“Now I have no idea what’s in store for the future.” He said, standing on a chair in the outer office. “All I know is that whatever it is, we were all in this together in the beginning and we will all be in this together to the end.” He raised his glass.
“Here! Here!” Came the second.
It had been complete happy pandemonium all morning. They patted each other on the back, hugged, kissed and chugged sparkling cider, tipsy only from giggly relief. David Turner said he’d supply the donuts, and he had; a dozen for each of Ian’s team, each dozen their favorite flavor.
People from throughout the building kept coming in and going out. Each one jealously overjoyed for the underdogs. Each one amazed, that although celebrating hard, each person on that team was working harder than before, making phone calls, tossing up ideas and following through.
They had captured the industry’s attention in less than a business quarter, but they weren’t coasting by a second. They were already focusing on how to make the schedule better, sizing up the possible weak links, readying not a patch but a vaccine.
Each “outsider” who came in was welcomed, congratulated and patted on the back. They were praised for their hard work, bolstered up and made aware of their obvious unappreciated strengths. Upon leaving the party to return to their own respective departments, they had been energized, made to feel important and were contagiously ready to conquer the world.
The outer office of the fourteenth floor was usually abuzz with twenty-four people buzzing around. Today it was stuffed to the gills, everyone enjoying themselves and rubbing elbows, trading ideas and contacts. It was unstoppable.
Until Simon Kent appeared. The world stopped in its tracks, turned around and stared. “Oh, don’t let me stop the festivities. I couldn’t find anyone working in the building so I followed the trail of donut crumbs and voila, here everyone is.”
Ian picked up a clean champagne glass, filled it and held it out. “Mr. Kent, please…come join us. We are celebrating the hard work everyone has done.”
“You mean the hard work you’ve done.”
“No. I mean everyone.” Ian said, walking over to him and putting the glass in his hand. “The World On a String” would not have been possible if it weren’t for you.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, you are the one who pulled it out of the fire.”
“Who cares?” Ian raised his glass. “A toast to Simon Kent!” The room raised their glasses. “Simon without your seizing an opportunity, and not stopping until the names were signed on the dotted line there is no way that HRT would have the strongest, most talked about fall line up we’ve had in a decade!”
“To Simon Kent!” Some one said.
“Simon Kent!” Ian drank, and then tipped his head to the man. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I think we really make a good team.”
Kent cocked his head. “I almost think you believe that.”
“I do. You dare me to work harder, and I…well I just piss you off, but the results turned out well for the network. Don’t you think?”
Kent just smiled and sipped from his glass. “Before I forget.” He put down the glass and held out something he’d been holding behind his back with one hand. “This is for you. Congratulations, Justyn.”
Genuinely shocked, Ian didn’t know what to say. “I…uh…thank you Simon.” Ian accepted the box.
“Open it.” Kent encouraged. “It’s my version of a white flag.”
Ian put down his glass, popped the ribbon and opened the box. The crowd all “Ooohed” and “Aaahed” as Ian pulled out an expensive brief case.
“Six hundred dollars worth of Italian leather is some white flag.” Wella said.
“Well…” Kent grinned. “We couldn’t have the man the whole industry is staring at continue to do multi-million dollar deals sporting a Land’s End back pack. Especially now that some one finally taught him how to dress.”
Ian laughed. “Thank you, Simon. I am genuinely touched.”
“Enjoy it, Young Justyn.” Kent put down the glass and turned to the group. “Each and every one of you, congratulations and good work. The winds are changing here at HRT. Let’s all sit back now and enjoy the ride.”
“Simon, may I walk you to the elevator?” Ian asked.
“Of course.” Kent nodded and waited for Ian to catch up with him.
“Was there something you wanted to discuss with me?” Kent asked.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you how much I liked the pilot you presented, and I wanted to make sure I told you.”
Kent stopped and looked at him. “Are you kidding?”
“Not in the least. It was in house, correct?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then I hope you haven’t just dropped it. I think it has some real potential.”
“Please…” Kent reached for the button and stood waiting for the doors. “We found a script and stuffed it full of as many car chases, smoking guns, big breasts and six pack abs as we could. I thought that was what the board wanted. No one even blinked after the first screening.”
“There wasn’t a spot on the schedule to fit it in and it does needs work.”
“It’s forgotten…next.”
“Have your team take another look, Simon. Take out all the gratuitous stuff you threw in, do a little recasting, some editing and I think it could be a worthy mid-season.”
