Red Robin was a small chain specializing in gourmet hamburgers. A family oriented place, they had the second best hamburgers in the world, and the best chocolate shakes. It was their second visit in as many weeks.
“Back again?” The hostess recognized them.
“I’d have been back sooner, but I cain’t drive yet.” Ronnie smiled.
“Table for two?” She asked.
“Three, please.” Ian said. “A friend should be joining us shortly.”
The young girl looked at Ian. “I’m sorry Mr. Justyn, are you waiting for Mr. Torkelson?”
“Yes. Yes we are.”
“He’s already waiting for you.” She picked up two menus and two rolls of silverware. “Follow me please. We have you discreetly in the back.”
“Thank you.”
Ronnie followed the young lady, chipperly chatting most of the way. Ian followed behind, lead to a darker end of the restaurant. Ian forgot this was Hollywood, even superstars liked to bring their kids to family burger joints. Of course they would have a section out of the way, a little harder to get to and with dimmer lighting.
When he saw them coming, Jeff Torkelson stood and smiled. “I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.”
“Sorry, the traffic was a little heavier than normal.” Ian shook his hand. “Jeff, this is my son Ronnie.”
Jeff smiled and put out his hand. Ronnie took it and simply said , “Hi.”
Jeff pulled out a chair and Ian helped Ronnie sit. “Ronnie, Mr. Torkelson is going to be starring in a new series this fall.”
“We hope”. Jeff said.
“You look familiar.” Ronnie smiled. “I only used to get two channels, now we got so many I’ll never be able to watch ‘em all.”
“Most of them aren’t worth watching.” Jeff pulled up a chair to one side of him.
Ian tried hard to hide the pride as Ronnie began asking a series of very intelligent questions for a ten-year-old farm boy. Jeff kept looking at Ian, sitting on the other side of his son, with his own impressed look.
“Are you sure, you’re not just a very short executive?” Jeff finally asked.
“Not today.” Ronnie allowed the waitress to put the chocolate shake in front of him that Ian had ordered. “Maybe when I finish grammar school though. I think I’d be fun.”
“Grammar school, huh?” Jeff smiled. “Any idea what you really want to be?”
“Well…” Ronnie thought while sipping his shake. “I think I’d like to be like my Papa.”
“And exactly what is that?” He asked.
Ronnie looked at Torkelson like he should have known. “He makes people’s dreams come true.” The boy grinned from ear to ear.
“That he does.” Jeff grinned at Ian. “That he does.”
Ian put his arm around the back of Ronnie’s chair. “Puppy, Mr. Torkelson and I are going to talk a little shop while we eat. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.” Ronnie looked at his father. “Do ya need my help? I’m in a pretty important demo…they aim lots a commercials at me.”
Jeff laughed. “That they do.” He sipped his own shake. “Tell you what. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“What’s the problem Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie pushed his glass to the side and folded his hands together on the tabletop.
“Well, Younger Justyn…” Jeff started with, making Ronnie grin from ear to ear. “We had a premise for my new show, but it’s not working. Do you understand what I mean by premise?”
Ronnie nodded. “What the show is about.” He turned to Ian. “Right?”
“Right.”
Ronnie cleared his throat and turned back to Jeff. “So the show’s suckin’ big time and you need to figure out how to fix it before September.”
“Exactly.”
Ronnie cocked his head and put his finger to his chin. “Do ya have anything in the...can?”
Even Ian was impressed with that one. “Not yet son. We have some scripts, one good, one okay and the rest really bad.”
“Really, really bad.” Jeff added.
“Well, my Grampaw says that you have to buy the seeds before ya plant the garden. Seems to me what you needs to do is make sure ya got all the right tools, plow the ground up real good and make sure everything’s ready. My guess is ya tossed a handful a seeds from boxes with pretty pictures and didn’t realize that most wildflowers is just weeds.”
There was a cackle from someone sitting behind them. “I think I understood that.” Jeff said.
“He’s been hanging around Tippy Shores a lot.” Ian said. “Ronnie, put that in English for us.”
Ronnie rolled his eyes. “You rushed into something and didn’t think it through. Since ya didn’t lose nothing but a little time and some paper, just yank up the weeds and re-seed the field.”
“Ah!” Jeff nodded. “Younger Mr. Justyn, you want to walk your father and I through this process. Just so we don’t make any mistakes this time.”
“Okay. What cha got that’s good?”
“Well, me, of course?” Jeff said.
“Blow your own horn much?” Ronnie said to another cackle from behind them. Ronnie smiled, “Just teasin’ sir. If ya weren’t good my Papa wouldn’t give you the time of day. What else you bringin’ to the table?”
“The writer’s are good.” Jeff said.
“Great actually.” Ian piped in. “Probably the best comedy writing team around.”
“Then why is the show so bad, Papa?” Ronnie asked.
“Once and a while, when it comes to a series, the original idea is funny and easy to write for, but…” Ian thought a second to properly explain to his son, and maybe even to himself. “But the hard part is coming up with an idea and characters that make it easy to write consistently good episodes.”
“Writers, actors and producers have to come up with twenty two to twenty four really good episodes a year.” Jeff added. “And then do that every year as long as they keep making the show.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Ronnie sipped his milk shake. “So your idea was good, but it’s not…uhm…good enough for more than one or two really funny shows.”
“That’s right.”
“So come up with another idea you can get more good shows out of.” Ronnie sat back in his chair and smiled. “Problem solved.”
“Sort of.” Ian said. “The problem is we have a contract that looked like a good idea at the time, but has everybody at a disadvantage because of some things that were put in that have kind of painted us in a corner.”
“Like a bill from Congress?” Ronnie asked. Whoever it was behind them, howled this time. Ronnie turned around to see who it was, but turned back.
“Pretty much.” Ian said. “It’s a good contract, but if we adhere to it we turn out a really bad show that loses the company lots of money, and damages the reputations of Mr. Torkelson and some other really good people.”
“Do think you so, too, Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie asked.
“Yes.”
Ronnie shrugged. “Tear up the contract and start over.”
“What?” Ian said.
“Hey, I’m just a kid wondering where his hamburger is, but a contract is an agreement between two people to make sure everything done a certain way right?”
“Well…yes.” Ian said.
“If both people think it was bad, can’t you both agree to tear it up or make another contract that says the first one sucks and we agree to do this instead?”
Lights went off in both Jeff and Ian’s heads. Ian looked at his son. “Kid, you want a job?”
“I got one.” Ronnie sucked on his straw, obviously at the bottom of his shake. “An’ I’m only getting ten bucks a week for it. Let me get a new agent an’ I’ll get back to ya.”
Showing posts with label Daytime Television. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daytime Television. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Chapter Eighteen: Superman
Red Robin was a small chain specializing in gourmet hamburgers. A family oriented place, they had the second best hamburgers in the world, and the best chocolate shakes. It was their second visit in as many weeks.
“Back again?” The hostess recognized them.
“I’d have been back sooner, but I cain’t drive yet.” Ronnie smiled.
“Table for two?” She asked.
“Three, please.” Ian said. “A friend should be joining us shortly.”
The young girl looked at Ian. “I’m sorry Mr. Justyn, are you waiting for Mr. Torkelson?”
“Yes. Yes we are.”
“He’s already waiting for you.” She picked up two menus and two rolls of silverware. “Follow me please. We have you discreetly in the back.”
“Thank you.”
