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.”
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