This was the time of day he enjoyed the most, alone after dark while his Papa was sleeping. He always woke up in the middle of the night. He always had. He didn’t know why.
He used to just lie in bed and count the tiles in his ceiling, but that was before. Now he’d slip on his robe and the neat slippers Tippy had bought for him and roam.
This place was so big. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his other home, but this place was different. Before, any little noise he made, any little noise anyone made at night would roust someone. Now he could quietly explore, just a little.
He slipped his feet in the bed shoes kept right where he could stick his feet in them and pulled on the robe, hung within reach. As he tied the belt, he looked at the nightstand and smiled. Looking back at him from the frame were four faces. One of them was his, the other were three people he missed so much. His mother and Miz Hil were gone.
His Grampaw Jude he spoke to every day. It wasn’t the same as being able to touch him. It wasn’t the same as being able to take in the smell of him. Sweet wood and evergreen, Jude always smelled of sweet wood and evergreen.
His mother always smelled of biscuits and lilacs. Miz Hill was roses, she always smelled of roses. Ronnie took a deep breath remember the scents that added up to home.
He didn’t think of his Daddy. Oh he loved him, and there were times he missed him, but Ronnie couldn’t get lots of things about the man out of his head, things that scared him. Things that made him cry.
He felt Rodie stir on the bed. Ronnie looked at the kitty and put his fingers to his lips. “Shhh!” He stood and padded toward the door. As he opened it, he heard the cat lightly pounce to the floor and knew she wouldn’t be far behind his every step.
Ronnie liked the fact that it was never pitch black in his new home. It was dark, but not the scary monsters lurking in the corner kind. If you forgot to put something away, it was dark enough to trip over it, but bright enough to lead the way anywhere you wanted to go.
He knew exactly where he wanted to go. It was his little midnight ritual. First he stopped and looked at that painting in the stairwell. His Papa was right. It was almost like the one he had found in the barn, but Ronnie liked this one better. He could stare at it for hours and always see something new.
Rodie would wind herself around Ronnie’s feet as he looked, rubbing her soft fluff on his bare ankles. Then she’d purr. Ronnie loved the sound of his cat purring in the quiet of the night, a happy sound in the dark.
He reached down and picked her up, Rodie quickly making herself comfortable as they padded to the kitchen. The room would flood with light as Ronnie opened the fridge and get them a snack. Tonight it was cream for her and a leftover cinnamon roll for him.
There was always food in the refrigerator now. Not that he went hungry on Lost Mountain. You just didn’t snack a lot, snacking was a special treat that you never did without asking. It was still a special treat. He just didn’t have to feel guilty that he’d eaten something his Mama had saved for her lunch.
As Rodie licked her paws, Ronnie rinsed her bowl and put it in the special spot for her dirty dishes. He always liked to peer out the kitchen door as he put Rodie’s things away.
Sometimes he’d see Ralphie being walked if Uncle Kellen had gotten home late again.
The best thing was watching the moonlight on the pool. That was just way too cool. Not only did he have a big old pool right in his own back yard, but every night the moon came and danced all over it just for him. Ronnie thought that was God’s way of telling Ronnie He was looking after him.
Ronnie picked Rodie up after the smiles of the moonlight on the water made him sigh a time or two. He went to his favorite place in the whole world. They went right to the staircase again, making sure not to get distracted by the painting and stood in the doorway.
There he was, sleeping in his big old bed. Ronnie put the cat down and quietly rolled a little ottoman to the bedside. He sat on it, putting his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Ronnie loved to watch his Papa, to just sit there and watch him breathe.
He sighed. Things were right. They were so different, but they were finally right. That feeling that he had, the one in the bottom of his belly was gone. Whenever he felt it, all he had to do was look at his Papa and it went away.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love his Mommy and Daddy, he just never felt like he belonged. He was happy and they loved him, but somehow he always knew. He never really knew what that was until he came to live with his Papa.
He’d heard the whispers that he didn’t really understand. He could hear the things people said when they knew his mother was too busy to be paying attention. He never understood why they didn’t know that he could hear what they said. It was kinda mean.
Then Stevie Rose told him flat out and he mean it to be mean. At first he just thought he was lying, but it made him so sad. Finally his Mama asked him if he wanted to talk about whatever had made him so said.
He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop crying. “Stevie Rose says nobody ever wanted me. That I ain’t really yours. He said that a horrible monster left me on your doorstep and you took me in because you were afraid he’d come back and eat you if you didn’t.”
“Aw Honeypot.” His Mama smiled. She always called him Honeypot, and when she smiled there was always that little sad place right in the corner. She pulled him into to her biscuit and lilac smell and told him.
She told him that Stevie Rose was just being mean. When he asked her why he would be so mean, she told him that he was just jealous, because his Mama and Daddy didn’t get to choose him, but Ronnie was special because his Mama and Daddy did.
From that day on Ronnie understood a little better. When that feeling would come into the bottom of his belly, he would just remind it how special he was and that Stevie Rose’s parents got stuck with a loser.
Now they were all gone. Sometimes it made him sad, but it was a different kind of sad like knowing you’d eaten the last candy in the bottom of your Trick or Treat bag. He knew it was gone and things would never be quite the same, but he had such sweet memories that far outweighed the sad.
This was where he was supposed to be, in his favorite spot in the whole wide world watching his Papa sleep. He looked so peaceful, most of the time. Ronnie liked it when he’d steal into the bedroom at night at his Papa would be sprawled out gently breathing.
Once and a while he’d let out a big old sigh, just like he’d finished doing something he loved more than anything. His Papa would then smile in his sleep, his face relaxing and his body melted into the bed.
Ronnie gently reached out and wiped his fingers across the sleeping man’s forehead pushing that stubborn tuft of black hair back into place. His Papa seemed so at peace. Ronnie liked to think he was having a happy dream. He didn’t seem to have too many of those.
It wasn’t fair. All his Papa needed was a little peace and a whole lot of love. He looked happy all the time, but Ronnie knew better. He could feel it, like the strange tickle that used to always be in his belly only this was in his father’s eyes.
Sometimes when he didn’t know you were watching this look came over his face. Ronnie couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew it wasn’t good. It was like he was watching the family dog get run over in slow motion and knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
But tonight was a good night. His Papa was sleeping so peacefully Ronnie had to watch his chest just to be sure he was still breathing. It was the best place in the world to be.
Sometimes, Ronnie needed to be there. Some nights, his Papa’s eyes would dart back and forth beneath closed eyelids. He’d tremble and sweat, sometimes moaning in pain. He’d ball the sheets up in his fists until his knuckles turned white, lying still but thrashing his head back and forth.
And there were the nights his father would sit up and scream. It didn’t scare Ronnie, it only made him feel bad that he wasn’t there to hold him and soothe him back down to sleep. It didn’t happen too often, but the two or three times it had were two or three times way too many.
Ronnie wanted his Papa to be happy. He wanted him to not have bad dreams, especially the ones that made him scream in his sleep. He knew it was impossible not to have a nightmare once and a while, but his Papa had had more nightmares asleep and awake that any one person deserved.
His Papa stirred. Ronnie leaned in close, just in case. The sleeping man sighed and relaxed. It made Ronnie smile.
Ronnie got up and quietly pushed the ottoman back to its place in the corner. He walked back to the bed and watched him sleep for just a second longer. He leaned over and kissed his sleeping Papa’s cheek.
As Ronnie turned to go he saw his father’s eyes flutter. Those half sleepy blue eyes shined in the dark. His Papa smiled.
Ronnie smiled back.
His Papa lifted the covers and Ronnie scooted in beside him. In a moment his Papa’s arms held him tightly and the boy was all nestled in his father’s perfect loving warm. He heard the cat leap lightly on the bed and roll up in a ball at his feet. Ronnie sighed and drifted off to sleep.
He was wrong. This was his favorite place to be.
“Just a roast beef sandwich on white please.” He handed the menu back to the waiter. “Hold the mayo.”
“To drink, sir?”
“A tall glass of milk. It’s been a long time since I’ve had just a simple glass of milk.” He smiled as he turned back to his companions.
“Going back to the basics, Jamey?”
James Redfield shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? We may all be right back where we started soon.”
“Don’t curse it, for God’s sake.”
“Sorry, not being negative, Dave. We know this is a gamble, I’m just trying to be frugal.”
“Not a thing wrong with that.” Lucille smirked. “This time next year, we can rub the studio’s nose in it. A diet of nice basic fiber will only make it all the richer.”
“We’re all putting everything we have into this film.” Turner said. “It’s either the beginning or the end.”
“This was your idea, Dave.” She glared at him. “Don’t tell us you’re having second thoughts now.”
“Not at all.” He sighed. “The studios don’t like it. They’ll try everything they can think of to stop us. I’m just bracing for a difficult time.”
“You know they offered to buy the script.” Redfield admitted. “When I told them I wouldn’t sign the new contract unless they let us do it.”
Lucille perked up, half mad, half intrigued. “They made a counter offer? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Not a counter offer.” James picked a pack of crackers up from the basket in the center of the table. “They offered to buy the script, but they didn’t want me in it and didn’t want Dave to direct.”
“Bastards.” Dave mused.
“It’s a period piece they said.” Redfield mashed the crackers in the package to let off steam. “You don’t do period pieces well, Fairbanks is perfect. Well decide on your next picture. Don’t go thinking beyond your abilities. What an insult.”
“What did they say about Dave directing?” Lucille asked.
“I’m not sure I want to hear this.” Dave leaned on the table. “Or if I even care.”
“Too large a scope for a B-movie mindset.” Redfield said anyway.
“They made an offer for the script.” The fourth companion said. “Booker called me and told me they offered him the moon.”
“He didn’t sell it on us, did he?” Dave sat straight up.
“Of course not.” The man said. “He’s as fed up with the studio as we are.”
“How did Forbush react when Booker turned them down?” Jamey smiled. “I assume it was Forbush.”
The man nodded his head. “Oh the usual, told him Four Stars could make the picture the way it should be made, guarantee a big market push even offered a contract for just two more films…of their choice.”
“And?” Someone at the table encouraged.
“Booker said the man turned into Rumpelstiltskin when he told him to kiss his behind.” The group laughed. “Threatened none of us would ever get this made and no one would ever work again.”
“We’ll get it made.” Dave was determined.
“And I can guarantee distribution.” Lucille smirked. “Four Stars has ticked off enough houses, and I’ve got the goods on enough others to make sure that we get it in every major market for at least a week.”
“If it’s a bomb though, none of us will ever work again.” James reminded everyone.
“I will.” The fourth man said. “No one gives a rat’s ass about make up people.”
“If worse comes to worse, you may have to teach us all.” Dave smiled.
“Jamey’s pretty good at it already.” He laughed.
“What are you talking about?” Jamey wanted to know.
“Remember last Halloween? You got drunk and dressed up in Lucille’s ball gown?”
Lucille laughed and James turned red. “Herman, do not remind me.”
“I thought you looked real pretty.” Lucille pinched her husband’s cheek.
“I couldn’t get over how much you looked like my sister.” Herman joked.
“I guess I’ve got a career in Vaudeville then, if there’s even a Vaudeville left.” James sighed. “Has anyone heard from Malvina?” He changed the embarrassing subject.
“She’s in.” Dave confirmed. “She just has to finish up this last picture and her contract with Four Stars is complete. She’ll jump right in.”
“Malvina Golden and James Redfield in ‘Breathe’ directed by David Turner.” Three of last year’s Oscar nominees in one film, that will pack ‘em in.” Lucille drummed happily on the tabletop.
“Four Stars won’t know what hit them!” Turner added.
The waiter came carrying a tray with their order. He began to serve. As he put Lucille’s filet in front of her she sneered at him.
“It’s about time.”
“Sorry for the delay, Mrs. Redfield.” The waiter apologized. “The chef wanted to make sure everything was perfect. It’s not every day stars of your caliber grace our humble establishment.”
It was just what she wanted to hear. “Give him our gratitude. We are always willing to wait on perfection.”
“Of course, Mrs. Redfield.”
“Okay, where are you?” She asked as she searched, not quite in panicked desperation, just a few seconds from it.
She was sure she’d slipped it off and laid it right on her dressing table. She remembered distinctly sitting there when she took her make up off last night, holding it up and watching it twirl in the mirror. It had to be right there.
Saxon pushed her freshly dried curls behind her ears and took a seat at the vanity. She didn’t reach for her brush. She pushed the bottles and loose earrings around.
“I can’t have lost it, not now.” She sighed and pushed a bottle of nail polish aside. “I know I put it right here.” She crossed her arms and pouted in the mirror.
“That always helps.” She could hear him say in her head. Funny, no matter what, no matter where, it was always Ian’s voice she heard in her head.
“Oh, sugar.” She uncrossed her arms and stood up banging her knee, as always, on some corner determined to keep her black and blue.
She rubbed her boo boo and watched the bottle of Aztec Blue nail polish rock and sway, fall to its side and roll off the vanity. She watched its free fall to the plush carpet. Fortunately the lid was on tight. She reached down to pick it up.
There in the plush white carpet was her treasure. She smiled as she squatted and picked it up. She placed the nail polish firmly in place and looked in the mirror as she put her treasure around her neck.
It was just a little half penny, dangling on a little gold chain. She held the penny in her fingers and looked at it. She kept it polished and rarely took it off, only when she showered before bed and when she walked down the aisle the first time.
The first time she got married Josh knew all about it. He knew all her secrets. She knew all of his. They thought it the reason people got married because they knew each other well enough to share it all, the good and the bad and that made the heart grow fonder.
They were best friends, suddenly in a maelstrom of publicity. They had known each other for two years, roommates for most of it. They were starving artists trying to hit it big in the big city. She was a poor small town girl from Grundy, Virginia. He was spoiled rich kid from Chicago running away from the parents who wanted him to go into the family business.
Josh’s family didn’t approve of his choice of professions and cut his monthly allowance down to just enough to keep him from living in a hovel and starving to death. They had met in a workshop on how to survive in show business. The opposites attracted immediately. Saxon was a survivor. Josh needed to learn how.
She taught him how to live frugally. He taught her how to light up a screen. She wanted to be an actress. He wanted to be a director. She had a monologue. He had a camera.
She taught him how to save money eating meals of peanut butter instead of Bruschetta. He taught her how to use make up to make the most of her features. She taught him that the endless auditions and interviews where all performances to be enjoyed and relished. He taught her how to develop a performance for the camera with subtlety and nuance.
They struggled together, making the most of every rejection. She did under fives on daytime television and a commercial for Wendy’s. He videoed weddings and birthday parties, and uploaded original shorts for You Tube.
Then his great aunt died and left him enough money to make his own little film. It was just $75,000, but that would be enough to guerrilla a little indie with enough left over to take it to a few film festivals.
Saxon pulled together a few actor friends and they made up a script as they went along. It was a silly little horror film, done with a hand held camera in eight days. Instead of monsters and vampires, they made the camera the monster.
They called it “Watching You”. Josh culled every horror movie cliché and deftly told it from the unseen monster’s point of view. It was at times horrifying, at times side splittingly funny and throughout ironically tragic.
It became the talk of the film fest circuit. Josh was invited to enter it in Sundance and it won the Audience award. It touched off a bidding war between distributors, Lion’s Gate finally winning. The little film became an instant hit and raked in big bucks for everyone.
Saxon and Josh went from nobody to royalty overnight. Offers came pouring in. They were smart enough to take advantage and make the right choices. She smartly did a small series of Scream Queen roles, and he stayed with small budget features he could maintain artistic control of.
Then they combined forces again, in a parody of their own careers achieving even bigger success. Disney came calling. They were smart enough to answer. They also thought they were smart enough to get married. Neither turned out to be the brightest decision either had made.
Disney stuck them both to a quick series of generic family comedies. None were successes. I do’s and a marriage license didn’t change their relationship at all. When their quick contracts ended, Disney sent Josh packing, but wanted Saxon for a small role in a series.
Saxon wanted more than television. She had always wanted to be a movie star, and with Josh’s encouragement, turned down the series and stuck it out. It turned out to be the right choice for her career, but the wrong one for the marriage.
It was a pseudo scream queen role, the damsel in distress in a sci-fi action flick starring Jeremy Tyson. It was a guaranteed hit adding box office luster back to Saxon’s resume. The reviews were better than average, critics latching on to the romantic chemistry and the comic edge Saxon brought to a thankless role. It led her to the series of romantic comedies that made her a superstar.
It also led Josh to meeting Caleb Hunter, the villain’s sidekick in the picture. It was a match made in heaven. Saxon had always known that Josh was gay. She just assumed she could live with it. It turned out she couldn’t.
They quietly divorced. Josh and Caleb went off to live openly ever after. Saxon had lost a husband, but gained a career. She carried on, remaining in the spotlight as America’s sweetheart.
Josh, too, carved out a good career in quirky independents. They remained dear friends. She even starred in one of his biggest mainstream hits, parodying once again her own career and netting her first Oscar nomination.
In between she thought she’d found love again. This time with Brady Brandon, a Canadian hockey player. It was love at first sight, a whirlwind courtship and as traditional a marriage as possible.
Saxon put behind all loves and hopes of the past. She concentrated on being a good wife and hopefully one day a good mother. She put the career on the backburner and followed Brady around the continent being his number one cheerleader as well as his wife. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of.
