Arthur/Penny: You can't go home again

Although maybe you can; it's just a matter of deciding what home is.

I did my last bit for CalSports last night. After the Stealth were eliminated from the playoffs, I told George that I wasn't going to sign a new contract to cover the Dragons, and gave two weeks' notice on the scorecasts. He was kind of surprised, but he could also see it's been something I've wanted to do for a while. He threw me a great going-away party last night, and had enough respect for me that he didn't spend a lot of time trying to convince me to stay.

Rick didn't take it quite so well. He couldn't believe I'd make that kind of move without consulting him. On a certain level, he does have a point; if you have a career where an agent makes sense, he needs to be in the loop on your career choices. Still, I said, the fact that he said "consulting" rather than "informing" was part of the reason I didn't. There'd be no point.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means..." We were at a restaurant, and I probably did some awkward thing then - reaching for my glass, deciding I didn't want to use that as a delaying technique for what I had to say, deciding I really was thirsty... "It means that this isn't that kind of career move. It's not about wanting to change jobs because I'm not getting paid enough, or the cheerleader thing made me feel uncomfortable, or I've got another option. I just don't want to do TV sports any more. If I'd consulted you, you'd have tried to talk me out of it, because to do otherwise would be arguing against your own interests."

He said that wasn't completely true; this would be a challenge, but we could work together on the next phase of my career. That's when I told him that I wasn't just quitting this job, but his agency. There were a bunch of reasons; it felt weird to have that kind of working relationship with someone I'd slept with, I wanted to write and his agency was more set up for in front of the camera talent (and media where there was a camera!). Besides, I was going to be leaving California--

"Without telling your boyfriend?"

"Come on, Rick, we haven't been that in... I don't know if we were ever that. We were just convenient and safe; it was easier having someone we could talk to about everything. But you don't need that any more. You've... assimilated, I guess. You like the life you're in. I'm probably all that's keeping you from packing up shop and moving to Los Angeles to take it to the next level. And don't think I don't know about the pretty young things you've been seeing on the side."

"You could..."

"I don't want to! I don't want to live where I have a chance of running into the jerk calling himself Arthur Milligan on the street, let alone at work, even if I'll miss my home town. I don't want to spend years trying to fake knowledge of lacrosse or really concentrate on learning that, or just being a pretty face that reads sports scores. I want to research, and learn, and create."

"And you'll be doing that...?"

"Back in Boston. I've got a friend there, and know some in New York, and... Well, you may be content with what the Inn made you, and figure your time worrying about it is at an end, but I want to know more. I need to know more, and I'm going to have to be near it to do that."

It went downhill after that; I think in a while he'll accept that this is best, but that was pretty much like being fired for him, and nobody likes that.

I do think everyone should try quitting their job at least once in their life, though - the next two weeks can be some of the most enjoyable you can imagine, if you still get along with your co-workers, because none of the annoying crap touches you. You can really look at and think about what you're doing objectively.

And if you're in my position - which you're probably not - there is something quite liberating about selling everything you inherited from the person whose appearance you took. All the bulky exercise equipment, furniture, books, movies (I'm keeping some of the electronics) - gone. I'd sell the car, too, but I figured I'd wait and see how useful it is back in Boston before going that far. I've had Lyn scouting out apartments for me, and I've got a few job interviews lined up. It's going to be exciting.

I am tempted to stay here, but it's not what I want and really need right now. And it will be great to see Lyn regularly again, especially after not having seen her for a year.

-Art/Penny

Arthur/Penny: If you think I'm providing a link, you're nuts.

I should have known this was going to happen, but I didn't. I've got half a mind to fire "Rick", quite honestly, even though he's got a small point when he says that he's only been working as an agent for less than a year and thus couldn't be expected to anticipate this. My initial instinct is to call bullshit, because he's sort of been anticipating this ever since we wound up in these lives, but I probably won't.

It just goes to show how ignorant I can be that I didn't have any idea what was going on until Tuesday. I had decided not to go to bed at all Monday night, since I was going to watch the A's game at 3am (7pm Tokyo time) and getting just three or four hours of sleep is pretty useless. I put in some late-night time on the treadmill before the game started, then got out the laptop so that I could do some re-writing and surfing done while mostly paying attention to the TV.

I wasn't surprised to see Lyn on at the same time. She IMed me first, asking if if I was up late or early. "Late," I typed. "You?"

"Early. Got a lunch shift. I probably wouldn't be up at all, but Matt's watching it at the station and wants to chat with me so it would like we're in the same room."

"Aw. That's sickening."

"Hey, someday you'll meet the right guy and you'll be doing stuff like that too."

"I don't know if I'm ever going to be that much of a girl."

