Good Morning, Meltdown (Complete Story)
A cheating boyfriend and an unread novel: Veronica Kelly is officially out of time and out of luck.
Life provides its own bit of entertainment, and I try to capture the conflict and joy that arise from what we experience every day. My stories offer a brief respite from this crazy life, and I hope you enjoy them. There’s something new every Friday.
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The Piano Man Chronicles is a two-year anthology project. Every two weeks, you’ll see a story surrounding the fictional novel PIANO MAN (You can read about PIANO MAN below the story). Some stories are small three-part serials. Others will be from guest authors.
By Vince Wetzel
Part 1: Breaking the Spine
A story about a musician Lothario who sleeps with suburban moms? That was the last thing Veronica Kelly, who broke up with her boyfriend under a cloud of cheating two weeks ago, needed to read. Yet, there she was staring at her advance copy of Thomas Eberle’s latest novel, Piano Man, cueing the piano and harmonica in her head.
While she played a different keyboard than the song’s narrator, she felt the same kind of solitary loneliness sitting at her desk in the newsroom, watching her fellow drones create the vapid stories that made a morning show peppy for viewers. If only the audience had seen her sad little desk, with months-old, irrelevant Post-it notes covering its corners. They’d see the dashed hope of her AP Style guide, bought in college but now only a reminder of naïve optimism.
“Veronica,” Trevor, the intern, said. “Tammy is looking for you. She wants to go over the questions for the Piano Man author before tomorrow.”
Veronica grunted something like she would pop over to Tammy’s desk in the next couple of minutes. The truth was that Veronica was as stalled in this chair as she was in her career, with a sea of cubes, poor lighting, and a slight stench of reheated salmon. She was stuck doing these silly segments about what? Some novel about a children’s musician that takes place in San Francisco? This was not the dream she had had when she left broadcasting school, but she had to submit to whatever story landed on her desk if she was going to move on. In the D Block of tomorrow’s Good Morning Bay Area, the always camera-delightful Tammy Waterston would be interviewing Eberle, and it was Veronica’s job to provide Waterston with the perfect questions to make the author engaging. The problem was that Veronica hadn’t read the book yet and was planning an all-nighter and cramming it in tonight. Tomorrow was Friday, and she’d have the weekend to recover anyway.
From what she had seen on YouTube, Eberle had the personality of a napkin, the paper kind you only use when the burger is too messy to eat politely. While GMBA wasn’t Network, Veronica hoped it would enable her to jump from San Francisco to New York in the next few years, or at least pitch producer or correspondent pieces to the mothership. She needed something in her life to move forward. Her breakup with her boyfriend, Jeff, last week revealed that her personal life was a train wreck.
Veronica blew out her cheeks, looked up at the ceiling, and wondered how long it would take for the station to replace the burnt-out fluorescents in this part of the office. The talent always had plenty of light to make themselves look pretty. But junior segment producers, a couple of years out of college, worked by the light of their LCD screens and the few overhead lights that were still functioning. If she was going to get out of this part of the office or over to the network, she needed to be a team player. She grabbed her notebook and a pen. She thought about bringing her copy of Piano Man, but knew Tammy would see that the binding hadn’t been broken.
Veronica thought about how she’d play her lack of reading to Tammy. Tammy didn’t have to read the book. That was Veronica’s job. Yet, like all good on-air talent, Tammy was preparing for the next day. Veronica would need to bluff her way through this interaction, cram tonight, email the questions at 2 a.m. so Tammy can review them, and have a memorable six-minute sit-down chat with the author. The last thing Veronica wanted was to upset the talent. It was a sure-fire way to get stuck on the career ladder.
“Come on in,” Tammy said a split second after Veronica had knocked. Veronica quickly entered and smelled the near-toxic combination of baby powder, perfume, and cucumber hand lotion. A quick deep breath, and Veronica wondered if her throat would eat itself due to exposure.
“Oh my God, Ronnie,” Tammy said, pulling out her Kindle. Veronica had declined the digital copy. She was protesting Jeff Bezos this week, at least until those boots she wanted went on sale. “Didn’t you think Piano Man was amazing? The way Eberle subtly skewers the wealthy cosplaying suburbia? And their bending of social norms to meet their own expectations. It was amazing. Don’t you think it was amazing?”
Tammy’s eyes filled with hope, like a dog after she brings back a tennis ball. Veronica accepted the book and examined the cover. She took a breath and thought of what to say.