Then Brady got caught with his pants down in the locker room after a big game. He claimed the couple got him drunk and he thought it was all a big joke. Unfortunately the girl got the whole story with her cell phone camera and anyone with Internet could see the antics.
Saxon believed him and stood behind her husband. He was a hockey player for crying out loud and he was obviously under the influence of something. It wasn’t until she came home one evening early to surprise her husband and caught him in bed with the pool boy that the truth finally hit her.
She had hoped for another quiet friendly divorce, and it was, until Brady went on a daytime talk show on National Coming Out Day and came out. By the time the Nightly News came on, Saxon found herself embroiled in a very public divorce to another gay man.
It made her a martyr to every woman in America and an icon to every gay man in the universe. She plunged back into her career and just assumed that her private life would always be a very public disaster. Very few men wanted to be seen with her, assuming the public and the paparazzi would assume the worst.
Saxon became a team player, appearing in public with every costar. She was secretly called America’s Favorite Beard. She did what she had to and ignored the title hoping someday the right man would come along.
And Ian Justyn dropped right back into her life. She’d never forgotten him. How could she? Sure he was handsome. Sure he made her laugh and forget about all the silly difficulties of the past and present. Somehow, he was the other half of her soul.
She hadn’t realized how incomplete she felt until he appeared in the room. How could someone do that? How could some one just waltz in from the past and instantly make all the insane mistakes seem so insignificant? Most of all, why couldn’t either of them let go of it all enough to just let go.
Saxon smiled as she clutched the half penny and tucked it beneath her shirt. It had meant so much to her and it was the one thing he didn’t remember. She sighed and sat back down at the vanity in an attempt to tame her morning locks and not think about the only time Ian Justyn ever disappointed her.
Ian was trying hard not to laugh when she handed him her little closing night gift. It was wrapped in blue Kleenex tied together with a little gold Christmas ribbon.
“Go ahead.” Saxon crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d think it was funny.”
“I’m so sorry, Bessie.” Ian stifled the last giggle. “But the irony…”
“Just stop.” She smiled with him. “I get it. Kleenex girl wraps her gifts in Kleenex. I didn’t have time to run out and buy proper paper so I just used what was at hand.”
Ian guffawed.
“Okay, that didn’t come out right.” She said and then couldn’t help but laugh herself. “If my Granny knew that teaching me that being a lady meant you always kept a tissue under your brassiere strap for emergencies would lead to a nickname she’d be rolling over in her grave.”
“If your Granny knew you’d have the sniffles on the first day of acting seminar, she’d have told you not to be seated anywhere near that snooty curr from Kingsport.” Ian told her.
“You mean Clare Humphreys?” Saxon asked.
“Whatever her name is.” Ian said, his attention back to the little gift in his hand. “Shall I open this or wait for the cast party?”
“Open it, Clem.” Saxon was excited. “I don’t want to have to explain it to everyone.”
“Or have them see the wrapping paper…” Ian teased.
Saxon snorted. Ian loved it when he made her snort. “Stop…or I’ll take it back.”
Ian carefully untied the ribbon and waded through the layers of blue tissues. When he got it all folded back he looked at what was swaddled there in the palm of his hand. “A penny cut in half?” He looked up at her.
Saxon smiled. “Remember dress tech?”
“When those nasty kids from Abingdon High started throwing coins on the stage?” Ian recalled. “And during your final monologue one went down your bodice?”
“The very one.” She pointed. “Jeff Munson and I struggled to get it in a vice and cut it in half.”
“Why in half?”
“Because one part is for you and one part is for me.” She smiled and reached over and plucked one of the palm of Ian’s hand. “Think of it sort of as a physical reminder of our promise.”
“Which one?” Ian knew, but he liked to tease her.
“The big one.” Saxon kissed her half penny and dropped it in her clutch. “Which ever one of us gets nominated for the Oscar first…”
Ian shook his head. “…Takes the other as their date.”
“Then we can put the penny back together.” Saxon sighed. “Reunited symbolically like Romeo and Juliet.”
“From whence the penny came.” Ian said.
“I knew you’d understand.”
“Here give it a kiss for luck.”
He held his half penny to her lips. She smiled and kissed the shiny copper before he slipped it in his pocket.
“Don’t lose that.” Saxon warned. “I’ll have to kill you if you do.”
“I’ll give it to Aunt Hil. She’ll know where to put it for safe keeping.” Ian assured her. “Now, my Juliet I have something for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” But she was thrilled he did.
Ian held out a little white box tied together in a red Christmas ribbon. “Open it now, so I don’t have to explain to everyone. Besides that will take the karma off it.”
Saxon eager slipped the ribbon off and opened the lid. Peering inside, she found a single rosebud nested in a layer of white cotton. She looked up at Ian with a question in her eyes.
“It’s an almost forgotten theatre tradition.” Ian explained. “I read about it in a book. When you have your first lead in a play, you keep the most perfect rose bud from the first bouquet you are presented on Opening Night. On Closing Night you present it to the person in the cast you think is destined to be the biggest star.”
“Oh Ian.” Saxon didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or kiss him. She did all three.
Marco Dane sneered as he signed in that morning. Rusty was all smiles as usual. It was too early in the morning for all that cheer. He scribbled his name on the pad, tossed the pen on the counter and grabbed his caramel macchiato taking a big swig as an excuse not to have to respond to whatever positive mumbo jumbo Rusty was spewing.
He hated having to wait for the elevator almost as much as he hated having to be in the office that early, but his boss was on a mission. He hated his boss, and his boss didn’t care. His boss went through assistants like peanuts. Marco was determined to hang on.
Simon Kent was soon to be the most powerful man at HRT, next to the big boss. As long as Marco kissed his butt and praised his every breath as brilliant, Kent would take him along for the ride.
Sooner or later, someone would figure out that all of Kent’s “brilliance” came from Marco. His boss did little beside figure out ways to get rid of Ian Justyn; everything else was of little importance to him. Marco did it all and as long as he kept Kent’s ego fed, he’d be allowed to keep doing it.
The elevator slowed to a stop. Marco looked at the floor, rolled his eyes and slumped against the back wall. The last thing he wanted to do was to even have to smile at whatever miserable creature was about to walk through the door.
The doors slid open and he dared to look. He couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. “Sorry, Wella, going up…not down.” Marco started to push the button.
“Me, too, Marco.” She beamed, balanced a box and pressed the number two as she got in the elevator.
“Returning a few things to the big cheese before someone finds they’re missing?” He shouldn’t be so mean, but he loved the smell of defeat.
Wella just laughed, then had the audacity to turn and ignore him. Marco stepped up beside her.
“You’re in early.” He said wanting to make small talk, hoping to get a rise out of her.
“Nope.” Wella smiled at him and then turned back to stare at the closed door.
Marco tried to nonchalantly peer into the box Wella was holding. Kent was already calling decorators for the second floor. It wasn’t official, and Marco was supposed to be the only one who knew, but he was dying to rub it in. Sometime today the announcement would be made that he was the assistant to the future VP of the network and everyone would find out that Justyn and his team had been sent packing.
He decided on another approach. “Is there anything I can do for you, Wella? I know our bosses never got along, but let’s just let all that be between them. The best man won. No hard feelings?”
“Of course not.” Wella smiled but didn’t look at him.
“I guess your working hard to clear out the office today.” Marco decided to just put out there. There was always the possibility she didn’t know. “I’ve got pretty full schedule, but I’ll be happy to help out if I can.”
“Thanks, Marco, but other than these personal items everything else is being taken care of for us.” A smile crept across her face, and this little glimmer in the corner of her eye flickered. “I’m just gonna plop this box in my new office and then go get my hair done.”
“New office?” Okay, there was some bit of information he didn’t know. If he didn’t know it, Kent didn’t know it.
“Didn’t you hear, honey?” Wella finally turned to look at him. “The team got a promotion. We’re all moving to the second floor.”
“Promotion?” That word was harder to get out than he thought. “Second floor?”
“Uh huh.” Wella turned back to face the door.
She was enjoying this too much. Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but better piecing it together from Wella Johnson than have it come bellowing at ear splitting decibels from Simon Kent.
“Second floor? That’s were the VP of the network is supposed to office…” He tried to say nonchalantly.
“Uh huh.” Was all the woman would say.
Marco heard the little bell and the door came open. He stood there looking at Wella. She finally turned to him.
“Isn’t this your floor?” She asked.
“Oh…uh…yes.” He had no choice but to step out into the foyer of his office suite. He turned back to her to see if he could come up with an excuse to get back in the elevator or get more information.
Wella grinned from ear to ear. “The best man won, Marco. No hard feelings?”
The doors shut before he could answer.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Vignette #110: Ian
He was finally asleep. Ian found himself just sitting by the boy’s bedside a lot, just watching him breathe. He seemed to be doing fine, but Ian knew how easy it was to convince people of that. Ian pulled the comforter up around Ronnie’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. He double-checked to make sure the cat was curled up with him and shut the bedroom door.
The doctors assured Ian that Ronnie was doing well. Examinations and private sessions had led to the conclusion that the sexual abuse had not been re-current. Other than the one trauma, Ronnie had a happy, healthy childhood. When the doctors told Ian that, he burst into tears of relief.
It had been hard enough for Ian to live with himself knowing he’d given his son away. The thought that he’d condemned him to a childhood of perverted abuse would have been more than he could have handled. He’d already lived it. Having had his son repeat history would have broken him completely.
But why just then? Why would Kyle Osbourne suddenly, for no apparent reason, turn like that? Especially knowing that he would be caught any moment? It didn’t make sense. Was it Ian’s sudden presence?
Ian couldn’t shake the questions out of his head, and it was really the last thing he needed to concentrate on. Maybe he should call Sparky, and get her to do a little private investigating for him. Then maybe he could lose the feeling there was something he was missing and concentrate solely on his son.
His son. He still wasn’t used to even letting himself think that. He was a father now, and not just in his head, in his heart. It was a physical fact.
Ronnie would come pouncing on his bed at the crack of dawn. He’d smile and chat and giggle all through breakfast, kiss and hug him before he went to work and be a subconscious vision of comfort knowing that when he opened up the door, Ronnie would still be there, the word “Papa” falling constantly from his lips.
But Ian knew Ronnie had a secret. Ian kept so many, he knew when someone had one they couldn’t bear to share. Ronnie, for lack of a better term, hadn’t landed yet. He was faking it well.
They’d made it easy; a big house, lots of people spinning around him distracting him with a brand new happy life. Ronnie hadn’t had a chance to be sad. He hadn’t mourned. He went straight from terror to peace, with no natural progression.
There was nothing left of what he lost to help him. The child had nothing left of it, but that stupid cat and a pair of underpants. The rest had gone up in smoke or was blown to tiny unrecognizable fragments.
Ian hoped that when Reese arrived tomorrow, they had found a few things, even if just trinkets. He knew how important that was for a man who was once a child who had nothing, not even love. Ian knew it was essential to a child who had had it all simply because he was loved and then had it all go kaboom.
He chided himself. He had to stop thinking that he was never loved as a child. He’d had a session with a doctor himself. He didn’t know that it was going to open the door to eternal ya ya, but it would if nothing else make him feel like he was trying.
It wasn’t fair to say he had never been loved. There was Taylor, Taylor with whom he made that beautiful, perfect little energy ball finally unplugged for the night in his room. There was Jude, the man who made him feel safe, encouraged him and made sure he knew that there was more to life than kicks in the stomach, taunts from bullies and trembling in fear.
And Aunt Hil…Ian smiled sadly. Hilary Johnston, the one person in the world that made him live, sometimes even if it was just a good swift lick in the rump. Whether it was making sure he could feed himself, to making sure the bones weren’t broken and the cuts didn’t get infected, to grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he took a breath, ready to fight again.
She was gone. It hurt in so many ways. Much like Ronnie, he had gone from burying the woman who kept him struggling to breathe to being a father with no natural progression. He needed her now, more than ever. How was he going to be able to do this without her? Who was going to lovingly knock the fight back into him when he was ready to give up?
The irony of it all wasn’t wasted on him. He’d begged for so long for his past to disappear. Now that he buried it with Hilary Johnston, he wasn’t sure how to even get through the day. It made him want to laugh until he choked to death with tears.
“Hey, Baby Doll.” Tippy said quietly.
Ian was suddenly found himself sitting on the balcony staring at the stars.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you sitting there and thought I’d just sit with you. Is that okay?”
Ian nodded his head and started to put out his cigarette. Tippy grabbed his hand. “Go ahead.”
He smiled. “I thought you went home.”
“I did.”
“You forget something?”
She shook her head. “Just checking on ya.”
“Ronnie’s fine, sleeping away.”
“I know, darlin’.” Tippy smiled, then took his hand and held it. “He’s not the only boy in the world that needs some one to peek in on him once and a while.”
She turned and looked at the same stars Ian was looking at. She looked at the sky and squeezed his hand, just let to him know the tears now falling silently down his face were all part of the natural progression.
The doctors assured Ian that Ronnie was doing well. Examinations and private sessions had led to the conclusion that the sexual abuse had not been re-current. Other than the one trauma, Ronnie had a happy, healthy childhood. When the doctors told Ian that, he burst into tears of relief.
It had been hard enough for Ian to live with himself knowing he’d given his son away. The thought that he’d condemned him to a childhood of perverted abuse would have been more than he could have handled. He’d already lived it. Having had his son repeat history would have broken him completely.
But why just then? Why would Kyle Osbourne suddenly, for no apparent reason, turn like that? Especially knowing that he would be caught any moment? It didn’t make sense. Was it Ian’s sudden presence?
Ian couldn’t shake the questions out of his head, and it was really the last thing he needed to concentrate on. Maybe he should call Sparky, and get her to do a little private investigating for him. Then maybe he could lose the feeling there was something he was missing and concentrate solely on his son.
His son. He still wasn’t used to even letting himself think that. He was a father now, and not just in his head, in his heart. It was a physical fact.
Ronnie would come pouncing on his bed at the crack of dawn. He’d smile and chat and giggle all through breakfast, kiss and hug him before he went to work and be a subconscious vision of comfort knowing that when he opened up the door, Ronnie would still be there, the word “Papa” falling constantly from his lips.
But Ian knew Ronnie had a secret. Ian kept so many, he knew when someone had one they couldn’t bear to share. Ronnie, for lack of a better term, hadn’t landed yet. He was faking it well.
They’d made it easy; a big house, lots of people spinning around him distracting him with a brand new happy life. Ronnie hadn’t had a chance to be sad. He hadn’t mourned. He went straight from terror to peace, with no natural progression.
There was nothing left of what he lost to help him. The child had nothing left of it, but that stupid cat and a pair of underpants. The rest had gone up in smoke or was blown to tiny unrecognizable fragments.
Ian hoped that when Reese arrived tomorrow, they had found a few things, even if just trinkets. He knew how important that was for a man who was once a child who had nothing, not even love. Ian knew it was essential to a child who had had it all simply because he was loved and then had it all go kaboom.
He chided himself. He had to stop thinking that he was never loved as a child. He’d had a session with a doctor himself. He didn’t know that it was going to open the door to eternal ya ya, but it would if nothing else make him feel like he was trying.
It wasn’t fair to say he had never been loved. There was Taylor, Taylor with whom he made that beautiful, perfect little energy ball finally unplugged for the night in his room. There was Jude, the man who made him feel safe, encouraged him and made sure he knew that there was more to life than kicks in the stomach, taunts from bullies and trembling in fear.
And Aunt Hil…Ian smiled sadly. Hilary Johnston, the one person in the world that made him live, sometimes even if it was just a good swift lick in the rump. Whether it was making sure he could feed himself, to making sure the bones weren’t broken and the cuts didn’t get infected, to grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he took a breath, ready to fight again.
She was gone. It hurt in so many ways. Much like Ronnie, he had gone from burying the woman who kept him struggling to breathe to being a father with no natural progression. He needed her now, more than ever. How was he going to be able to do this without her? Who was going to lovingly knock the fight back into him when he was ready to give up?
The irony of it all wasn’t wasted on him. He’d begged for so long for his past to disappear. Now that he buried it with Hilary Johnston, he wasn’t sure how to even get through the day. It made him want to laugh until he choked to death with tears.
“Hey, Baby Doll.” Tippy said quietly.
Ian was suddenly found himself sitting on the balcony staring at the stars.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you sitting there and thought I’d just sit with you. Is that okay?”
Ian nodded his head and started to put out his cigarette. Tippy grabbed his hand. “Go ahead.”
He smiled. “I thought you went home.”
“I did.”
“You forget something?”
She shook her head. “Just checking on ya.”
“Ronnie’s fine, sleeping away.”
“I know, darlin’.” Tippy smiled, then took his hand and held it. “He’s not the only boy in the world that needs some one to peek in on him once and a while.”
She turned and looked at the same stars Ian was looking at. She looked at the sky and squeezed his hand, just let to him know the tears now falling silently down his face were all part of the natural progression.
Vignette #109: Satan
“Dave?” Simon Kent poked his head in the door and smiled. “You have a moment?”
David Turner hid the scowl on his face as best he could. “Sure. Sit down.”
Kent delicately shut the door behind him and sat down in the chair across from Turner. He folded his hands in his lap and made himself comfortable. He sighed, then smiled. “I understand.”
Turner looked up from his paperwork. “Understand what?”
“Our time has come.” Simon released his hands and put them on the chair arms. “I step aside.”
“You’re resigning?”