"Hey, a year and a half ago, you couldn't imagine dressing up as a schoolgirl, but you make a damn hot cheerleader!"

I tensed up a little behind my keyboard, but typed that I chickened out.

"Liar! It's on YouTube." Link. Link. Link. Link.

I took a moment to follow the links Lyn sent me, becoming more mortified with each one, especially some of the comments on them. The fact that they appeared to have been typed by illiterates didn't do much to camouflage their crudity.

"Oh my god... I don't know what's worse, that these things exist or that you must have gone looking for them! Please tell me that your secret admirer sent them to you or something!"

"Hey, you can't expect a girl not to be curious after that cliffhanger. But come on, you pulled it off, you were classy. Those people would make comments like that if they found pictures of their mothers online!"

I found that less than reassuring, and changed the subject to stuff like Matt being "the right guy" or why she was still working at Headlights. And the game. I'm afraid I jinxed the A's during the ninth, saying I was about ready to go to bed just before the Red Sox tied it up. Lyn taunted me for that.

I was doing the scorecast the next night, and told George about these clips, saying I'd really appreciate it if the network could lean on Google to take the clips down - that was copyrighted CalSports footage, after all! He said he'd see what he could do. I wound up staying up all night at the studio - the weird hours for the games in Japan meant that instead of just shooting a bit that could be edited into the program for the morning repeats, we stayed up and watched the game, rewriting copy so that we'd be able to just shoot a new bit when the game finally ended at six.

It was a busy weekend - a Saturday game in Edmonton - so I didn't get a chance to see whether the videos were taken down. They were not, and it was almost like George forgot that I'd even wanted that. I came in yesterday to do a scorecast and he was giving me the good news about how ratings for the games were up 40% this weekend. The higher-ups at the network were really pleased, he said, and were probably going to talk to Rick about offering me a full-time contract.

I was a bit sarcastic, I think - something about whether or not they'd be reconfiguring the set so that the audience could see my belly button during the show, or whether cleavage would be enough. That raised some eyebrows, so George took me aside, saying that this was a good thing - maybe some of the people that tuned in to look at me would get into lacrosse, or I'd be able to work on more prominent assignments - this was a good thing!

I said I guess, if you just wanted to call games and read scores. I'd worn the outfit to call attention to the story, and it didn't sound like it was going to lead to more stories, which was what I really wanted to do. George said he could see my enthusiasm for it, but that's not the way it usually worked in television - they tend to do work with the local papers, and the promotion path goes toward more on-screen time.

I did the broadcast, but decided to go in to talk to Rick today. He said he was just about to call; Maxim had contacted him again about getting me for a pictorial. I pointed out that I'd said no the last time, and he said that the stuff on the internet seemed to indicate that I might have loosened up about that.

No, I said, I hadn't, and I would really like him to start talking me up for more creative/reporting work, because I don't know how much more I'm going to want to work for CalSports after my Stealth commitment is up. He says he thinks that would be a big mistake, and I said, yeah, maybe for Nell, but I'm not her, and I'd like to live something resembling my life as much as hers.

-Art/Penny

Arthur/Penny: You have GOT to be kidding me.

I try not to be a total hypocrite about objectifying women. I have, after all, done my share of it in the past; I was, after all, a man. So when I meet a guy and he has a conversation with my chest, I tend to let it go. It is a bit uncomfortable for me, but getting upset about it tends to be counterproductive - not only are you focusing his attention on your breasts even more than it already was, but he's now less at-ease (which can be useful) and sometimes comes away from it thinking of you as a bitch (which is seldom useful). I've learned some tricks about it over the past year (it wasn't a big deal when living Liz's life, because she's a bit flat-chested and I was often standing next to Lyn and her eye-magnets). If you're sitting, stand, or vice versa; it changes the guy's eyeline and most men will realize that they've been impolite and make an effort afterward. Keep a scarf of wrap in your purse or desk draw for days when it's bugging you. That sort of thing.

Similarly, I don't act snippy when some girl is using what she got to her best advantage; I've enjoyed the benefits of that far too much in the past and, to be frank, still do, a little. Twenty-five-plus years of being trained to appreciate the female form doesn't just go away because something else is now supposed to excite you on a chemical level. I may have a little more insight on what a girl is going to get male attention, but I haven't found that makes me appreciate it less.

This is a roundabout way of trying to get you to believe me when I write that I did not resent the idea of spending the week filming bits about the "Spy Girls", the Stealth's dance team, to use as a feature story on the pregame segment of Saturday's game and during the recap programs, along with inserts during the game coverage.