“Oh, right. I mean. I mean, how crazy was that one scene?” Veronica began. She tried to recall some of the press releases and the book jacket – any information that would help her. She vaguely remembered something Eberle said on the Today Show yesterday. “You know, the scene when the musician sleeps with the mom right before her kid’s birthday party. I mean, right before.”
“Crazy,” Tammy said, followed by a wink. “And kinda hot too.”
Veronica raised her eyebrow and smiled knowingly. “Right? We should include a question about how he wrote those steamy scenes with a female sensibility. Even though it was from the musician’s perspective, some of those scenes felt like the most intense sex I’ve ever had.”
“Great. So, when should I expect the copy and the questions?” And just like that, Tammy went from a frisky friend who craved the kind of intimacy that only happens in books to an on-air talent asking for what they needed from the relationship.
“You’ll have them when you get in tomorrow, first thing,” I said. “I’m putting the finishing touches. Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to review.”
Tammy was suspicious, but Veronica turned and left before Tammy could ask any more questions. It was about time for the end of her shift. Veronica figured that if she left, got home, turned off her phone, and then ordered DoorDash, she could reasonably be done. She only needed to finish a couple of emails before moving on to other stories. Then she’d head out.
Veronica reached her desk and opened Outlook. But out of the corner of her eye, she was hit with the panic of discovery that the dog had eaten her homework.
Where was her copy of Piano Man?
It was right here only a moment ago. Her effort to search the stacks on her desk shifted from calm to manic. Though she knew that the book didn’t burrow under the mountains of papers, she dug anyway. She looked in the drawers. She checked her backpack. She peered under the desk.
Nothing.
“Hey, did anyone see a book that was on my desk?” Veronica asked, hoping that her voice didn’t betray the fear she was beginning to feel. The shakes of her coworkers’ heads told her no one had seen anything, nor did they care. She felt alone in her plight. Why didn’t she boycott her Kindle next week?
She searched for solutions. She could walk around and see if it suddenly appeared in the break room, having a cup of coffee and chatting with the interns. But that only happened in Pixar movies. She could go to Tammy and ask for her copy, but then the ruse would be up. For a moment, she thought about going to the bookstore and buying it. But the book was released tomorrow. Or she could fake it.
Too early to get desperate, Veronica decided to walk around. Maybe someone picked up the book and took it to the break room to get an early read. Veronica crossed the cubes and went through the hallway. She turned left into the kitchen. A couple of camera operators sat at a table, and a producer was making a cup of coffee.
“Hey, by chance did you pick up a copy of a book. It’s called Piano Man?” she asked.
Veronica felt as though she had walked in and farted. She wasn’t sure if she felt worse that they had no idea what she was talking about or that they didn’t care. After a quick shake of the head, they went back to their conversations and fixed the coffee.
Maybe the copy was in the control room. There was always someone monitoring the network feed to ensure that nothing unexpected happened over the air. They were so bored that they’d bring books or phones to pass the time. She walked into the control room. As always, the fifteen TV screens created a wall of light almost as bright as a setting sun. She looked down both rows of controls. No book.
A nod of inquisition from Roger.
“You haven’t seen a copy of a book called Piano Man, have you?
A shake of the head, and Veronica’s desperation was beginning to lodge in her throat. If the door could be slammed, she would have made the control room shake. Vernonica’s frustration was turning to anger. Did someone lift the book off her desk without a note? Without a care? Without a courtesy?
Veronica was mostly angry with herself. She had a week to read this book, but since her break-up with her boyfriend Jeff last week, she hadn’t felt like reading a novel. She was certain Jeff had cheated on her, with him ghosting her some nights and suspiciously typing on his phone when they were together. Rather than reading about musical hookups, she had felt better lying in bed scrolling through TikTok. Not the wisest career move, but here she was. Welp, maybe she’d just have to walk back to Tammy, share her predicament, beg for forgiveness, and get it done. Say goodbye to Network. Say goodbye to any chance at promotions.
News Director Maria Usher approached, heels clicking and immediately owning the space around her. At 50, she was a role model for Veronica. In twenty-five years, she hoped she would have the grace and command respect like this fierce woman. She looked great, dressed impeccably, and her friendly but no-nonsense approach was an ideal that Vernonica admired.
Veronica glanced down at Maria’s hand. In it was a book. She looked back up, and Maria was staring right at her and smiling.
“Veronica,” Maria said with excitement. “You’re helping to prep Tammy for her interview with Thomas Eberle, right?”
Veronica nodded.