“All I ask is that I am allowed to stay for the remainder of my contract.” Kent looked down. “I dedicated my life to this network, to you, so please, let me leave with a little dignity.”
“That’s pretty much up to you, Kent, but personally you let the dignity ship sail away a long time ago.”
Simon nodded his head.
“Well, is that it?” Turner asked pointedly.
“Yes. I won’t waste any more of your time.” Kent stood up.
“You should have thought about that years ago, too.”
Simon Kent struggled to keep his anger in check. “May I say something to you, friend to friend?”
“Kent, we’ve never been friends.” Turner put his pen down and his glasses on the paperwork. “But if you have something to say, I have enough respect for your time to listen.”
The rotund little man nodded and stepped to the desk. He seemed to be thinking precisely about his words. “He’ll break your heart.”
“Excuse me?” Turner scoffed.
“You know what I’m talking about, Dave. We’ve all seen it before. Ian Justyn is just another is a much too long series of handsome young men you’ve attached yourself to, young men that you’ve mentored and staked your reputation, this company’s reputation on. Everyone has failed, Dave. This one will, too.”
Turner harumphed and picked his glasses back up.
“I won’t say I told you so when it happens, but I hope you’ll remember that I warned you in time and that once again you didn’t listen.”
“Oh, I’m listening Kent.” Dave peered over the top of his glasses. “I hear every word you’ve said.”
“And you will still let this boy railroad you, taking this network further down the drain. It can’t take much more, Dave. I dare say, this is the last hurrah.” Kent nodded his head and turned to go.
Turner let him get all the way to the door. “Wait a minute, Kent.”
David tossed his glasses back on the desk and waited for the man to turn around. He motioned for him to take his seat again.
“You’ve made sure I understand, Simon. Now I want to make sure you understand.” Turner stood up and went over to the bar. “Scotch?”
“Thank you.” Kent smiled, but didn’t dare move from his chair.
“You seem to be under the impression that I’m not aware of the state of my own company.” He poured two stiff ones, and handed one to Kent.
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” He said as he accepted the drink.
“You may not have come right out and said it, but you danced all around it and pointed at it with your twinkle toes.”
Kent scowled at him as they saluted each other with their glasses and took a drink. “Dave you are constantly misjudging…”
“Simon, I’m trying to be nice here, so do us both a favor and shut the hell up.”
Kent’s eyes popped and David Turner continued. “Just because I’ve out lived everyone in this town doesn’t mean I’m senile. Granted, I probably haven’t got that many good years ahead of me. If I’ve got a year at all.”
“Oh, don’t give me that, nonsense.” Simon said. “You’ll out live us all.”
“I’m 94 years old. One good sniffle and I’ll be hooked up to more wires than a Muppet, but I’ll be damned if I’ll out live this company. I’ve stood back and played the old man too long. Look what’s it’s gotten me.”
“You should be proud.”
“I would be, if the damn thing could survive without me. Ninety Four years, Kent and the only thing I’ve got to show for it is a case of tarnished foo foo and once great conglomerate I had absolutely no intention of building in the first place. That’s my legacy in this world Kent, feel good crap with my name on it and a barely breathing mistake.”
“If that’s how you truly feel, Dave. Then maybe it is time you do just sit back and let it die, or hand it over to people who still believe in it, people who deserve it.” Kent sat his empty glass down with just a little too much English.
“You?” Turner smirked.
Kent shrugged his shoulders.
“You don’t believe in this company, Kent. You’ve just been floating through contract cycles, thinking eventually you’ll be in control long enough to suck it dry.”
“How can you say that, Dave?” Simon looked hurt. “After all the years I’ve put in?”
“Oh, tuck your bottom lip back in. No one’s looking and no one sure as hell is buying.” Dave handed Simon his glass. “Pour us another.”
Kent poured them both another drink and bringing the bottle and put it on the desk. “You’re all put kicking my ass out the door, Dave. You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Simon, face it, you’re kicking your own ass out the door.”
Kent looked Turner in the eye. “Ian Justyn is a slick player, and he’s been using your crush on him to take this whole company for a ride.”
Turner laughed, out loud.
“I’ve seen you do this before, Dave.” Kent tried to say calmly and firmly.
“And I’ve seen you have the same knee jerk reaction to every kid that came along for over thirty years now. Any one, who has ever managed to take the focus off you for more than two seconds is automatically a threat.”
“They’ve all come after me, because they know I’m the one that has to go down for them to go up.”
“You are the only one who ever believed that.” Turner leaned in close. “Do you know why you are even still here?”
“Because I’ve been able to give this network product the audience wants for thirty years.” Kent said smugly.
“Simon, the product you’ve turned out as a whole has lower demographics than dead air. You are still here because quite frankly, I enjoy sitting behind my desk and watching you try and kill off your misguided perception of the competition. I kept thinking that one day you’d use that keen killer instinct and come up with something good or at least get smart enough to join forces with someone who had talent.”
“I’m insulted.”
“No you’re not.” Dave freshened up their glasses. “You really don’t give a shit what people say or think or you’d have crawled back under your rock years ago.”
“I managed to get rid of a lot of losers for you.”
“And you chased off a lot more that we needed. I should have just fired your butt years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Frankly, I’ve been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the right one. Simon you haven’t got the ability to make great television, but you do have an annoying capability to inadvertently create a great fighter. That’s what this company needs, a great fighter who can also create good television. We’re out of time. You are too much of a liability and my pre burial plan is all paid up.”
“You’re putting it all on Justyn?”
“Why not? He’s kicked your ass in every direction but out of the closet. You’ve squeezed that kid until I thought his head would pop off, and damn if it didn’t explode in all the right colors. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
“You think I created that monster?”
Turner knocked back his drink. “Face it, you couldn’t create diarrhea with a dozen babies and a vial of black plague.” He sat back and smiled. “But you did force a young man to fight for his life, and instead of focusing it on you, he focused it on the company. He did what you could have done all along, but didn’t think you had to.”
“So you are just going to hand him the keys to the car and let him drive off into the sunset?”
“How stupid do you think I am, Kent? I’m going to give the kid a chance, but I’m not letting anyone drive my car again. Look what happened when I did.”
“I’ll admit, he’s made an impressive first impression, but I doubt you’ll see anything else. Too much luck involved, nobody’s can keep that streak going.”
Dave shook his head. “If you knew anything about that boy, Kent. You’d have an entirely different opinion.”
“I know he’s a hillbilly with a sob story, boo hoo. Unlike most people in the building, I don’t let little things like that color my vision.”
Turner stood. “And that’s exactly why you were allowed to hang around for thirty years instead of making us fight to keep you here.”
Kent matched his stance. “You are so wrong, Turner.”
“It really doesn’t matter. You are welcome to stay until you’re contract runs out, but you so much as belch without saying excuse me…”
Simon Kent put up his hands to interrupt. “I understand, I’ve been warned. Play nice and at least I get to leave the sandbox without a black eye.”
“I’m doing what I think I have to do.” David Turner reached out his hand.
Kent took it and shook. “Me, too.” He said and closed David Turner’s door behind him. He leaned against the closed door. “Me, too.” He smiled and went on his merry way.
David Turner hid the scowl on his face as best he could. “Sure. Sit down.”
Kent delicately shut the door behind him and sat down in the chair across from Turner. He folded his hands in his lap and made himself comfortable. He sighed, then smiled. “I understand.”
Turner looked up from his paperwork. “Understand what?”
“Our time has come.” Simon released his hands and put them on the chair arms. “I step aside.”
“You’re resigning?”
“All I ask is that I am allowed to stay for the remainder of my contract.” Kent looked down. “I dedicated my life to this network, to you, so please, let me leave with a little dignity.”
“That’s pretty much up to you, Kent, but personally you let the dignity ship sail away a long time ago.”
Simon nodded his head.
“Well, is that it?” Turner asked pointedly.
“Yes. I won’t waste any more of your time.” Kent stood up.
“You should have thought about that years ago, too.”
Simon Kent struggled to keep his anger in check. “May I say something to you, friend to friend?”
“Kent, we’ve never been friends.” Turner put his pen down and his glasses on the paperwork. “But if you have something to say, I have enough respect for your time to listen.”
The rotund little man nodded and stepped to the desk. He seemed to be thinking precisely about his words. “He’ll break your heart.”
“Excuse me?” Turner scoffed.
“You know what I’m talking about, Dave. We’ve all seen it before. Ian Justyn is just another is a much too long series of handsome young men you’ve attached yourself to, young men that you’ve mentored and staked your reputation, this company’s reputation on. Everyone has failed, Dave. This one will, too.”
Turner harumphed and picked his glasses back up.
“I won’t say I told you so when it happens, but I hope you’ll remember that I warned you in time and that once again you didn’t listen.”
“Oh, I’m listening Kent.” Dave peered over the top of his glasses. “I hear every word you’ve said.”
“And you will still let this boy railroad you, taking this network further down the drain. It can’t take much more, Dave. I dare say, this is the last hurrah.” Kent nodded his head and turned to go.
Turner let him get all the way to the door. “Wait a minute, Kent.”
David tossed his glasses back on the desk and waited for the man to turn around. He motioned for him to take his seat again.
“You’ve made sure I understand, Simon. Now I want to make sure you understand.” Turner stood up and went over to the bar. “Scotch?”
“Thank you.” Kent smiled, but didn’t dare move from his chair.
“You seem to be under the impression that I’m not aware of the state of my own company.” He poured two stiff ones, and handed one to Kent.
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” He said as he accepted the drink.
“You may not have come right out and said it, but you danced all around it and pointed at it with your twinkle toes.”
Kent scowled at him as they saluted each other with their glasses and took a drink. “Dave you are constantly misjudging…”
“Simon, I’m trying to be nice here, so do us both a favor and shut the hell up.”
Kent’s eyes popped and David Turner continued. “Just because I’ve out lived everyone in this town doesn’t mean I’m senile. Granted, I probably haven’t got that many good years ahead of me. If I’ve got a year at all.”
“Oh, don’t give me that, nonsense.” Simon said. “You’ll out live us all.”
“I’m 94 years old. One good sniffle and I’ll be hooked up to more wires than a Muppet, but I’ll be damned if I’ll out live this company. I’ve stood back and played the old man too long. Look what’s it’s gotten me.”
“You should be proud.”
“I would be, if the damn thing could survive without me. Ninety Four years, Kent and the only thing I’ve got to show for it is a case of tarnished foo foo and once great conglomerate I had absolutely no intention of building in the first place. That’s my legacy in this world Kent, feel good crap with my name on it and a barely breathing mistake.”
“If that’s how you truly feel, Dave. Then maybe it is time you do just sit back and let it die, or hand it over to people who still believe in it, people who deserve it.” Kent sat his empty glass down with just a little too much English.
“You?” Turner smirked.
Kent shrugged his shoulders.
“You don’t believe in this company, Kent. You’ve just been floating through contract cycles, thinking eventually you’ll be in control long enough to suck it dry.”
“How can you say that, Dave?” Simon looked hurt. “After all the years I’ve put in?”
“Oh, tuck your bottom lip back in. No one’s looking and no one sure as hell is buying.” Dave handed Simon his glass. “Pour us another.”
Kent poured them both another drink and bringing the bottle and put it on the desk. “You’re all put kicking my ass out the door, Dave. You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Simon, face it, you’re kicking your own ass out the door.”
Kent looked Turner in the eye. “Ian Justyn is a slick player, and he’s been using your crush on him to take this whole company for a ride.”
Turner laughed, out loud.
“I’ve seen you do this before, Dave.” Kent tried to say calmly and firmly.
“And I’ve seen you have the same knee jerk reaction to every kid that came along for over thirty years now. Any one, who has ever managed to take the focus off you for more than two seconds is automatically a threat.”
“They’ve all come after me, because they know I’m the one that has to go down for them to go up.”
“You are the only one who ever believed that.” Turner leaned in close. “Do you know why you are even still here?”
“Because I’ve been able to give this network product the audience wants for thirty years.” Kent said smugly.
“Simon, the product you’ve turned out as a whole has lower demographics than dead air. You are still here because quite frankly, I enjoy sitting behind my desk and watching you try and kill off your misguided perception of the competition. I kept thinking that one day you’d use that keen killer instinct and come up with something good or at least get smart enough to join forces with someone who had talent.”
“I’m insulted.”
“No you’re not.” Dave freshened up their glasses. “You really don’t give a shit what people say or think or you’d have crawled back under your rock years ago.”
“I managed to get rid of a lot of losers for you.”
“And you chased off a lot more that we needed. I should have just fired your butt years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Frankly, I’ve been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the right one. Simon you haven’t got the ability to make great television, but you do have an annoying capability to inadvertently create a great fighter. That’s what this company needs, a great fighter who can also create good television. We’re out of time. You are too much of a liability and my pre burial plan is all paid up.”
“You’re putting it all on Justyn?”
“Why not? He’s kicked your ass in every direction but out of the closet. You’ve squeezed that kid until I thought his head would pop off, and damn if it didn’t explode in all the right colors. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
“You think I created that monster?”
Turner knocked back his drink. “Face it, you couldn’t create diarrhea with a dozen babies and a vial of black plague.” He sat back and smiled. “But you did force a young man to fight for his life, and instead of focusing it on you, he focused it on the company. He did what you could have done all along, but didn’t think you had to.”
“So you are just going to hand him the keys to the car and let him drive off into the sunset?”
“How stupid do you think I am, Kent? I’m going to give the kid a chance, but I’m not letting anyone drive my car again. Look what happened when I did.”
“I’ll admit, he’s made an impressive first impression, but I doubt you’ll see anything else. Too much luck involved, nobody’s can keep that streak going.”
Dave shook his head. “If you knew anything about that boy, Kent. You’d have an entirely different opinion.”
“I know he’s a hillbilly with a sob story, boo hoo. Unlike most people in the building, I don’t let little things like that color my vision.”
Turner stood. “And that’s exactly why you were allowed to hang around for thirty years instead of making us fight to keep you here.”
Kent matched his stance. “You are so wrong, Turner.”
“It really doesn’t matter. You are welcome to stay until you’re contract runs out, but you so much as belch without saying excuse me…”
Simon Kent put up his hands to interrupt. “I understand, I’ve been warned. Play nice and at least I get to leave the sandbox without a black eye.”
“I’m doing what I think I have to do.” David Turner reached out his hand.
Kent took it and shook. “Me, too.” He said and closed David Turner’s door behind him. He leaned against the closed door. “Me, too.” He smiled and went on his merry way.
Vignette #108: Napoleon
The perfectly coiffed woman on the screen smiled into the camera. “A golden boy strikes again.”
“A legend mixes it up with TV’s number one boy toy,” Her equally plastic co-host said.
“And those aren’t even the headlines on today’s Showbiz Now!” An announcer proclaimed as the iconic theme song kicked off the graphics.
Clare grabbed the clicker and started changing channels. “Doesn’t this town know there’s something else going on in the world besides themselves?”
She gave up and reached for the French pastry by her bedside. “Mmmm, gotta love Napoleon.” She sighed licking chocolate and cream off her lips. She leaned back on her pillows and savored every bite.
“We turn now to our analyst Reed Harlowe…Reed, thanks for being with us today.”
“Thank you, Montana, it always good to be here.”
“So what’s your take on the bold moves at HRT?”
Clare rolled her eyes, but realized she had no choice. She sighed and stuffed her mouth full again.
“For years the network seemed to be out of the race, languishing further and further behind. After seeming complacent for the bottom of the heap, suddenly HRT is making the world sit up and take notice.”
“Ratings have been inching up, most attributing the small spike to new cover boy Ian Justyn.” Montana added
“True.” Reed agreed. “But the industry as a whole paid little attention, knowing a charismatic headline maker does not a network make, but HRT and Justyn seem to be out to prove they are not only in the game, but determined to take back the kingdom they created.”
“Go, Ian!” Clare pumped her fist in the air. “Whoop! Whoop!”
“What’s the run down Reed?”
“Nothing is official yet, but insider’s say that Justyn pulled off several coups that have the other networks trembling. First and foremost, HRT secured the rights to all three books in the “Blood Kisses” trilogy, so hot every studio in town has been gunning for the properties since the first book topped the best seller list six years ago.”
“Any word as to what they plan to do with it?” Montana asked, reading from the teleprompter.
“Rumors are running the gamut, but no definite word. As usual, “Blood Kisses” author Amanda Jackson isn’t any where to be found, but her camp confirmed that the deal has been made.”
“Why HRT, Reed?”
“Two words.” Reed looked at Montana. “Ian Justyn.”
“Whoop! Whoop!” Clare said. “Bring home the bacon, baby!”
“Justyn is proving himself to be more than just a Hunka Hunka HRT not only capturing the prize “Blood Kisses” flag, but also snagging new free agent and television’s hottest sex symbol Jeff Torkelson for a series starting this fall.”
“Quite a score for someone ABC’s president recently scoffed was a pretty little flash in the pan no one would remember by fall.”
“And what a score it is Montana, our insiders tell us that apparently Torkelson is only half the package. Comedy icon Tess Sinclair is coming out of retirement to co-star in the series said to already be guaranteed a full season.”
“Who the hell is Tess Sinclair?” Clare turned up her nose.
“HRT will formally announce the series, and most likely intentions for “Blood Kisses” at a formal press conference next week.” Montana confirmed.