It's been an interesting week. George was technically the producer, and he was good at making sure all the technical stuff was in place, but he gave me a pretty free hand with the interviews, arranged to do some new pick-up stuff based on what the girls said, and I'll be spending a good chunk of tomorrow with him in the editing room. It's a lot like writing a commissioned article, just with a lot of extra steps and different media; it came pretty naturally.

I liked the girls, too; I found out that many of them see this as a stepping-stone to a job with the Raiders or 49ers, or looking for modeling or television work. Some of them are just doing it part-time, because it's something the enjoyed in high school or because their nine to fives make them feel drab or uninteresting. I wound up giving a lot of Drew/Rick's business cards out to the first group, and I sympathized somewhat with the latter; I know what it's like to want something different from the life you're leading.

I was surprised by the intensity of some of them, though. Most of the cheerleaders I knew in high school were pretty cool people, but as Annabeth (not her real name) pointed out, there was likely at least one queen bitch among the cheerleaders I knew, and those were the ones that had ambitions to ride their looks, by and large, so there could be a lot of backbiting going on when I wasn't looking. It's like anything else - you may have been the best at something in school, but then you get fed into a situation where you're not just competing with the lesser lights who happened to live in the same town, but a whole ton of people who were the best around where they were.

Anyway, it was a lot of fun, the closest thing to actual journalism I've done while at CalSports, and sort of makes up for not getting chosen for the Tokyo trip.

Until this morning, when George tells me that one of the other producers had the idea that, since we were doing a theme of highlighting the dance squad this week, wouldn't it be neat if I wore the dance squad's outfit tomorrow? Sure, the camera doesn't point inside the booth that often, but it might be fun during pre and post!

I was not amused, to say the least. It is one thing to not mind when someone is checking you out, or understand the impulse, but asking me to do that is something else altogether. This felt like something I could actually be proud of, and they want me to make my body the focus of it? Not cool.

Still... George and "Rick" (Drew doesn't use his own name much these days) both say it would be good for me to be play up my attractiveness a little, demonstrate I'm a little more willing to use it. So I'll probably dress in the stupid cheerleader costume tomorrow night.

I've got no idea what Nell's father is going to think of this. At least my mother isn't around to see it.

-Art/Penny

Arthur/Penny: Getting around

I was sorely tempted to try and find a way to beg off doing play-by-play for the Stealth when it became clear that the National Lacrosse League's labor dispute wasn't going to cancel the season. I feel exposed at those events, because lacrosse was really Nell's thing, and I didn't inherit her expertise with her body. I know I'm not going to get in trouble for being an impostor or anything - nobody believes us when we tell them that we're not who we appear to be, except under special circumstances - but it's not quite a rational fear. I do feel afraid of letting Nell down, or doing damage to her reputation.

I never quite got the nerve to bail, though - the money's not great, but it's not so minuscule that I wouldn't miss it if it were gone. Besides, after a few months of mainly sitting behind a desk and reading scores, I find myself pretty anxious for the escape it gives me - travel.

I wasn't much of a world traveler in my previous life, but one of the fun things about being a freelance writer is that you can take all manner of assignments that bring you to a bunch of places. There were times I stuck close to home because I was worried about my mother and her health, but I would take other assignments because they gave me the chance to go new places and try different things or interview interesting people.

Doing the play-by-play gives me that option. Last night I was in San Jose, calling a home loss against the Calgary Roughnecks; today I'm in Denver to call tonight's game against the Colorado Mammoth, I'll be in New York next Thursday, and there are trips to Edmonton, Philadelphia, and Portland on tap. I just wish I had more time to spend looking around; we're sometimes in and out so fast that we don't even bother to book a hotel room.

That's why I'm trying to convince George to let me cover the Athletics' opening series in Tokyo against the Red Sox. It might conflict with a home game, but if they really do see me (or, at least, "Penny") as a potential face of the network, having me do remotes and interviews might make it worth it. I like the idea of writing and researching my own material while I'm over there, too.

Drew's pretty excited about the idea, in terms of making me a more valuable client, although he groans when I say it could be valuable research for my second book. He's probably right when he says I shouldn't even be thinking series before getting my first one sold or even finished, but I tell him that the mystery publishers like series; they're steady streams of income.

It's going to take some convincing, but I'm hoping it will work out. I think this is the first time while living as either Liz or Penny that I've really been excited about an opportunity that I wouldn't have had in my old life.

-Art

Arthur: Learning

My entries aren't just going to be a running log of my experiences doing play-by-play for the Dragons, but this weekend was new in that it was my first away game. My first game was at home; my second would be in Chicago. Not only had I never been there before, but I'm not used to this kind of travel.

