BOOK ONE: DECEPTIONS
Chapters One to Twenty Six
Vignettes 1 - 140

BOOK TWO: YESTERDAY ECHOES
Chapters 27 to
Vignettes 141 -

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Vignette #177: Professional Justyn

Ian and David Turner walked to the conference room door. Denver Metcalfe scurried ahead and held it open for them “Perhaps I should get myself a cane, just to fit in.” He joked.

“You can have mine.” Ian rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, when I’m through with it.”

Metcalfe walked with them to the elevator. “I thought Simon Kent gave you a briefcase, Ian. Why aren’t you using it?”

“Two reasons.” Ian leaned against the wall of the elevator, as Metcalfe pressed the button. “Ronnie convinced me that my pack was my trademark. He’s my go to guy on all things pop culture.”

“John Wayne had his Stetson.” Turner chuckled. “Justyn has his back pack.”

Ian smiled. “And secondly, I returned the brief case to its rightful owner.”

“Rightful owner?” Metcalfe asked.

“As I was going through tons of reports and paperwork just to keep from hanging myself with my drip bag wires out of boredom, I ran across a report that Cassidy Roark…”

“The director who won the Oscar last year?” Metcalfe interrupted.

“The very same.” Ian nodded his head. “He apparently had his people set up a meeting to inquire about possibilities of working with us.”

“I didn’t know about that.” Metcalfe said as the doors came open.

“Let him tell you why.” Turner shook his head and stepped toward Ian’s office.

“It’s seems while Mr. Roark was using our facilities, someone dumped the contents of his briefcase out and stole it. His meeting was with Simon Kent, who apparently wrapped it up and gave it to me as a white flag.”

“That explains quite a bit.” Metcalfe huffed and turned to Turner. “If we hadn’t already fired that man…”

Turner put up his hand. “Fortunately, Ian saw the report, put two and two together and returned it.”

“Did you tell him that one of our execs stole it and gave it to you as a gift?”

“Of course not.” Ian said as they entered his inner office. “I told him I had found it and wanted to know if it was his. On the bright side, I think he would have found it funny if I had told him the whole story. He’s a very nice guy and we seemed to hit it off.”

“Any possibilities of getting him on the HRT team?” Metcalfe raised an eyebrow.

“We have first look options for his next three projects in return for a guarantee to direct a limited series of my choice in the next three years.” Ian smiled. “I’ll have Blake give you a file on the properties we are considering optioning with him in mind.”

If Denver Metcalfe weren’t such a proper gentlemen, he’d have a done a happy dance right there in front of the staff. “What’s next, Ian?” He held his office door open for him.

Ian held up a finger in apology as Lee entered his office. “You my Blake sub?”

“Yes.” Lee put a tray with a glass of water and a little pile of piles in front of Ian. “I’m suppose to threaten you if you don’t take these and remind you that you only have 90 minutes left. Blake’s set a timer on my desk. When the chicken squawks, I’m to drag you screaming from the building.”

“One of these isn’t going to knock me out, is it?” Ian turned up his nose as he looked at the capsules.

“I swear.” Lee crossed his heart.

“Wait!” Turner laughed. “Blake has a chicken timer on your desk?”

Lee rolled his eyes. “Exactly. A little hard plastic hen on a nest.”

Ian nodded his head. “Ronnie loaned it to him when he laid down the law. You don’t mess with my kid when he’s made up his mind.”

“Wonder where he got that from?” Turner chuckled.

“His mother.” Ian said thoughtfully. “When she decided it was best, you did not say no. I’d never have gone to college if it weren’t for her.” A warm smile spread across his face as he admitted out loud. “Most of the best things in my life I wouldn’t have at all if she had made up her mind that it was the right thing to do.”

Lee opened up his pad. “Your meeting with Vaundra Hawkins has been changed until next Friday morning. She’s got that bug and Blake didn’t want her anywhere near you. Lance Crawford wants confirmation that Wednesday is good for the Press conference.” He handed a folder to Ian. “And here’s the list of calls.”

“Thank you, Lee.” Ian smiled. “Make a note to Blake that Wednesday is fine with me, and since my meeting has been postponed run and quickly tidy up whatever Blake left you to do, then come back in here and have a chat with Mr. Turner and I.” He turned to Denver Metcalfe. “And Mr. Metcalfe if he can spare the time.”

“A meeting with me?” Lee turned a little green.

“Yes, Lee. We haven’t had the chance to speak about the changes and I’d like a moment of your time.”