“We’ll have to wait until fall to see if the power moves add up to big ratings, but the rumors themselves have already sent the other networks scrambling.” Reed looked back to the camera. “It would seem that HRT do nothing else to keep the town from talking more about them, but they have one more shocking secret slipping out.”
“What else could they do?” Montana feigned excited shock.
“Once again, nothing has been confirmed, but we have it on good authority that VP Jack Tolan has been let go.”
“Hasn’t Tolan headed up the television division since the mid 80’s?”
“Tolan has been with the company all through its golden age, stepping into the top spot when the network seemed unstoppable, but the big hits stopped coming. In the era of cable and pay network HRT is trying a new direction and obviously feel Tolan is no longer the man to guide it.”
“Any idea who’ll be taking over?”
“For the time being David Turner, the man who built the network from the ground up will be taking over the reins.”
“And Ian Justyn?”
“Yeah, what about my Ian?” Clare said sucking the sticky off her fingers.
“Justyn is said to be moving up quickly, assuming the title Director of Development and Promotion, a position newly created just for him. Our insider says the position is a thinly veiled prize to keep Justyn from jumping ship while he’s being groomed to take over the reins of the network.”
“So if his moves turn into rating’s success…” Montana encouraged.
“By this time next year, HRT will hand him the keys to the kingdom.” Reed finished.
“Remember you heard it here first on “Showbiz Now”. In other news…”
“Oh yeah!” Clare sighed. She looked around her. “Make lots and lots of money, Ian ‘cause when the time is right, Mama’s gonna get it all.”
Clare stuck her tongue out at the TV and laughed. She reached for another Napoleon and chowed down.
“A legend mixes it up with TV’s number one boy toy,” Her equally plastic co-host said.
“And those aren’t even the headlines on today’s Showbiz Now!” An announcer proclaimed as the iconic theme song kicked off the graphics.
Clare grabbed the clicker and started changing channels. “Doesn’t this town know there’s something else going on in the world besides themselves?”
She gave up and reached for the French pastry by her bedside. “Mmmm, gotta love Napoleon.” She sighed licking chocolate and cream off her lips. She leaned back on her pillows and savored every bite.
“We turn now to our analyst Reed Harlowe…Reed, thanks for being with us today.”
“Thank you, Montana, it always good to be here.”
“So what’s your take on the bold moves at HRT?”
Clare rolled her eyes, but realized she had no choice. She sighed and stuffed her mouth full again.
“For years the network seemed to be out of the race, languishing further and further behind. After seeming complacent for the bottom of the heap, suddenly HRT is making the world sit up and take notice.”
“Ratings have been inching up, most attributing the small spike to new cover boy Ian Justyn.” Montana added
“True.” Reed agreed. “But the industry as a whole paid little attention, knowing a charismatic headline maker does not a network make, but HRT and Justyn seem to be out to prove they are not only in the game, but determined to take back the kingdom they created.”
“Go, Ian!” Clare pumped her fist in the air. “Whoop! Whoop!”
“What’s the run down Reed?”
“Nothing is official yet, but insider’s say that Justyn pulled off several coups that have the other networks trembling. First and foremost, HRT secured the rights to all three books in the “Blood Kisses” trilogy, so hot every studio in town has been gunning for the properties since the first book topped the best seller list six years ago.”
“Any word as to what they plan to do with it?” Montana asked, reading from the teleprompter.
“Rumors are running the gamut, but no definite word. As usual, “Blood Kisses” author Amanda Jackson isn’t any where to be found, but her camp confirmed that the deal has been made.”
“Why HRT, Reed?”
“Two words.” Reed looked at Montana. “Ian Justyn.”
“Whoop! Whoop!” Clare said. “Bring home the bacon, baby!”
“Justyn is proving himself to be more than just a Hunka Hunka HRT not only capturing the prize “Blood Kisses” flag, but also snagging new free agent and television’s hottest sex symbol Jeff Torkelson for a series starting this fall.”
“Quite a score for someone ABC’s president recently scoffed was a pretty little flash in the pan no one would remember by fall.”
“And what a score it is Montana, our insiders tell us that apparently Torkelson is only half the package. Comedy icon Tess Sinclair is coming out of retirement to co-star in the series said to already be guaranteed a full season.”
“Who the hell is Tess Sinclair?” Clare turned up her nose.
“HRT will formally announce the series, and most likely intentions for “Blood Kisses” at a formal press conference next week.” Montana confirmed.
“We’ll have to wait until fall to see if the power moves add up to big ratings, but the rumors themselves have already sent the other networks scrambling.” Reed looked back to the camera. “It would seem that HRT do nothing else to keep the town from talking more about them, but they have one more shocking secret slipping out.”
“What else could they do?” Montana feigned excited shock.
“Once again, nothing has been confirmed, but we have it on good authority that VP Jack Tolan has been let go.”
“Hasn’t Tolan headed up the television division since the mid 80’s?”
“Tolan has been with the company all through its golden age, stepping into the top spot when the network seemed unstoppable, but the big hits stopped coming. In the era of cable and pay network HRT is trying a new direction and obviously feel Tolan is no longer the man to guide it.”
“Any idea who’ll be taking over?”
“For the time being David Turner, the man who built the network from the ground up will be taking over the reins.”
“And Ian Justyn?”
“Yeah, what about my Ian?” Clare said sucking the sticky off her fingers.
“Justyn is said to be moving up quickly, assuming the title Director of Development and Promotion, a position newly created just for him. Our insider says the position is a thinly veiled prize to keep Justyn from jumping ship while he’s being groomed to take over the reins of the network.”
“So if his moves turn into rating’s success…” Montana encouraged.
“By this time next year, HRT will hand him the keys to the kingdom.” Reed finished.
“Remember you heard it here first on “Showbiz Now”. In other news…”
“Oh yeah!” Clare sighed. She looked around her. “Make lots and lots of money, Ian ‘cause when the time is right, Mama’s gonna get it all.”
Clare stuck her tongue out at the TV and laughed. She reached for another Napoleon and chowed down.
Vignette #107: Oz
“Fine.” Lance Crawford tossed the last of his desk into a cardboard box. “If that’s the way they want it. That’s the way they got it.”
So he was being demoted and put down on the first floor? He really didn’t like this job in the first place. It was all just a stepping stone.
He picked up his box and headed to the elevator. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for that idiot Simon Kent. “I should have known better.” He said as the elevator doors shut. He pushed the first floor button.
Kent spent so much time trying to knock Justyn off his rung on the ladder they all fell off. But you couldn’t tell that prissy little flit anything. If he’d have just let Justyn alone, none of this would have happened. Kent practically paved the yellow brick road Justyn was now dancing on with his rag tag team.
Crawford smiled as he leaned against the car wall. “They may think they’ve almost made it to the Land of Oz.” He thought. “But surprise Dorothy, Kent was just the wicked witch.”
The doors opened and Crawford made his way to his new, smaller office. “Wait til’ he gets a load of the man behind the curtain.”
So he was being demoted and put down on the first floor? He really didn’t like this job in the first place. It was all just a stepping stone.
He picked up his box and headed to the elevator. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for that idiot Simon Kent. “I should have known better.” He said as the elevator doors shut. He pushed the first floor button.
Kent spent so much time trying to knock Justyn off his rung on the ladder they all fell off. But you couldn’t tell that prissy little flit anything. If he’d have just let Justyn alone, none of this would have happened. Kent practically paved the yellow brick road Justyn was now dancing on with his rag tag team.
Crawford smiled as he leaned against the car wall. “They may think they’ve almost made it to the Land of Oz.” He thought. “But surprise Dorothy, Kent was just the wicked witch.”
The doors opened and Crawford made his way to his new, smaller office. “Wait til’ he gets a load of the man behind the curtain.”
Vignette #106: Caesar
He was determined to change things. Simon Kent was not one to stand idly by and let others get the upper hand. There wasn’t anything that went on in this building Kent didn’t know about. Well, after this afternoon he had to admit, there wasn’t much that went on he didn’t know about.
Kent slammed his fist on his desk thinking about it. He had been at HRT a long time. He deserved better than this and, by God, he was going to get it. He’d crushed worthier opponents before than Ian Justyn. Simon Kent was a gladiator, and no one could defeat him.
The man knew when to strike, knew when to out maneuver and knew when to sit back and watch an opponent kill himself. Kent had laid low long enough. He had bided his time waiting for Jack Tolan’s position and he was going to get it. This network was his. No one was taking it from him, especially an upstart who had just crawled out from under some mountain crag.
Simon took a deep breath, and walked to the window of his office, third from the top. “Just one more floor.” He thought out loud and paced the floor. He'd tossed people a lot more talented than Justyn under the bus before. Why did this little gnat keep escaping the tire tread?
What did Ian Justyn have that kept allowing him to one up him? Granted he was younger, and Kent had to admit, more talented. Talent never had anything to do with it, otherwise Kent himself would have never lasted. Hell, most of the people in this town wouldn’t have made it if the game was based on talent.
This was corporate “Survivor”—out wit, out play, out last. Kent was a genius at the game. He’d dedicated his life to it, to this network for over thirty years. He’d stolen the recipe, stirred the pot and served up revenge long before that brother and sister got together and procreated Ian Justyn.
Obviously, he had underestimated him. Somehow the little rat had gotten in some pretty good bites. Kent knew the tables had turned and it was his clock that was now ticking. There wasn’t much time left. The boy had dazzled them all, but he hadn’t fooled Kent.
“Yes.” Simon smiled. Justyn thought he was down for the count. What a better time to cut him off at the knees? If he could just keep himself in the game until it was obvious that the Hunka Hunka HRT was little more than a forgettable wet dream.
He looked at the memo of the new Fall Schedule. Kent curled up his lips when he looked over all that Justyn had managed to get done behind everyone’s backs. He wished he’d thought of it first. It was all ridiculous.
It was a simple matter of hanging on until the fall. Moving the highest rated show to Saturday night? Ha! And that pulpy science fiction thing as a soap in late afternoon? Simon laughed out loud. As soon as the ratings dive bombed, Justyn would be toast and the board would come snacking on his hors d’oeuvre again.
“Well…” Kent ogled his reflection in the window. “The brat thinks the war is over. What better time to sneak up behind him and show him exactly who Caesar is.”
Kent slammed his fist on his desk thinking about it. He had been at HRT a long time. He deserved better than this and, by God, he was going to get it. He’d crushed worthier opponents before than Ian Justyn. Simon Kent was a gladiator, and no one could defeat him.
The man knew when to strike, knew when to out maneuver and knew when to sit back and watch an opponent kill himself. Kent had laid low long enough. He had bided his time waiting for Jack Tolan’s position and he was going to get it. This network was his. No one was taking it from him, especially an upstart who had just crawled out from under some mountain crag.
Simon took a deep breath, and walked to the window of his office, third from the top. “Just one more floor.” He thought out loud and paced the floor. He'd tossed people a lot more talented than Justyn under the bus before. Why did this little gnat keep escaping the tire tread?
What did Ian Justyn have that kept allowing him to one up him? Granted he was younger, and Kent had to admit, more talented. Talent never had anything to do with it, otherwise Kent himself would have never lasted. Hell, most of the people in this town wouldn’t have made it if the game was based on talent.
This was corporate “Survivor”—out wit, out play, out last. Kent was a genius at the game. He’d dedicated his life to it, to this network for over thirty years. He’d stolen the recipe, stirred the pot and served up revenge long before that brother and sister got together and procreated Ian Justyn.
Obviously, he had underestimated him. Somehow the little rat had gotten in some pretty good bites. Kent knew the tables had turned and it was his clock that was now ticking. There wasn’t much time left. The boy had dazzled them all, but he hadn’t fooled Kent.
“Yes.” Simon smiled. Justyn thought he was down for the count. What a better time to cut him off at the knees? If he could just keep himself in the game until it was obvious that the Hunka Hunka HRT was little more than a forgettable wet dream.
He looked at the memo of the new Fall Schedule. Kent curled up his lips when he looked over all that Justyn had managed to get done behind everyone’s backs. He wished he’d thought of it first. It was all ridiculous.
It was a simple matter of hanging on until the fall. Moving the highest rated show to Saturday night? Ha! And that pulpy science fiction thing as a soap in late afternoon? Simon laughed out loud. As soon as the ratings dive bombed, Justyn would be toast and the board would come snacking on his hors d’oeuvre again.
“Well…” Kent ogled his reflection in the window. “The brat thinks the war is over. What better time to sneak up behind him and show him exactly who Caesar is.”
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Chapter Twenty: Progression
He was determined to change things. Simon Kent was not one to stand idly by and let others get the upper hand. There wasn’t anything that went on in this building Kent didn’t know about. Well, after this afternoon, he had to admit there wasn’t much that went on he didn’t know about.
Kent slammed his fist on his desk thinking about it. He had been at HRT a long time. He deserved better than this and, by God, he was going to get it. He’d crushed worthier opponents before than Ian Justyn. Simon Kent was a gladiator, and no one could defeat him.
The man knew when to strike, knew when to out maneuver and knew when to sit back and watch an opponent kill himself. Kent had laid low long enough. He had bided his time waiting for Jack Tolan’s position and he was going to get it. This network was his. No one was taking it from him, especially an upstart who had just crawled out from under some mountain crag.
Simon took a deep breath, and walked to the window of his office, third from the top. “Just one more floor.” He thought out loud and paced. He tossed people a lot more talented than Justyn under the bus before. Why did this little gnat keep escaping the tire tread?
What did Ian Justyn have that kept allowing him to one up him? Granted he was younger, and Kent had to admit, more talented. Talent never had anything to do with it otherwise Kent himself would have never lasted. Hell, most of the people in this town wouldn’t have made it if the game was based on talent.
This was corporate “Survivor”—out play, out wit, out last. Kent was a genius at this game. He’d dedicated his life to it, to this network for over thirty years. He’d stolen the recipe, stirred the pot and served up revenge long before that brother and sister got together and procreated Ian Justyn.
Obviously, he had underestimated him. Somehow the little rat had gotten in some pretty good bites. Kent knew the tables had turned and it was his clock that was now ticking. There wasn’t much time left. The boy had dazzled them all, but he hadn’t fooled Kent.
“Yes.” Simon smiled. Justyn thought he was down for the count. What a better time to cut him off at the knees? If he could just keep himself in the game until it was obvious that the Hunka Hunka HRT was little more than a forgettable wet dream.
He looked at the memo of the new Fall Schedule. Kent curled up his lips as he looked over all the Justyn had managed to get behind everyone’s backs. He wished he’d thought of it first. It was all ridiculous.
It was a simple matter of hanging on until the fall. Moving the highest rated show to Saturday night? Ha! And that pulpy science fiction thing as a soap in late afternoon? Simon laughed out loud. As soon as the ratings dive bombed, Justyn would be toast and the board would come snacking on his hors d’oeuvre again.
“Well…” Kent ogled his reflection in the window. “The brat thinks the war is over. What better time to sneak up behind him and show him exactly who Ceasar is.”
“Fine.” Lance Crawford tossed the last of his desk into a cardboard box. “If that’s the way they want it. That’s the way they get it.”
So he was being demoted and put down on the first floor. He really didn’t like this job in the first place. It was all just a stepping stone.
He picked up his box and headed to the elevator. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for that idiot Simon Kent. “I should have known better.” He said as the elevator doors shut. He pushed the first floor button.
Kent spent so much time trying to knock Justyn off his rung on the ladder we all fell off. But you couldn’t tell that prissy little flit anything. If he’d have just let Justyn alone, none of this would have happened. Kent practically paved the yellow brick road Justyn was now dancing on with his rag tag team.
Crawford smiled as he leaned against the car wall. “They may think they’ve almost made it to the Land of Oz.” He thought. “But surprise Dorothy, Kent was just the wicked witch.”
The doors opened and Crawford made his way to his new, smaller office. “Wait til’ he gets a load of the man behind the curtain.”
The perfectly coiffed woman on the screen smiled into the camera. “The golden boy strikes again.”
“A legend mixes it up with TV’s number one boy toy,” Her equally plastic co-host said.
“And those aren’t even the headlines on today’s Showbiz Now!” An announcer proclaimed as the iconic theme song kicked off the graphics.
Clare grabbed the clicker and started changing channels. “Doesn’t this town know there’s something else going on in the world besides themselves?”
She gave up and reached for the French pastry by her bedside. “Mmmm, gotta love Napoleon.” She sighed licking chocolate and cream off her lips. She leaned back on her pillows and savored every bite.
“We turn now to our analyst Reed Harlowe…Reed, thanks for being with us today.”
“Thank you, Montana, it always good to be here.”
“So what’s your take on the bold moves over at HRT?”
Clare rolled her eyes, but realized she had no choice. She sighed and stuffed her mouth full again.
“For years the network seemed to be out of the race, languishing further and further behind. After seeming complacent for the bottom of the heap, suddenly HRT is making the world sit up and take notice.”
“Ratings have been inching up, most attributing the small spike to new cover boy Ian Justyn.” Montana added.
“True.” Reed agreed. “But the industry as a whole paid little attention, knowing a charismatic headline maker does not a network make, but HRT and Justyn seem to be out to prove they are not only in the game, but taking back the kingdom they created.”
“Go, Ian!” Clare pumped her fist in the air. “Whoop! Whoop!”
“What’s the run down Reed?”
