging bullet proof vest underneath, he was ill-prepared for an off-trail jaunt in the 100 degree heat of Hollywood’s Runyon Canyon.

Female, the forensic detective answered, hovering above the skeletal remains of a body. Most men don’t wear jog bras and thong underwear.

I’ve seen stranger in this town, the officer huffed, still trying to catch his breath. How long has she been here?

Maybe four weeks. There’s not much left.

Cause of death?

The forensic detective craned his neck to see through the dense chaparral to the hiking trail above. Possibly a suicide, maybe an accident. It’s a pretty steep fall. Autopsy might reveal something. He used tweezers to pull away the thin fabric of the woman’s shirt, and placed the pieces in a plastic evidence bag.

How did they find her?

Some guy’s Dalmatian. Thing went nuts, wouldn’t stop yelping or leave the body until its owner came. Weren’t for that dog, this woman might not have been found for a long time.

Any I.D?

No, though she was wearing an engraved Cartier watch from a guy named Calvin.

Then we’ll I.D. her from missing persons reports or dental records.

FOUR

Jason’s mouth watered as he rushed into the large, bright studio commissary. The expansive room featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Burbank Hills to the west. It was a favorite hang-out for cast and crew, offering gourmet meals of every variety.

He joined the line at the counter behind Prudence Prescott, a curvaceous young actress from the show. She was accompanied by her tattooed rock star boyfriend, Buster Danger, whom she wore like a fashion accessory. They didn’t notice Jason because they were deep in the throes of a passionate lip-smacking make-out session.

He looked away. The couple was known for their frequent public displays of affection. Ironic, he mused, this same girl served as the national spokeswoman for The Abstinence Society, an evangelical Christian organization that preached sexual abstinence to high schoolers.

Prudence was wearing a mesh top with nothing underneath, leaving little to the imagination. More than once, Jason had intercepted her before a public appearance and asked her to cover up. He knew her breasts were a source of great pride for her – they were a 17th birthday present the previous year from her father, a born again Baptist preacher from Baton Rouge who also served as her manager.

Prudence and Buster’s embrace was broken by the harrumph of the food server behind the counter, who was waiting for them to move up in the line.

Filet mignon sauce, please, Prudence said in her practiced Southern drawl. The server plunked a fresh steak on a plate and gave it to her.

"I want meat sauce, not meat," she objected.

Meat comes with meat sauce, the server answered, tired of catering to the finicky eating habits of actors.

Jason watched Prudence saunter to a nearby garbage can. She scraped the filet mignon into it with a practiced nonchalance. He might have expected her to eat the steak first and throw it up later, but he figured she was trying to save a step today.

After he ordered a pre-made turkey sandwich, he took a seat near the window, a table away from Prudence and Buster. He looked up in time to see Prudence pull a zip-lock bag of cotton balls from her purse. She arranged a half dozen on her plate. Then she swished them around in the meat sauce and popped them into her mouth, one by one, like popcorn. Buster acted unaware, occupied by his own meal of a double cheeseburger and fries.

A few minutes later, Jason heard what sounded like a cat coughing up a stubborn hairball. It was Prudence. He leaned across the table and asked Buster if she was okay.

She’s fine, he replied. This is normal for Prude. Sometimes they get stuck on the way down. He beamed at his girlfriend, and kissed her cheek.

Yes, I’m fine, Jason, Prudence insisted. "And I know you’re thinking I’m anorexic, but I’m not because they don’t eat. Look – I’m eating natural cotton from Herganic, accented with meat sauce. It’s filling and it’s almost calorie-free. Wanna try some?"

Thanks, I’ll pass, he said with a smile.

You don’t know what you’re missing, she said, dipping her next ball with a flourish.

Jason heard his name echo from across the commissary. It was Ivan Rex, a former WWE professional wrestler turned Tranquility Bay soap star. The red-faced actor was knocking over chairs as he plowed his stubby legs through the room. They airbrushed my wrinkles! he shouted to Jason as he approached.

Who did?

This week’s Soap Opera World. Ivan slapped the issue down on the table.

Jason’s cell phone, ever present in his hip holster, jangled to the custom ring tone of The Muppet Show theme song. He ignored it.

I told the photographer and I told the reporter, don’t airbrush Ivan Rex’s wrinkles, Ivan continued.

Jason always thought it was odd how some actors had a propensity to refer to themselves in the third person.

They botoxed my forehead smoother than a baby’s butt. Fans want my wrinkles. I’m 54-years-old – I earned every one of ‘em!

Jason smiled and took a deep breath. When Ivan was a WWE wrestler his stage name was Meatball, a name Jason considered appropriate considering the actor’s physical description and personality.

And this picture makes Ivan Rex look short, Ivan declared, shaking his finger. See the camera angle? It’s like they took it from a ladder.

Jason nodded in agreement. At 5’ 4", Ivan was short. The shortest man on the show. I’ll ask them to change the camera angle next time. Anything else?

Yeah, they said I was nominated for an Emmy last year and didn’t win. That makes me look like a loser.

"But you didn’t win."

Ivan grunted and stomped away. Jason was left in momentary peace to finish his sandwich. His day wasn’t half over.