Ronnie followed the young lady, chipperly chatting most of the way. Ian followed behind, lead to a darker end of the restaurant. Ian forgot this was Hollywood, even superstars liked to bring their kids to family burger joints. Of course they would have a section out of the way, a little harder to get to and with dimmer lighting.
When he saw them coming, Jeff Torkelson stood and smiled. “I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.”
“Sorry, the traffic was a little heavier than normal.” Ian shook his hand. “Jeff, this is my son Ronnie.”
Jeff smiled and put out his hand. Ronnie took it and simply said , “Hi.”
Jeff pulled out a chair and Ian helped Ronnie sit. “Ronnie, Mr. Torkelson is going to be starring in a new series this fall.”
“We hope”. Jeff said.
“You look familiar.” Ronnie smiled. “I only used to get two channels, now we got so many I’ll never be able to watch ‘em all.”
“Most of them aren’t worth watching.” Jeff pulled up a chair to one side of him.
Ian tried hard to hide the pride as Ronnie began asking a series of very intelligent questions for a ten-year-old farm boy. Jeff kept looking at Ian, sitting on the other side of his son, with his own impressed look.
“Are you sure, you’re not just a very short executive?” Jeff finally asked.
“Not today.” Ronnie allowed the waitress to put the chocolate shake in front of him that Ian had ordered. “Maybe when I finish grammar school though. I think I’d be fun.”
“Grammar school, huh?” Jeff smiled. “Any idea what you really want to be?”
“Well…” Ronnie thought while sipping his shake. “I think I’d like to be like my Papa.”
“And exactly what is that?” He asked.
Ronnie looked at Torkelson like he should have known. “He makes people’s dreams come true.” The boy grinned from ear to ear.
“That he does.” Jeff grinned at Ian. “That he does.”
Ian put his arm around the back of Ronnie’s chair. “Puppy, Mr. Torkelson and I are going to talk a little shop while we eat. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.” Ronnie looked at his father. “Do ya need my help? I’m in a pretty important demo…they aim lots a commercials at me.”
Jeff laughed. “That they do.” He sipped his own shake. “Tell you what. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“What’s the problem Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie pushed his glass to the side and folded his hands together on the tabletop.
“Well, Younger Justyn…” Jeff started with, making Ronnie grin from ear to ear. “We had a premise for my new show, but it’s not working. Do you understand what I mean by premise?”
Ronnie nodded. “What the show is about.” He turned to Ian. “Right?”
“Right.”
Ronnie cleared his throat and turned back to Jeff. “So the show’s suckin’ big time and you need to figure out how to fix it before September.”
“Exactly.”
Ronnie cocked his head and put his finger to his chin. “Do ya have anything in the...can?”
Even Ian was impressed with that one. “Not yet son. We have some scripts, one good, one okay and the rest really bad.”
“Really, really bad.” Jeff added.
“Well, my Grampaw says that you have to buy the seeds before ya plant the garden. Seems to me what you needs to do is make sure ya got all the right tools, plow the ground up real good and make sure everything’s ready. My guess is ya tossed a handful a seeds from boxes with pretty pictures and didn’t realize that most wildflowers is just weeds.”
There was a cackle from someone sitting behind them. “I think I understood that.” Jeff said.
“He’s been hanging around Tippy Shores a lot.” Ian said. “Ronnie, put that in English for us.”
Ronnie rolled his eyes. “You rushed into something and didn’t think it through. Since ya didn’t loose nothing but a little time and some paper, just yank up the weeds and re-seed the field.”
“Ah!” Jeff nodded. “Younger Mr. Justyn, you want to walk your father and I through this process. Just so we don’t make any mistakes this time.”
“Okay. What cha got that’s good?”
“Well, me, of course?” Jeff said.
“Blow your own horn much?” Ronnie said to another cackle from behind them. Ronnie smiled, “Just teasin’ sir. If ya weren’t good my Papa wouldn’t give you the time of day. What else you bringin’ to the table?”
“The writer’s are good.” Jeff said.
“Great actually.” Ian piped in. “Probably the best comedy writing team around.”
“Then why is the show so bad, Papa?” Ronnie asked.
“Once and a while, when it comes to a series, the original idea is funny and easy to write for, but…” Ian thought a second to properly explain to his son, and maybe even to himself. “But the hard part is coming up with an idea and characters that make it easy to write consistently good episodes.”
“Writers, actors and producers have to come up with twenty two to twenty four really good episodes a year.” Jeff added. “And then do that every year as long as they keep making the show.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Ronnie sipped his milk shake. “So your idea was good, but it’s not…uhm…good enough for more than one or two really funny shows.”
“That’s right.”
“So come up with another idea you can get more good shows out of.” Ronnie sat back in his chair and smiled. “Problem solved.”
“Sort of.” Ian said. “The problem is we have a contract, that looked like a good idea at the time, but has everybody at a disadvantage because of some things that were put in that have kind of painted us in a corner.”
“Like a bill from Congress?” Ronnie asked. Whoever it was behind them, howled this time. Ronnie turned around to see who it was, but turned back.
“Pretty much.” Ian said. “It’s a good contract, but if we adhere to it we turn out a really bad show that loses the company lots of money, and damages the reputations of Mr. Torkelson and some other really good people.”
“Do think you so, too, Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie asked.
“Yes.”
Ronnie shrugged. “Tear up the contract and start over.”
“What?” Ian said.
“Hey, I’m just a kid wondering where his hamburger is, but a contract is an agreement between two people to make sure everything done a certain way right?”
“Well…yes.” Ian said.
“If both people think it was bad, can’t you both agree to tear it up or make another contract that says the first one sucks and we agree to do this instead?”
Lights went off in both Jeff and Ian’s heads. Ian looked at his son. “Kid, you want a job?”
“I got one.” Ronnie sucked on his straw, obviously at the bottom of his shake. “An’ I’m only getting ten bucks a week for it. Let me get a new agent an’ I’ll get back to ya.”
Once again, there was a cackle of laughter behind them. All three turned to see who it was.
Not finding the culprit, Ian said to Jeff. “Bottom line, do you want to do a series for HRT?”
“Absolutely.”
“Forget anything Simon Kent said.” Ian took a long spoon a stirred a metal cup with more milk shake in it and refilled Ronnie’s glass. “Are you insistent that the series be a spin off?”
“I think it probably could be done, but I’ll go with a better one if you insist it start in September.”
Ian nodded his head. “Here’s my problem, Jeff, and maybe my solution. Kent in all his well meaning glory has already leaked to the press, and done interviews that a new series starring you will be in our Fall line up.”
“Understood.”
“However, and my staff and I have been over every inch of cyberspace to make sure, not once did Kent say or allude to the fact that the show was a spin off, only a project starring Jeff Torkelson. I think delaying anything past that would look bad for both of us. The press will have a field day. They’ll automatically tag whatever show we come up with as a loser, effectively killing it before it has a chance.”
“Okay, back to square one.” Jeff frowned, refilling his own glass.
“What I can do, if all goes well, is buy us a little more time. Here’s the plot. No one knows it yet, but I’ve managed to get my own uber hot property, a three week limited series that I’ll do my best to get run Premiere Week.”
Jeff laughed. “That had better be some hot project.”
Ian smiled and wriggled his eyebrows. “Pretty much guaranteed. I’m still pinching myself.”
“Let me guess…” Jeff smirked. “You scooped the entire entertainment industry and got the rights to ‘Blood Kisses’.”
Ian’s face fell. Jeff shot up straight in his chair. “You got effing ‘Blood Kisses’?”
“Shh!” Ian leaned in. “Keep your voice down. How did you know? There are only about have a dozen people who know that.”