“Nothing is official yet, but insider’s say that Justyn pulled off several coups that have the other networks trembling. First and foremost, the Hunka Hunka HRT secured the rights to all three books in the “Blood Kisses” trilogy, so hot every studio in town has been gunning for the properties since the first book topped the best seller list six years ago.”
“Any word as to what they plan to do with it?” Montana asked, reading from the teleprompter.
“Rumors are running the gamut, but no definite word. As usual, “Blood Kisses” author Amanda Jackson isn’t any where to be found, but her camp confirmed that a deal with HRT has been made.”
“Why HRT, Reed?”
“Two words.” Reed looked at Montana. “Ian Justyn.”
“Whoop! Whoop!” Clare said. “Bring home the bacon, baby!”
“Justyn is proving himself to be more than just a Hunka Hunka HRT not only capturing the prize “Blood Kisses” flag, but also snagging new free agent and television’s hottest sex symbol Jeff Torkelson for a series starting this fall.”
“Quite a score for someone ABC’s president recently scoffed was a pretty little flash in the pan no one would remember by fall.”
“And what a score it is Montana, our insiders tell us that apparently Torkelson is only half the package. Comedy icon Tess Sinclair is coming out of retirement to co-star in the series said to already be guaranteed a full season.”
“Who the hell is Tess Sinclair?” Clare turned up her nose.
“HRT will formally announce the series, and most likely intentions for “Blood Kisses” at a formal press conference unveiling their fall line up next week.” Montana confirmed.
“We’ll have to wait until fall to see if the power moves add up to big ratings, but the rumors themselves have already sent the other networks scrambling.” Reed looked back to the camera. “It would seem that HRT do nothing else to keep the town from buzzing more about them, but they have one more shocking secret slipping out.”
“What else could they do?” Montana feigned excited shock.
“Once again, nothing has been confirmed, but we have it on good authority that VP Jack Tolan has been let go.”
“Hasn’t Tolan headed up the television division since the mid 80’s?”
“Tolan has been with the company all through its golden age, stepping into the top spot when the network seemed unstoppable, but the big hits stopped coming. In the era of cable and pay network HRT is forging a new direction and obviously feel Tolan is no longer the man to guide it.”
“Any idea who’ll be taking over?”
“For the time being David Turner, the man who built the network from the ground up will be taking over the reins.”
“And Ian Justyn?”
“Yeah, what about my Ian?” Clare said sucking the sticky off her fingers.
“Justyn is said to be moving up quickly, assuming the title Director of Development and Promotion, a position newly created just for him. Our insider says the position is a thinly veiled prize to keep Justyn from jumping ship while he’s being groomed to take over the reins of the network.”
“So if his moves turn into rating’s success…” Montana encouraged.
“By this time next year, HRT will hand him the keys to the kingdom.” Reed finished.
“Remember you heard it here first on “Showbiz Now”. In other news…”
“Oh yeah!” Clare sighed. She looked around her. “Make lots and lots of money, Ian ‘cause when the time is right, Mama’s gonna get it all.”
Clare stuck her tongue out at the TV and laughed. She reached for another Napoleon and chowed down.
“Dave?” Simon Kent poked his head in the door and smiled. “You have a moment?”
David Turner hid the scowl on his face as best he could. “Sure. Sit down.”
Kent delicately shut the door behind him and sat down in the chair across from Turner. He folded his hands in his lap and made himself comfortable. He sighed, then smiled. “I understand.”
Turner looked up from his paperwork. “Understand what?”
“Our time has come.” Simon released his hands and put them on the chair arms. “I step aside.”
“You’re resigning?”
“All I ask is that I am allowed to stay for the remainder of my contract.” Kent looked down. “I dedicated my life to this network, to you, so please, let me leave with a little dignity.”
“That’s pretty much up to you, Kent, but personally you let the dignity ship sail away a long time ago.”
Simon nodded his head.
“Well, is that it?” Turner asked pointedly.
“Yes. I won’t waste any more of your time.” Kent stood up.
“You should have thought about that years ago, too.”
Simon Kent struggled to keep his anger in check. “May I say something to you, friend to friend?”
“Kent, we’ve never been friends.” Turner put his pen down and his glasses on the paperwork. “But if you have something to say, I have enough respect for your time to listen.”
The rotund little man nodded and stepped to the desk. He seemed to be thinking precisely about his words. “He’ll break your heart.”
“Excuse me?” Turner scoffed.
“You know what I’m talking about, Dave. We’ve all seen it before. Ian Justyn is just another in a much too long series of handsome young men you’ve attached yourself to, young men that you’ve mentored and staked your reputation, this company’s reputation on. Everyone has failed, Dave. This one will, too.”
Turner harumphed and picked his glasses back up.
“I won’t say I told you so when it happens, but I hope you’ll remember that I warned you in time and that once again you didn’t listen.”
“Oh, I’m listening Kent.” Dave peered over the top of his glasses. “I hear every word you’ve said.”
“And you will still let this boy railroad you, taking this network further down the drain. It can’t take much more, Dave. I dare say, this is the last hurrah.” Kent nodded his head and turned to go.
Turner let him get all the way to the door. “Wait a minute, Kent.”
David tossed his glasses back on the desk and waited for the man to turn around. He motioned for him to take his seat again.
“You’ve made sure I understand, Simon. Now I want to make sure you understand.” Turner stood up and went over to the bar. “Scotch?”
“Thank you.” Kent smiled, but didn’t dare move from his chair.
“You seem to be under the impression that I’m not aware of the state of my own company.” He poured two stiff ones, and handed one to Kent.
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” He said as he accepted the drink.
“You may not have come right out and said it, but you danced all around it and pointed at it with your twinkle toes.”
Kent scowled at him as they saluted each other with their glasses and took a drink. “Dave you are constantly misjudging…”
“Simon, I’m trying to be nice here, so do us both a favor and shut the hell up.”
Kent’s eyes popped and David Turner continued. “Just because I’ve out lived everyone in this town doesn’t mean I’m senile. Granted, I probably haven’t got that many good years ahead of me. If I’ve got a year at all.”
“Oh, don’t give me that, nonsense.” Simon said. “You’ll out live us all.”
“I’m 94 years old. One good sniffle and I’ll be hooked up to more wires than a Muppet, but I’ll be damned if I’ll out live this company. I’ve stood back and played the old man too long. Look what’s it’s gotten me.”
“You should be proud.”
“I would be, if the damn thing could survive without me. Ninety Four years, Kent and the only thing I’ve got to show for it is a case of tarnished foo foo and once great conglomerate I had absolutely no intention of building in the first place. That’s my legacy in this world Kent, feel good crap with my name on it and a barely breathing mistake.”
“If that’s how you truly feel, Dave. Then maybe it is time you do just sit back and let it die, or hand it over to people who still believe in it, people who deserve it.” Kent sat his empty glass down with just a little too much English.
“You?” Turner smirked.
Kent shrugged his shoulders.
“You don’t believe in this company, Kent. You’ve just been floating through contract cycles, thinking eventually you’ll be in control long enough to suck it dry.”
“How can you say that, Dave?” Simon looked hurt. “After all the years I’ve put in?”
“Oh, tuck your bottom lip back in. No one’s looking and no one sure as hell is buying.” Dave handed Simon his glass. “Pour us another.”
Kent poured them both another drink, bringing the bottle back with him and put it on the desk. “You’re all put kicking my ass out the door, Dave. You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Simon, face it, you’re kicking your own ass out the door.”
Kent looked Turner in the eye. “Ian Justyn is a slick player, and he’s been using your crush on him to take this whole company for a ride.”
Turner laughed, out loud.
“I’ve seen you do this before, Dave.” Kent tried to say calmly and firmly.
“And I’ve seen you have the same knee jerk reaction to every kid that came along for over thirty years now. Any one who has ever managed to take the focus off you for more than two seconds is automatically a threat.”
“They’ve all come after me, because they know I’m the one that has to go down for them to go up.”
“You are the only one who ever believed that.” Turner leaned in close. “Do you know why you are even still here?”
“Because I’ve been able to give this network product the audience wants for thirty years.” Kent said smugly.
“Simon, the product you’ve turned out as a whole has lower demographics than dead air. You are still here because quite frankly, I enjoy sitting behind my desk and watching you try and kill off your misguided perception of the competition. I kept thinking that one day you’d use that keen killer instinct and come up with something good or at least get smart enough to join forces with someone who had talent.”
“I’m insulted.”
“No you’re not.” Dave freshened up their glasses. “You really don’t give a shit what people say or think or you’d have crawled back under your rock years ago.”
“I managed to get rid of a lot of losers for you.”
“And you chased off a lot more that we needed. I should have just fired your butt years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Frankly, I’ve been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the right one. Simon you haven’t got the ability to make great television, but you do have an annoying capability to inadvertently create a great fighter. That’s what this company needs, a great fighter who can also create good television. We’re out of time. You are too much of a liability now and my pre-burial plan is all paid up.”
“You’re putting it all on Justyn?”
“Why not? He’s kicked your ass in every direction but out of the closet. You’ve squeezed that kid until I thought his head would pop off, and damn if it didn’t explode in all the right colors. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
“You think I created that monster?”
Turner knocked back his drink. “Face it, you couldn’t create diarrhea with a dozen babies and a vial of black plague.” He sat back and smiled. “But you did force a young man to fight for his life, and instead of focusing it on you, he focused it on the company. He did what you could have done all along, but didn’t think you had to.”
“So you are just going to hand him the keys to the car and let him drive off into the sunset?”
“How stupid do you think I am, Kent? I’m going to give the kid a chance, but I’m not letting anyone drive my car again. Look what happened when I did.”
“I’ll admit, he’s made an impressive first impression, but I doubt you’ll see anything else. Too much luck involved, nobody’s can keep that streak going.”
Dave shook his head. “If you knew anything about that boy, Kent. You’d have an entirely different opinion.”
“I know he’s a hillbilly with a sob story, boo hoo. Unlike most people in the building, I don’t let little things like that color my vision.”
Turner stood. “And that’s exactly why you were allowed to hang around for thirty years instead of making us fight to keep you here.”
Kent matched his stance. “You are so wrong, Turner.”
“It really doesn’t matter. You are welcome to stay until you’re contract runs out, but you so much as belch without saying excuse me…”
Simon Kent put up his hands to interrupt. “I understand, I’ve been warned. Play nice and at least I get to leave the sandbox without a black eye.”
“I’m doing what I think I have to do.” David Turner reached out his hand.
Kent took it and shook. “Me, too.” He said and closed David Turner’s door behind him. He leaned against the closed door. “Me, too.” He smiled and went on his merry way.
He was finally asleep. Ian found himself just sitting by the boy’s bedside a lot, just watching him breathe. He seemed to be doing fine, but Ian knew how easy it was to convince people of that. Ian pulled the comforter up around Ronnie’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. He double-checked to make sure the cat was curled up with him and shut the bedroom door.
The doctors assured Ian that Ronnie was doing well. Examinations and private sessions had led to the conclusion that the sexual abuse had not been re-current. Other than the one trauma, Ronnie had a happy, healthy childhood. When the doctors told Ian that, he burst into tears of relief.
It had been hard enough for Ian to live with himself knowing he’d given his son away. The thought that he’d condemned him to a childhood of perverted abuse would have been more than he could have handled. He’d already lived it. Having had his son repeat history would have broken him completely.
But why just then? Why would Kyle Osbourne suddenly, for no apparent reason, turn like that? Especially knowing that he could be caught at any moment? It didn’t make sense. Was it Ian’s sudden presence?
Ian couldn’t shake the questions out of his head, and it was really the last thing he needed to concentrate on. Maybe he should call Sparky, and get her to do a little private investigating for him. Then maybe he could lose the feeling there was something he was missing and concentrate solely on his son.
His son. He still wasn’t used to even letting himself think that. He was a father now, and not just in his head, in his heart. It was a physical fact.
Ronnie would come pouncing on his bed at the crack of dawn. He’d smile and chat and giggle all through breakfast, kiss and hug him before he went to work and be a subconscious vision of comfort knowing that when he opened up the door at night, Ronnie would still be there, the word “Papa” falling constantly from his lips.
But Ian knew Ronnie had a secret. Ian kept so many, he knew when someone had one they couldn’t bear to share. Ronnie, for lack of a better term, hadn’t landed yet. He was faking it well.
They’d made it easy; a big house, lots of people spinning around him distracting him with a brand new happy life. Ronnie hadn’t had a chance to be sad. He hadn’t mourned. He went straight from terror to peace, with no natural progression.
There was nothing left of what he lost to help him. The child had nothing left of it, but that stupid cat and a pair of underpants. The rest had gone up in smoke or was blown to tiny unrecognizable fragments.
Ian hoped that when Reese arrived tomorrow, they had found a few things, even if just trinkets. He knew how important that was for a man who was once a child who had nothing, not even love. Ian knew it was essential to a child who had had it all simply because he was loved and then had it all go kaboom.
He chided himself. He had to stop thinking that he was never loved as a child. He’d had a session with a doctor himself. He didn’t know that it was going to open the door to eternal ya ya, but it would, if nothing else, make him feel like he was trying.
It wasn’t fair to say he had never been loved. There was Taylor, Taylor with whom he made that beautiful, perfect little energy ball finally unplugged for the night in his room. There was Jude, the man who made him feel safe, encouraged him and made sure he knew that there was more to life than kicks in the stomach, taunts from bullies and trembling in fear.
And Aunt Hil…Ian smiled sadly. Hilary Johnston, the one person in the world that made him live, sometimes even if it was just a good swift lick in the rump. Whether it was making sure he could feed himself, to making sure the bones weren’t broken and the cuts didn’t get infected, to grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he took a breath, ready to fight again.
She was gone. It hurt in so many ways. Much like Ronnie, he had gone from burying the woman who kept him struggling to breathe to being a father with no natural progression. He needed her now, more than ever. How was he going to be able to do this without her? Who was going to lovingly knock the fight back into him when he was ready to give up?
The irony of it all wasn’t wasted on him. He’d begged for so long for his past to disappear. Now that he buried it with Hilary Johnston, he wasn’t sure how to even get through the day. It made him want to laugh until he choked to death with tears.
“Hey, Baby Doll.” Tippy said quietly.
Ian was suddenly found himself sitting on the balcony staring at the stars.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you sitting there and thought I’d just sit with you a while. Is that okay?”
Ian nodded his head and started to put out his cigarette. Tippy grabbed his hand. “Go ahead.”
He smiled. “I thought you went home.”
“I did.”
“You forget something?”
She shook her head. “Just checking on ya.”
“Ronnie’s fine, sleeping away.”
“I know, darlin’.” Tippy smiled, then took his hand and held it. “He’s not the only boy in the world that needs some one to peek in on him once and a while.”
She turned and looked at the same stars Ian was looking at. She looked at the sky and squeezed his hand, just let to him know the tears now falling silently down his face were all part of the natural progression.
Kent slammed his fist on his desk thinking about it. He had been at HRT a long time. He deserved better than this and, by God, he was going to get it. He’d crushed worthier opponents before than Ian Justyn. Simon Kent was a gladiator, and no one could defeat him.
The man knew when to strike, knew when to out maneuver and knew when to sit back and watch an opponent kill himself. Kent had laid low long enough. He had bided his time waiting for Jack Tolan’s position and he was going to get it. This network was his. No one was taking it from him, especially an upstart who had just crawled out from under some mountain crag.
Simon took a deep breath, and walked to the window of his office, third from the top. “Just one more floor.” He thought out loud and paced. He tossed people a lot more talented than Justyn under the bus before. Why did this little gnat keep escaping the tire tread?
What did Ian Justyn have that kept allowing him to one up him? Granted he was younger, and Kent had to admit, more talented. Talent never had anything to do with it otherwise Kent himself would have never lasted. Hell, most of the people in this town wouldn’t have made it if the game was based on talent.
This was corporate “Survivor”—out play, out wit, out last. Kent was a genius at this game. He’d dedicated his life to it, to this network for over thirty years. He’d stolen the recipe, stirred the pot and served up revenge long before that brother and sister got together and procreated Ian Justyn.
Obviously, he had underestimated him. Somehow the little rat had gotten in some pretty good bites. Kent knew the tables had turned and it was his clock that was now ticking. There wasn’t much time left. The boy had dazzled them all, but he hadn’t fooled Kent.
“Yes.” Simon smiled. Justyn thought he was down for the count. What a better time to cut him off at the knees? If he could just keep himself in the game until it was obvious that the Hunka Hunka HRT was little more than a forgettable wet dream.
He looked at the memo of the new Fall Schedule. Kent curled up his lips as he looked over all the Justyn had managed to get behind everyone’s backs. He wished he’d thought of it first. It was all ridiculous.
It was a simple matter of hanging on until the fall. Moving the highest rated show to Saturday night? Ha! And that pulpy science fiction thing as a soap in late afternoon? Simon laughed out loud. As soon as the ratings dive bombed, Justyn would be toast and the board would come snacking on his hors d’oeuvre again.
“Well…” Kent ogled his reflection in the window. “The brat thinks the war is over. What better time to sneak up behind him and show him exactly who Ceasar is.”
“Fine.” Lance Crawford tossed the last of his desk into a cardboard box. “If that’s the way they want it. That’s the way they get it.”
So he was being demoted and put down on the first floor. He really didn’t like this job in the first place. It was all just a stepping stone.
He picked up his box and headed to the elevator. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for that idiot Simon Kent. “I should have known better.” He said as the elevator doors shut. He pushed the first floor button.
