The cameras have stopped rolling. The audience has left, filing zombie-like out of the auditorium, their heads still filled with images that will take days for them to fully digest. Another successful show. The producer has been extremely pleased with the night's installment. A double incest, two attempted suicides and a pregnant daughter. He knew it was going to be a good show, the moment he saw that father. The man was acting tough, but he knew that the father wanted the money or else he wouldn't be on the show. He was the kind who would break on national television. He always felt a sense of success when he could make a man cry on screen. The audience loved it, they had stood up cheering in excitement when the father broke down. He liked to think he was giving the people what they wanted, they wanted Roman Carnival and they wanted to moralize. They could jeer and throw abuses at these messed up people with no sense of morality while for the two hours of the taping forget about their own smallness.

"Great job, Jack." Murray the producer gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Keep the drama coming you hear me?"

He nodded at him, gave him a thumbs up and quick smile then retired to his changing room. It was exhausting, the spotlight had melted his make-up and his was still shaking from the frenzy he worked himself and his guests into.

He loved this quiet hour of the night when the studio was empty, and he could have time to sort out his thoughts on the night's show. What was good, what drew audience reaction and what he had failed to do. There were always nerves he failed to touch, important questions that would make his guests break that he forgot to ask. He sat down, the soft backing of the chair felt good against his back. Despite all that talk about progress and civilization, people still wanted drama. Spouses cheating, illegitimate babies, incestuous relationships. From where he sat he could see the faces in the audience, they always looked base when the good stuff came on. They could pretend as hard as they want that these things were cheap but they loved them. They couldn't take their eyes off the anger exploding on stage, the uncontrollable sadness. It was all very freakish.

There was a knock on the door.

"Jack?"

It was Murray. What did he want? He reluctantly stood up and shuffled to the door.

He opened the door to see Murray with his arm around the shoulder of a tiny woman. She was about forty-ish. She was wearing a pathetic looking cardigan with ugly pink smudges attempting to resemble roses. He smiled at the pair.

"Hey Murray, what can I do for you?"

"Jack, this is Mrs Ellen Wood. She is here to meet you. She won the radio contest for a pair of tickets to the show and to meet you in person."

Oh Christ, not tonight, he thought. But he gave her a brilliant smile.
"Congratulations Mrs Wood, how very nice to meet you."

Murray gave her a cordial nudge. "You guys have a good chat. Mrs Wood, once again it's very nice to meet you. When you are done with your chat with Jack, you can exit the studio by this door right here." He motioned at the exit and left without turning around.

Damn Murray. He was always the first to leave at the sign of trouble. He made way for Mrs Wood and welcomed her into the dressing room. She strode in and stood watching him.

"Would you like a seat?" He offered her the chair, but she shook her head.

"Mr Murphy, I just wanted to see you in person." She said, her voice squeaked and made him think the metallic screech of brakes.

"Please, Mrs Wood, you can call me Jack."

"Well, Jack, as I was saying, I just wanted to meet the man behind the show. I have always wanted to ask you a question."

He smiled at her encouragingly to get her to speed up the meeting so she would leave.
"Go ahead, Mrs Wood."

She rolled her shoulders back and straightened herself a little. She looked him in the eye, and he could see a sharp glint of light.

"How do you live with yourself?"

"Excuse me?" He shook his head as if he heard it wrong.

"How do you do it? Exploiting people like that. Making money out of their private miseries. How do you do it? Do you just go home and sleep after you humiliate people the way you do? Do you think everything is wonderful after you degrade someone in public like that? It's disgusting."

He stared at her ugly sweater, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on the gross pink spots which made him think of mutated organisms on the sea bed. After an embarrassingly long moment of silence. He looked at the little woman and he opened the door for her.

"Mrs Wood. Thank you for stopping by. Have a good night now."
She scoured at his courtesy. "You disgust me." Then she storms off.
He lets the door close behind her, hearing that wonderful click of it shutting.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He could see the face make-up flaking. It was dried and he could see the deep lines forming around his eyes and his mouth. He looked haggard.

How does he live with himself? How does anyone.

He bent his face closer to the mirror. He could see the flakes of powder on his eyelashes. The light from the mirror made them glint, they seemed golden. He stepped back still looking at himself. He watched his eyes, his nose, his mouth and ears fall apart and come together again. He summoned up a smile. It has been a long night.