“I was joking.” Jeff said. “You got Amanda Jackson to give you rights? Holy crap, Ian Justyn, will you marry me?”
“Ew…” Ian said to another cackle behind them. “I got more than that, Jeff. I got all three books.”
“All three?”
Ian nodded. “Amanda is writing and directing, plus “Blood Kisses” is going to be my new daytime drama.”
“Holy sh…” Jeff looked at Ronnie, who was busy looking at the people seated behind them. “sshhh…ooot. Holy shoot, Ian, you’re right that will definitely buy us three more weeks.”
“Four if they approve the concert special.” Ian said. “Susan Andrews and Jimmy Sage are both recording new albums and will be launching a tour together in the fall. They’ve both agreed to kick the tour off with a live concert on HRT as part of an updated variety series format Wella and I have come up with.”
“You are either the luckiest SOB in the universe or the next Norman Lear.” Torkelson sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Forgive me, but holy shit, you’re just getting warmed up.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Jeff, but Lear had “All That Glitters” after a string of hits. Let’s make sure you aren’t my first tank.”
“Any ideas?”
“Let’s eat on it, and see what we come up with. The only thing I’ve got is, forgive me, act your age.”
“Huh?” Jeff sat up in his chair again.
“My feeling is when setting up the spin off character they went back to the original Robbie, instead of what he matured to. That took away all his warmth and charm. When you where twenty something it was adorable, now that you’re thirty something all I could think of was, give it up dude and get a real job.”
“I see your point.”
“And I’ve seen much of your other work. You are a wonderful character actor in a matinee idols body.”
“Thank you.”
“You can play something that’s a lot more of a stretch, much more than pretty and adorably dumb. People will watch just because it’s you, but your talent and hopefully some good writing will keep them coming back for more.”
“Papa?” Ronnie patted Ian shoulder. “Forgive me for interrupting, but that woman back there. She looks like Tessie.”
Ian smiled and looked in the direction. “I think you’re right, Ronnie.”
“Whose Tessie?”
Ronnie’s mouth dropped open. “You work in television and you don’t know who Tessie is?”
“Okay…” Jeff smiled. “Who is this woman that I should know?”
“Only the best TV star EVER!” Ronnie gushed. “Papa and I watch her show every day!”
Ian, who’d been busy looking at the woman, turned back to the conversation. “Tess Sinclair.”
Torkelson understood. “Oh, that Tessie.” He looked down at the boy. “You are right, again, Ronnie. She is the best TV star ever. Do you know that the reason I want to stay in television is because my dream, the one you’re Papa is going to make come true, is to one day be half as good as Tessie.”
“Only half?” Ronnie asked.
“Well, I’ll settle for half, but aiming for it all.” Jeff rubbed Ronnie’s head.
Ian found himself staring at the woman seated behind them. “You know, Ronnie, I think that is Tessie.”
“Are you sure?” Ronnie said.
Jeff found himself looking. “I think you’re right.”
“She can hear you know. She’s old, not deaf.” Tess’s voice boomed without turning around. “However she appreciates your kind words.”
Ian blushed. “Sorry, Ms Sinclair. We didn’t mean to disturb your meal.”
“That’s fine Mr. Justyn. Just an old lady now cheating on her diet, and surprised and pleased that someone still remembers her.” She said.
“Oh, Ms Sinclair!” Ronnie protested. “How could anyone forget you! You are the best!”
She turned around in her chair, half a chocolate shake in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “You are absolutely adorable little man. I think I’m your biggest fan.”
Ronnie popped up and started to race right over to her. Ian gently stopped him. “Son, Ms. Sinclair is eating. Remember those conversations we had about respect?”
Ronnie remembered. “Oh yeah.” He turned back to Tess. “I apologize. You just want to enjoy you’re hamburger. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh, sonny, it’s okay. I’m just sitting here, and I’m all alone.” She said. “I’m assuming we’re waiting for the cow to get a degree in political science before they kill it and serve us our hamburgers.
“Alone?” He said.
“Just me and my milkshake. Now come over here and give your biggest fan a big hug.” She said holding out her arms, allowing Ronnie to give her a big one.
“Thank you so much.” Ronnie kissed her cheek.
It was obvious the woman was touched. She turned to Ian. “You have a very special boy there, Mr. Justyn.”
“Thank you. You have made him very, very happy.” Ian touched her shoulder. “Me, too.”
“And he’s made an old lady very happy.” She patted his hand and turned back around.
“Ms. Sinclair…” Ian said. “Would you like to join us?”
She waved her hands. “Oh no…you are having a good time without me. Thank you though.”
“Oh please…” Ronnie asked. “Please come and eat with us Miss Tessie.”
“You don’t mind?” She asked Ian.
“We’d be honored.”
Tessie smiled. “I’d love to.” She stood up; Jeff popped up and held the chair beside him open as she gracefully joined them. “You gentlemen are so kind.”
“Ms. Sinclair, you’ve met my son, Ronnie.” Ian nodded to Jeff as they all took their seats. “And this is my friend, Jeff…”
“No need.” Tess reached out her hand. “Torkelson, you’ve done some fine work. I’ve been impressed since moment one.”
Torkelson gushed, while Ian caught the eyes of a waitress and motioned her over. “I’m flattered Ms. Sinclair.”
“Would you tell our waitress, I think her name’s Camilla, that Ms. Sinclair will be joining us?”
“Of course, Mr. Justyn.” She said politely. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Food would be nice.” Tess smiled.
“Of course.” She said and dashed off.
“I’m supposedly doing the whole healthy thing now.” She said. “Twice a month I have to give all that tofu and wheat grass a good coating of greasy red meat and chocolate just to stave off the conniption fits.”
Camilla appeared apologetically and put a second shake in front everyone and began to offer their burgers.
The four chatted like old friends catching up as they ate. Tessie insisted on picking up the tab and bought everyone the biggest gooiest sundaes on the menu. She prattled on and on about the good old days. The three men hung on every word.
“Of course, after fifteen years I was getting a little long in tooth so I packed it in and didn’t look back.” She said. “Marcus Bickle, he was running the network for David Turner back then, suggested a format change to keep me interested, but it was ridiculous. I’d have been playing the only virgin widow in the known universe. What an idiot…” she scooped vanilla, strawberry and chocolate goo into her mouth.
“But you’ve been approached since, haven’t you?’ Ian asked.
“Oh sure, but no one has any guts these days. Shoot, Ian, you seem to be the only one around these days.”
“Coming from you, I consider that a high compliment.”
“You stick out like a sour thumb, young man. I’d work for you in a heart beat.” She sniggered. “Wanna give an old has been a job?”
“Tessie, if I thought you were serious I’d throw you across this table and give you my own special sauce.” Ian confessed.
“Honey, no need to go that far. Besides, I was a dyke before it was cool.” Tessie’s eyes got big. “Oops, forgot about the boy.”
“That’s okay, Miss Tessie.” Ronnie wrestled to feed himself an overstuffed spoon. “We studied dikes in school. Did you come to America straight from Holland?”
Tess put her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap and looked Ronnie straight in the eye. “Yes I did, in a covered wagon.”
“That’s cool.”
Jeff sprayed chocolate sauce across the table laughing, covering Ian’s shirt. “Shoot…” He reached for a napkin to wipe it off, knocking over a half finished shake that landed on a spoon. The spoon somersaulted in the air and landed in Ian’s sundae, tossing a wad of ice cream and a cherry that plopped on Ian’s neck and ran down the inside of his shirt.
