Sisters

She hired two excellent hairdressers from a well-known soap to do the women's hair, and to try and get Désirée's look a little more under control. Désirée was furious that Tammy didn't like her look, but the audience loved the results. Tammy actually got their staff psychologist into some attractive beige suits by major designers, some more modest silk dresses where her gigantic tits weren't spilling onto her knees, and she suddenly looked like an authority in her field, and not a guy in drag. Her look had been very Cage aux Folles before that. And within three weeks of the changes Tammy had instigated, they got two new sponsors, one for dishwashing soap and the other for diapers. It was all squeaky-clean stuff. And the ratings soared.

That didn't rule out the problems they had with the couples, which were legion. One husband had pulled a gun on the host when he had goaded him Geraldo style, and called him a “rotten cheater.” The guy was steaming for the rest of the show, and slammed the host up against a wall with a gun in his belly the minute they came off the air. No one had any idea how he had gotten the gun past security, but there it was, as Tammy happened to be walking by and saw it.

“I agree with you, Jeff,” she said calmly. “The guy's an asshole. I don't like him either, but he's not worth going to prison for. And I thought it was pretty clear on the show that your wife's still in love with you. Why throw all that away? Désirée thought you two had a good shot at patching things up.” Tammy tried to sound convincing and unflustered, and even sympathetic, as she tried to calm the potential shooter, while waiting for someone from security to show up before he shot her too.

“Really?” the man said, and then he got wound up again. “You're just saying that. You guys made assholes of us.”

“I don't think so. The audience loved you, and our ratings were the best they've been all week.” His wife was crying offstage somewhere, because it had come out that he had slept not only with her best friend but also with her sister, which she hadn't known. Could this relationship be saved? Hopefully not. The wife had also slept with his brother, and the entire neighborhood except their dog, to get even with him. As far as Tammy was concerned, they all belonged in jail, where “Jeff” had already been twice, for assault. What were they doing on the show anyway? And why was she producing it? That was the real question. It took them twenty minutes to talk him down. The cops had been called by then, and he was led away in handcuffs, which made the New York Post the next day. And that of course only helped their ratings. There was no question in Tammy's mind. It was a very sick show, catering to the absolute worst instincts of the public. They were Peeping Toms into other people's relationships and bedrooms, and what they saw there fascinated them. Most of the time, it made her sick.

“Well, that was fun,” she said to her assistant, as she got back to her office and sat down at her desk, still looking pale. “Who the hell is screening these people, and where are we getting them? The parole board at Attica prison? Do you think we could do a slightly better job screening these lunatics before we put them on the show and piss them off?” She raised hell at their next production meeting about it, and the associate producer apologized profusely. Their host had actually been shot once before. He had gotten a huge salary increase because of it, and the position was now considered high risk.

“What am I doing here?” she asked herself as she left the meeting and Désirée waylaid her. She said she loved her new wardrobe, but did Tammy think she could talk to Oscar de la Renta about doing an exclusive wardrobe for her? She loved his clothes. A month before they'd been dressing her off the sale rack at Payless, and now she wanted Oscar de la Renta to design her clothes. They were all nuts.

“I'll try, Desi. But this may not be his kind of show.” Particularly if their participants were going to be led away in handcuffs after every show. They had had a less traumatic incident the day before, when a wife had slugged her husband on the air and broken his nose. There had been blood everywhere. The audience had roared in sheer delight. “I loved your dress today.”