Kent spent so much time trying to knock Justyn off his rung on the ladder we all fell off. But you couldn’t tell that prissy little flit anything. If he’d have just let Justyn alone, none of this would have happened. Kent practically paved the yellow brick road Justyn was now dancing on with his rag tag team.
Crawford smiled as he leaned against the car wall. “They may think they’ve almost made it to the Land of Oz.” He thought. “But surprise Dorothy, Kent was just the wicked witch.”
The doors opened and Crawford made his way to his new, smaller office. “Wait til’ he gets a load of the man behind the curtain.”
The perfectly coiffed woman on the screen smiled into the camera. “The golden boy strikes again.”
“A legend mixes it up with TV’s number one boy toy,” Her equally plastic co-host said.
“And those aren’t even the headlines on today’s Showbiz Now!” An announcer proclaimed as the iconic theme song kicked off the graphics.
Clare grabbed the clicker and started changing channels. “Doesn’t this town know there’s something else going on in the world besides themselves?”
She gave up and reached for the French pastry by her bedside. “Mmmm, gotta love Napoleon.” She sighed licking chocolate and cream off her lips. She leaned back on her pillows and savored every bite.
“We turn now to our analyst Reed Harlowe…Reed, thanks for being with us today.”
“Thank you, Montana, it always good to be here.”
“So what’s your take on the bold moves over at HRT?”
Clare rolled her eyes, but realized she had no choice. She sighed and stuffed her mouth full again.
“For years the network seemed to be out of the race, languishing further and further behind. After seeming complacent for the bottom of the heap, suddenly HRT is making the world sit up and take notice.”
“Ratings have been inching up, most attributing the small spike to new cover boy Ian Justyn.” Montana added.
“True.” Reed agreed. “But the industry as a whole paid little attention, knowing a charismatic headline maker does not a network make, but HRT and Justyn seem to be out to prove they are not only in the game, but taking back the kingdom they created.”
“Go, Ian!” Clare pumped her fist in the air. “Whoop! Whoop!”
“What’s the run down Reed?”
“Nothing is official yet, but insider’s say that Justyn pulled off several coups that have the other networks trembling. First and foremost, the Hunka Hunka HRT secured the rights to all three books in the “Blood Kisses” trilogy, so hot every studio in town has been gunning for the properties since the first book topped the best seller list six years ago.”
“Any word as to what they plan to do with it?” Montana asked, reading from the teleprompter.
“Rumors are running the gamut, but no definite word. As usual, “Blood Kisses” author Amanda Jackson isn’t any where to be found, but her camp confirmed that a deal with HRT has been made.”
“Why HRT, Reed?”
“Two words.” Reed looked at Montana. “Ian Justyn.”
“Whoop! Whoop!” Clare said. “Bring home the bacon, baby!”
“Justyn is proving himself to be more than just a Hunka Hunka HRT not only capturing the prize “Blood Kisses” flag, but also snagging new free agent and television’s hottest sex symbol Jeff Torkelson for a series starting this fall.”
“Quite a score for someone ABC’s president recently scoffed was a pretty little flash in the pan no one would remember by fall.”
“And what a score it is Montana, our insiders tell us that apparently Torkelson is only half the package. Comedy icon Tess Sinclair is coming out of retirement to co-star in the series said to already be guaranteed a full season.”
“Who the hell is Tess Sinclair?” Clare turned up her nose.
“HRT will formally announce the series, and most likely intentions for “Blood Kisses” at a formal press conference unveiling their fall line up next week.” Montana confirmed.
“We’ll have to wait until fall to see if the power moves add up to big ratings, but the rumors themselves have already sent the other networks scrambling.” Reed looked back to the camera. “It would seem that HRT do nothing else to keep the town from buzzing more about them, but they have one more shocking secret slipping out.”
“What else could they do?” Montana feigned excited shock.
“Once again, nothing has been confirmed, but we have it on good authority that VP Jack Tolan has been let go.”
“Hasn’t Tolan headed up the television division since the mid 80’s?”
“Tolan has been with the company all through its golden age, stepping into the top spot when the network seemed unstoppable, but the big hits stopped coming. In the era of cable and pay network HRT is forging a new direction and obviously feel Tolan is no longer the man to guide it.”
“Any idea who’ll be taking over?”
“For the time being David Turner, the man who built the network from the ground up will be taking over the reins.”
“And Ian Justyn?”
“Yeah, what about my Ian?” Clare said sucking the sticky off her fingers.
“Justyn is said to be moving up quickly, assuming the title Director of Development and Promotion, a position newly created just for him. Our insider says the position is a thinly veiled prize to keep Justyn from jumping ship while he’s being groomed to take over the reins of the network.”
“So if his moves turn into rating’s success…” Montana encouraged.
“By this time next year, HRT will hand him the keys to the kingdom.” Reed finished.
“Remember you heard it here first on “Showbiz Now”. In other news…”
“Oh yeah!” Clare sighed. She looked around her. “Make lots and lots of money, Ian ‘cause when the time is right, Mama’s gonna get it all.”
Clare stuck her tongue out at the TV and laughed. She reached for another Napoleon and chowed down.
“Dave?” Simon Kent poked his head in the door and smiled. “You have a moment?”
David Turner hid the scowl on his face as best he could. “Sure. Sit down.”
Kent delicately shut the door behind him and sat down in the chair across from Turner. He folded his hands in his lap and made himself comfortable. He sighed, then smiled. “I understand.”
Turner looked up from his paperwork. “Understand what?”
“Our time has come.” Simon released his hands and put them on the chair arms. “I step aside.”
“You’re resigning?”
“All I ask is that I am allowed to stay for the remainder of my contract.” Kent looked down. “I dedicated my life to this network, to you, so please, let me leave with a little dignity.”
“That’s pretty much up to you, Kent, but personally you let the dignity ship sail away a long time ago.”
Simon nodded his head.
“Well, is that it?” Turner asked pointedly.
“Yes. I won’t waste any more of your time.” Kent stood up.
“You should have thought about that years ago, too.”
Simon Kent struggled to keep his anger in check. “May I say something to you, friend to friend?”
“Kent, we’ve never been friends.” Turner put his pen down and his glasses on the paperwork. “But if you have something to say, I have enough respect for your time to listen.”
The rotund little man nodded and stepped to the desk. He seemed to be thinking precisely about his words. “He’ll break your heart.”
“Excuse me?” Turner scoffed.
“You know what I’m talking about, Dave. We’ve all seen it before. Ian Justyn is just another in a much too long series of handsome young men you’ve attached yourself to, young men that you’ve mentored and staked your reputation, this company’s reputation on. Everyone has failed, Dave. This one will, too.”
Turner harumphed and picked his glasses back up.
“I won’t say I told you so when it happens, but I hope you’ll remember that I warned you in time and that once again you didn’t listen.”
“Oh, I’m listening Kent.” Dave peered over the top of his glasses. “I hear every word you’ve said.”
“And you will still let this boy railroad you, taking this network further down the drain. It can’t take much more, Dave. I dare say, this is the last hurrah.” Kent nodded his head and turned to go.
Turner let him get all the way to the door. “Wait a minute, Kent.”
David tossed his glasses back on the desk and waited for the man to turn around. He motioned for him to take his seat again.
“You’ve made sure I understand, Simon. Now I want to make sure you understand.” Turner stood up and went over to the bar. “Scotch?”
“Thank you.” Kent smiled, but didn’t dare move from his chair.
“You seem to be under the impression that I’m not aware of the state of my own company.” He poured two stiff ones, and handed one to Kent.
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” He said as he accepted the drink.
“You may not have come right out and said it, but you danced all around it and pointed at it with your twinkle toes.”
Kent scowled at him as they saluted each other with their glasses and took a drink. “Dave you are constantly misjudging…”
“Simon, I’m trying to be nice here, so do us both a favor and shut the hell up.”
Kent’s eyes popped and David Turner continued. “Just because I’ve out lived everyone in this town doesn’t mean I’m senile. Granted, I probably haven’t got that many good years ahead of me. If I’ve got a year at all.”
“Oh, don’t give me that, nonsense.” Simon said. “You’ll out live us all.”
“I’m 94 years old. One good sniffle and I’ll be hooked up to more wires than a Muppet, but I’ll be damned if I’ll out live this company. I’ve stood back and played the old man too long. Look what’s it’s gotten me.”
“You should be proud.”
“I would be, if the damn thing could survive without me. Ninety Four years, Kent and the only thing I’ve got to show for it is a case of tarnished foo foo and once great conglomerate I had absolutely no intention of building in the first place. That’s my legacy in this world Kent, feel good crap with my name on it and a barely breathing mistake.”
“If that’s how you truly feel, Dave. Then maybe it is time you do just sit back and let it die, or hand it over to people who still believe in it, people who deserve it.” Kent sat his empty glass down with just a little too much English.
“You?” Turner smirked.
Kent shrugged his shoulders.
“You don’t believe in this company, Kent. You’ve just been floating through contract cycles, thinking eventually you’ll be in control long enough to suck it dry.”
“How can you say that, Dave?” Simon looked hurt. “After all the years I’ve put in?”
“Oh, tuck your bottom lip back in. No one’s looking and no one sure as hell is buying.” Dave handed Simon his glass. “Pour us another.”
Kent poured them both another drink, bringing the bottle back with him and put it on the desk. “You’re all put kicking my ass out the door, Dave. You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Simon, face it, you’re kicking your own ass out the door.”
Kent looked Turner in the eye. “Ian Justyn is a slick player, and he’s been using your crush on him to take this whole company for a ride.”
Turner laughed, out loud.
“I’ve seen you do this before, Dave.” Kent tried to say calmly and firmly.
“And I’ve seen you have the same knee jerk reaction to every kid that came along for over thirty years now. Any one who has ever managed to take the focus off you for more than two seconds is automatically a threat.”
“They’ve all come after me, because they know I’m the one that has to go down for them to go up.”
“You are the only one who ever believed that.” Turner leaned in close. “Do you know why you are even still here?”
“Because I’ve been able to give this network product the audience wants for thirty years.” Kent said smugly.
“Simon, the product you’ve turned out as a whole has lower demographics than dead air. You are still here because quite frankly, I enjoy sitting behind my desk and watching you try and kill off your misguided perception of the competition. I kept thinking that one day you’d use that keen killer instinct and come up with something good or at least get smart enough to join forces with someone who had talent.”
“I’m insulted.”
“No you’re not.” Dave freshened up their glasses. “You really don’t give a shit what people say or think or you’d have crawled back under your rock years ago.”
“I managed to get rid of a lot of losers for you.”
“And you chased off a lot more that we needed. I should have just fired your butt years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Frankly, I’ve been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the right one. Simon you haven’t got the ability to make great television, but you do have an annoying capability to inadvertently create a great fighter. That’s what this company needs, a great fighter who can also create good television. We’re out of time. You are too much of a liability now and my pre-burial plan is all paid up.”
“You’re putting it all on Justyn?”
“Why not? He’s kicked your ass in every direction but out of the closet. You’ve squeezed that kid until I thought his head would pop off, and damn if it didn’t explode in all the right colors. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
“You think I created that monster?”
Turner knocked back his drink. “Face it, you couldn’t create diarrhea with a dozen babies and a vial of black plague.” He sat back and smiled. “But you did force a young man to fight for his life, and instead of focusing it on you, he focused it on the company. He did what you could have done all along, but didn’t think you had to.”
“So you are just going to hand him the keys to the car and let him drive off into the sunset?”
“How stupid do you think I am, Kent? I’m going to give the kid a chance, but I’m not letting anyone drive my car again. Look what happened when I did.”
“I’ll admit, he’s made an impressive first impression, but I doubt you’ll see anything else. Too much luck involved, nobody’s can keep that streak going.”
Dave shook his head. “If you knew anything about that boy, Kent. You’d have an entirely different opinion.”
“I know he’s a hillbilly with a sob story, boo hoo. Unlike most people in the building, I don’t let little things like that color my vision.”
Turner stood. “And that’s exactly why you were allowed to hang around for thirty years instead of making us fight to keep you here.”
Kent matched his stance. “You are so wrong, Turner.”
“It really doesn’t matter. You are welcome to stay until you’re contract runs out, but you so much as belch without saying excuse me…”
Simon Kent put up his hands to interrupt. “I understand, I’ve been warned. Play nice and at least I get to leave the sandbox without a black eye.”
“I’m doing what I think I have to do.” David Turner reached out his hand.
Kent took it and shook. “Me, too.” He said and closed David Turner’s door behind him. He leaned against the closed door. “Me, too.” He smiled and went on his merry way.
He was finally asleep. Ian found himself just sitting by the boy’s bedside a lot, just watching him breathe. He seemed to be doing fine, but Ian knew how easy it was to convince people of that. Ian pulled the comforter up around Ronnie’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. He double-checked to make sure the cat was curled up with him and shut the bedroom door.
The doctors assured Ian that Ronnie was doing well. Examinations and private sessions had led to the conclusion that the sexual abuse had not been re-current. Other than the one trauma, Ronnie had a happy, healthy childhood. When the doctors told Ian that, he burst into tears of relief.
It had been hard enough for Ian to live with himself knowing he’d given his son away. The thought that he’d condemned him to a childhood of perverted abuse would have been more than he could have handled. He’d already lived it. Having had his son repeat history would have broken him completely.
But why just then? Why would Kyle Osbourne suddenly, for no apparent reason, turn like that? Especially knowing that he could be caught at any moment? It didn’t make sense. Was it Ian’s sudden presence?
Ian couldn’t shake the questions out of his head, and it was really the last thing he needed to concentrate on. Maybe he should call Sparky, and get her to do a little private investigating for him. Then maybe he could lose the feeling there was something he was missing and concentrate solely on his son.
His son. He still wasn’t used to even letting himself think that. He was a father now, and not just in his head, in his heart. It was a physical fact.
Ronnie would come pouncing on his bed at the crack of dawn. He’d smile and chat and giggle all through breakfast, kiss and hug him before he went to work and be a subconscious vision of comfort knowing that when he opened up the door at night, Ronnie would still be there, the word “Papa” falling constantly from his lips.
But Ian knew Ronnie had a secret. Ian kept so many, he knew when someone had one they couldn’t bear to share. Ronnie, for lack of a better term, hadn’t landed yet. He was faking it well.
They’d made it easy; a big house, lots of people spinning around him distracting him with a brand new happy life. Ronnie hadn’t had a chance to be sad. He hadn’t mourned. He went straight from terror to peace, with no natural progression.
There was nothing left of what he lost to help him. The child had nothing left of it, but that stupid cat and a pair of underpants. The rest had gone up in smoke or was blown to tiny unrecognizable fragments.
Ian hoped that when Reese arrived tomorrow, they had found a few things, even if just trinkets. He knew how important that was for a man who was once a child who had nothing, not even love. Ian knew it was essential to a child who had had it all simply because he was loved and then had it all go kaboom.
He chided himself. He had to stop thinking that he was never loved as a child. He’d had a session with a doctor himself. He didn’t know that it was going to open the door to eternal ya ya, but it would, if nothing else, make him feel like he was trying.
It wasn’t fair to say he had never been loved. There was Taylor, Taylor with whom he made that beautiful, perfect little energy ball finally unplugged for the night in his room. There was Jude, the man who made him feel safe, encouraged him and made sure he knew that there was more to life than kicks in the stomach, taunts from bullies and trembling in fear.
And Aunt Hil…Ian smiled sadly. Hilary Johnston, the one person in the world that made him live, sometimes even if it was just a good swift lick in the rump. Whether it was making sure he could feed himself, to making sure the bones weren’t broken and the cuts didn’t get infected, to grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he took a breath, ready to fight again.
She was gone. It hurt in so many ways. Much like Ronnie, he had gone from burying the woman who kept him struggling to breathe to being a father with no natural progression. He needed her now, more than ever. How was he going to be able to do this without her? Who was going to lovingly knock the fight back into him when he was ready to give up?
The irony of it all wasn’t wasted on him. He’d begged for so long for his past to disappear. Now that he buried it with Hilary Johnston, he wasn’t sure how to even get through the day. It made him want to laugh until he choked to death with tears.
“Hey, Baby Doll.” Tippy said quietly.
Ian was suddenly found himself sitting on the balcony staring at the stars.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you sitting there and thought I’d just sit with you a while. Is that okay?”
Ian nodded his head and started to put out his cigarette. Tippy grabbed his hand. “Go ahead.”
He smiled. “I thought you went home.”
“I did.”
“You forget something?”
She shook her head. “Just checking on ya.”
“Ronnie’s fine, sleeping away.”
“I know, darlin’.” Tippy smiled, then took his hand and held it. “He’s not the only boy in the world that needs some one to peek in on him once and a while.”
She turned and looked at the same stars Ian was looking at. She looked at the sky and squeezed his hand, just let to him know the tears now falling silently down his face were all part of the natural progression.
Vignette #105: Tests
It would only be the first time that day the room applauded Ian. When he pitched a variety series kicked off by a live concert with Susan Andrews and Jimmy Sage the room was practically riotous. When he announced the new daytime schedule including “Blood Kisses” they practically hoisted him on their shoulders and poured champagne on him.
Yup, it was a good day. By the end of it, all of Ian’s pilots and ideas made the cut. He had been set up as the golden boy and even Simon Kent had to admit that. Ian took it all with a little grain of salt, knowing it all looked great on paper. The real test was when it hit the air.