“You are kidding me.”
“No, I’m not. We have four 10 P.M. shows that are either running out of steam or the competition is too stiff. We need back up and I think with some work, that pilot could be a really hot property.”
“Well…”
“Look, with your permission I’m going to send a dupe of the pilot to Scott Tupper.”
“From SyFy?” Kent was intrigued.
“His contract with them has expired and I have it on good authority he’s interested in branching out. I think it could be right up his alley. I’ll send it to him and have him give you a call.”
“Honestly Ian, I thought it was junk, but I’ll be happy to see what Tupper thinks. You run back to your celebration now.”
“Thank you again for the attaché. I’ll use it with pride.”
“Glad you liked it.” Kent smiled as the elevator doors closed. “Sucker.”
From the desk he picked up the glossy photo, a publicity shot they send out to all the fans or scrawl all over with a Sharpie at personal appearances. They handed them out like fliers at a Southern Baptist Convention. Surely no one would miss this one.
Ian Justyn stared back from the photograph. It didn’t do him justice, they thought. He hated having his picture taken, but they’d managed to get this one out of him. He was popular. People wanted autographed pictures of him. Little did they know, the autograph was a stamp and Justyn never saw the letters.
Justyn wasn’t aware that he received more fan letters than some of the networks biggest stars. They’d had to hire three more people, just today, to handle it all. They wondered what his reaction would be if he knew that food was being put on the table, bills were being paid and insurance covered for a handful of people who for a living rolled their eyes every time they opened an envelope containing a letter that started ‘Dear Ian Justyn’.
He’d figure it out eventually. It would probably make him blush. He wouldn’t be able to believe it. Justyn was so humble. Or at least he faked it really, really well. But Justyn would never know.
They picked the eight by ten glossy up from the desk and looked one last time. They picked the letter opener up from the desk and aimed. With two bold punches, the eyes of the picture were expertly gauged out. They laughed and then dropped it in the trash with the rest of that day’s garbage.
“What’s so funny guys?” Ian asked popping out of his office with a couple of folders in his hands.
“Nothing.” Sean and Daryn sat up from the desk and quickly shut the lid to the laptop.
“You guys were either looking at something or playing doctor. What’s up?” He said, always curious of the people around him.
“Fine. Keep your secrets, as long as you aren’t watching porn on the clock. I don’t care.” He looked around him. “Has anyone seen Trish?”
Daryn pointed toward the back. Ian craned his neck to look down the hallway, finally spotting Trish Apple looking over the shoulders of the two young girls manning the phone system.
When she stood up spotting the man staring at her, Ian pointed at her. Trish looked around and then pointed to herself. Ian nodded his head and then pointed to his office. She watched him disappear then let out her breath.
“This can’t be good.” She said out loud. She marched past the phones, through the outer office, stopping only at Blake’s desk. “It wants to see me?”
Blake smiled and nodded his head. “Go right in.”
She rolled her eyes. His door was open. She balanced herself on the knob and the sill. “You wanted to see me, asshole?”
“Come in and have a seat, bitch.”
Trish smirked and shut the door, taking the chair in front of Ian’s desk. “Just be merciful and make it quick.”
“That wouldn’t be any fun.” Ian smiled. “As you know there is going to be a lot of restructuring going on here in the next few weeks…”
“How could I not? If they’re not blathering like idiots about you, they’re running around trying to figure out who still has a job and who doesn’t.”
“That’s too bad.” Ian said quietly.
“Everyone knows restructuring is a little more than musical chairs. We all know that if the board is cutting out the big players, no one’s going to think twice about us little guys.”
“We’ve all got our finger’s crossed that things are on the upswing. That means more jobs, doing substantial things that should never be in jeopardy as long as we all pull together and keep focused on the game.”
“It sounds good on paper, Ian, but that doesn’t protect those of us on the bottom rung when the axe starts swinging.”
“I wish there was something I could do give people more confidence in the security of their jobs.”
“Well, Asshole, if it’s any consolation, you’ve done you’re best. I’ve been here ten years now, and I’ve never seen this much anticipation for the fall. Well, not positive anticipation anyway, usually it’s keep a smile plastered on and try not to get blamed for the doggie doo.”
“Ten years?” Ian sat back in his chair. “You’ve been here ten years?”