“Oooh baby!” Ian said reaching down in his shirt and grabbing a handful of goop from his chest. As he tossed it on the table, he heard a little pop and a metal tinkle as the wad hit the tabletop. “Now that’s cool!”
The table laughed and did it’s best to clean up the mess, Camilla now never far from the table, joining in to help.
“Too bad we didn’t have that on tape.” Tess said, helping the waitress gather used napkins. “We couldn’t recreate that if we tried.”
“You willing to give it a shot?” Ian eyed her.
“You offering me a deal, Sticky Man?” Tessie eyed him back.
“No.” Ian said, wiping his fingers. “I’m flat out offering you a series, a five year guarantee.”
“You produce, I don’t do a pilot, and I have script and cast approval.”
“I’ll exec, we don’t have time for a pilot, and blow the cast and script approval out your ass.” Ian drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “You get equal billing and I’ll match Jeff Torkelson’s contract.”
Tessie sat back in her chair. “Tough guy, huh? Torkelson’s got a fat deal, but I overhear the show’s a piece of crap.”
“You’re overhearing must be bad. We canned that a few minutes ago. I have another idea. Jeff are you in?”
“Me and the legend of comedy? Are you kidding me?” Jeff gushed.
“Put up or shut up.” Tess said.
“Say yes, give me give five minutes and be ready to start in two weeks.” Ian said.
Tessie looked at her watch. “Time’s cheap, Justyn. You got four minutes and 51 seconds.”
Ian flipped open his phone and hit a few buttons. “Ronnie, do you have your cell phone on you?”
“Yes, but I’m only allowed to use it for emergencies.” He reminded him.
“This is an emergency buddy.” Ian dipped his finger in his sundae and wrote a number on the table. “Call this number. Ask for Mr. Jenson Michael. When he’s on the line, hand me the phone.” He said and Ronnie reached in his backpack and pulled out a little red phone.
Ian’s call connected. “Mr. Turner? Ian, not a lot of time, I think I’ve solved the Jeff Torkelson problem…I’ve got a question, a legal one. If Jeff is in agreement can we tear up his contract with no hassle or arrange a codicle?…I’ve got a something better in mind…Same amount of money split into two contracts, but double the back end with percentage raises based on share points.” Ian looked at Jeff and Tess for approval.
Tess nodded and Jeff gave him a thumbs up.
“It was a dream contract.” Jeff whispered to her. “Half is still a hefty raise. I’d rather have a good show than lots of money.”
“Good for you boy.” Tess smiled. “We’re gonna get along just fine.”
“A new show, ready in time for fall…” Ian held up his finger and crossed them. “Co-starring Jeff and Tess Sinclair.” Ian had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“Think that’s a good sign?” Jeff asked Tess.
“Me and Dave go way back. My guess is it’s a good sign.” Tess nodded.
“Right, anything, just get it done…Thank you, Mr. Turner. I’ll be ready to announce on Wednesday.”
“Papa…?” Ronnie handed Ian the other phone.
“Jenson? Thank you for holding.” Ian said. “Can you wait just a second longer, I’m balancing plates. Thanks.”
Ian handed his phone to Ronnie. “Puppy, call Miss Wella and try and tell her what’s going on. See if she can meet us at home, Blake too, if she can get hold of him.”
“Got it.”
“Jeff, call your writers, tell them to meet us in my office at the crack of dawn.” Ian said as Jeff hauled out his phone and started dialing.
“What can I do?” Tess asked.
“Look pretty.”
“Type cast again.” She said, and sat back watching the proactive testosterone in the room.
“Okay, Jenson, I’m back.” Ian said into his phone. “What was the name of that series you gave me a couple of scripts for and an episode breakdown for two seasons?” Ian mouthed the word ‘Pen’. Tess produced one from her purse and handed Ian a stack of napkins. “The comedy…single camera…”
“Ooh, I like that.” Tess said to no one listening.
“Uh huh…” Jeff said to his phone. “First thing in the morning…a whole new concept…”
“Do you have an aversion to taking a role as creator and writing consultant if I’ve got the perfect cast and want to go ahead and green light it for fall…yes, for fall and full year commitment…Jenson…Jenson?” Ian looked into his cell phone and over to Tess. “I think he passed out.”
“Newbie?”
Ian nodded his head. “Already has a spot and a 22 ep commitment for another show.” Ian looked at Ronnie, who nodded and imitated Jeff’s thumbs up. “Tell Blake to bring his magic book…Jenson, are you there?”
“Already asked for it, Papa. She gonna see about some of the other staff, too.” Ronnie said. “We need soda, potato chips and ice cream.”
“You got it, Puppy.” Ian said only half listening.
“Be my agent, kid.” Tessie said, slurping on her shake.
“Thank God, I thought you’d died, and I’d have had to kill you.” Ian said back into Ronnie’s phone. “I’ve already got it cast, just have to get approval from them…Jeff Torkelson and Tess Sinclair…Jenson…Jenson…uhm…Jenson?”
Taking a cue from Ian, Jeff said into his phone. “If we approve there’s already two scripts and a two year breakdown…new guy, already working full time on a new show for fall…He’ll be billed as creator and writing consult…Me, too…”
“Is that guy on the phone still breathing?” Tess asked.
“Jenson…if you can hear me moan or slap the phone on a table or something…” Ian pulled the phone away from his ears again. He rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, buddy, I need you to keep breathing. When you calm down, call me back…”
Ronnie got Ian’s attention by waving his hands in the air. “Meet us at the house.”
“Jenson, when you can sit back up, meet us at the house…uh, bye.”
“Ronnie?” Ian looked at the boy.
“Miss Wella and Mr. Blake will meet us at the house about 9:30.”
“Good boy. Jeff?”
“All ago. We’ll all be in your office at the crack of dawn.”
Great. “Tess?”
“Still beautiful.” She turned to Ronnie. “Ya know kid, you’re almost at good at this as your Dad.”
“Two weeks ago I was gatherin’ eggs and playin’ kickball.” Ronnie slip his phone in his backpack and sighed. “I’m just a natural.”
Ian smiled. “Okay, here’s what I got, a great idea from a hot new writer I’ve got under contract. He calls it ‘The World On A String’, but you can change that if you don’t like it.”
“Who cares about the title?” Tess was all business. “What’s the premise?”
“Tess you’re a legendary actress, successful at every endevour, except her personal life.”
“I breathe that.” Tess said.
“Jeff, you are a thirty something widower with a handful of kids, lost his job, living out of a camper who desperate, decides to look up the mother he’s never met and ask for help.”
“This is a comedy?” Jeff asked.
“An hour long dramedy, but you can cut it to a half hour format if you decide. I’m just giving you the breakdown. How you throw it against the wall we’ll all decide once we get everything and everyone in one room.”
“I don’t get it.” Tess said. “How do the two even get together? They have nothing in common.”
“They have one thing.” Ian smiled. “The superstar is the widower’s mother. It’s a story about two people with nothing but blood in common trying to connect in Hollywood.”
Jeff smiled. “In the land of the superficial and the disconnected.”
“Bullseye. Unless the two of you want to come to the house for the working pajama party…” Ian said.
“I sleep in the raw.” Tess smirked.