After finishing his lunch, he pulled out a black Sharpie pen and a stack of black and white glossies of Ivan the Ungrateful. Ivan refused to sign fan autograph requests, so the job fell to Jason. Every few autographs, just for fun, he tossed in some X’s and O’s. Ivan would never know, and a few lucky fans might think Ivan was a sensitive guy.

An hour later, Jason was back to his office in time to answer his ringing desk phone. It was an editor from Soap Opera World, requesting a photo shoot with several of his actresses for a cover story entitled, The Hot Women of Tranquility Bay.

Ten minutes after he ended the call, there was a loud knock on his door and in walked Norma Wellington, one of two remaining original cast members.

Jason, I brought you a task memo for Soap Opera World’s Hot Women photo shoot. She handed Jason a handwritten list. Norma played Raven Whitney Donahue, a character in her early 40s. Jason knew if fans did the math – and they always did the math – they’d realize her character was 25-years-old when the show started, so she’d be 55 today. Fans loved to dissect such time anomalies and laugh about them. The implication for 57-year-old Norma, however, was no laughing matter.

Jason skimmed the long list. It specified the photographer, the type of lighting, and the hair and makeup people she wanted. None of it conformed to his plans or the plans of Soap Opera World. He looked up at her rigid facial features. Was she more pickled or preserved, he wondered? Her skin stretched like cellophane around her cheekbones, giving her a perpetual expression he might best describe as pleasant surprise. Her wrinkled turkey neck, however, didn’t match her taut face.

I’m sorry, Norma, you’re not in the photo shoot.

"How can they do a cover without me? I am this show."

Who they select is at their discretion. I appreciate your suggestions for the cover-shoot crew but...

They’re not suggestions, she interrupted. They’re requirements.

I know for a fact none of the people you requested are available.

Can’t you just pay them more?

Doesn’t always work that way.

Listen Jason, I’m on that cover. I’ll leave it to you to make it happen. She slammed the door to his office behind her.

He shook his head. He knew why they didn’t include her. After three decades of relentless cosmetic surgery and chronic alcohol abuse, she was beginning to resemble a freak taxidermy experiment. Not exactly hot woman material.

Jason wondered for a moment who would have been cruel enough to give Norma false hope of appearing on the cover. And then it was obvious.

He walked down the hall to the office of Calvin Hadley, the show’s Head Writer and Executive Producer. As always, Calvin’s office was cluttered with bundled stacks of old scripts and story breakdowns rendered blood red from his line edits. His office walls were flanked by tall bookshelves that seemed in danger of toppling over at any moment. Calvin, in contrast, his bald head hunkered down, red pen in hand, looked small compared to the towers of paper stacked on his desk. But the tiny man was by no means diminutive in influence. In Jason’s opinion, Calvin was a brilliant storyteller and a creative genius. After 30 years cranking out 260 hour-long episodes a year, Calvin’s storylines were as fresh and innovative as ever.

Did you sic Norma on me? Jason asked.

Calvin raised his head and grinned, revealing teeth stained brown from years of cigar smoke.

I couldn’t resist the thought of Norma on the cover of a national magazine in a bikini. I knew you could handle it, though. He stooped over and returned to his edits, leaving Jason to stare at his own reflection from the top of Calvin’s shiny head.

FIVE

After work, Jason stopped by Walt’s, a favorite bar and grill near the studio where he would often eat dinner before heading to the gym.

He was greeted by the manager. What will it be tonight, Mr. Christiansen? We have a wonderful King Ranch Casserole.

Jay-son, a familiar voice trilled from the bar. He turned and saw Eden smiling, waving for him to join her. Gone was her transparent evening gown, replaced by jeans and a T-shirt. Bartender, she called, waving her hand, get Jason here whatever he wants.

Jason could tell Eden had been drinking. She wasn’t slurring her words, but she was more boisterous than usual. I’ll have a V-8 with a slice of lemon, he said to the bartender.

What kind of cheesy ass drink is that? she teased, faking a slow punch to his chest.

It’s my favorite.

Don’t you drink adult beverages?

Sometimes.

Then have a drink. I’m sure there’s something to celebrate. Sit down and stay awhile.

Okay, he said. Bartender, upgrade that V-8 to a Bloody Mary. He turned to Eden. Satisfied?

Much better, she said. You know, you’ve been our publicist for seven years and I don’t think we’ve ever had a drink together. Why not?

Maybe because I’m always tending to some crisis, or chasing down feminine products and lingerie. He winked at her.

She winked back. She tilted her head and inspected his face. I’m trying to figure you out. Everyone knows you’re one of the best publicists in the business, yet outside of work you seem like such a loner.

He smiled but didn’t answer. Sure, he wanted a girlfriend or a wife someday; someone like Misty but without a predilection for infidelity or disappearing.

You should smile more, she said. You always trudge around the set so serious. You’ve got a nice smile.

Jason felt his cheeks redden. I don’t know about that. My teeth aren’t as straight as they once were.

You’re young and good looking, she commented, taking in his bright blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and toned body. You should be in front of the camera, not behind it.

"I prefer working behind the scenes, thank you very much. You’re the one with the million dollar smile. Every week, the soap magazines beat down my door to get your mug on their cover. You make their magazines fly off