“Oh, good. I loved his first book, Voyage to Victoria. My assistant Tamara said she left you a note saying I was borrowing the book to read the first chapter. I couldn’t wait. It looks so good. I’m eager to read it. Is it good?”
Veronica bit her lip. What to do? Confirm she hadn’t read it yet?
“I’m finishing it tonight,” Veronica stammered.
“Really?” Maria said, her eyebrows raised. Veronica’s misstep would certainly be filed in Maria’s mind to be recalled when a promotion was discussed.
“Well, get it done. We want to have a great interview with Eberle tomorrow. I’m coming in early so I can watch and meet Eberle myself.”
Veronica smiled, taking the book from Maria.
Time for that all-nighter.
Part 2: Animal Style and All-Nighters
Veronica had a plan.
Veronica stepped into her Marina District apartment, resolved. She had no distractions. How could one when the living space cost too much and was more like a closet with a stovetop? It was 4 p.m., and the small sliver of sunlight peeking through the blinds revealed the status of her life. She groaned. The dishes, some with caked-on rice and peas, remained in her sink. A load of laundry was currently earning squatter’s rights on the chair where she had planned to read. She was in a room of her own disappointment, one that had taken on a life of its own since she broke up with her boyfriend, Jeff, a week ago.
But nope, she’d deal with her self-pity tomorrow. Priority Number One right now was reading “Piano Man,” the latest novel by Thomas Eberle, writing a synopsis, and preparing questions for Good Morning Bay Area host Tammy Waterston in her segment with Eberle. It was time to own up that she’d put off poring over the novel because of her breakup. And now she had eleven hours to read and send the questions.
Veronica checked the clock on the opposite wall. Strike that. Now it was 4:30 p.m. She had ten hours and thirty minutes until 3 am, when Tammy would be up and checking her email to prepare for the telecast. Even the clock, with its out-of-place faux-wood frame and parchment-colored paper and Roman Numerals, turned her thoughts toward Jeff. She’d bought it with Jeff a year ago. It was ugly then – a cheap replica of something you’d see in a 19th-century library – but she compromised. Now, she hated it.
Dealing with this breakup had been more complicated than she thought. When he came to her a week ago to admit he had cheated on her and was moving out, she felt a bottomless pit in her stomach. Her intuition was accurate. True, they’d talk about marriage and their futures. But come to think of it, she had talked about it more than he. He only nodded in the affirmative. What a fraud he was to lead her on. What an idiot she was to let him.
It was all that she could do to get out of bed every morning. And now she was expected to read this novel, which satirized the lives of young, wealthy adults in San Francisco. She didn’t need a book to tell Veronica that her life was fucked.
I will put on a pot of coffee, eat horribly, and knock this read out. Veronica knew from the press kit that the audio version of the book, read by Zach Efron, took 9.5 hours. If she read it straight through, she’d get it done in eight hours. If she skimmed parts of it, she might get that time down to six to seven. Plenty of time. She might even manage to get a few hours of sleep.
But first, she needed something to eat. Her fridge was as depressing as her relationship status. A bag of lettuce, the color of mulch and the consistency of sludge, was in her crisper drawer, alongside an orange that sagged like a deflated balloon. She didn’t dare shake the carton of milk or remember what that mound of aluminum foil was. As it was every night last week, it was DoorDash. Forty minutes and several TikTok reels later, she decided on a burrito bowl from Chipotle for the cost of a small automobile but with less favorable financing terms.
OK, twenty minutes until delivery. She didn’t want the delivery to disrupt her reading, so Veronica scooped four scoops of dark-roast grounds into the coffee maker to brew a pot. She also put on her pajamas. Now, she was ready. She was efficient. By the time she washed her face and got ready, her delivery driver was there, and she had given up hope that a delivery driver would rescue her. OK, she had eight hours until Tammy woke up and expected those questions. She might pull an all-nighter, but it was Thursday. She’d sleep this weekend.
She had her burrito bowl. And cracked open the book and read the first chapter. Eberle was a brilliant writer. Could she write a novel like this or like Voyage to Victoria? Probably not. What was his background again? She looked at the press kit. He went through a divorce. His wife cheated on him, too. He was also fairly attractive, though he was ten or fifteen years older than her. Well, she already told herself that he was more mature than Jeff ever was. She clicked onto Facebook and Instagram for research on Eberle.
OK, that was a waste of 20 minutes. The press kit gave Veronica more insight than anything else, though she liked Thomas Eberle more and more. Onto Chapter Two, and then three. She had her notebook open, jotting down notes.