As the meeting was adjourned, Ian was distracted temporarily shaking hands and receiving congratulations. As the executives left the room, leaving the board members behind for a brief chat before they took a break, Simon Kent stepped in front of Ian.
He didn’t offer his hand, and his face couldn’t hide the distain. “Enjoy it while it lasts Justyn. Success is fleeting.”
Ian smiled, “Actually Simon, I’ve always felt that success was something you held in your heart. You hold fame in your hand, and it blows away very easily. Success is something personal. No one can snatch that away but you.”
“Whatever.” Kent rolled his eyes and sneered. The turned swiftly and marched toward the door.
“Ian?” Denver Metcalfe called from the other end of the room. “Would you and Wella mind staying? The board would like to get your input on something.”
Before Ian turned to say “Of course” he noticed Simon Kent freeze in his tracks and turn red faced back to Ian and the room.
Metcalfe looked at Kent and smiled. “Is there something you’ve forgotten Kent?”
“No.” He stammered. “I just thought that…”
A woman from the board frowned and waved him off. “You are no longer needed Kent.”
Kent looked at the floor and nodded. “Yes.” He said quietly.
“And Kent?” The woman said. “I noticed not one of your pilots even made the first round of cuts. Perhaps you need to start rethinking things. Take a lesson from Ian here, and start thinking outside the box.”
Simon would have spit nails at Ian if he’d had enough iron in his diet that day. He whirled around abruptly and petulantly stomped out of the room.
“Have a seat.” The woman pointed at two chairs. Ian and Wella sat down.
Ian whispered. “Any idea what this is about?” Wella shook her head. They both felt like they had been sent to the Principals office…again.
The woman motioned to David Turner. “Thank you, Jessica. Ian, Wella, I want both of you to know that although I support the decision, I did not prompt nor instigate this. The board made these decisions of their own accord.”
Once again, Ian and Wella looked at each other and then back to the board. Wella swallowed hard.
Ian took a deep breath. “’kay”.
Denver Metcalfe leaned on the long desk in front of him. “Ian take a look at the schedule board up there.”
The woman named Jessica said, “Go ahead, dear, go right up there and look it over.”
Ian looked at Wella and stood, wobbly, and made his way to the schedule that loomed the front wall of the room. He looked at it and then turned back to the nine men and three women in the room.
“That’s our fall schedule.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you happy with it?” Jessica asked.
Ian looked at Turner and then over to Wella, hoping she’d give him some sort of signal, as she had many times before. The only signal he could read from her was barely contained terror.
Ian looked at the woman. “For the most part, ma’am.”
“Ian I have to say I adore your Southern charm. I realize that you say ma’am out of respect, but like you and the term ‘mister’, every time you call me ma’am I wonder where my grandmother is. Please, call me Jessica or, if you must, I’ll settle for Ms. Greginsky.”
“Uhm…” “Ian smiled weakly. “’kay.”
Jessica batted her eyes. She cleared her throat and got back to business. “Ian, if you were put totally in charge, no one to answer to, how would you change that schedule?”
“Oh…I…” Ian looked at Wella, who shrugged.
“Just do it, Ian”. Turner said. “Change anything around, take anything off. Do it.” He ordered.
Ian turned back around to the schedule. He thought about his first interview. Ian sighed. He had no idea what was going on, but somehow he knew this was a test. He’d been boldly honest from moment one. It was too late to turn back now.
He reached to the Saturday schedule that simply said “Reruns”, pulled off the magnet there and placed it on the table. He looked up to gage the reaction. The board was watching his every move, exchanging glances with each other.
Ian next pulled off the magnet for the series “A Saga Leading Nowhere”, yanking it off Sunday nights and putting it in the Saturday slot he’d emptied. He then got in the trash and pulled out two comedies the execs had decided to can after one season. He put them in the hour slot he made on Sunday. He looked it over one more time, then nodded his head and returned to his seat.
The board members looked at each other. “Interesting.” Metcalfe said glancing to David Turner. “That’s all?”
“I think that’s the best we can do with what we have to offer. Any more and I think our core audience would abandon us. If we do another major cleaning like this next fall, provided the majority of our new shows work, we should be at least number two.”
“You left a hole.” Jessica Greginsky pointed out. “Two hours nine to eleven on Saturdays.”
“I’m wondering about Saturday as a whole.” Ned Bellamy spoke up. He was the youngest member of the board and the only person of color. “Why would you move our top rated series to the lowest rated night of the week?”
Ian felt Wella’s hand on his thigh. He smiled, remembering what that meant. “It also is the night of the week the biggest percentage of television watchers say they don’t watch because there is nothing on, young religious families with children.”
“That’s why it’s scheduled for Sunday nights. To attract those viewers.” Bellamy said.
“Sir, most members of Protestant religions go to church on Sunday nights, arriving home between eight thirty and nine. They’d watch it, if it were on at a time they were home; Saturday nights looking for something to watch with the kids.”
Bellamy’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Metcalfe. “There hasn’t been a hit on Saturday nights since when? Mary Tyler Moore in the seventies?”
“The audience is still there, just not the one’s who watch the rest of the week.” Ian defended. “It’s the only night of the week we can afford niche programming, and we waste it with reruns or stuff already canceled we need to burn to offset cost.”
“But the hole, dear.” Greggy repeated. “Would you keep reruns there?”
“Sort of.” Ian looked at Wella who smiled lightly and nodded. “We’ve been talking, and we think if we are going to do reruns, why does it have to be current programming? If I were in charge, I’d turn those two hours into a block of classic HRT programs; stuff in our vaults that hasn’t been seen in years.”
“Like?” David Turner asked.
“Classic HRT movies and Tess Sinclair’s sitcom…”
“That’s been in syndication for years.” Someone scoffed.
Ian nodded. “But only two hundred episodes, it ran for fifteen years at a time when 30 to 36 episodes were the norm, dust off the other 340, and all the things that ran in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, the ones that made us the best network in the world, all which bring back smiles to faces when they’re mentioned and most of which haven’t been seen since they left the airwaves.”
Jessica Greginsky turned to Denver Metcalfe. “Signature reruns. We dust them off, broadcast them and then drop them to video.” She turned to David and nodded her head. “Win, win.”
Metcalfe looked around the room. “Are there any reservations?” The board all resounded assuring him there wasn’t. “Dave…” he nodded to the board. “We have our schedule.”
The old man smiled. “Thank you, Young Justyn. Now for the matter at hand, Wella, Young Justyn…”
Wella took Ian’s hand under the table and they braced for whatever was coming.
“As of Monday morning there will be some major changes in structure. You are aware of Jack Tolan, also Lance Crockett is busy telling his staff all but four we’ve chosen are being let go or sent back to the mail room. Each development team will now have two people for promotion.”
“We think we’ll get better results having the promotion developed along with the product itself.” Jessica smiled. “You’ve proven that.”
“We are keeping a small team which, for the time being, Lance Crawford will head up. His job will be to co-ordinate overall. That team and all of the development team will answer to the Head of Development and Promotion, a new position we are putting in place. That position will answer to me and only me.”
“Of course.” Ian nodded.
“As for Tolan’s position…” Turner began.
“Excuse me.” Ian interrupted him. “I just want to go on the record, again, as saying I have not now nor ever had designs on Jack’s position.”
Jessica Greginsky smiled. “You enjoy what you do.”
“Yes, ma…Jess...i…ca... I love it. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do, and I think it’s how I can best help HRT.” Ian said emphatically.
Metcalfe frowned. “You’d never want to be vice president of the network?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that, maybe some day when I’m ready. I’ve still so much to learn.”
Metcalfe leaned back in his chair and smiled. He exchanged that smile with everyone in the room. “You’re right on both counts, but at the same time, you’re wrong.”
Ian looked at Wella. “I don’t understand.”
David Turner stepped in. “Young Justyn…Ian, you are correct in saying that you are not ready for Tolan’s position, but I want to work with you on a daily basis. When we feel you are confident, I will step back. There is much for you to learn, and we’ve all been noticing there is much you can teach us.”
Jessica leaned forward. “Ian, you do realize that this morning we had ten hours of time to fill?”
“And we did that.” Ian said.
“Yes.” She smiled. “There are five development teams, Kent’s boobs presented nothing worth looking at twice. Two teams had one hour each, and third had ninety minutes.”
“The rest came from your team, two thirds of it, and there was never any question as to whether or not to snap it up for the schedule, just where to place it for the best advantage.” Ned Grayson said. “It’s not only unheard of, I don’t think it’s ever happened. At least not at HRT.”
Ian gulped. “I don’t know what to say. The team worked hard. I’m proud of them.”
Denver Metcalfe folded his hands together. “Are you willing to do anything we ask you to do, without question?”
“Of course.”
“Done.” He said and looked at Turner.
“We’ll make the formal announcement at the press conference next week.” Turner and company began closing folders and gathering up items. “Wella you’ll be right there with Young Justyn every step of the way. You’re going to have much more responsibility as well.”
“Darling, we have every confidence in you as well.” Jessica Greginsky said as she picked up her purse. “We know you’re a team. That’s what drew our attention in the first place.” She walked by and kissed Wella on the cheek. “Let’s do a girl’s night. I’ll call you.” She said and was out the door.
David Turner was the last to leave the room. “Still taking Friday off?”
Ian and Wella nodded.
“Good. Come in tomorrow, I’ll bring donuts. We’ll congratulate the team and start making some decisions. Congratulations, you two.” Turner strutted toward the door. He shook his head. “You remind me of the young upstarts that started this company.”
He disappeared, leaving Wella and Ian still seated at the table. They remained silent for a moment.
Ian finally turned to Wella. “What just happened?”
“I think we just got promoted.”
“Not fired?”
“No.” Wella turned to Ian. “Sometimes I wonder about you child. You just got crowned prince and royal heir to the throne and I got your old job and you think we both just got fired.”
“Are you sure?”
She thought a moment. “Pretty sure.”
“Can we go home now?”
“Probably, but let’s sit here a minute, just in case.” She said.
“Good. I don’t think my legs work anymore.”
“I peed my pants.” Wella sighed.
“I need a cigarette.”
Wella looked around and pulled a pack out of Ian’s coat pocket. She lit one, handed it to him, then lit one for herself.
Ian flicked an ash in a cup of water. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
Wella puffed her Marlboro, sucked it in and let out a thick stream. “It’s either that or go number two in my pants.”
Yup, it was a good day. By the end of it, all of Ian’s pilots and ideas made the cut. He had been set up as the golden boy and even Simon Kent had to admit that. Ian took it all with a little grain of salt, knowing it all looked great on paper. The real test was when it hit the air.
As the meeting was adjourned, Ian was distracted temporarily shaking hands and receiving congratulations. As the executives left the room, leaving the board members behind for a brief chat before they took a break, Simon Kent stepped in front of Ian.
He didn’t offer his hand, and his face couldn’t hide the distain. “Enjoy it while it lasts Justyn. Success is fleeting.”
Ian smiled, “Actually Simon, I’ve always felt that success was something you held in your heart. You hold fame in your hand, and it blows away very easily. Success is something personal. No one can snatch that away but you.”
“Whatever.” Kent rolled his eyes and sneered. The turned swiftly and marched toward the door.
“Ian?” Denver Metcalfe called from the other end of the room. “Would you and Wella mind staying? The board would like to get your input on something.”
Before Ian turned to say “Of course” he noticed Simon Kent freeze in his tracks and turn red faced back to Ian and the room.
Metcalfe looked at Kent and smiled. “Is there something you’ve forgotten Kent?”
“No.” He stammered. “I just thought that…”
A woman from the board frowned and waved him off. “You are no longer needed Kent.”
Kent looked at the floor and nodded. “Yes.” He said quietly.
“And Kent?” The woman said. “I noticed not one of your pilots even made the first round of cuts. Perhaps you need to start rethinking things. Take a lesson from Ian here, and start thinking outside the box.”
Simon would have spit nails at Ian if he’d had enough iron in his diet that day. He whirled around abruptly and petulantly stomped out of the room.
“Have a seat.” The woman pointed at two chairs. Ian and Wella sat down.
Ian whispered. “Any idea what this is about?” Wella shook her head. They both felt like they had been sent to the Principals office…again.
The woman motioned to David Turner. “Thank you, Jessica. Ian, Wella, I want both of you to know that although I support the decision, I did not prompt nor instigate this. The board made these decisions of their own accord.”
Once again, Ian and Wella looked at each other and then back to the board. Wella swallowed hard.
Ian took a deep breath. “’kay”.
Denver Metcalfe leaned on the long desk in front of him. “Ian take a look at the schedule board up there.”
The woman named Jessica said, “Go ahead, dear, go right up there and look it over.”
Ian looked at Wella and stood, wobbly, and made his way to the schedule that loomed the front wall of the room. He looked at it and then turned back to the nine men and three women in the room.
“That’s our fall schedule.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you happy with it?” Jessica asked.
Ian looked at Turner and then over to Wella, hoping she’d give him some sort of signal, as she had many times before. The only signal he could read from her was barely contained terror.
Ian looked at the woman. “For the most part, ma’am.”
“Ian I have to say I adore your Southern charm. I realize that you say ma’am out of respect, but like you and the term ‘mister’, every time you call me ma’am I wonder where my grandmother is. Please, call me Jessica or, if you must, I’ll settle for Ms. Greginsky.”
“Uhm…” “Ian smiled weakly. “’kay.”
Jessica batted her eyes. She cleared her throat and got back to business. “Ian, if you were put totally in charge, no one to answer to, how would you change that schedule?”
“Oh…I…” Ian looked at Wella, who shrugged.
“Just do it, Ian”. Turner said. “Change anything around, take anything off. Do it.” He ordered.
Ian turned back around to the schedule. He thought about his first interview. Ian sighed. He had no idea what was going on, but somehow he knew this was a test. He’d been boldly honest from moment one. It was too late to turn back now.
He reached to the Saturday schedule that simply said “Reruns”, pulled off the magnet there and placed it on the table. He looked up to gage the reaction. The board was watching his every move, exchanging glances with each other.
Ian next pulled off the magnet for the series “A Saga Leading Nowhere”, yanking it off Sunday nights and putting it in the Saturday slot he’d emptied. He then got in the trash and pulled out two comedies the execs had decided to can after one season. He put them in the hour slot he made on Sunday. He looked it over one more time, then nodded his head and returned to his seat.
The board members looked at each other. “Interesting.” Metcalfe said glancing to David Turner. “That’s all?”
“I think that’s the best we can do with what we have to offer. Any more and I think our core audience would abandon us. If we do another major cleaning like this next fall, provided the majority of our new shows work, we should be at least number two.”
“You left a hole.” Jessica Greginsky pointed out. “Two hours nine to eleven on Saturdays.”
“I’m wondering about Saturday as a whole.” Ned Bellamy spoke up. He was the youngest member of the board and the only person of color. “Why would you move our top rated series to the lowest rated night of the week?”
Ian felt Wella’s hand on his thigh. He smiled, remembering what that meant. “It also is the night of the week the biggest percentage of television watchers say they don’t watch because there is nothing on, young religious families with children.”
“That’s why it’s scheduled for Sunday nights. To attract those viewers.” Bellamy said.
“Sir, most members of Protestant religions go to church on Sunday nights, arriving home between eight thirty and nine. They’d watch it, if it were on at a time they were home; Saturday nights looking for something to watch with the kids.”
Bellamy’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Metcalfe. “There hasn’t been a hit on Saturday nights since when? Mary Tyler Moore in the seventies?”
“The audience is still there, just not the one’s who watch the rest of the week.” Ian defended. “It’s the only night of the week we can afford niche programming, and we waste it with reruns or stuff already canceled we need to burn to offset cost.”
“But the hole, dear.” Greggy repeated. “Would you keep reruns there?”
“Sort of.” Ian looked at Wella who smiled lightly and nodded. “We’ve been talking, and we think if we are going to do reruns, why does it have to be current programming? If I were in charge, I’d turn those two hours into a block of classic HRT programs; stuff in our vaults that hasn’t been seen in years.”
“Like?” David Turner asked.
“Classic HRT movies and Tess Sinclair’s sitcom…”
“That’s been in syndication for years.” Someone scoffed.
Ian nodded. “But only two hundred episodes, it ran for fifteen years at a time when 30 to 36 episodes were the norm, dust off the other 340, and all the things that ran in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, the ones that made us the best network in the world, all which bring back smiles to faces when they’re mentioned and most of which haven’t been seen since they left the airwaves.”
Jessica Greginsky turned to Denver Metcalfe. “Signature reruns. We dust them off, broadcast them and then drop them to video.” She turned to David and nodded her head. “Win, win.”
Metcalfe looked around the room. “Are there any reservations?” The board all resounded assuring him there wasn’t. “Dave…” he nodded to the board. “We have our schedule.”
The old man smiled. “Thank you, Young Justyn. Now for the matter at hand, Wella, Young Justyn…”
Wella took Ian’s hand under the table and they braced for whatever was coming.
“As of Monday morning there will be some major changes in structure. You are aware of Jack Tolan, also Lance Crockett is busy telling his staff all but four we’ve chosen are being let go or sent back to the mail room. Each development team will now have two people for promotion.”
“We think we’ll get better results having the promotion developed along with the product itself.” Jessica smiled. “You’ve proven that.”