“Somebody right that down.” Ian quipped. “I’ll fax the scripts and breakdown when I get home tonight. I remember the very first scene clearly. Tess Sinclair, lounging in all her spectacular glory. An assistant comes to her and says ‘Someone is here that insists on seeing you.’ Tess says send them in. It’s Jeff with the three kids. Jeff says “Hello, mother.” Tess turns to her assistant and asks “I have kids”. He looks through a book and says “October 22, 1976.” Tess says, “Did I win something for it?” And one of the kids says, “Yeah, but it wasn’t mother of the year…granny.” And then we roll opening credits.”
“I like it.” Tess thought.
“The first scene sets up a simple premise and defines all the characters.” Jeff smiled. “Gives a lot of great direction for character and situation to go in.”
“You’ll love this guys writing. I’m sure your team with be able to take and turn it into platinum. Believe me, it’s already gold.” Ian beamed. “We’ll bust the veneer of every everyone and everything in town. Show the pathos of two people trying to reconnect in a town where that is the only thing that’s not an art form.”
“You are amazing.” Jeff smiled.
“It’s what they pay me for.” Ian said.
“And Younger Justyn, what do you think of all this?” Tess asked him.
“I think you should do a show about Papa and Granny.” Ronnie smiled. “They’re funny.”
“Granny?” Jeff asked.
“Tippy Shores, she’s my neighbor.” Ian said.
Tess sat up. “Tippy Shores lets you call her Granny?”
“Yes’m.” Ronnie blinked.
“And she let you live?”
“Yes’m”.
Tess looked at Jeff and smiled. Jeff looked at Tess. “This is going to work. I’m in, Ian, I am so in!”
“Oh hell, kid.” Tess grinned. “You had me at wildflowers is just weeds.”
Ian sighed. “I need a cigarette.”
“Me, too.” She agreed. Suddenly the intensity disappeared and the four laughed and had a great time, contracts and storylines the last thing on their minds. The waitress brought the check and they all walked to the door to go their separate ways.
As Ronnie hugged Tess and Jeff, the waitress stopped Ian. “Mr. Justyn, this must be yours. It was lying in a pool of chocolate sauce.” She held up a sticky locket.
Ian smiled. “Oh yes, thank you. I must have yanked it off when I had ice cream tossed down my shirt.” He took it from her. “I hope we didn’t make too much of a mess.” He slipped her a hundred dollar bill.
“Not at all, Mr. Justyn.” She smiled. “Come again, real soon.” She sauntered off with a great tip in her bounce.
“That’s beautiful.” Tess said. “May I see it?”
“Sure.” He handed it to her. “It’s just an old locket. I think it belonged to my mother, but I’m not really sure where it came from.”
Tess cocked her head. “But it has your name on it.”
“No it doesn’t.” He said.
Tess held it up and Ian looked closely. He had seen the scratches before, but assumed they had been gouged there years before when his uncle had kicked it across the wood floor.
The shiny coating had an extra layer now, a sticky brown layer. The waitress must have wiped it with a wet rag. Clear as day; the scratches were now filled in with chocolate sauce.
Ronnie peered up and read. “I…A…N…that’s your name alright.”
Tippy let herself in Ian’s front door the next morning with her key. “Morning, Baby Doll! I got your paper!”
“Granny!” Ronnie jumped into her arms wearing flannel pants and a tee emblazoned with “Southern Fried”. He planted a big kiss on her.
“My, my we are full of energy this morning.” She put the handful down and look with shock at the living room; blankets, rousing bodies with bed head all over the place. “What’s going on, Sugar Plum? It looks like ‘Gone With the Wind’ threw up in here.”
“Oh, we been workin’.”
“Did the office flood or something?” She took a step into the room as she began to recognize faces. “Morning, Ella.”
Ella mumbled and smacked her mouth. “How much onion dip did I eat last night?” She looked at her shirt. “Please tell me it was onion dip.”
Sean stood beside her folding a blanket. “It was onion dip. You want to borrow a comb or should I ask Ian where his weed eater is?”
Ella put her hand to her hair and dashed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her as Wella stepped out. “Hi, Tippy. What brings you over?” She smiled.
“Colton had an early call this morning, and we noticed all the cars. I thought I’d come over and see if Ian needed a hand, at whatever you’re doing.”
“All nighter.” She said. “Have you seen Blake? He said he had some eye cream I could borrow.”
“No.”
“Oh, Granny.” Ronnie was hopping. “It was so much fun. We created a new TV program.”
“Have you been up all night?” She asked him.
“No, Papa made me go to bed at eleven. It was way past my bedtime, but they was lettin’ me help out. It was so much fun!”
“Sounds like it. Where is your Papa?”
“He said something about breakfast.” Wella said. “I assume he’s in the kitchen pouring cereal in lots of bowls.”
Tippy smiled. “Oh you are a stranger in this land.”
“Ronnie!” Ian bellowed from the kitchen. “Get this thing out of here or I’m serving it on toast!”
Ronnie stopped bouncing. “Gotta go.” He raced to the kitchen in a flash. Before they could blink, Ronnie appeared at the door with the cat in his hands. “Papa says breakfast is ready.”
Tippy smiled. “Just in time.” She took Wella by the arm. “Com’mon Wella. If we’re lucky he made fried green tomatoes.”
“Ian cooks?” She said walking to the kitchen door with her.
“He is definitely the marrying kind.”
Tippy held the door open for her, then propped it open while Wella took in the sight of a breakfast bar that made Shoney’s look like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.
Wella turned to Tippy. “Does Saxon Allen know this?” She pointed to the steaming food.
On cue, Saxon Allen came into the dining room with a stack of plates. “Morning.”
“Girl what the hell is wrong with you?” Wella said to her.
“Excuse me?”
“Go in that kitchen, throw that man on the floor, grab him by the hair and drag him to the nearest church.”
“Uhm…” Saxon didn’t know what to say.
“Girlfriend, just gimme a plate and get out of my way.” Wella snatched a plate and started piling on the scrambled eggs and bacon. “You white people…” She mumbled. “Hey! Where’s the fried green tomatoes? I was promised…”
Ian appeared with a plate in his hands. “Looking for these?”
Wella smiled. “Morning, Ian.” She speared two and kissed his cheek.
“Morning, Wella.” He bent over slightly to put the plate down on the sideboard. Wella smacked him on the crown of the head.
“Ow!” Ian straightened up. “What was that for?”
“Hoping to knock some sense into you.” She said looking back and forth between Ian and Saxon. “Never mind. I’m not wasting my breath, too much food to eat.” Wella pulled out a chair and sat down.
“She’s kinda cranky in the mornings.” Ian looked at Saxon.
“Honey.” Tippy grinned breaking open a buttermilk biscuit and arranging it on her plate and looked at Saxon. “Did you spend the night, too?”
“Couldn’t help it.” Saxon said. “Ronnie called at ten o’clock and said it was an emergency to come right over and bring potato chips. I got caught up in the festivities.”
Tippy only half looked where she ladled her gravy. “Where’d ya sleep?”
“In the floor.” Wella slapped half a piece of bacon on her plate. “Beside me.”
Tippy scowled and smacked Saxon on the crown of the head as she bent to pick up a biscuit.
“Ow!” Saxon touched her head. “What was that for?”
“I’m with Wella.” Tippy took a seat beside her. “You kids are just plain stupid.” Wella shoved a fork full of tomato in her mouth with one hand and held the other in the air. Tippy high fived it, as she scooted herself in.
“My cinnamon rolls!” Ian disappeared into the kitchen.
“Please tell me they are from a can.” Wella looked at Tippy.
“Not even the icing.”
Wella rolled her eyes. “Screw the blonde stick. That man’s gonna find himself snuggled up next to a chunky black woman with athlete’s foot.”