Veronica poured herself a cup of coffee and found comfort in the fleece blanket her mother gave her when she moved to college. This wasn’t so bad. Yes, she wanted more breaking news. She wanted to be a producer for a regional network. She wanted to be part of the action, not morning-show drivel. But reading a novel in her living room wrapped in a blanket was certainly more comfortable than covering a blizzard in the Midwest. She wrapped herself in the blanket more. Didn’t she just read this page?
The knock startled her. She tried to ignore it and get back to the book. She reread the page before another knock. Veronica grunted in frustration. She threw off the blanket and strode to the door. It was her elderly neighbor, Livy. She was nice enough, but her yippy Shih Tzu was more effective than an alarm clock, waking her on weekends and precisely at 7:12 a.m.
“Oh, Veronica,” Livy said, visibly upset. She was holding Oscar. His white coat was stained with a mustard-yellow goo. “I hate to bother you after 10, but Oscar got a hold of something. He’s sick.”
Veronica was sympathetic, but it took her a moment to process the time. She looked at the clock on the wall. 10:30 p.m. Had she fallen asleep in the chair for two hours? Panic made her neck tight and heightened her frustration with this latest interruption.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Livy,” Veronica said. “Have you called the vet?”
“Yes, and I need to take Oscar to the emergency,” she said. “But I’m too upset to drive. I hate to be a bother, but can you drive me?”
“Is there anyone else to drive you?” Veronica asked. “I’ve got a work project I have to get done.”
“Not really. Mr. Johnson is away. And Dustin is drunk. The Sampsons have those twin babies. I guess I could ask them.”
Veronica considered the evil looks she’d get across the complex if she forced Livy to ask the Sampsons to drive her to the veterinary hospital room so she could read a book. Her conscience and her reputation wouldn’t allow her to make the selfish choice, though the chair and the blanket were making strong arguments. She could take the book and read it there. She’d just tell Livy she had to read.
“Okay, I’ll take you, but I have to read a book in the waiting room. Is that fine?” Veronica said.
“Oh, thank you,” Livy said, relief spreading across her face. “And yes, of course, I’m just so thankful you can drive me.”
Veronica asked Livy to meet her by the car while she gathered a few things. She grabbed the book. She was on Page 54 of 302. She would need to start skimming. Sigh. She poured another cup of coffee into a travel mug.
On the drive to the vet, Veronica knew this was the right thing to do. Her mother would be proud. But it didn’t help when Oscar projectile vomited from Livy’s lap all over the dashboard. One positive? It dripped onto an old In-N-Out bag. Talk about “animal style.” Livy didn’t appreciate the subtle irony. Nor did she apologize. She just started crying.
“Oh, Oscar,” she said. “We’re going to get you better.”
At the vet, while Livy took Oscar to the front desk, Veronica found a chair and opened the book. She wouldn’t fall asleep here. The waiting room was a fluorescent nightmare and one dark hue and a tense soundtrack away from a horror movie. Still, she found it difficult to focus with her neighbor in distress. It took her minutes to get through a couple of pages while she watched Livy explain the situation to the front desk assistant. When Livy sat next to Veronica, Veronica grabbed her elderly neighbor’s hand as she read.
While Livy whimpered, Veronica struggled to hold back chuckles from the entertaining passages. This book was funny. The chain-smoking Snow White flirting with the dad at the princess party was priceless. She was skimming more than she wanted to, but at this point, she was working against the clock, which now read 11:16. She had about three hours to finish and write the copy for Tammy.
The vet came out with Oscar, and Livy rushed over. Veronica closed the book – she was halfway done now – and joined them.
“Nothing too bad,” the vet said. “She got into some chocolate, which is toxic for these little guys. Thankfully, we were able to take care of the issue, and he’ll be tired, but he’ll be fine.”
“Oh, thank you,” Livy said through her tears of relief and hugged him. She hugged Veronica, then took her dog and pressed her face against his. “Oh, Oscar, I couldn’t live without you,” Livy said to Oscar. “No, I couldn’t. Veronica and I were scared for you.”
Veronica smiled, and after completing the paperwork, they were on their way back to the apartment building. Veronica felt like an anonymous Uber driver, only counted on to get Livy and Oscar back to their destination. Veronica understood, but she felt a bit underappreciated, like she did with this job. Was she stressing over a book?
When they parked again, Livy got out with Oscar and finally acknowledged her.
