Chapter Text
Where is she?
Deborah tapped her nails impatiently against the writers’ room table. They were, of course, impeccably polished. Her hair was in one of her many lavish updos, not one strand out of place and hairsprayed until it was hard as a rock. Her outfit, sparkling jacket and silver heels, painstakingly chosen after looking through hundreds and hundreds of outfits, was on and ready to go.
She hoped it looked okay. Damien had helped her pick it out of course, but it hadn’t gotten Marcus’ final seal of approval, not after he had come up to her, out of the blue, and quit, the ungrateful bastard. But, she couldn’t think about that right now, she had enough to occupy her mind at the moment. After weeks and weeks of work, brainstorming sessions, run throughs, scrapped scripts and PR sessions, she was about to tape her first late night show as host. The victory tasted oh-so sweet, even if there was a hint of bitterness running through.
Bulletproof.
She had to get this right, and her first step to ensure that, keeping Ava from being head writer and going with someone the network was familiar with and confident in, had already backfired spectacularly, in more ways than one.
Deborah couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same as Ava, couldn’t say she hadn’t done the same before in multiple cases. Part of her (a very deep deep down part that she would never admit to anyone, least of all Ava) was proud of her for finally taking the gloves off and going after what she wanted by any means necessary.
Another, larger part of her, one that she would and did regularly let those around her know about, was seething at Ava for jeopardizing her shot at getting what she had wanted forever, what she, they, had worked so hard for.
She had been reasonable and pleasant with Ava in the writer’s room. After all, nobody could know how Ava had gotten the job or the glass would certainly shatter, but that had been the extent of her and Ava’s interactions for the last few weeks. Ava had even moved out of Deborah’s new LA mansion and back into her own townhouse, which was why Deborah had no idea where she was right now or why, current differences aside, she would be late to the first day of taping something they had both worked so hard on.
Deborah left the writer’s room and walked backstage. She glanced at her watch, her call time wasn’t for another 5 minutes, then looked around as people hurried past her, calling for this prop or that microphone.
Where was Ava? She had already checked the writers’ room, the wardrobe department, the break room - nothing. She needed her to go over the second joke in the opening monologue, the wording was off.
Deborah opened the corner of the curtain in front of her and peered through. She had a regular studio audience, but in the front row were some special guests for her first show; DJ and Kiki, Marty and his awful French fiancé … the mayor for some reason? But no Ava. She let the curtain fall back and sighed. Well, she ought to be here by now if she wasn’t before, Deborah thought, and set out to look for her again.
She walked past the rigging crew, turned the corner and - ran smack into Jimmy and Kayla in the hall. Jimmy had his phone pressed to his ear while Kayla stood as close as she possibly could to hear what was being said on the other line as Jimmy tried to silently push her away. They both looked shocked and stressed.
At the sight of Deborah, both of them looked extremely guilty and Kayla hurriedly bounded up to her as Jimmy turned away, still talking seriously in an undertone into the phone.
Oh brother, Deborah thought as Kayla, hair swinging in pigtails and wearing a sequined jumpsuit, flashed a completely fake smile at her.
“Hey, chica! You look absolutely fab, you are so going to slay today!”
Deborah sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. This girl was already giving her a headache and she had only said one sentence.
“Have you seen Ava?” she asked.
“Oh, Ava? I looooove Ava, she’s just the best isn’t she? So quirky and funny. Uh… Ava!?” Kayla stood on her tiptoes and started looking around the studio, calling Ava’s name as Jimmy came back over, hurriedly pocketing his phone.
“Oh, Jimmy, Deborah’s looking for Ava,” Kayla said through clenched teeth as she gave him a meaningful look, before she resumed calling out Ava’s name.
“Oh, Ava? I’m sure she’ll turn up here somewhere,” Jimmy said, giving a nervous laugh. “But, you don’t need her, Deborah, you’re all ready to go!” he finished, flashing her a smile that looked as if someone were sticking pins into his fingers.
Deborah raised an eyebrow.
“But, listen Deborah,” Jimmy said suddenly, grabbing onto her arm and turning away from Kayla, who was still cartoonishly searching the room. “I’m going to have to miss the taping, something urgent just came up and I really have to go -”
“Miss the taping? What do you mean?” Much as she was loath to admit it, Deborah was more than a little nervous, and she wanted as many familiar faces there to support her as possible.
“I’m sure you’ll do amazing, and of course I’ll see it after, this is just really urgent -”
“What could be more urgent than this? Who was on the phone? It’s not like you have a wife going into labor.”
Jimmy closed his eyes for a second. “Oof. Ah, no -”
“Kayla!” Deborah screeched. Kayla stopped her pantomime of searching the studio immediately and skipped over to them.
“Yes, Deborah?” she asked.
Deborah made her face as serious as possible, and used her scariest, most commanding voice.
“Where is Ava? And who was Jimmy on the phone with just now that he needs to leave so urgently for?” she said, voice low.
Jimmy and Kayla shared an anxious glance.