“Yup, and still one foot on the bottom rung, and don’t seem to be able to get my footing on the next one higher. I’ve tried…”
Ian smiled. “Don’t go there…”
“Not a problem.”
“So…in the restructuring, I’m kind of moving up a few floors.”
“No kidding?” Trish laced her voice with as much sarcasm as she could.
“Mr. Turner wants me to keep as much of the clerical staff on the second floor as possible.” Ian looked down at the file in front of him.
Trish hung her head. In her mind, Ian had just tied a noose around her neck and tested the trap door beneath her feet. Oh, well, she tried to overcome what she had done, but who could forget something that dirty. “Look, just hand it over and I’ll sign it.”
“Could we chat a little longer first?” Ian asked.
“Sure. Can I have a cigarette and a good stiff belt, too?”
“Okay.”
Trish raised her head to look at Ian. He was opening a desk drawer and pulling out of pack of smokes. “Marlboro Light, okay?”
“If that’s all you got.” She said and tentatively reached for one.
“I figured you were probably a straight up “Red Pack” woman.” Ian got up and flicked his lighter for her.
Trish accepted the light and tried not to break into a sweat. He really was going to give her a blindfold and then shoot her.
“Come over here. Let’s get comfortable.” Ian moved toward the sofa and the cushy chairs near the balcony doors. He slid one open. “Now let’s see I’ve got bourbon, scotch…”
“Whatever you’re having.” Trish swallowed and moved over to the chair nearest the French doors. If he was going to toss her body out after he shot it, she at least wanted a shorter fall.
Ian handed her a scotch, then took a seat opposite her, flopping a folder on the chic table between them. “Now, Marla has offered to stay a little while longer.”
“Marla?”
“Jack Tolan’s Office Manager.” Ian opened the folder and looked over the work there. “She was set to retire at the end of the month, but she said she’d be more than happy to stay until as late as fall if we needed her.”
“Oh, I see.” Trish took another deep drag and flicked her ash in the ungodly clean ashtray.
“I was thinking Haley to take over.”
“Haley?”
Ian looked up at her. “You were thinking of someone else?”
“Uh…to be honest Ian. It hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“I’m sorry. I know we all just got hit with this yesterday afternoon, but the office is closed an extra day and Mr. Turner wants to get the ball rolling by Monday morning.”
Trish crushed her cigarette out and bolted up off the couch, “I changed my mind, Asshole. I do hate your guts after all. Making me sharpen your pencils was harsh. Lining them up according to size and a color chart was just psychotic. But this…this is cruel, even for you!” She put her hands on her hips and looked for something to kick.
“Trish?” Ian looked up at her and asked.
“Oh, rein in the doe eyes, Justyn with a “Y”. Even you have to admit that asking me to recommend my own replacement before you kick me to the curb is pretty cruel. Kent would be so proud!”
“You’re right, bitch! It would be cruel…if that’s what I were doing.” He shot back at her.
“You’re not…you know…firing me…” She put up her hands. “Let me correct that before you do, making me resign?”
“Are you kidding me? Who the hell would force me to keep it all in perspective?” Ian looked at her like she was an idiot. “Now sit down and stop being a stereotypical lesbian.”
“That’s offensive.” She smiled and slowly sank back down on the chair.
Ian looked up from the folder and caught her eye. “Bite me.” He smiled. “Now, do you think Haley has earned the office manager position?”
“Screw Haley. What about me?”
Ian walked back to his desk, picked up the pack of smokes and a couple more folders. “Here, and stop putting them out before you finished smoking them. They’re expensive.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Stop whining.” Ian said. “You’re getting a raise, you can afford it. The health plan still sucks, so you might want to think about quitting anyway.”
“I’m getting a raise?” She allowed Ian to light her up again. “A big one?”
“Not as big as mine, but befitting.” Ian opened a file. “Now, do you know what this is?”
“My new contract?”
“No again.” Ian waved them at her. “This is the paper work, including your typed undated resignation, that Wella and I did on that first day.” He handed it all to her. “Do whatever you wish. From this moment on, we start with a clean slate.”
Trish took the file. “You have copies, don’t you?”
“Hell, yeah. God only made me look stupid.”
She looked at them before tossing them in the can beside her. “At least they’re the originals.”
“What we have in mind is that you come up to the second floor with us and help us get set up. Marla can stay as long as she likes, but she’d picked the date to retire long before the whole Tolan thing.” Ian looked at Trish to make sure she was taking it all in.