“Thank you, Veronica,” Livy said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. And I’m so sorry he got sick in your car. Let me know if you need any money to clean it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Veronica said, already rushing up to the apartment to read. She’d clean up the car tomorrow.
She closed the door, threw her bag on the coffee table, and collapsed on the couch. No need to be comfortable now. She needed to get down to business. She was about halfway done. Cole, the main character, was going through an existential crisis. Veronica wondered if this was based on a real person. A question to ask for sure. If it were based on someone real, she wouldn’t object to doing a follow-up and meeting this Sam.
She spent too much time playing out the fantasy. Back to the book. At 1 a.m. She was getting through it. She could get this done. Nobody would know that she waited until the last moment.
Her phone buzzed, and “Jeff” showed up on the screen. Just what she needed. She should have deleted his contact when he left her. She hadn’t even changed the picture. It was Jeff at his cutest. His tongue was out in a flirty way, and his eyes matched. That look, along with the fantasy of Sam, intrigued her. Against her better judgment, she answered.
“What?” Veronica asked. Yes, she picked up, but she had to convey her annoyance.
“Hey,” Jeff asked. His voice was low and gravelly – another trait she loved. A few weeks ago, she would allow herself to feel tingly. Well, she still did, but she wasn’t admitting it.
“I’ve got stuff to do. Is everything ok?”
“I was just thinking about you.”
“Well, you were the one who left, so…”
“I know. I’m not sure if I should have.”
Well, this was something new. He regretted breaking up with her? Still, she wouldn’t give in.
“That was your choice.”
“I know. I miss you. I mean, I think of the good times we had… the sexy times we had…” Jeff followed with a moan, and it took her back to the crazy sex they’d had on this couch. She shook her head back out of fantasy land.
“Jeff, is this a booty call?”
“Well, I mean, if you wanted to get together for old times’ sake. We could have some fun.”
The balloon popped. The sobriety of the present, of dog puking in her car, of this book assignment, replaced the longing she felt a moment earlier.
“I can’t deal with this. I’ve got work to do,” she said and hung up. She didn’t have time. She would put it off, just like everything else, and deal with it later. She poured back into the book.
2 a.m. now, and she had 50 pages left. The book was excellent. What would Cole do with his life? Would he give up all the fun and sex he’d had for his dream? Why was he doing this job? She wondered about it too. What was she doing? Was she sacrificing the present for an unsure future?
At 2:34 and fueled by coffee and the adrenaline of staring down the deadline, she typed the opening copy and questions for Tammy. She poured over her background notes, brought forth the social media posts she visited hours – had it only been hours? – before and finally pushed upload to the system at 2:54 a.m.
Veronica pushed back from her desk and looked up at the ceiling. In six minutes, her alarm would go off, and she’d get ready for her final shift of the week. She’d need to power through and then deal with her life this weekend. But maybe this was the point. There are no breaks from life. She’d need to deal with things as they happened.
At 2:56, an email from Tammy
Wow, nothing like waiting until the last minute to get these notes to me. But thank you. These look great. Wasn’t that book awesome? We’ll go over everything. See you in a bit.
Another day, another dollar.
Part 3: Brain Fog In the Newsroom
Around her, the sounds were muted and slow. Above her, the fluorescent lights pounded an unrelenting pulse of stimuli that threatened her sanity. Veronica’s brain fog, the result of hours of no sleep and counting, was threatening to overtake her as she moved about the station floor and studio. The hours leading up to Good Morning Bay Area were frenetic, with sound engineers running cables, camera operators checking their equipment, and on-air talent and producers making final preparations for live TV. Between the endless coffee and the adrenaline of working on live TV, she was a living, breathing double espresso shot with extra anxiety foam. The tingly sensation spread from her fingers to her eyes and even to her hair follicles.
As she knocked on the dressing room door of host Tammy Wasterston, she chastised herself. She had no one to blame but herself. She had a week to read Piano Man, Thomas Eberle’s latest novel, to prepare Tammy for a live interview with Eberle. But instead of plowing through it every night, she had wasted her week dwelling on her recent breakup and only broke the spine the night before. She had sent over the questions and the copy minutes before she left for the shift.
Veronica knew she would get through today, though it would be painful. Just four years ago, she had spent many nights pouring black coffee down her throat to cram for finals. She was old school like that. No energy drinks for her. But her stomach was already gurgling, and the professional life was a little different than rolling into the classroom in pajamas and a hoodie.
