It had been two years since Ian had sent a letter to the network. It had just been something he dared himself to do, thinking it was a shot in the preverbal dark, but what the hell? He started at the ends of the earth thinking go for the impossible first and then reign it in, just because it was the last thing any one else from his small town would do.
Three weeks ago, the morning he had quietly packed his backpack to slip out of Billy’s apartment before they woke up, his cell phone rang. He had looked at the caller ID to make sure it wasn’t Clair.
At first he decided not to answer, since he didn’t recognize the number, but Billy’s daughter came out of the bedroom holding her dolly and looking at him with those trusting baby girl eyes. A panic of memory shooting through his brain, Ian quickly flipped open the phone and started a fake “intense conversation” with the mystery number.
To Ian’s shock and pleasure, he found himself talking with Marty Kovak, head of human resources for the network. Mr. Kovak, explained they were looking for some new blood and wondered if he would be interested in hopping the next plane for a face to face interview. By 4 PM that evening he found himself in the human resources office having that face to face with Kovak and a man he didn’t know either by the name of Jack Tolan.
Knowing he had no chance at all, before he had even got off the plane, Ian decided there was no reason to be nervous. He would just enjoy being in an office of what once had been the most powerful entertainment force in the English-speaking world. He figured just hit them with whatever bubbled to the top, shake hands and thank them for the chance he knew good and well he’d never get.
Kovak had explained that they were looking for fresh ideas in the development division and liked the spin he had put on his local news format. Ian just assumed at best he would start at the bottom, if there was a chance in hell he would be starting at all. But starting at the bottom of HRT entertainment was a step way above and beyond being lead anchor slash producer for a 5 PM talk news program in a small Virginia market.
Kovak was in his early fifties and the other man, Tolan, a much quieter, older man. Ian did his best, spouting off his take on why the network was no longer number one, and how to get it out of the basement. He spewed forth series and format ideas, explaining, truthfully, that while the other kids were playing baseball and plowing fields, he was creating movies and series in his head and putting together network line ups as a game for fun.
When the quiet man finally spoke he asked Ian how he would approach things if out of the blue he were given a division at the network to run. Ian did not hesitate telling the man that since he was under thirty and unseasoned he knew that he’d have to assemble a team quickly, since everyone there would be putting their own balls in a vice along with his.
He told them he would like to come in incognito for a brief time to see how the people already in place communicated and functioned. He would then be able to quickly weed out who was essential, who had promise and who just needed to apply for work at McDonalds.
Kovak scoffed that the idea was ridiculous and a waste of time. Ian, already energized with fake power, had no problem immediately correcting him. “If that’s what you feel sir, that I suggest that maybe you should look into McDonalds.”
Tolan laughed and Kovak stood, thanking him for his time. Ian shook his hand, thanked him and then repeated the procedure with Mr. Tolan.
Tolan refused to release his grip on Ian’s hand asking, “Would you care to explain, exactly why you would enter the network in such a manner?”
Ian smiled and took one last, but confident stab, knowing he had already nailed his coffin shut. “Sir, this is California, and this is the entertainment business. I’d need to quickly assemble a team with talent and hard core work ethics. By coming in as an underling, it would be easy to observe those who genuinely have both, which is what I would need to help the network succeed.”
Tolan dropped his hand and patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you, son”. He nodded at Kovak, told Ian it was a pleasure and left the room.
Kovak, too, thanked Ian and informed him that he felt he was a little green for the position, but to continue to work and maybe in the future something at one of the other networks might be more suitable to his ideas.
Ian just smiled and told him he wasn’t disappointed. He had enjoyed himself and appreciated getting to interview. He thanked him kindly and left the office feeling good about himself and his future even though he didn’t get a job he knew he didn’t have even before he was told he was too green.
As he stepped out of the elevator in into the lobby, a rather frazzled receptionist yelled behind him, “Mr. Justyn? Mr. Justyn?”
At first Ian didn’t realize that she was calling him, and then turned and quietly said, “Yes”, just in case she wasn’t.
“If you have a moment, Mr. Tolan would like to see you in his office.”
He was given instructions on were to go and soon found himself inside a very plush office and seated directly across from Jack Tolan, whom Ian didn’t know was the entertainment division vice president until he read the title on the wall outside the office. Ian was still confused enough by the turn of events to not be nervous, or maybe he was just naive.
Tolan simply sat him down and started off the conversation with, “I have the gut feeling you aren’t full of crap, and if I let you walk out of here I’m slitting my own throat.” He explained that his job was on the line and he realized that some new energy and ideas from someone not already laden down with tired strategies and used ideas might be exactly what was needed.