“And once that’s done. Well…let’s so how can I drag this out and make you squirm.” Ian smiled. “Bottom line everyone, and I mean everyone, was impressed with the little teaser you jumped right in and did for us last minute.”
“I told you I always wanted to direct.”
“You got it.”
“What?”
“As of Monday, you are the HRT liaison for “Blood Kisses”. You still need to be here a couple of times a week to report, and…”
“And…get to the good part.”
“Amanda is going to put you on the bottom rung of the directing team as well. Keep your nose clean, help us build this phenomenon and before too long, you may find yourself getting a few bigger assignments. Both Jeff Torkelson and Tess Sinclair expressed a desire to work with you once…how did Tess put it “once she’s got enough confidence to stand up to a diva nova who think directors don’t know shit.”
“Diva Nova?” Trish puffed her smoke and crossed her arms. “I put up with you. Tess Sinclair ain’t squat.”
“Happy?”
“I could throw you on the floor and make a woman out of you.”
“Now, Haley?”
“Good choice.”
Ian smiled.
Trish scooted forward on her chair. “Now that we’re all buddy buddy…”
“Don’t spread that around.”
“What? And ruin our well crafted animosity? Before we get to the details for upstairs, let’s stick with the details down here.” She said.
“You’ve got a problem?”
“I don’t, but you do. You’re so good with all the little details but I think in the excitement you’ve got a little hole that slipped right past you.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you.”
“You took care of the ‘Sebastian Manor’ debacle.”
“Yes. It suspended production yesterday.”
“Uh huh.” Trish got up and refilled her glass and poured a dash more in Ian’s. “And “Blood Kisses” starts when? Third week in September?”
“Yes.”
“That means you’ve got enough crappy daytime soap to fill that slot until…?”
Ian’s eyes got big. “Uh oh…”
“Don’t worry, big guy, two…three months of dead air will probably get better ratings.”
“And the critic’s will be a whole lot kinder.”
“Shall we finish this up or do you need to panic now?”
“Uhm…panic?”
“Good choice. Why don’t you let me handle the office transition and you put on some clean underwear.”
“’kay.” Ian handed her the files. Trish jaunted to the door. Ian turned to her. “Yo, bitch...”
“Asshole?”
“My house Saturday?”
“Bringin’ m’ girlfriend.”
“I’ll have flannel and beer.”
“That’s offensive.”
“Grow a pair. Kisses.”
“Love ya.”
Trish started out the door, but leaned against it. “Hey, Ian.” She waited for him to turn to her. “Call me if you need me?”
“First call.” He smiled. “Congratulations.”
“Oh what the hell.” Trish walked over, grabbed Ian in a bear hug and kissed him.
“I won’t tell anyone.” Ian whispered as she held on to him.
“Who’d believe it?” She finally broke away. “Okay, touchy feely moment over with and forgotten. You’ve got a problem. Now get to work, you Kmart inbred.” Trish opened the door.
“Trish, don’t ever go soft on me.”
“Get real.” She smiled and went on her way, mumbling complaints about Ian’s incompetence so he could hear her the whole way.
Ian took a deep breath, stubbed out his cigarette and shut the balcony door. He took a moment to gaze into the painting over his desk and tapped his chin with his finger. He finally sighed and walked out of his office into the din of outer office.
“Blake, can you get everyone together for an impromptu?”
“Not a problem.” Blake picked up the phone to start the phone tree. “Problem?”
Ian over grinned and nodded his head. His lapel beeped. Ian pulled out his blackberry and was pleased he hit the right button to read the message.
“Playing Rook. Love U Papa.”
Ian smiled and looked at Blake. “All Better.” He walked around the corner to discover a cluster of his team gathered once again around Sean’s laptop cackling like drunks.
“Caught ‘cha again!” Ian surprised them, the group looking up and starting to bolt. “Don’t move! This is the second time today I’ve caught you in the act. What are you looking at?”
“You won’t like it.” Sean admitted.
“Am I on You Tube again?”
“No.”
“Then show me.”
“Okay, but don’t touch my laptop. I just got it fixed.” Sean said. He started hitting a few buttons and whirled it around.
“What am I watching?”
“Well, there are these two guys that have a website.” Sean said.
“Just two?”
Sean gave him a dirty look. “It’s called ‘Better TV’.”
“Like Hulu?”