“So, you got those questions to me pretty late,” Tammy said, applying the last bit of camera-ready foundation. Unlike the newsroom bullpen, where the mismatched desks were a patchwork quilt of metal under poor lighting and budget cuts, Tammy’s dressing room was all warm glow and lavender. “Everything ok?”
“Yeah, of course. Well, I would have gotten it to you earlier, but I had to help my neighbor with a pet issue,” Veronica hadn’t lied. Livy, her elderly neighbor, had needed a ride to the veterinary hospital to care for her Shih Tzu, Oscar. Veronica left out the part about her feverishly reading the book while in the waiting room with Livy.
“Everything fine with the dog?”
Veronica nodded, noting not to have pets. They were too much of an investment, both financially and emotionally. She changed the subject to Eberle and Piano Man.
“So, you’re good with the lead-in and the questions?” Veronica asked.
“Of course, I really liked the questions about his influences and his purpose for writing. I think everyone needs a why, and I’m interested in hearing his.”
“I thought so too,” Veronica said. “I also think you need to use that transition from Voyage to Victoria to Piano Man. They are quite different, and we need to mine through why he didn’t just write something similar with greater heft.”
Veronica was busy applying some more eyeliner. “And the questions and lead-in are all in the teleprompter?”
“Yes.”
“Good, because can I tell you something?”
“Of course,” Veronica felt a pit in her stomach.
“I didn’t read the book,” Tammy admitted. Veronica wanted to pick up the eyeliner next to her hand and fling it at Tammy. Alas, she was too tired to make the effort.
“What? You said yesterday you loved it. And you even glowed about certain chapters,” Veronica sounded disdainful. She had stayed up all night so as not to look unprepared to the talent. Now she understood Tammy would be flying without wings.
“I know,” Tammy said with a repentant look. “I didn’t want to sound stupid. I started it, got through the first 100 pages. I planned to read it last night, but I got distracted.”
Veronica knew the feeling. Between her neighbor’s dog, her ex-boyfriend calling for a late-night booty call, she was thankful to get through a skim of the book. Still, she felt uneasy that the interview questions were based on a cursory review of the novel.
But Veronica knew that Tammy was referring to the celebrity scandal that had broken last night while Veronica was dealing with Livy and Oscar. Actress Carrie Sorenson, a Bay Area resident in Sausalito, had been pulled over for drunk driving on the Golden Gate Bridge. The leaked police dashboard camera had shown Sorenson, clearly intoxicated, offering sexual favors in return for getting let off with a warning. Although admittedly salacious, it was ratings gold and would lead the morning news broadcast, even though it had already topped the late local news.
Veronica went over the rest of the rundown for the show, then returned to her desk to complete her other assignments, including a pre-produced travel segment to Pacifica and a retirement-planning segment that had been done so many times it had written itself.
Five minutes to air, and her eyelids felt like they had ten-pound weights tied to them. Veronica poured herself another cup, leaned against the chipped and sticky breakroom countertop, slapped her face lightly, and tried to shake the cobwebs out of her head.
“Did you hear?” Bill, one of the sound engineers, asked as he fixed his own cup. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Teleprompters are fried. They’re working on it but aren’t sure of the timeframe for getting them back online. Oh, and remember the studio printer is also offline.”
Veronica tossed her head back against the cabinet and moaned. Of course. We live in the 2020s, and the station was stuck in the last century. She couldn’t understand why today’s technology couldn’t be used to rig a monitor to sit below the camera and display the text. Still, there was something about the program and the outdated system. Tammy would have to rely solely on the printout for her interview, brought to you from fifty yards away in the newsroom.
Veronica ran her hands through her curly brown hair. Only seven hours to go, and she could crash out on her sofa and sleep through the weekend without a thought to her boyfriend, a sick chihuahua, or Piano Man.
“Hey, Veronica, I think your author is here,” Dawn, another producer on the morning show, said. “He’s in the green room.”
Veronica sighed and dragged herself to the green room, a designated area for guests to sit and relax before the scheduled time. It was designed to be comfortable. Along with the cozy couch, though she’d never sit in it based on the stories she’d heard, a large bank of monitors and soft, warm lamps, there was a complement of snacks, including donuts, almonds, and cereal bars. Its primary purpose was to corral guests into a single area, keeping them easily accessible.
Thomas Eberle was standing in front of the monitor, taking in the atmosphere. He was dressed more like a professor and remained surprised that the raunchy and manic Piano Man came out of the same brain as the Fog of Victoria.
