Vignette #44: Hook

Ian looked at the foyer of what was now his “floor”. He didn’t just have an office now, he had a whole damn floor. It boggled his mind. He hitched up his backpack and smiled at the perky little redhead behind the foyer desk.

“Good morning, Haley.”

“Morning, Ian. Shall I alert the team for the morning meeting?”

He picked up a stack of messages she scooted toward him. “Yeah, ‘bout say half an hour?” She nodded her head and started to pick up the phone. “Anything noteworthy in here?” He held up the stack of pink papers with scribbles on them.

“I put them in what I thought might be order of importance. I hope that’s okay.” She held the phone to her shoulder.

“Fine…uh…Reader’s Digest?”

She giggled. “Jenson Michaels confirming for 11; Saxon Allen for lunch, Lance wants a meeting about the requests you made for Fridays PC and the rest are just random.”

He nodded his head. “Thanks.” Haley pushed a couple of buttons and relayed his message to a staff member as he leafed through the memos and began to walk off. Ian nonchalantly told her to get rid of the gum and started to breeze past when it hit him. He stopped and stretched out his hand. “Let me see the magazine…”

“What magazine?”

“Haley, you know what magazine.” He held out his hand to her.

“Ian, I couldn’t help it, there’s this great article…it won’t happen again.” She put the magazine in her desk drawer.

“Haley, I don’t care if you read the frigging karma sutra at your desk as long as the phones get answered and you get the messages out promptly. I really want to see the magazine. Hand it over.”

“Really?”

“Give it!”

She opened the drawer and handed it to him. “They have this really great article my girlfriend was telling me about….”

Ian ignored her. “I’ll bring this back.”

“Oh…okay…” Haley picked up the phone, “HRT, Ian Justyn’s office….”

Ian tucked the magazine under his arm, and as he walked by Wella’s desk. He didn’t bother to mention that she was chatting with Blake who was sitting on her desk. “Wella, Blake, either one or both, get me Pearce Warner on the phone right now. I don’t care if he’s having sex with President Bush while Nancy Reagan watches. I need to speak to him personally, now!”

Papers flew and rolodexes started rolling. It was “The Advocate” tucked under his arm and on the cover was Pearce Warner, the person he needed to change the dynamics and direction of “America Alive!” Ian smiled to himself.

It seemed like hours, but it was only a matter of minutes when Blake entered his office and said the best that he could do was to leave a message. He asked Ian if he wanted him to leave his private phone number. Ian nodded his head in disappointment, and smiled, “Guess that magic book doesn’t have everything in it after all.”

Blake smiled. “I’m workin’ on it, boss man.” and quietly shut the door.

“Damn it,” Ian said to himself. He knew he had to act fast. It would be expensive, but he had to have Pearce Warner. He had been considered a rising star in the journalism war. His on the field reports from the war in Iraq were unparalleled. He was stunningly handsome, which made him a favorite with the women, and his Q with men was even higher than some action superstars.

Nine months ago, Warner had contacted the FBI. A man was trying to blackmail him, a man he had met on Internet personals site for cyber hook ups. Although Warner had never shown his face to the guy, he managed to either figure it out or made a good guess and started demanding money or go public.

According to the interview in “The Advocate”, although scared to death of his homosexuality going public and its effect on his career, he refused to be blackmailed and went to the F.B.I. to set up a sting. Within 24 hours the word had spread and every newspaper across the globe reported the incident. To Warner’s relief it didn’t seem to have any effect on his popularity.

However, it had had an effect on his position at the network he worked for. He found himself with far less gritty assignments, and even they started growing few and far between. The article ended with Warner’s admission that he had been told when his contract was up shortly the network had chosen not to pursue renewal.

And Ian wanted him. He wasn’t sure he could get him. He knew enough to know that most major network news departments would consider him poison. He also knew that every cable company with half a nickel would be after him. Ian hoped that he could convince him to come to HRT. Finding him before he closed another deal was the hard part.

He pounded his fist on the desk. Would the man return a phone call from someone who wasn’t in a news department, and would he even be interested if he did? His best bet was to talk to him personally. He almost hoped Warner had caught him on You Tube, and peaked his interest enough to at least return a phone call. At least that would make an embarrassing moment that seemed to be lasting an eternity worth it—a little.

Then it dawned on him. Blake was not only one resource he had. The other happened to be a former Miss America with a penchant not taking no for an answer. He flipped his cell, once he remembered what he’d done with it, open and hit the speed dial.

It had barely rang when he heard Tippy say, “Baby Doll, this better be good, I’m the middle of the most wonderful massage. You better be putting out some time soon to make this interruption of pure heaven worth my while.” Which was followed, of course, by a giggle.

“Tippy, if you can fill this request for me, I will do anything you want—and I mean anything.” And he meant that last part to sound really, really dirty.

“Oh sugar…" He heard her voice drop to a sultry tone, “And exactly what can I do for you, Baby Doll?”

“Pearce Warner. I need Pearce Warner.”

“Okay.” She said flatly. “I call you right back.” And hung up the phone.

Ian was stunned. Could it have been that easy? Was Mamie Rae Tipton God? If she could deliver Pearce Warner, he was almost willing to believe it.