Jeff Torkelson came strolling in the dining room and took a deep breath. “Saxon, you made breakfast?”
Tippy and Wella sniggered, while Saxon rolled her eyes. “Jeff, I burn pans boiling water.”
“Who made…?”
Ian came out of the kitchen with a pan of pastries. “Anyone want a cinnamon roll? I just took ‘em out of the oven?”
Tippy leaned over and grabbed them, sitting them in front of her and Wella. Ian turned to Jeff. “There’s more in the oven. Coffee or tea?”
“Uh, Coffee…black.” Jeff held up his hand. “Who made the coffee?”
“I did.” Blake looked up from his corner of the table, mouth full of pancakes.
Jeff smiled and took the cup Ian offered. “No offense.”
“None taken. Don’t see how you can drink the stuff anyway.” Ian looked around the room. “Every body awake or at least faking it?”
“I haven’t seen Tessie or Jenson.” Daryn said going back for more biscuits and gravy. “Can we work at your house for breakfast every morning?”
“Tess is in the kitchen on the phone and Jenson’s in the bathroom barfing.” Ian said.
“Again.”
“Remind me to have a bucket handy when he wins the Emmy or at least make sure my seat’s not anywhere near him.” Someone said.
“Are you kidding?” Someone else piped in. “On nomination day he’ll have a coronary.”
Ian looked at his feet. “Ronnie where’s the rodent?”
He looked up from his eggs. “In the backyard playing with Ralphie.”
“Has Ralphie had breakfast?” Ian leaned over to look through the door into the yard.
“You feed the neighbor’s dog?” Saxon asked him.
“He’s hoping the dog will eat the cat.” Tippy said barely taking a breath.
Ian leaned back from the door after noticing the cat and the dog chasing a ball together. “Stupid animals.”
Ronnie grinned and picked up some toast. “They’re friends.” He looked around. “Hey, Papa, do we have any more apple jelly?”
“No. We’ll make some more next week.” Ian opened up a cabinet under the sideboard. “We got grape and blueberry.”
“Blueberry.”
“I’ll take the grape.” Sean said. “Unless you got apple butter hidden somewhere.”
Ian put three jars on the table.
“He makes his own jelly?” Wella looked at Tippy, who just sighed and nodded her head.
“Sad, isn’t it?”
“Tippy? Got a question for you.” Ian said.
“Shoot, Baby Doll.”
“Did you have my locket engraved when you sent it to the jewelers?”
“Why of course not. I wouldn’t even let him buff the scratches out. I just had him polish it and put on a new clasp.” She looked at an empty plate. “Are those other cinnamon rolls ready yet?”
“Saxon, would you mind getting those out of the oven for me?” Ian asked. “It’s the box underneath the round thingys that get hot.”
“Smart aleck. I know that.” Saxon uncrossed her arms. “Do I just push a button and they pop out or do I have to slide something open?”
“I’ll do it.” Daryn got up from the table and headed to the kitchen door.
“Icing’s in the fridge!” Ian yelled as the door closed behind her. He turned back to Tippy. “So you didn’t have my name engraved on it?”
“Of course not, Baby Doll.”
Ian took the locket out of his pocket and dangled it from the chain in front of her. “Then what’s this?”
Tippy put down her fork and wiped her hands while she chewed. “Chocolate.” She swallowed. “I think it’s chocolate.”
“Look at it.”
She reached out and took the locket in the palm of her hand. Ian gently let the chain gather in her palm as well. Tippy looked up at Ian. “I don’t know what to say, Baby Doll. I didn’t do that. I picked it up from the jeweler, inspected it, paid him then brought it straight to you and hung it around your neck.”
“How did it get there?” Ian asked.
“Baby Doll, I have no idea, about either the chocolate or your name.” She handed it back to him.
Blake reached out his hand. “Let me see it.”
Ian gave it to him. “That hasn’t left my neck since you brought it back. How did my name get on it?” He said to no one inparticular.
“Aw…” Blake had flipped open the locket. He and Ella were looking at the pictures. “Is that you?”
Ian blushed. “I assume so, and the other my mother.”
“Let me see.” Jeff said.
Blake handed it to Jeff. “Ian, the lettering is so light. Is it possible that the engraving was always there, and you didn’t realize it until you got kinky with the chocolate?”
“First of all I didn’t get kinky with the chocolate, but I guess that could be it. I knew there were some scratches on the back. I supposed we just couldn’t tell it was lettering until the episode with the sundaes last night.”
“You were getting kinky with chocolate.” Tippy piped up.
“No we weren’t.” Jeff cut right in. “I knocked over a shake at dinner and it steam rolled. Ian, do you have a magnifying glass?”
“Drawer behind you.” Ronnie said.
“When did you discover the name, Baby Doll? This morning in the shower?”
“Gross. I’m not putting chocolate sauce on my body!”
“How do you feel about whipped cream?” Wella smiled.
Ian looked at her and smirked. “Depends on whose eating it.”
“Will you marry me?” Wella pushed her plate aside.
“Wouldn’t you rather just use me, toss me aside and come back again when you need a real man?”
There were catcalls while Tippy and Wella high fived again.
Jeff looked up from studying the locket with a magnifying glass. “Have you ever tried caramel?”
Wella beamed. “Party at my house Saturday night.” She pointed at Jeff. “You is invited.”
“People.” Ronnie spoke up. “There are children in the room still trying to eat.”
“Sorry, Ronnie.” Wella bit her lip and put the napkin from her lap to her plate. “Ian I’ll help with the pots and pans.”
Ian looked at her like she was an idiot. “What barn were you raised in? You clean as you cook.”
Wella sat back down and looked at Saxon. “Girl, we got to chat.”
“Speaking of parties.” Ian announced. “The party will be here on Saturday.”
“Party?” Daryn came back in with a tray of iced rolls that quickly got snapped up. “What’d I miss?”
“We pulled an all-nighter that, I must say, was a big success. I talked with David Turner this morning, and he’s agreed to give everyone Friday off. Saturday morning, bring your families, friends, whoever. We’ll eat and relax in the backyard. Bring swim suits.”
“You’re gonna cook?” Sean looked up hopefully.
“I’m gonna cook, breakfast and lunch.” Ian waited for the cheers. “Now, I thought we would do a little work. Pearce Warner will be here, and I though we’d do a round table on ‘America Alive!’ just the way we did with ‘World On A String’, and I thought our friends and relatives, since they are our target audience, would be perfect sounding boards. I promise not too much work, mostly fun.”
“Speaking of work.” Blake stood up. “Where’s Lee?”
“Over here.” Lee looked up from his cinnamon roll.
“You’ve got the equipment ready?” Blake asked.
“Waiting for us when we arrive.” Lee munched.
“Did we find a baby?” Someone else asked.
Jeff motioned Ian over to him with his finger. “Ian, buddy, got another mystery for you.”
“Shoot.” Ian came over with Saxon at his side.
“This isn’t your baby picture.”
“How can you be sure?” Saxon asked.
“See for yourself.” Jeff handed her the locket and the magnifying glass. Jeff looked at Ian. “The baby’s naked.”
Ian blushed. “Well, yes, but its such a tiny shot. Probably cut out of a bigger picture.
“He’s right, Ian.” Saxon handed him the glass. “This is definitely not you.”
“You can barely tell.” Jeff said.
“Oh my God.” Ian said quietly.
“What is it, Baby Doll?” Tippy looked over his shoulder. She squinted her eyes and then Ian allowed her a closer look. “That’s a baby girl.”