“Hello, Mr. Eberle?” Veronica said. Eberle turned and smiled. While not his first live interview, he beamed that his writing had garnered any attention at all.
“Yes, Veronica?” Eberle stuck out his hand. “Just call me Tom. Excited to be here.”
“You wrote quite a book. A lot different than Victoria.”
“I was in a different place.”
“Well, this was very Hunter Thompson-ish. I read it in one night.” Veronica didn’t mention that it was last night, and much of it was scanned.
“That’s what I was going for - Fear and Loathing meets children’s entertainment.”
Veronica laughed and gave him the rundown of the show and how she’d retrieve him moments before his segment. She explained the teleprompter snafu and how Tammy would be relying on notes.
“Sounds like a plan,” Eberle said. An easy guest, Veronica thought. That’s exactly what I need.
Leaving Eberle, Veronica stopped by the control room to watch the opening titles and to hear Tammy and co-host Dirk Dunne go through the rundown for viewers. While the studio floor had the kinetic energy of an engine, the control room was a cerebral vault of intensity.
“Camera 1, come in tighter on Tammy,” the director, Chelsea Blonsky, said. “I need a two-shot on Camera 2.”
“Thirty seconds,” Producer Brent Sunderland said.
“Cue intro,” Chelsea ordered. And with that, another Good Morning Bay Area was on the air. As expected, the lead story was the Sorenson arrest and tape. The first half hour would be a recap of the previous night’s news. The interview with Eberle was midway through the second half hour.
Tammy and Dirk did their best by reading the printed copy. They were pros after all, and it was likely not the first time they had to read from the stack of papers. Leaning against the wall of the control room, Veronica leaned her head against the wall. It felt so good. She just needed a few minutes to close her eyes. That was it.
“Veronica, where’s Eberle?” executive producer Dee Edwards said. “He was supposed to get mic’d up, and he’s not in the green room. He’s on in 15 minutes.”
Where did the last 10 minutes go? Veronica shook herself awake, panic and adrenaline surging through her. She went to the green room. No Eberle. She should have been here to lead him to the studio, but something was lost in those ten minutes.
She texted him and called into the restroom. No Eberle. She walked to her desk and saw no tiny man in a black suit. She walked to the studio, and there he was. With his suit and short stature, he was barely visible. With her heart beating so fast that it could rival an Olympic Sprinter, she ushered him over to the audio engineers to get mic’d up.
“I always like to watch the show in the studio. It’s so fascinating,” Eberle said. “Maybe I’ll write a novel about it.”
Veronica hoped not, especially about today. She was not at her best. Get through the next half hour, and the rest of the day will be easier than it was to fall asleep.
“We’re back in two minutes,” said the floor director.
At each commercial break, Trevor, the intern, brought a new set of scripts printed from the newsroom for the talent to thumb through. Without a teleprompter, this became more crucial.
On the next commercial break, Veronica brought Eberle over to the couch to meet Tammy and to have a casual conversation about his book. Eberle was gracious, offering a formal handshake and a smile. Veronica would watch from just off camera. She felt like she was floating, tired but loaded on enough caffeine to fuel a police squad. As she went to step off the stage, she missed a step and tripped over Trevor, who was carrying Tammy’s script for the interview. In slow motion, the papers flew up like freed pigeons, scattering across the studio floor in a flurry of printed chaos. Everyone gasped. The unflappable Tammy looked like she had seen a ghost.
“Sixty seconds,” the floor director said.
Veronica and Trevor tried to make sense of the papers, but they were in disarray.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“We can wing the interview,” Eberle said innocently. “Just ask me about the book.”
Tammy looked at Veronica. Winging it was not her answer.
“Reprint?” Trevor asked. Veronica shook her head. There was no way to print the questions in the newsroom and bring it back in time.
“Feed me the questions through the IFB,” Tammy said. Veronica had the same idea and rushed to the control room, pulling up the copy she’d emailed her. She didn’t have time to log in to the system, locate the file, and start the interview.
“Are we really going to do this?” Edwards said. “You’re going to feed it through her earpiece?”
“Thirty seconds,” the floor director said.
Veronica nodded. This was her opportunity to show she was unflappable. Maybe it would lead to a promotion. Or, she’d need to find a new job. She yanked on the headset that fed into Tammy’s earpiece, its cord snaking across the sound board.
“OK, Tammy, I’ve got you,” Veronica said. “On the intro, this is Thomas Eberle, the novel is Piano Man, and it’s a follow-up to the best-seller Voyage to Victoria. He is a local boy, grew up in the Sunset District, and lives there now.”