“Oooooh kaaaay.” Lee wobbled a second. “Uh, fifteen minutes?”

“Fifteen minutes.” Ian said and watched Lee turn and run into the doorframe. “Sorry, dude, Turner keeps moving that behind people’s backs. He thinks it’s funny.”

Turner looked at Lee, who was rubbing his nose. “I love slapstick.”

As Lee managed to get out the door in one piece, Metcalfe turned to the other men in the room. “Why do I feel like the third stooge?”

“Well, Curly, you asked what was next so before Lee comes back in shall we talk about ‘The Best of Everything’?” Ian looked in his empty water cup.

“Hot tea?” David Turner asked.

“That would be nice. Thank you. Mr. Metcalfe?” Ian returned.

“Why not?” He stood from his chair. “Being the only one in the room with two good legs, let me. Now what about our other soap?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time reading the blogs, the magazines and just watching the show.” Ian said. “It’s basically in good condition.”

“We should be very proud of that little piece.” David Turner said. “It’s our longest running program, and one of the oldest daytime dramas still on the air.”

“Absolutely.” Ian returned. “To me the surprising factor is that it’s a network owned show. Most of the older soaps belonged to other companies.”

“We had a few of those, but bailed out.” Turner said. “Most of the other networks seem to be following suit.”

“Soaps have such a loyal fan base.” Metcalfe placed three cups in the microwave. “The past two decades have decimated them. There was a time when daytime paid for nighttime. We killed that when we pre-empted soaps for weeks to broadcast that Simpson murder trial.”

“Now, we are in the process of reinventing the genre.” Ian opened his back pack and took out several files. “Blood Kisses is going to help, but we also need to take a good look at The Best of Everything. It’s never fully recovered from the years Baxter Reilly was head writer.”

“You’ve been watching.” Turner said as he lifted a cup of tea from the tray Metcalfe held and put it close to Ian. “What do you think?”

“I’m going to tell you a dirty little secret.” Ian dumped sugar in his tea. “I’ve watched that soap off and on since I was a kid. My Aunt Hil set her life around watching it. I’ve seen the good times. I’ve seen the bad times.”

“What time is it now?” Metcalfe reseated himself and sipped his tea.

“It depends on what day you watch.” Ian closed his eyes and enjoyed a tongue full of warm sweet liquid. “It’s very inconsistent, but I think we can fix that. It seems much of the script is filler and repetitive.”

“Speeding it up a little is what we talked about.” David Turner offered Ian a cigarette, which he quickly took.

“But the writers and show runners either don’t understand what we mean or they have the we are doing what the audience wants disease.” Ian said. “At least, I’ve been getting the scripts in advance. Here take a look.”

Metcalfe reached for a script Ian offered. “What are these red lines?”

“I’ve done some editing. I red marked anything that was repetitive or just plan bad.” Ian handed a second script to David Turner.

“Most of this script is red.” Metcalfe leafed through.

“So what?” Turner looked up. “We need to replace the writers?”

“Here.” Ian handed them each a copy of another script. “This is what was left from a week’s worth of scripts, one really good episode. I’d like to send a proxy to the writers and show them this.” Ian held up the single script and pointed at the pile of edited ones. “I’m hoping they’ll see what I mean.”

Metcalfe held up his hand, engrossed in the edited script. “Shhh! This is good.”

Turner looked at Ian. “If you can pull an old man in who rallied behind dumping the entire daytime line up with one script. We are definitely on the right track.” He sipped his tea. “I’ll personally set up a meeting with them, and then re-instate an old practice we haven’t used for years.”

“Which is?” Ian asked, amused at Denver Metcalfe sipping tea and flipping pages of a soap opera script with abandon.

“Not a frame gets shot until the network approves the script. It will slow production down somewhat, but I think they’ll quickly catch on.”

“I hate to baby sit an artist, but maybe that’s best.”

“They break for a week at the end of shooting today. I’ll make the call and set up a meeting with the staff for today. Would you mind if I have Blake set up a meeting with you and the production team next week?”

“One on one is so much better than a memo.” Ian agreed. “Check with Blake about my availability. If I need to do a dinner at home with them, we’ll do that.”

“Anything else we need to look at?” David flopped the script on the desk and reached for his mug.

“I’d like to find a new show runner. Randa Millhouse wants to retire.”

“She’s been the show running for twenty years.”

“She’s done a great job, but we need to find someone with a new attitude but a love of daytime drama, preferably one who loves “The Best of Everything”. Ian nodded.

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