Chapter 4
Simon is about as dramatic as a person can be.
He’s worked in TV all his life, so naturally he looks at everything through rectangular vision.
Everything is a storyline. Optics are all that matter.
Grabbing and holding as many people’s attention as possible is paramount.
Whether he’s putting on a TV show or filling his car with fuel, he knows how to get and keep eyes on him.
It’s just lately, I don’t know, it’s like he’s losing his touch, and rather than depend on me to figure out how we revive a show that I used to love, he’s bringing in the big guns – the man with the big guns – Lockie, thinking he’s going to save the day.
So obviously being called into his office for an emergency meeting feels like being asked to sing a solo, naked, in front of ten Simon Cowells.
This is just one Simon, and I don’t have to sing, and Lockie will be with me – sarcastic yaaay – so there’s only so bad it can be. Right?
The blinds are drawn tight, muting the sounds and sights from the streets below and the buildings that surround us.
Simon is sitting at his oversized desk – a desk with nothing but a single glass of water and a dagger-shaped letter opener in the centre of it.
Knowing Simon, honestly, I would not be surprised if he had summoned us in here to play some kind of twisted game – like, I don’t know, drink the poison or stab the other person.
Some kind of test of character. The only reason I confidently know that’s not what is happening is the fact that there are no cameras in here.
If something really bad was going to happen, Simon would most definitely be filming it.
‘Thank you for joining me,’ he says blankly as he analyses the back of his hand, almost like he has a script on there he’s about to read from. ‘So… the thing I want to talk to you about… is…’
Simon is so into TV he delivers news like he’s announcing who is going to be evicted from the Big Brother house next.
‘Cleo…’
Well, that can’t be a good omen.
‘Erm, yeah?’ I reply, without a shred of confidence.
It startles me, to hear my name, while Lockie sits next to me comfortably as ever.
He’s leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed, his right ankle casually balanced on his left knee, like he’s in a hotel lounge instead of a crisis meeting.
He’s annoyingly easy-breezy, and for some reason that makes me sit up straighter, as though I can win points for professionalism just by perfecting my posture.
Although I’m probably just coming across as more uptight than usual.
Simon clears his throat before he continues.
‘This season of Welcome to Singledom is critical,’ he says. ‘The last two years, our ratings have dipped. Viewers want more. Our competitors are snapping at our heels. If we don’t deliver this year, and I mean really deliver…’
The look on his face says that it’s not good. The look on Lockie’s is still unwaveringly chill.
‘So, Cleo, I know you want to go for depth and sincerity and show real people’s real emotions,’ he continues. ‘Lockie, I know that you want to up the chaos, bring the drama, isolate people and drive them cr… into storylines.’
He was going to say ‘drive them crazy’ which, yeah, is exactly what Lockie is planning.
‘The thing is…’ Simon continues. God, I wish he could just spit it out. ‘Cleo has worked on this show a long time, she knows the viewers well, and if she thinks—’
‘I still need to tell you my latest idea,’ Lockie interrupts him.
I wouldn’t dare interrupt Simon.
‘Oh?’ Simon replies, intrigued.
‘So, no offence to Cleo, I’m sure she knows what she’s doing, but I’m just thinking for pulling in the viewers – new viewers, big numbers of viewers – her approach is all wrong. So I started wondering about the opposite: what wouldn’t Cleo do?’
I want to push him off his chair right now.
‘Go on,’ Simon prompts him.
Oh, stunning! He’s hearing him out.
‘Real people are a gamble,’ Lockie says, planting both feet on the floor, leaning forward in his seat.
‘What we need are people who are going to pull in the big numbers, and we need that from night one. So, what about we have the new and improved Welcome to Singledom, and we give it a new name. Or, rather, a subtitle. Welcome to Singledom: Survival of the Fittest. Not only are contestants going truly remote, with no crew members on the island, true desertion, but… we don’t cast new people, we cast legends – reality TV legends.
I’ll get you the biggest names from our rival shows, the hottest reality TV stars of the moment – all of them millions of followers online – and I’ll give you the best season you’ve had. ’
For a moment Simon just stares at him.
‘You were saying, Simon…’ I prompt him, trying to get him back on track, because I’m sure he was just about to say that he trusted me with a show that I know like the back of my hand. Not Lockie with his fake drama and general disregard for people’s well-being.
‘Yes, okay, so the person whose approach I’m going to go with, who is going to lead us into a new era, bringing us success and awards and more viewers than we’ve ever had before is…’ Now he’s acting like he’s announcing the winner of Britain’s Got Talent. ‘Lockie!’
‘Yes!’ Lockie says.
Noooo, is all I can think. He’s just swooped in at the last minute, dazzled Simon, made me look rubbish. I get it, I do, his ideas are big and flashy and – who knows – maybe it really will work. But we’re getting further and further away from what the show has always been about.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. Simon has made up his mind, and what Simon says always goes.
Lockie grins. Not too wide, not obnoxious – just enough to give off that air of modest-but-still-smug.
‘I really appreciate the vote of confidence,’ Lockie begins his acceptance speech, ‘and I won’t let you down. You’ll see – this year’s show is going to be spectacular.’
‘So, you’re happy to crack on with the new plan, Cleo?’ Simon checks – as though it might be optional. It’s only a choice if I choose to no longer have my job.
I force a nod. My disappointment tastes bitter in my mouth.
‘Of course,’ I manage to say. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ Simon says firmly. ‘I think it will be great, if the cast is made up of recognisable faces. And with Lockie in charge of storylines – sometimes it takes a spark to start a fire.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Lockie says. ‘I’ve already got a list of contacts who’d kill to get their clients on board.
We can halt all casting efforts – if it’s people we’ve seen on TV, we know we’re getting gold, so I’ll have their agents book them in.
People with built-in followings, the right kind of chaos vibe for the show, all single – or willing to be.
We’ll go viral before the first show even airs. ’
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ Simon says, clapping his hands together with a loud slap. ‘We’re back in the game, people. Go make it happen!’
Well, that’s that then. I can like it or lump it.
As I gather my notes, tucking my pen neatly into the spiral of my pad, it’s hard not to wonder how many more seasons I have in me.
It’s been a slog, with the viewers dwindling and the mood shifting from fun to something more stressful.
But now not only will I be doing things in a way that I don’t want to do them, I’ll be taking my orders from Lockie.
I’ll have to do whatever he wants, because it’s what Simon wants now too.
But is it what the viewers want? Only time will tell.
And if the ship is going down, well, it’s always felt like my ship too. I may as well be on it when it does.