“Um, we think it’s better if you don’t hear this until after the show,” Kayla said, uncomfortably playing with the strings on her jumpsuit.
Deborah felt a strand of nameless anxiety creep up her back. She looked directly at Jimmy.
“Tell me.”
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Beep beep beep beep - “Alriiiiight!” Ava groaned, smacking her phone screen until her fingers found the off button, then flopping back down. She was cocooned under a mess of bed covers in her townhouse, the warm morning light filtering in through the windows and running across her messy red bedhead.
She threw her arms across her eyes to block out the sunlight and thought about the day before her. Or actually, tried not to think about the day before her. The taping of Deborah’s first show. The show that she was head writer on. The thought should have filled her with glee, she should have been giddy with happiness, but it only made her sick to her stomach. The same thoughts that had played in her head for the past few weeks started again. Who was she? How could she do something so ruthless, so heartless and cutthroat, so … so like Deborah? But that’s why she had done it. Because she had finally learned, after oh so many lessons, that that is exactly what Deborah would have done. Exactly what Deborah had already done, on numerous occasions.
But that didn’t make her feel any better about it.
She flung off the covers, sending her phone flying as she did so.
“Oh, shit,” she said, then crawled out of bed after it, picking it up gingerly and turning it slowly over to see if the screen was cracked. It lit up as she did so and she saw the time.
“FUCK!” she shouted, then tossed the phone onto the bed and hauled ass into the bathroom. She had pressed snooze more times than she realized and she should have been out the door 20 minutes ago.
Deborah is going to kill me, she thought as she hurriedly applied deodorant and pulled on yesterday’s t-shirt. She was actually surprised that Deborah hadn’t already killed her. She had been reasonably friendly in their writer’s room meetings, only stooping to her usual level of degrading Ava’s lack of style, sexuality, man hands and “wokeness”, so nothing out of the ordinary.
Granted, Ava thought as she ran a comb through her hair, we haven’t seen or said a word to each other outside of the studio. But it was probably better that way. Ava wouldn’t know what to say to her if they did have a moment alone together. But right now, she did know that Deborah would have a lot to say to her, very loudly and very publicly, if she were any later than she already was.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she muttered to herself as she threw her things in a bag, pulled on her tennis shoes and grabbed a piece of toast from the counter. She stuck the toast in her mouth, then grabbed her phone and ran out the door, ripping open the passenger door to her little gray Chevy and tossing her bag onto the seat before running to the other side and hopping inside, toast still firmly in her mouth (and starting to get a little soggy).
She pulled away from the curb and sped down the street. Luckily the studio wasn’t too far away from where she lived, so she should be there with plenty of time to spare before Deborah’s call time in case she needed her. Suddenly, her phone started buzzing from the passenger seat where she had lobbed it. Her heart leapt. Was it Deborah calling to find out where she was and to yell at her for being late? It would be the first time either of them had contacted each other outside of work in weeks - not that she cared! It was better that way. But still . . .
She leaned over to read the caller ID, but the soggy piece of toast broke off and fell onto the screen.
“Shit,” Ava said, her voice muffled by the toast still remaining in her mouth. She leaned over, one hand still on the wheel, to pick up the toast and read the screen. Not Deborah. Damn, she had actually hoped just a little that - WHAM.
The remaining toast was catapulted out of her mouth and through the windshield, Ava herself following close behind. There was the sound of glass skittering on asphalt, of a car alarm going off and steam being released, then everything went black.
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Deborah felt as if someone had put those noise cancelling headphones on her all of a sudden. Jimmy and Kayla stood in front of her, blurry for some reason, their mouths moving, but no sound coming out. She did hear Jimmy’s voice, but the words she heard - accident, internal bleeding, ER, emergency surgery - didn’t match the words his mouth was forming in front of her.
And you’re okay with losing me too?
I’m willing to.
She felt cold all of a sudden, as though she were in New York in the middle of January and the sounds came flooding back in as a shiver ran through her.
“Deborah, are you all right?”
“Maybe you had better sit down, Deborah.”
“Ms. Vance, you're on in 2.”
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell her!”
“Kayla, I didn’t want to tell her. You just basically gave it all away by telling her we wanted to wait to tell her!
“Well, sorry for my honesty, Jimmy, you do know it’s a virtue, right?”
“Shut up,” Deborah said, turning to the two of them. They both turned to look at her with surprise, as if they had forgotten she was still standing there. “Where is she?”
“LA General,” Jimmy replied quickly.
She marched towards her dressing room, Jimmy and Kayla following quickly in her wake.
“Do you have a car or are we calling an Uber?” she called over her shoulder as she pulled on her jacket, then grabbed her purse from the vanity.
“Uh, I have a car, but Deborah, the show - you can’t just leave -” Jimmy said quickly, following her back out of the dressing room and down the hallway.
Deborah slammed the emergency exit open and placed her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose, marching into the backstage parking lot.
“Fuck the show. Who’s driving?”