He explained in detail how things worked, that there were five programming executives, each being a wolf fighting over a meager portion of schedule time, the hungrier wolf getting the bigger share. One of those executives had just run out of fight and Tolan was staving off cutting him loose until the right alpha wandered into the pack. He wondered if Ian might be that wolf.
Ian jumped right in and told him all he needed was to fly back home pack a few things and tell his station so long, provided that they could help him out of his contractual obligations. He would be eager to start in any capacity.
Tolan already knew that his contract was with an affiliate of the network and would have no trouble buying out his contract. He made a couple of phone calls and informed Ian that the job was his if he didn’t mind “sharing his ball space in a mutual and very tenuous vice”.
Two Mondays ago, Ian walked into an office at HRT network allowing everyone to think he was the new man at the bottom of the totem pole. On the way to the office he felt bad about the ruse but with minutes of arriving realized that most of these arrogant hacks were the former wolf’s biggest problem and deserved whatever they were going to get. In fact, he had met few that he would spill any tears over.
He had come in for the first two weeks, allowed himself to be treated like a “Kmart inbred” as someone said not so quietly behind his back, and worked from 8 to 5 as a grunt. He allowed himself to be ordered around by everyone there, the worst offender being a woman named, of all things, Trish Apple who claimed to be the executive’s assistant. He got lots of coffee, got blamed for almost everything but maintained his mild mannered alter ego, even clocking out at five and leaving the building.
He would drive some where, have dinner then return to his desk in the main office and worked with Jack Tolan quickly learning what he needed to be doing and how to go about it, usually staying until ten or eleven. He would then come home, continue reading and researching, signing necessary paperwork and having it sent back to his office by messenger.
The staff had been informed the first day that a new division head had been hired just moments after being informed their former boss of who knows how long was no longer with the company. They were also told that the new man would not be in the office until he had completed intense meetings with the board, etc. etc. Everyone feigned disappointed, but as soon as the “suit” was out of the room the nasty rumors flew and ruthless plots to over throw the new boss began.
It was now Monday morning three weeks later. After a weekend both heavenly and hellish, he was entering his second purgatory. As usual, most of the team was standing around doing little more than detailing how they would do things when they ran the world.
A young woman named Daryn was being reamed out by Trish Apple for not doing something that the wicked witch of the West Coast hadn’t bothered to tell her she needed to do in the first place. Some effeminate guy with a really bad, supposedly stylish, haircut was busy filing his nails and listing off people, Daryn and Ian included, whose days were numbered. And there was this woman, who stuck out like a sore thumb, pushing the mail cart around observing everyone.
Ian made his way to the table in the corner he had been banished to, plopped his backpack down and took out a few scripts he had made notes on. Trish immediately swiped the small stack from his hand and grimaced at them.
“Did you really go through these or did you just scrawl S.O.S. on all of them to make me think you could read?”
Ian just smiled and ignored her.
“I am speaking to you, country boy!” she snapped from what seemed to be two flared nostrils.
“I know who you are speaking to; I’m just trying to break my answer down into small syllables that you’ll understand.” He said as he continued to rummage through his bag.
Her eyes narrowed, which actually wasn’t much of a change of expression for her. “You don’t seem to understand who you are talking to, Grayson.” That was the name he had given them when he was walked to the office that first day. “I can make or break you; a little respect may prolong your meager existence in this industry.”
Ian didn’t bother to wither any more. Trish stomped off with the pile of papers she had swiped from him, shouting orders to no else bothering to pay attention, as she went into the main office and slammed the door.
The woman with the mail cart rolled to him and smiled good morning. She shook her head and reached to fuss with his tie. “Who dresses you Grayson? They don’t do a very good job.”
The uber skinny woman at the desk beside them took out a yogurt and spooned in a taste as she worked. When the mail cart woman finished with his tie she asked him, “Have you had time for breakfast?”
Ian shook his head no. The woman pulled a crumbled bag from her cart, held it out to him and said loudly, “Cheeto?” Ian fell in love and helped himself.
“Don’t you worry,” she assured him. “I’ve been watching you. You’re different, young man. You’re gonna go far. Just learn when to be yourself and when to play the game. Okay?” She smiled and pinched his cheek.
“Thank you…” he squinted to read a name tag he couldn’t find.
“Manuela”, she offered.
“Oh, you’re Latin?” He said.
She giggled, “No, honey, I’m a big black woman named after a Mexican. My mama even spelled it wrong ‘M-A-N-W-E-L-L-A”. My friends call me Wella. You can call me that.”
Ian smiled, “Thank you, Wella. I’ll take your advice, and let you in on a little secret. I play the game a whole lot better than most think, and I’m being myself at the same time.”
She pushed his shoulder playfully, “Well good for you. Let ol’ Wella know if you ever need some help.”
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