Tammy nodded and took a few deep breaths. Eberle looked stunned as if he might faint.
“Ten seconds.”
“Calm Eberle down,” Veronica said. “He looks like a ghost.”
“Thomas, it’s going to be all right,” Tammy said, tapping his knee in assurance. “This happens all the time.”
He breathed. That was a good sign.
“In five, four, three…”
“Everyone is anticipating the latest novel from our local author, Thomas Eberle,” Tammy said with a smile on her face. She was flawless in her introduction. These were moments when on-air talent amazed Veronica. They had the gift of extemporaneous speech and could make practically everything, including notes given in the headset, seem like a planned monologue.
Using her phone, Veronica fed Tammy questions one by one, and Tammy made them seem authentic, genuine, and unrehearsed. For his part, Eberle rolled with it, engaging, answering each question with a story from the book or by detailing his writing process. The screen on her phone went blurry, or the lack of sleep was getting to her. She shook her head, blinked her eyes, and relayed the next question.
“Is Carter a real person?” Tammy asked. “I know you went to several children’s birthday parties for research.”
“Cole is based on several people I met during my research,” Eberle corrected her. “There are a lot of artists out there just trying to find their dreams. And that’s part of the beauty of their story. They entertain and are willing to do anything to fill that passion.”
Tammy wrapped up the interview after eight minutes, and the station went to commercial break. Veronica felt her energy leave her. She could hardly stand, let alone go to the studio to retrieve Eberle and thank him for stopping by.
“Good job,” Edwards said. “Quick thinking.”
Veronica blew out her cheeks, smiled, and dragged herself out of the chair in the control room and to the studio where Eberle was standing. Tammy was back at the anchor desk but found a moment to look over at Veronica, smile, and give a thumbs-up.
“Well, that was exciting,” Eberle said.
“Yes, that was a little unusual,” Veronica said. “But glad you had a great time.”
“I did, except for one thing,” Eberle said.
Veronica’s smile quickly failed. Eberle was looking at her, a flash of anger in his eyes.
“The main character is Cole, not Carter,” Eberle smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest. You look like you need the sleep.”
About The Piano Man Chronicles
Piano Man, written by the fictional author Thomas Eberle, is a creative spark that connects a wide variety of stories, like a quiet ripple. I am writing three‑part arcs that introduce new people, new places, and new turning points, but the shared thread is how this one book nudges something in each of them.
Some characters read it.
Some argue with it.
Some only know it because someone they love won’t stop talking about it.
But for all of them, The Piano Man becomes a spark — a moment of reflection, change, or connection.
Guest authors, such as Sandolore Sykes, are contributing their own takes on the story, creating a wide world of literary interconnection. This project is meant to feel like wandering through a neighborhood at dusk, catching glimpses of lives in motion. You’re not following one plot; you’re following the echo of a story inside a story, watching how art lands differently in every life it touches.
The Birthday Party Underground
When washed-up rocker Cole takes a pity gig at his nephew’s birthday party, he expects juice boxes, tantrums, and the slow death of his dignity. What he doesn’t expect is applause, cash, and a new career path—one paved with glitter, chaos, and the occasional piñata-related injury.
Welcome to the children’s party circuit, where the princesses aren’t Disney-approved, the clowns have criminal records, and the magicians might be dabbling in more than sleight of hand. As Cole dives deeper into this surreal subculture, he finds himself entangled in illicit rendezvous with moms (divorced, married, and morally flexible), navigating the drug-laced underbelly of suburban affluence, and dodging emotional landmines disguised as balloon animals.
But beneath the costumes and confetti lies a question Sam can’t escape: Is this his second act or just another detour on the road to self-destruction?
Eberle’s Piano Man is a tragicomic romp through the absurdity of reinvention, where the music never stops, but the consequences keep piling up. Sharp, irreverent, and unexpectedly tender, it’s a backstage pass to the party you never knew you wanted to crash.
“A rock ballad wrapped in confetti and regret. Eberle’s prose is as sharp as a broken guitar string.”
— Javier Stone, author of The Last Encore
“Thomas Eberle has written the most unwholesome children’s party novel imaginable—and I mean that as high praise.”
— Mira Caldwell, author of Suburban Gothic
“A hilarious, heartbreaking descent into the party circuit’s glittery underworld. Think Almost Famous meets Bad Moms with a dash of Hunter S. Thompson.”
— The Sacramento Tribune