He started to hyperventilate a bit, so he turned and opened his office window, taking deep breaths. He looked down at the street, and saw a familiar figure leaving the building. “What the…?”

That couldn’t be Clare. Could it? He bent down to try and get a better look at the woman hustling across the lot and into parking. The woman was so far away, but that walk….

His cell phone rang.

“Tippy?”

“At your service. Pearce owes me one and now so do you. He’ll call you with in the hour. I’ll think of something special.”

Ian laughed with joy and giddiness, “I bet you will.”

“Bye sugar and sugar? Tippy teased. “Someday your tushy is all mine, bye bye.” Ian heard her giggle and she closed her phone.

This time though Tippy was wrong, it wasn’t within the hour that Warner called, it was almost immediately.

“Ian Justyn? This is Pearce Warner; a mutual friend asked that I call you as soon as possible.” Ian would have recognized that deep, smooth voice anywhere.

“Yes, Mr. Warner, thank you for calling so quickly.”

The voice chuckled, “Well when Tippy calls…as I am sure you know. She said you were her neighbor?”

“Yes, I have that honor, and most days I enjoy it.” They both laughed.

“Now what may I do for you, Mr. Justyn?”

“Actually, I hope it’s what we can do for each other, and please call me Ian, I’m very uncomfortable with the whole mister thing…”

“I understand, Ian, I hope you will call me Pearce.”

“Certainly, Pearce. I apologize up front. I normally don’t use friends for business contacts, and I am hoping you’ll forgive me. Obviously, I wanted to get as close to the head of the line in handing out job offers.”

There was a moment of silence. “Well, I must say I am very flattered but I was not aware that you were a part of HRT’s news division. I understood you to be in development.” Being a good newsman, Warner…Pearce…knew what was going on, but then again maybe he didn’t.

“True, and I am assuming the possibilities of your interest in what I have to offer will be minimal at best, but I am praying that you will at least hear me out.”

Ian heard Pearce take a deep breath. “I wish I could say that I was fielding exciting offers right and left, but only the former would be true not the ladder.”

“I’ll just spit it out then, since this may very well be one of those offers that only I will find exciting. I want you to join “America Alive!”

Ian expected Pearce to laugh, and wasn’t prepared for the flat, “Well at least it is a news format, and I am actually flattering you when I say that I assume you save money by broadcasting in monotone.”

“Hmmm…not a bad idea.”

Pearce laughed. “I am surprised that a major network is even interested. I’m a newsman Ian, but I know that I’ve been caught with my pants down in the football locker room.”

Ian decided not to pussyfoot, “Pearce, I don’t care. I have a morning news show that’s about as exciting as a cockroach race. I know it’s not exactly hard news, but I think if the two of us put our heads together, we can make it something worth while before my bosses start chasing us around with a can of Raid.”

Pearce’s response was more laughter. “You’re sense of humor is adorable.” He said. Ian knew his face must be beet red. “Look Ian, you are just too much fun, so I am going to be honest with you. I’m being courted with everything from my own live talk show to spreads in Playgirl magazine…”

“You, too?”

“Well, my friend, the You Tube things are really…nice.”

“Oh shit.” Ian said unfortunately out loud bringing even heartier laughter. “Pearce, just don’t say yes to anything until I’ve had a chance to bounce some ideas around with you. I just want you to hear me out. I’m not the only one who does his research, Pearce.”

“So you know about my deadline with CNN? I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“There is no such thing as a real secret in this town, Pearce.” Ian lied.

“It’s a good deal, Ian. I think it’s going to be my best offer and I am charmed enough by you not to waste your time.”

“Pearce…the CNN deal can’t possibly be the best offer you’re going to get because I’m not I involved in it. If you want proof, just call our mutual friend for my references.”

Even Ian wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was having trouble being vague since he didn’t want to let Pearce know that he hadn’t the foggiest what the CNN offer was or even his own for that matter, but he knew he could come up with it by the time he got a meeting with him.

“Okay fine, I’ll hear you out. I’m in Vegas so I’ll give you a call sometime when I get back.”

Ian realized that this was a very possible gentle brush off, so he had to make Pearce Warner determined to take a meeting. “Tell you what, Pearce, have a good safe flight, take your time getting home, get relaxed, get comfortable and think about carte blanche.”

There was dead silence on Warner's end of the phone for a moment.

“Carte blanche?” Pearce said. “You can do that?”

“I’m in charge of daytime programming." Ian smiled, knowing he'd found the hook, now for the line.

"Think about it. You choose the story, how it’s presented. No one to answer to from your hot little hands to the air waves of America I can give you…anything…you …want…” Ian let his voice trail off.

The phone line was silent. Ian started to sweat. He knew it was a big risk, but he also knew that it was screw or be screwed time.

“…uhm…”

Ian took a silent breath and went for the sinker. “The ball’s in your court, Pearce. Catch you whenever you have the time, if you really want it.”

Ian closed his phone as quickly as possible.

He marched out of his office and gathered the troops. He needed to find out what CNN’s offer was, and if it was a serious offer. He was possibly offering more than he could, but his gut was told him that this man was the key to fixing one of his major problems. He just hoped his brain would tell him how to get from Point A to Point B.