He was at the office by 8 AM, excited by the staff ideas and mixing them with his own. At nine he had the staff compiling information that he might need and just before ten a.m. as Ian and Wella walked into the meeting; he felt scared but confident, ready and excited.
With the exception of Wella, he was without a doubt a good thirty years younger than everyone else in the room. Wella was one of only two women and the only person of color, but not the only assistant.
Tolan quickly took charge, introducing Ian to everyone, most of whom he had already met. First on Tolan’s agenda, to Ian’s chagrin, was Ian. He started out by asking Ian to give his take on the current line up and what he would do to increase market shares in key demographics.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Wella scratch her forehead. He understood the signal. Ian cleared his throat and calmly said, “Thank you sir, but being the new guy, I would prefer to sit back and learn for right now.”
Tolan nodded his head, but Simon Kent, a rotund man with Truman Capote’s body and Tallulah Bankhead’s voice, spoke up. “Please, Ian, we are all anxious to hear what your initial reaction is. Frankly, we are all on pins and needles.”
Wella’s eyes connected with his and she tapped her pencil on the pad in her lap. Ian thought in his head, “Proceed with caution.”
“Actually…” The old man with the cane, seated to Jack Tolan’s right leaned forward. “I’d like to hear what you have to say myself, young man.”
Simon Kent had to quickly hide the sour look that had taken over his face. The old man had been introduced to Ian as David Turner, the “T” in HRT. Ian had only seen the man walking in or out of the building. Until a few moments ago, he had no idea who he was other than the old guy he’d felt sorry for every time he saw him staring at the paintings in the main lobby looking forlorn.
Ian wasn’t about to say no to the man who founded, developed and still controlled a rumored majority of the company. He stood and buttoned his coat, “If you insist. Let’s just point out the obvious; I am the youngest and most unseasoned here.”
There were a few grunts and a small titter from Kent. “I believe in being straight forward and in all honestly until I started working here the HRT schedule never interested me at all. Being a member of the most highly sought after network demographic that is a major concern.”
There were harrumphs and Kent piped up, “So if you were in charge you would just dump the whole schedule.”
“Absolutely not, only cable networks can afford niche programming. As one of the big guns we must appeal to our base and slowly attract other important demographics as well. If we simply up ended the current schedule we would insult our current base and drive them away with no guarantee of having another solid demographic regularly tuning in.”
Max Logan, one of the board members present, snarled, “And what do you believe is our base audience young man?”
Wella handed him a folder, which Ian opened and referred to, “According to the latest research we appeal to the older market, not a broad base, but the one with the most consistent viewing habits. We cannot lose them, but we must start to slowly seed viewers with contemporary counter programming, cultivating younger viewers and growing them into a consistent audience.”
It was simple, but the other men seemed to approve. He still needed to get them to take him seriously without giving the impression he planned on always remaining silent and going with their flow.
“Rather than spouting my own agenda, I will allow my team’s work to speak as a whole. Hopefully, in time, you will see that we are striving for quality programming, not event programming, as we feel that quality will get all demographics to sit up and take notice, and make them continually tune in.”
Kent turned to his fellow execs, “And I’m sure Mr. Justyn will be presenting us with lots of high quality explosions and sex.” He laughed and others joined in.
“I’m all for pushing the envelope Mr. Kent, but only when necessary. And my idea of quality goes back to the foundations of this network. At one time HRT set the standards. We were the bar that every other network struggled to achieve. At one time every television set in American tuned in at least once a night to HRT because they knew if they wanted to see the best, HRT was where to find it.”
The smirk disappeared from Kent’s face and several others leaned in to listen to Ian. “What you will find from my department is, what will hopefully be a successful attempt, to give America, and foreign markets, what they want to see with the best possible artistic and production values we can offer."
Ian smiled and continued. "We will not be presenting copycat programming and poorly developed material created around the flavor of the month. My team, as well as the rest of HRT, will only be seeking out and developing our own unique style. once again be making every one else turn to us when it comes to quality entertainment.” Ian took his seat.
The room applauded. Kent half-heartedly clapped his hands and turned to Tolan who stood. “Well thank you, Ian. That’s exactly what we all needed to hear.”