“They kind of take what’s on and well…” Daryn crossed her arms, “…poke fun at it.”
“A satire?”
Lee shook his head. “They take what they deem the worst of entertainment and well make it worse.”
“Oh.”
The laptop screen started up. “We just ran across this. It’s their most watched page.”
“What’s it called?”
Sean cleared his throat. “Sebastian Manure”.
Ian’s eyes popped as he stood there watching a ten minute clip. The staff did their best to keep guffaws to titters. When it ended Ian could only say, “That’s kinda mean.”
“We knew you wouldn’t like it.”
Blake came around the corner. “Okay, Boss Man, every one on their way to the floor.” He looked at Ian and then the computer. “What are you guys watching?”
“Sebastian Manure.” Some one admitted.
“Uh oh.” Blake said.
“Blake, cancel the impromptu.” Ian was grinning.
Blake nodded his head. “I’ll get my book and start making phone calls.”
He got out of the elevator in the lobby. His day was done. Simon Kent didn’t bother speaking to the man behind the desk. He just grabbed the pen and signed out.
As he headed for the front doors, he saw a finely dressed man clutching a brown paper bag to his chest. Kent stepped back into a darkened corner and watched.
Last year’s DGA winner plopped the bag on the desk and reached with disdain for the pen.
“I hope your meeting went well, sir.” Rusty smiled.
“I am not happy in the least. I wanted a meeting with Ian Justyn, but my people set me up with Simon Kent instead. I don’t know whether to fire my people or kill yours.”
“I’m sure Mr. Ian would make time for you.” Rusty reached for the phone. “Let me give him a call, I’m sure you can go right up.”
“Never mind. While I was in the can, someone stole my brief case.”
“Your brief case?” Rusty stopped in mid button push.
“They dumped the contents on the vanity and took my attaché.”
“I am so sorry, sir. I’ll alert security and if nothing else have it replaced.”
“Forget it.” The man slapped the pen down and picked up his paper bag. “It was nothing, just something the wife picked up in Greece last month. I go through them like peanuts. I just assumed you would have a better class of people here.” He snatched up his bag and stomped away.
“Grecian leather, not Italian.” Simon chuckled to himself. “My bad.”
There was a knock at the door. Logan looked up from the computer. “Hey, Willy! I’m in the middle of something. Get that.”
He heard his roommate and business partner grumble, but watched him peek through the hole to see who it was.
“Holy…!” Willy turned white and bolted from the door. “I’m not here.” He said. “You’ve never heard of me.” He shrieked and disappeared into the closet.
Logan rolled his eyes and hit save on the computer. “If this is another bill collector, you’d better be hiding from me!” He grunted and then opened the door. He immediately turned white.
“Logan Snipe or William Kensington?”
“Ian Justyn?”
“No, I’m Ian Justyn. Have I got the right place?” He looked back down at the paper in his hand. “I’m trying to find…”
“Uh…Logan…I’m Logan.”
“Great.” The man smiled. “May I speak with you a moment?”
Logan hung his head. “Sure.” He stepped back and allowed Ian to enter the apartment. “Would you like to sit down?”
“That would be nice, thank you.”
“Something to drink?” Logan tried to remember what was in the fridge. “I’ve got beer…and…uhm…beer?”
“No thank you. I won’t take up much of your time. Is your business partner anywhere around?”
“He’s in the closet.”
“Excuse me?”
Logan went over to the closet and opened the door, revealing Willy trying to hide behind a few coats.
“Come out of the closet, Mr. Kensington.” Ian said. “The world’s a cruel place, but you’ll be happier for it.”
The legs behind the coats didn’t move. Logan reached in and yanked his roommate out. “Oh, hi!” Willy said. “I was just checking for termites.”
“First place I always look.” Ian said.
Both young men filed over to the couch across from Ian and sat down, hands folded in their laps, eyes on the floor.
“So, you two are the guys behind ‘Sebastian Manure’?”
“Look.” Willy blurted out. “It’s gone…deleted…history.”
“Just don’t take us to court.” Logan pleaded. “We can barely pay the rent as it is. We can’t afford another law suit.”
“Gentlemen. Gentlemen.” Ian said. “I don’t want to close you down.”
“You don’t?”
“Heck no.” Ian pulled some documents out of his backpack. “I want to sign you to a contract.”
The two boys looked at each other and smiled.
No comments:
Post a Comment