I'd done some business travel back when I was myself, but it was seldom this regimented - if I could, I'd allow myself some time to see the sights or otherwise spend some quality time. I was a freelancer, after all, and you can write anywhere.

This weekend, I barely noticed I was in Chicago. We did a lot of the groundwork at the Friday planning meeting at home, making sure we were up to speed on Chicago's players and a roster move that the Dragons had made. I was a bit of a target; Mike all but said I was unprofessional and unqualified. He's probably right about the second, although I don't know if I'd go with the first. I've been spending practically all my waking hours over the past two weeks trying to improve my skills as a broadcaster, and I don't think I ever coasted. George was pretty diplomatic in handling it, pointing out that Mike hadn't been particularly sharp in his first game and he hadn't had a lingering illness to deal with, but also being pretty pointed about how that had to be behind me.

Saturday was a blur; there was the airport, hours spent flying to Chicago (and lost from flying East), and hotel check-in. By the time I'd hung my garment bag in the closet, it was already six-thirty. I had a quick meal at the hotel restaurant and then retired back to my room, watching a couple of Nell's old games on a portable DVD player before heading for bed.

Sunday I was up early to check out and catch a train out to Lancaster, where the team was actually playing. Even though the game started a one o'clock local time, we had to be there hours earlier, doing last minute prep, doing our makeup (if we were covering baseball or football, there would probably be hair and makeup people on staff; I was on my own), shooting coach and player interviews to insert into the broadcast later, talking with the person doing the local sports report back home.

I did better on the actual play-by-play this week. I'm helped a little by the fact that men's and women's lacrosse are somewhat different, so Mike is the one supplying most of the actual analysis. I tried to look at it like I was trying to keep someone updated over the phone without saying something that is too obvious to anyone looking at the screen and giving Mike a chance to chime in. Then, at the end of the game, I ran down to the locker room to do a couple stand-up interviews. I drove George and the cameraman nuts because I tended to position myself wrong, and wound up facing the player while the camera got a good shot of my back.

Then it was back upstairs to pack my things up and head back to the airport. Mike gave me the cold shoulder, and I half suspect he moved my stuff so that I wouldn't be finished in time to share a cab with him. I don't know why he was in such a rush; it's not as though he was going to get on an earlier flight and avoid me.

I hope like hell that Nell never slept with him. I only mixed business and pleasure like that once or twice in my old life, so it doesn't seem like something I need to be karmically punished for over and over again.

If she did, though, it seems to just be part of the problem. George caught up with me in the airport bar and sat down beside me for a talk.

"That was better," he said. "You still seem to be having a little trouble shaking the rust off, though."

"What can I say? I had one of those vacations that you need another one to recover from."

He laughed and took a sip of his beer. "Been too long since I've had one of those. Anyway, you were pretty solid this week--" I snorted. "What?"

"'Solid' means 'unpraiseworthy', 'average', or 'undistinguished'. It's what you say about forgettable work." Nearly every polite rejection letter or review that stopped short of actual praise that I'd ever received included the word.

"See, that's why I like working with people like you. It's not about being 'good enough', but being the best. It can make you a pain in the neck, but usually pays off. Anyway, any faults with your game-calling are made up for by my magnificent direction." He barely contained a goofy grin as he said it, so we waited a couple seconds and burst out laughing.

"No, seriously, you're OK, and you'll get better. It would be great if you and Mike could work on your chemistry, though. Both games have been fairly close, but chemistry is what keeps people tuned in to a blowout."

"I'll try. It's just--" I stopped; it seemed wildly inappropriate for me to complain or try to gossip about Mike.

George knew what I was thinking, though. "Don't worry about Mike. He and Al hit it off right away when we first teamed them a couple years ago, so he kind of resents you even though Al's the one that took the radio job in L.A. He'll get over it."

"Ah." Good to know.

"Besides, the guys above me like you. Our ratings for the Stealth jumped fifteen percent this winter, you know, and I don't think there was a sudden influx of new fans of the sport. Maybe Mike just doesn't like that a woman in the booth gets more ink just for being a woman than he gets."

"Glad I can help."

"We do thank you for it." He just sort of looked at me for a couple seconds, then did the too-quick grab for his beer meant to camouflage that a guy thinks a girl is attractive but doesn't think he should say it but which only highlights it. It sloshed a little, and I felt the need to take a quick drink too, so he didn't look or feel silly (of course, that probably just signaled that I'd noticed and made him feel worse).

"Anyway, we're getting good feedback about you. They might want you on-camera more."

"That's... great." I suppose that's what Nell has been working toward. I guess it's good to know she was getting there.

They call our flight, and we separate. Then it was back to San Francisco, and another week of trying to catch up before another game.

-Art