Page 15 of Good Days Bad Days

“I don’t know, what you two do seems impossible to me.

I feel nice and safe here behind my little kitchen counter.

I could never do what you do.” So many “I could nevers” come out of Betty’s mouth on a regular basis.

I think it’s another reason Martha finds her irritating.

Clearly The Classy Homemaker host is fully capable of every single “never” she proclaims.

After our first production meeting where Betty presented a fully illustrated and scripted proposal, Martha said to me, “It’s like she thinks if she says she’s good at something it will intimidate the men in charge.

It’s the pussyfooting way women have been taught to weasel into any position of power.

I hate it.” And I get why it bothers her.

It’s definitely not one of Betty’s stronger traits, though I have to imagine she has a reason for her approach.

Martha’s willing to make waves; Betty tries to ride them out.

I reassure Betty. “I think you’re doing fine at your own job. The ratings are—”

“Looking all right. I know. It’s what Don keeps saying. And I appreciate it, but . . .” She stares at the stage and then back at me and then at the tips of her polished black shoes. “I feel like I keep upsetting Martha.”

This is the first I’ve heard of any dissatisfaction from the star of our show, and the fact that it’s because of Martha is fair, though unexpected.

I stop fussing with the camera’s power supply and give Betty a worried look.

If Betty jumps ship and Janesville Presents .

. . continues on its downward spiral—Martha and I would be out of a job.

“I think you have great ideas. We both do,” I say, remembering Hollinger’s push to sign Betty as our host despite her single status.

“Every girl is a homemaker in the making,” he said, shoving her headshot across the conference table to the EBN executive sitting at the head, smoking a cigarette.

“And Betty’s the kind of homemaker every girl wants to be and every man wants to marry.

And here’s the bonus—this is who she really is. She was made for this part.”

Even Martha agrees that it’s hard to argue against the ratings or the piles of fan mail we get each week. I tell Betty that, hoping it will address her insecurities.

“That’s kind of you,” she says like it’s a line in a script.

“That’s kind of you, but . . . There’s clearly more to that sentence,” I say.

She twists the apron string around her pointer finger and then lets it unravel in a spiral that looks like the funnel of the tornado Martha and I filmed in our award-winning segment. “But clearly she hates me.”

I am searching my thoughts for the right response to comfort Betty when Don Hollinger approaches from the rear of the studio.

“You about ready to go? The meeting’s in fifteen minutes,” he scolds Betty, sounding impatient.

He’s dressed in a pressed suit with a Paisley tie and a three-button vest. His beard is neatly trimmed, and his hair is crisply parted on one side and sprayed down with enough hair spray to make the hair-and-makeup department envious.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I still need to change and touch up a little,” Betty says, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. Hollinger has expected Betty to manage both of her positions while he finds a new assistant.

He glances at his wristwatch stiffly and then gives her permission to take a few minutes to change into her office attire, mumbling a little something to me about how silly women can be with their makeup and dresses as he watches her sway out of sight down the hallway to the dressing rooms.

“I heard you had a guest drop out from Janesville Presents . . . Seems like that’s happening a lot more lately, huh?” Hollinger says, now that Betty’s left us alone. Martha is still nowhere to be seen.

“Yeah, the alderman stepped out this morning. We have a few leads. I’m gonna be meeting with Martha in a few minutes to see what we can come up with.”

Hollinger nods stoically, running his tongue over his teeth and then making a little smacking sound.

“I don’t think I need to tell you this, Laramie, but it’s looking like we’re gonna need to pull out of Janesville Presents . . . I know it’s Miss Smith’s baby. Looks like it didn’t take the teat, if you know what I mean.”

Mark is better at this kind of business talk. I hate it when I get sucked into the men’s world of all knowingness. I hate that he’s coming to me about the dying program instead of Martha, but I won’t let him accept its death so easily.

“We have a few ideas for the second half of the season . . .” I run through some of them, promised guest spots including Tim Davis and the Steve Miller Band, but Hollinger doesn’t seem to care, stopping me after only a few examples of what we have lined up.

“That’s great. Keep working on those, but if I’m being honest, there’s not gonna be a whole lot of funding for that kind of programming.

EBN has some plans for the slot unless we can get some advertising dollars in.

” Martha is going to crumble. She’s worked so hard.

It’s not her fault. This town is too small for her big ideas.

“But don’t worry—I’ve got your back. We’ll turn this little beauty here into a full hour.

You’ll have one show instead of two. Simplify your life a little. What do you think?”

Simplify. Is it really simplifying to lose something that sparks creativity inside of you? Hurting a dear friend and colleague in the process, is that simplifying?

“Martha won’t—” I don’t get the chance to finish the sentence because Hollinger cuts me off.

“Martha’s not in charge here. If she wants to stay at WQRX, she’ll do what she’s told. Right?” He crushes my shoulder in his grip, and it comes off as a message not only for Martha, but also for me.

I nod. He drops his hand.

“Good. Don’t worry, Laramie. There’s lots of opportunities for a guy like you at EBN. Don’t let Smith hold you back, all right?”

“All right,” I say to get out of the conversation, but even that’s a major betrayal.

When Betty returns wearing a burnt-orange jacket over a professional-looking knee-length pencil skirt, Hollinger acts like our discussion never happened.

It reminds me of how I’ve learned to put away bad things like a half-finished casserole to be taken out later and reheated or tossed out in tomorrow’s trash.

“Ready for lunch?” Martha asks, back from wherever she’d wandered off to, after Betty and Don exit the studio. “Sorry I left you alone with Mr. Hollinger. He’s such a creep. I can’t stand being around him when I don’t have to be.”

“Eh, it’s OK.” I call over one of the other camera operators and leave him with a few instructions so Martha and I can get to work on finding a new guest for Janesville Presents . . . , no matter how futile the effort.

“So, what did that asshole have to say?” Martha asks as we exit the studio together.

I consider telling her everything—Betty’s confession, Hollinger’s thinly veiled threats, the new one-hour format of The Classy Homemaker that might push Martha past her patience point, chasing her away from WQRX entirely. Instead, I do what I do best.

“Nothing,” I say, hands in my pockets and my stomach twisting, uncomfortable knowing too much but even more uncomfortable sharing it. “Nothing at all.”