“We are keeping a small team which, for the time being, Lance Crawford will head up. His job will be to co-ordinate overall. That team and all of the development team will answer to the Head of Development and Promotion, a new position we are putting in place. That position will answer to me and only me.”
“Of course.” Ian nodded.
“As for Tolan’s position…” Turner began.
“Excuse me.” Ian interrupted him. “I just want to go on the record, again, as saying I have not now nor ever had designs on Jack’s position.”
Jessica Greginsky smiled. “You enjoy what you do.”
“Yes, ma…Jess...i…ca... I love it. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do, and I think it’s how I can best help HRT.” Ian said emphatically.
Metcalfe frowned. “You’d never want to be vice president of the network?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that, maybe some day when I’m ready. I’ve still so much to learn.”
Metcalfe leaned back in his chair and smiled. He exchanged that smile with everyone in the room. “You’re right on both counts, but at the same time, you’re wrong.”
Ian looked at Wella. “I don’t understand.”
David Turner stepped in. “Young Justyn…Ian, you are correct in saying that you are not ready for Tolan’s position, but I want to work with you on a daily basis. When we feel you are confident, I will step back. There is much for you to learn, and we’ve all been noticing there is much you can teach us.”
Jessica leaned forward. “Ian, you do realize that this morning we had ten hours of time to fill?”
“And we did that.” Ian said.
“Yes.” She smiled. “There are five development teams, Kent’s boobs presented nothing worth looking at twice. Two teams had one hour each, and third had ninety minutes.”
“The rest came from your team, two thirds of it, and there was never any question as to whether or not to snap it up for the schedule, just where to place it for the best advantage.” Ned Grayson said. “It’s not only unheard of, I don’t think it’s ever happened. At least not at HRT.”
Ian gulped. “I don’t know what to say. The team worked hard. I’m proud of them.”
Denver Metcalfe folded his hands together. “Are you willing to do anything we ask you to do, without question?”
“Of course.”
“Done.” He said and looked at Turner.
“We’ll make the formal announcement at the press conference next week.” Turner and company began closing folders and gathering up items. “Wella you’ll be right there with Young Justyn every step of the way. You’re going to have much more responsibility as well.”
“Darling, we have every confidence in you as well.” Jessica Greginsky said as she picked up her purse. “We know you’re a team. That’s what drew our attention in the first place.” She walked by and kissed Wella on the cheek. “Let’s do a girl’s night. I’ll call you.” She said and was out the door.
David Turner was the last to leave the room. “Still taking Friday off?”
Ian and Wella nodded.
“Good. Come in tomorrow, I’ll bring donuts. We’ll congratulate the team and start making some decisions. Congratulations, you two.” Turner strutted toward the door. He shook his head. “You remind me of the young upstarts that started this company.”
He disappeared, leaving Wella and Ian still seated at the table. They remained silent for a moment.
Ian finally turned to Wella. “What just happened?”
“I think we just got promoted.”
“Not fired?”
“No.” Wella turned to Ian. “Sometimes I wonder about you child. You just got crowned prince and royal heir to the throne and I got your old job and you think we both just got fired.”
“Are you sure?”
She thought a moment. “Pretty sure.”
“Can we go home now?”
“Probably, but let’s sit here a minute, just in case.” She said.
“Good. I don’t think my legs work anymore.”
“I peed my pants.” Wella sighed.
“I need a cigarette.”
Wella looked around and pulled a pack out of Ian’s coat pocket. She lit one, handed it to him, then lit one for herself.
Ian flicked an ash in a cup of water. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
Wella puffed her Marlboro, sucked it in and let out a thick stream. “It’s either that or go number two in my pants.”
Vignette #104: Blindsides
“Before we begin the process of elimination, I believe we need to discuss the current situation with the Jeff Torkelson project.”
Everyone looked at Simon Kent, who smiled and stood. “Most of you know that I initiated the contract, but there were some minor creative differences. The show was heading in a strong direction, but well…I’ll let Ian take over from here. He stepped in and the ball is totally in his court.”
Kent smirked and took his seat. The room looked at Ian, all with questionable looks of various degrees on their faces. David Turner grinned “Young Justyn you have the floor.”
Ian nodded. “May I?”
“By all means.” Turner took his seat and Ian walked to the head of the room.
“Thank you, Simon. I start by thanking you for the wonderful opportunity that you handed me. You are to be applauded for not only seizing an opportunity, but allowing an unseasoned pier to help in shaping it. As Simon said, the show is heading in a very strong, and if I may say so, very exciting direction. We only have one little problem…”
“Problem?” Simon did spider mirror exercises with his fingers. “How could there be a problem? Do tell.”
“Actually, it’s not really a problem, with everyone’s approval it actually solves a problem. The original idea was a spin off.”
“That’s what was contracted.” Kent puffed.
“No, sir. What was contracted was a series with a full year commitment, provided it be ready for airing this fall. Jeff Torkelson and his contracted writing staff had trouble coming up with a sustainable concept for a spin off. Fortunately, through some hard work and sheer luck we were able to come up with an alternative concept, one we already had a development agreement on and we begin shooting the series in two weeks.”
“Casting is done?” Metcalfe couldn’t believe.
“Actually, yes.” Ian assured. “We were able to use the two actors already contracted for the spin off, and the other two regulars, one lead and one reoccurring have already signed on the dotted line.”
Trent Rockford spoke up. “Another lead? Torkelson had already wangled his way into being the highest paid lead in television. What the hell did you sign another lead for? It was unaffordable as it was.”
Ian nodded to Wella, who began to pass out folders with contracts. “The folders Wella is now passing out contains all the contracts and cost analysis of the series, no longer a Jeff Torkelson project, but “The World On A String” starring Jeff Torkelson and legendary HRT star Tess Sinclair.”
“Tess Sinclair?” Someone said. “You signed Tess Sinclair?”
“Yes.” Ian said. “If you turn to the first contract you will see an agreement signed by Jeff and myself declaring the initial contract mediated by Mr. Kent null and void, followed by a new contract at exactly half the original price, with higher back end and raises for the five year term based on ratings increases.”
“He agreed to that?” Kent’s face fell.
“Mr. Torkelson and Ms. Sinclair both agreed that it was more important to make a good series that was affordable to the network.”
“They believe in the project that much?” Rockford asked.
“Absolutely.” Ian smiled. “Please take note, we have broken down the cost analysis to the first contract against the new contracts. “The World On a String” is still an expensive series but only slightly higher than the cost of any new program at any network.”
Everyone but Simon Kent and his assistant applauded. Kent tossed the files on the table in front of him. Simon looked at Ian. “How is any of this possible? You just started on Monday.”
“Wait a minute.” One of the other execs put his hands on the table. “You did this in two days?”
Ian nodded his head and continued. “The original idea was from Jenson Michaels, whom my department has under contract. When Tessie came into the picture, I remembered it.” Ian nodded to Wella again, who began passing out bound scripts.
“These are the first two scripts, the first folder has an episode breakdown for two years. Now, Torkelson’s writers will tweak them slightly but they decided they were too good not to use as stood.”
“You said there was a problem.” Metcalfe said. “All I see here is gold.”
“Well the problem is this is not a half hour sitcom. This is a one hour dramedy, throw “Ugly Betty” and “Mad Men” in a blender and you get “The World On A String”. My suggestion is moving “John and Agnes” from 9:30 to 8:30 on Thursday, filling the early hole and the last one as well.”
“I always thought that ‘John and Agnes’ was more a family oriented show anyway.” Someone piped up.
“It is our highest rated sitcom, and will serve a better build into “String” than the other way around.” Ian said.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed but apprehensive.” Simon grinned. “You threw all of this together in two days. I’ll just put it out there. We shouldn’t okay this until we’ve seen a pilot. Sinclair is a notorious diva and I doubt has any chemistry with Torkelson. We shouldn’t even think about this until we have a pilot.”
“We don’t have time for that.” Ian told him. “Not if we plan to announce it for the fall.”
“Then we pull it off.” Simon smiled and looked around the room. “I move we just cancel the project until we see something concrete.”
“Not a problem.” Ian smiled. “I don’t have a pilot, but we did shoot a teaser for you, even we wanted to see about chemistry between the two leads.”
David Turner stood. “Ian, let me step in here, if I may…” Ian nodded and returned to his seat. “First of all, let me just point out that what you are about to see is two fold. After you see this you will no doubt agree with Ian and myself…”
“You knew about this?” Kent said.
“Of course.” Turner looked down on the man. “Young Justyn wasn’t about to mess with the fortunes of this network with out getting input and approval from a superior, something a couple of you might want to begin taking into consideration.”
Kent’s shrunk back in his chair. Turner beamed, “Now where was I…oh yes, two fold. You are about to see the teaser for “World On A String”, and how it will be used with the fall campaign. The board was so excited when they saw it, we’ve already unanimously approved it.”
Simon Kent clapped his hands and giggled. “I knew it!”
The room including Ian rolled their eyes. Someone even murmured “I heart HRT.”
“Now this is just a…what did he call it, a simple Flash computer program, when it’s transferred over to film it will be a little softer.” Turner seemed pleased. “Shall we roll it?”
He took his seat as the lights dimmed. Wella looked at Ian and patted his thigh, whispering, “At least our teaser will be good.”
The screen at the front of the room lit up and the soft sounds of an orchestra could be heard. A classic picture faded into to view, the portrait of the woman from the lobby. As it went to sepia an announcer’s voice said simply “Hutton”. The process repeated twice with the other two portraits, the announcer saying “Redfield” and then “Turner”. As the final portrait faded into the network logo the room heard “The legend continues this fall…”
Ian and Wella were dumbstruck. It was the campaign they had designed and didn’t bother to submit. They looked at each other and then back to the screen. A classic portrait of Tess Sinclair faded into the logo. It was an iconic shot from the cover of TV Guide of “Tessie” in all her diva glory.
It went sepia fading into a shot of Tessie in the exact pose this time in color. The camera pulled back revealing her on a chaise in modern day diva glory. Jeff Torkelson came into the shot, baby in arm and five year old with thick glasses in hand. He stopped at Tess and frowned. “Got to go for unemployment.”
The little girl crawled over Tess and sits on her legs staring at her. Jeff handed Tess the baby. “You’re in charge”. He walked out of the shot and the camera panned in for a close up of Tess and the baby, every ounce of diva gone.
The announcer said, “The World on a String, Thursdays this fall a new legend is born.”
The baby spits up and Tess looks at the camera as the shot turns to sepia.
The room howled. Applause broke out and the room got to its feet. Even Simon Kent stood, staring angry holes into Ian, but clapping along.
Everyone looked at Simon Kent, who smiled and stood. “Most of you know that I initiated the contract, but there were some minor creative differences. The show was heading in a strong direction, but well…I’ll let Ian take over from here. He stepped in and the ball is totally in his court.”
Kent smirked and took his seat. The room looked at Ian, all with questionable looks of various degrees on their faces. David Turner grinned “Young Justyn you have the floor.”
Ian nodded. “May I?”
“By all means.” Turner took his seat and Ian walked to the head of the room.
“Thank you, Simon. I start by thanking you for the wonderful opportunity that you handed me. You are to be applauded for not only seizing an opportunity, but allowing an unseasoned pier to help in shaping it. As Simon said, the show is heading in a very strong, and if I may say so, very exciting direction. We only have one little problem…”
“Problem?” Simon did spider mirror exercises with his fingers. “How could there be a problem? Do tell.”
“Actually, it’s not really a problem, with everyone’s approval it actually solves a problem. The original idea was a spin off.”
“That’s what was contracted.” Kent puffed.
“No, sir. What was contracted was a series with a full year commitment, provided it be ready for airing this fall. Jeff Torkelson and his contracted writing staff had trouble coming up with a sustainable concept for a spin off. Fortunately, through some hard work and sheer luck we were able to come up with an alternative concept, one we already had a development agreement on and we begin shooting the series in two weeks.”
“Casting is done?” Metcalfe couldn’t believe.
“Actually, yes.” Ian assured. “We were able to use the two actors already contracted for the spin off, and the other two regulars, one lead and one reoccurring have already signed on the dotted line.”
Trent Rockford spoke up. “Another lead? Torkelson had already wangled his way into being the highest paid lead in television. What the hell did you sign another lead for? It was unaffordable as it was.”
Ian nodded to Wella, who began to pass out folders with contracts. “The folders Wella is now passing out contains all the contracts and cost analysis of the series, no longer a Jeff Torkelson project, but “The World On A String” starring Jeff Torkelson and legendary HRT star Tess Sinclair.”
“Tess Sinclair?” Someone said. “You signed Tess Sinclair?”
“Yes.” Ian said. “If you turn to the first contract you will see an agreement signed by Jeff and myself declaring the initial contract mediated by Mr. Kent null and void, followed by a new contract at exactly half the original price, with higher back end and raises for the five year term based on ratings increases.”
“He agreed to that?” Kent’s face fell.
“Mr. Torkelson and Ms. Sinclair both agreed that it was more important to make a good series that was affordable to the network.”
“They believe in the project that much?” Rockford asked.
“Absolutely.” Ian smiled. “Please take note, we have broken down the cost analysis to the first contract against the new contracts. “The World On a String” is still an expensive series but only slightly higher than the cost of any new program at any network.”
Everyone but Simon Kent and his assistant applauded. Kent tossed the files on the table in front of him. Simon looked at Ian. “How is any of this possible? You just started on Monday.”
“Wait a minute.” One of the other execs put his hands on the table. “You did this in two days?”
Ian nodded his head and continued. “The original idea was from Jenson Michaels, whom my department has under contract. When Tessie came into the picture, I remembered it.” Ian nodded to Wella again, who began passing out bound scripts.
“These are the first two scripts, the first folder has an episode breakdown for two years. Now, Torkelson’s writers will tweak them slightly but they decided they were too good not to use as stood.”
“You said there was a problem.” Metcalfe said. “All I see here is gold.”
“Well the problem is this is not a half hour sitcom. This is a one hour dramedy, throw “Ugly Betty” and “Mad Men” in a blender and you get “The World On A String”. My suggestion is moving “John and Agnes” from 9:30 to 8:30 on Thursday, filling the early hole and the last one as well.”
“I always thought that ‘John and Agnes’ was more a family oriented show anyway.” Someone piped up.
“It is our highest rated sitcom, and will serve a better build into “String” than the other way around.” Ian said.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed but apprehensive.” Simon grinned. “You threw all of this together in two days. I’ll just put it out there. We shouldn’t okay this until we’ve seen a pilot. Sinclair is a notorious diva and I doubt has any chemistry with Torkelson. We shouldn’t even think about this until we have a pilot.”
“We don’t have time for that.” Ian told him. “Not if we plan to announce it for the fall.”
“Then we pull it off.” Simon smiled and looked around the room. “I move we just cancel the project until we see something concrete.”
“Not a problem.” Ian smiled. “I don’t have a pilot, but we did shoot a teaser for you, even we wanted to see about chemistry between the two leads.”
David Turner stood. “Ian, let me step in here, if I may…” Ian nodded and returned to his seat. “First of all, let me just point out that what you are about to see is two fold. After you see this you will no doubt agree with Ian and myself…”
“You knew about this?” Kent said.
“Of course.” Turner looked down on the man. “Young Justyn wasn’t about to mess with the fortunes of this network with out getting input and approval from a superior, something a couple of you might want to begin taking into consideration.”
Kent’s shrunk back in his chair. Turner beamed, “Now where was I…oh yes, two fold. You are about to see the teaser for “World On A String”, and how it will be used with the fall campaign. The board was so excited when they saw it, we’ve already unanimously approved it.”
Simon Kent clapped his hands and giggled. “I knew it!”
The room including Ian rolled their eyes. Someone even murmured “I heart HRT.”
“Now this is just a…what did he call it, a simple Flash computer program, when it’s transferred over to film it will be a little softer.” Turner seemed pleased. “Shall we roll it?”
He took his seat as the lights dimmed. Wella looked at Ian and patted his thigh, whispering, “At least our teaser will be good.”
The screen at the front of the room lit up and the soft sounds of an orchestra could be heard. A classic picture faded into to view, the portrait of the woman from the lobby. As it went to sepia an announcer’s voice said simply “Hutton”. The process repeated twice with the other two portraits, the announcer saying “Redfield” and then “Turner”. As the final portrait faded into the network logo the room heard “The legend continues this fall…”
Ian and Wella were dumbstruck. It was the campaign they had designed and didn’t bother to submit. They looked at each other and then back to the screen. A classic portrait of Tess Sinclair faded into the logo. It was an iconic shot from the cover of TV Guide of “Tessie” in all her diva glory.
It went sepia fading into a shot of Tessie in the exact pose this time in color. The camera pulled back revealing her on a chaise in modern day diva glory. Jeff Torkelson came into the shot, baby in arm and five year old with thick glasses in hand. He stopped at Tess and frowned. “Got to go for unemployment.”
The little girl crawled over Tess and sits on her legs staring at her. Jeff handed Tess the baby. “You’re in charge”. He walked out of the shot and the camera panned in for a close up of Tess and the baby, every ounce of diva gone.
The announcer said, “The World on a String, Thursdays this fall a new legend is born.”
The baby spits up and Tess looks at the camera as the shot turns to sepia.
The room howled. Applause broke out and the room got to its feet. Even Simon Kent stood, staring angry holes into Ian, but clapping along.
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