Simon Kent was all smiles when he walked in the building that morning. In less than two hours would be the final fall schedule meeting. He knew Justyn and his “team” must be pulling their hair out.
He chuckled to himself as he got off the elevator and stepped out onto Ian’s floor. He caught himself humming, but stopped in time. He was positive the dippy redhead behind the desk didn’t hear him.
“Good morning, dear.” He said.
“Good morning, Mr. Kent.” She smiled. “May I help you?”
“I thought I’d stop by and see if Justyn needed my help.” Simon smiled, hopefully concerned. “Big meeting this morning. Poor boy, must be beside himself.”
The red head cocked her head. “Uh…no. He’s not even in the office yet.”
“Oh?”
“He was taking his son somewhere to go fishing.”
“Fishing?” Kent smirked.
“Deep sea fishing, I think. Would you like me to give him a message?”
“No.” Kent took a step back. “No thank you, but he’ll be in soon?”
“In time for the meeting.”
“Strange.” He thought silently. “Taking a page from my book. Sit back let the peons pull out their hair then blame them.” He ticked off, also in his head.
“Just tell him, I’ll see him in the conference room.” Kent turned to leave. “We’re expected big things from him.” He tossed over his shoulder.
He could hardly wait to get in the elevator, before he said “Big disaster.” As soon as the doors closed he laughed heartily out loud and did a little dance.
The doors came open. Lance Crockett caught him jigging. “I see you heard the rumor, too.” He said as the doors shut.
Kent regained his dignity. “Oh, yes. Poor Justyn. I’m afraid his days are numbered. They called an emergency meeting of the board this morning.”
“What are you talking about?” Lance asked.
“I’ll be surprised if they don’t have him clearing out his desk while we are putting the final touches on the fall schedule. Too bad about the Torkelson show.”
“Kent, what have you been adding to your Metamucil?”
“Oh come one, Lance. You can’t stand the smug little prick any more than I can.”
“True.”
“Your just jealous that I’m the one who put the final nail in his coffin.” Kent stuck his nose up in the air.
“I don’t know anything about Justyn. The board officially fired Jack Tolan this morning, or made him use his built up leave time in leau of the rest of his contract.”
Simon looked at Crockett. “Tolan?”
“Don’t know why, but apparently it was big.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “My floor.”
As Lance stepped off the car, he noticed Simon Kent leaned against the wall with visions of sugar plums dancing through his head. “Oh Kent. If the running back and forth to legal, and David Turner with a bigger grin on his face than yours is any indication, that smug little prick neither one of us can stand just side stepped what ever meager cow pile you plopped in his way.”
“I doubt that, Crockett. There’s no way he can salvage the Torkelson fiasco.”
“Kent, you’re the one who forced the contract to begin with. Are you too stupid to smell the crap on your own fingers?”
“Torkelson wanted to work specifically with Justyn. I just stepped aside and let Justyn and the pretty boy scramble to fix something that obviously wasn’t broken.” Kent smiled, sure of himself. “ See you at the meeting.”
“Won’t be there.” Crockett held the doors open another second.
“Won’t be there?” Kent was aghast. “The head of promotions not at the fall schedule meeting? That’s ridiculous. Why?”
“I spit on Superman’s cape in full view of Metropolis. Now I have to keep my distance in order to save my job. Let that be your lesson for the day Lex Luthor.” Lance released the doors and let them shut.
Simon Kent smiled. “Fool.” He said and sighed. “Hmmm…I think I’ll make some calls and start the bidding war for redecorating my new office.” When the elevator doors open he skipped out to his own floor.
“Back again?” The hostess recognized them.
“I’d have been back sooner, but I cain’t drive yet.” Ronnie smiled.
“Table for two?” She asked.
“Three, please.” Ian said. “A friend should be joining us shortly.”
The young girl looked at Ian. “I’m sorry Mr. Justyn, are you waiting for Mr. Torkelson?”
“Yes. Yes we are.”
“He’s already waiting for you.” She picked up two menus and two rolls of silverware. “Follow me please. We have you discreetly in the back.”
“Thank you.”
Ronnie followed the young lady, chipperly chatting most of the way. Ian followed behind, lead to a darker end of the restaurant. Ian forgot this was Hollywood, even superstars liked to bring their kids to family burger joints. Of course they would have a section out of the way, a little harder to get to and with dimmer lighting.
When he saw them coming, Jeff Torkelson stood and smiled. “I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.”
“Sorry, the traffic was a little heavier than normal.” Ian shook his hand. “Jeff, this is my son Ronnie.”
Jeff smiled and put out his hand. Ronnie took it and simply said , “Hi.”
Jeff pulled out a chair and Ian helped Ronnie sit. “Ronnie, Mr. Torkelson is going to be starring in a new series this fall.”
“We hope”. Jeff said.
“You look familiar.” Ronnie smiled. “I only used to get two channels, now we got so many I’ll never be able to watch ‘em all.”
“Most of them aren’t worth watching.” Jeff pulled up a chair to one side of him.
Ian tried hard to hide the pride as Ronnie began asking a series of very intelligent questions for a ten-year-old farm boy. Jeff kept looking at Ian, sitting on the other side of his son, with his own impressed look.
“Are you sure, you’re not just a very short executive?” Jeff finally asked.
“Not today.” Ronnie allowed the waitress to put the chocolate shake in front of him that Ian had ordered. “Maybe when I finish grammar school though. I think I’d be fun.”
“Grammar school, huh?” Jeff smiled. “Any idea what you really want to be?”
“Well…” Ronnie thought while sipping his shake. “I think I’d like to be like my Papa.”
“And exactly what is that?” He asked.
Ronnie looked at Torkelson like he should have known. “He makes people’s dreams come true.” The boy grinned from ear to ear.
“That he does.” Jeff grinned at Ian. “That he does.”
Ian put his arm around the back of Ronnie’s chair. “Puppy, Mr. Torkelson and I are going to talk a little shop while we eat. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.” Ronnie looked at his father. “Do ya need my help? I’m in a pretty important demo…they aim lots a commercials at me.”
Jeff laughed. “That they do.” He sipped his own shake. “Tell you what. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“What’s the problem Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie pushed his glass to the side and folded his hands together on the tabletop.
“Well, Younger Justyn…” Jeff started with, making Ronnie grin from ear to ear. “We had a premise for my new show, but it’s not working. Do you understand what I mean by premise?”
Ronnie nodded. “What the show is about.” He turned to Ian. “Right?”
“Right.”
Ronnie cleared his throat and turned back to Jeff. “So the show’s suckin’ big time and you need to figure out how to fix it before September.”
“Exactly.”
Ronnie cocked his head and put his finger to his chin. “Do ya have anything in the...can?”
Even Ian was impressed with that one. “Not yet son. We have some scripts, one good, one okay and the rest really bad.”
“Really, really bad.” Jeff added.
“Well, my Grampaw says that you have to buy the seeds before ya plant the garden. Seems to me what you needs to do is make sure ya got all the right tools, plow the ground up real good and make sure everything’s ready. My guess is ya tossed a handful a seeds from boxes with pretty pictures and didn’t realize that most wildflowers is just weeds.”
There was a cackle from someone sitting behind them. “I think I understood that.” Jeff said.
“He’s been hanging around Tippy Shores a lot.” Ian said. “Ronnie, put that in English for us.”
Ronnie rolled his eyes. “You rushed into something and didn’t think it through. Since ya didn’t loose nothing but a little time and some paper, just yank up the weeds and re-seed the field.”