Ian tried to gage David Turner’s reaction without staring. From the corner of his eye, he could see the old man smiling. Wella reached under the table and squeezed his thigh. He kept his own smile inward. He’d spoken from the heart and he felt good about it.
“Yes, very pretty words, young man.” Kent not so subtly condescended. The smile inside of Ian, quickly faded.
“Now to the matters at hand….” For the next few minutes the group talked about the problems in the schedules and possibilities to fix them. The line up was as aging as the networks demographics. There were major concerns as ratings overall continue to drop rapidly.
Simon Kent had the floor. “And it is my pleasure to officially announce a little coup that I am quite proud of.” He looked around the table, enjoying the fact that he had everyone’s undivided attention. “Yesterday afternoon, contracts were signed and…” Kent waited for the nonexistent drum roll.
“…Jeff Torkelson is officially ours!” He beamed, pulling his hands together at his chest as though he’d just open the door to the hunk of his “Mystery Date” game. This was no mystery and no surprise to Ian.
Ian had gotten wind of the negotiations. It was a good move for the network. Torkelson was one member of the biggest sitcom ensemble hit on any network. The show had run ten years, and the highest paid actors on television decided as a whole to end the hit while it was still on top. “Good for Kent”, Ian had to admit.
“Now…” Kent grasped the attention back after the round table finished expressing their excitement and patting him on the back. “He was expensive, but this a guaranteed hit for the fall…”
“This fall?” Ian let slip out, and out loud.
Simon Kent lowered his eyes and kept a pasty smile glued to his face. “Of course, strike while the irons still hot.” When the shocked expression on Ian’s face remained unchanged, the doughy man put his hands on his hips and demanded, “Have you got a problem with that?”
“No.” Ian said after Wella tapped on her pad again.
David Turner stepped in. “Actually I have a problem with it.”
Simon Kent's face went white. “Sir?” He managed to squeak out.
David Turner didn’t stand. He motioned for Kent to have a seat and leaned forward on his cane. “I think my reaction is the same as young Justyn here. Great, we’ve scored a coup, but for the money we are paying, we should take our time and make sure what we develop is worthy of the talent and the money. We should announce the contract but hold off until next fall to air the series.”
Simon crossed his chubby fingers on the table. “Dave, I have to admit I felt it was a bit of a rush myself, but a September premiere was part of the contract. I was worried, but what Torkelson’s people have in mind is a continuation of his character, most of the same writers and most of the same team.”
Unfortunately Kent looked at Ian and Ian wasn’t able to hide his look. Ian smelled a bomb, a very expensive nuclear explosion. The ratings for Torkelson’s ensemble show were enough to keep it number one, but the creativity and quality were wearing thin. The ensemble made the right decision, and Ian had the feeling Kent had just shackled them to the cold leftovers of what was once a great feast.
“What?” Kent demanded.
“I apologize, Mr. Kent.” Ian snapped to attention. “The program developer kicked in and I was coming up with possible concepts they might be working on for the show, and wondering where the best place in the line up might be for those ideas.”
“The series will air in its usual time slot, only on our network.” He sneered.
“The Thursday night tent pole?” Another aghast voice spoke up.
Ian was sure that Kent’s initial reaction was to cut whoever made the comment off at the knees, but when he realized it had come again from Turner himself, he took a moment to carefully word his retort.
“Of course, Dave. It will be the most talked about new series of the fall, guaranteed to be number one, the same team, the same character, the same star. It needs to not only be on the most watched night of television, but with its pedigree it will easily hold up the rest of the evening’s schedule.”
“In other words…” Turner didn’t look happy. “It was part of the contract.”
Kent cleared his throat. “Yes, Dave, but its slam dunk.” He slowly turned his head to looked at Ian. “Am I not right, Mr. Justyn?”
Ian suddenly felt like the prettier poor girl that got too close to the popular rich girl’s table in the cafeteria. Fortunately, he was used to that and knew how to react. “Yes, sir, Jeff Torkelson will give HRT a slam dunk Thursday nights at 9 P.M. in September.”
Kent smiled. He knew he was right, and Ian knew he was. But Ian also had the feeling that by October, ratings for the Torkelson spin off would be at most tepid. “Fine”, he thought to himself, “by that time I’ll have another show ready to take its place.”
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