“Ah!” Jeff nodded. “Younger Mr. Justyn, you want to walk your father and I through this process. Just so we don’t make any mistakes this time.”
“Okay. What cha got that’s good?”
“Well, me, of course?” Jeff said.
“Blow your own horn much?” Ronnie said to another cackle from behind them. Ronnie smiled, “Just teasin’ sir. If ya weren’t good my Papa wouldn’t give you the time of day. What else you bringin’ to the table?”
“The writer’s are good.” Jeff said.
“Great actually.” Ian piped in. “Probably the best comedy writing team around.”
“Then why is the show so bad, Papa?” Ronnie asked.
“Once and a while, when it comes to a series, the original idea is funny and easy to write for, but…” Ian thought a second to properly explain to his son, and maybe even to himself. “But the hard part is coming up with an idea and characters that make it easy to write consistently good episodes.”
“Writers, actors and producers have to come up with twenty two to twenty four really good episodes a year.” Jeff added. “And then do that every year as long as they keep making the show.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Ronnie sipped his milk shake. “So your idea was good, but it’s not…uhm…good enough for more than one or two really funny shows.”
“That’s right.”
“So come up with another idea you can get more good shows out of.” Ronnie sat back in his chair and smiled. “Problem solved.”
“Sort of.” Ian said. “The problem is we have a contract, that looked like a good idea at the time, but has everybody at a disadvantage because of some things that were put in that have kind of painted us in a corner.”
“Like a bill from Congress?” Ronnie asked. Whoever it was behind them, howled this time. Ronnie turned around to see who it was, but turned back.
“Pretty much.” Ian said. “It’s a good contract, but if we adhere to it we turn out a really bad show that loses the company lots of money, and damages the reputations of Mr. Torkelson and some other really good people.”
“Do think you so, too, Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie asked.
“Yes.”
Ronnie shrugged. “Tear up the contract and start over.”
“What?” Ian said.
“Hey, I’m just a kid wondering where his hamburger is, but a contract is an agreement between two people to make sure everything done a certain way right?”
“Well…yes.” Ian said.
“If both people think it was bad, can’t you both agree to tear it up or make another contract that says the first one sucks and we agree to do this instead?”
Lights went off in both Jeff and Ian’s heads. Ian looked at his son. “Kid, you want a job?”
“I got one.” Ronnie sucked on his straw, obviously at the bottom of his shake. “An’ I’m only getting ten bucks a week for it. Let me get a new agent an’ I’ll get back to ya.”
Once again, there was a cackle of laughter behind them. All three turned to see who it was.
Not finding the culprit, Ian said to Jeff. “Bottom line, do you want to do a series for HRT?”
“Absolutely.”
“Forget anything Simon Kent said.” Ian took a long spoon a stirred a metal cup with more milk shake in it and refilled Ronnie’s glass. “Are you insistent that the series be a spin off?”
“I think it probably could be done, but I’ll go with a better one if you insist it start in September.”
Ian nodded his head. “Here’s my problem, Jeff, and maybe my solution. Kent in all his well meaning glory has already leaked to the press, and done interviews that a new series starring you will be in our Fall line up.”
“Understood.”
“However, and my staff and I have been over every inch of cyberspace to make sure, not once did Kent say or allude to the fact that the show was a spin off, only a project starring Jeff Torkelson. I think delaying anything past that would look bad for both of us. The press will have a field day. They’ll automatically tag whatever show we come up with as a loser, effectively killing it before it has a chance.”
“Okay, back to square one.” Jeff frowned, refilling his own glass.
“What I can do, if all goes well, is buy us a little more time. Here’s the plot. No one knows it yet, but I’ve managed to get my own uber hot property, a three week limited series that I’ll do my best to get run Premiere Week.”
Jeff laughed. “That had better be some hot project.”
Ian smiled and wriggled his eyebrows. “Pretty much guaranteed. I’m still pinching myself.”
“Let me guess…” Jeff smirked. “You scooped the entire entertainment industry and got the rights to ‘Blood Kisses’.”
Ian’s face fell. Jeff shot up straight in his chair. “You got effing ‘Blood Kisses’?”
“Shh!” Ian leaned in. “Keep your voice down. How did you know? There are only about have a dozen people who know that.”
“I was joking.” Jeff said. “You got Amanda Jackson to give you rights? Holy crap, Ian Justyn, will you marry me?”
“Ew…” Ian said to another cackle behind them. “I got more than that, Jeff. I got all three books.”
“All three?”
Ian nodded. “Amanda is writing and directing, plus “Blood Kisses” is going to be my new daytime drama.”
“Holy sh…” Jeff looked at Ronnie, who was busy looking at the people seated behind them. “sshhh…ooot. Holy shoot, Ian, you’re right that will definitely buy us three more weeks.”
“Four if they approve the concert special.” Ian said. “Susan Andrews and Jimmy Sage are both recording new albums and will be launching a tour together in the fall. They’ve both agreed to kick the tour off with a live concert on HRT as part of an updated variety series format Wella and I have come up with.”
“You are either the luckiest SOB in the universe or the next Norman Lear.” Torkelson sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Forgive me, but holy shit, you’re just getting warmed up.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Jeff, but Lear had “All That Glitters” after a string of hits. Let’s make sure you aren’t my first tank.”
“Any ideas?”
“Let’s eat on it, and see what we come up with. The only thing I’ve got is, forgive me, act your age.”
“Huh?” Jeff sat up in his chair again.
“My feeling is when setting up the spin off character they went back to the original Robbie, instead of what he matured to. That took away all his warmth and charm. When you where twenty something it was adorable, now that you’re thirty something all I could think of was, give it up dude and get a real job.”
“I see your point.”
“And I’ve seen much of your other work. You are a wonderful character actor in a matinee idols body.”
“Thank you.”
“You can play something that’s a lot more of a stretch, much more than pretty and adorably dumb. People will watch just because it’s you, but your talent and hopefully some good writing will keep them coming back for more.”
“Papa?” Ronnie patted Ian shoulder. “Forgive me for interrupting, but that woman back there. She looks like Tessie.”
Ian smiled and looked in the direction. “I think you’re right, Ronnie.”
“Whose Tessie?”
Ronnie’s mouth dropped open. “You work in television and you don’t know who Tessie is?”
“Okay…” Jeff smiled. “Who is this woman that I should know?”
“Only the best TV star EVER!” Ronnie gushed. “Papa and I watch her show every day!”
Ian, who’d been busy looking at the woman, turned back to the conversation. “Tess Sinclair.”
Torkelson understood. “Oh, that Tessie.” He looked down at the boy. “You are right, again, Ronnie. She is the best TV star ever. Do you know that the reason I want to stay in television is because my dream, the one you’re Papa is going to make come true, is to one day be half as good as Tessie.”
“Only half?” Ronnie asked.
“Well, I’ll settle for half, but aiming for it all.” Jeff rubbed Ronnie’s head.
Ian found himself staring at the woman seated behind them. “You know, Ronnie, I think that is Tessie.”
“Are you sure?” Ronnie said.
Jeff found himself looking. “I think you’re right.”
“She can hear you know. She’s old, not deaf.” Tess’s voice boomed without turning around. “However she appreciates your kind words.”
Ian blushed. “Sorry, Ms Sinclair. We didn’t mean to disturb your meal.”
“That’s fine Mr. Justyn. Just an old lady now cheating on her diet, and surprised and pleased that someone still remembers her.” She said.
“Oh, Ms Sinclair!” Ronnie protested. “How could anyone forget you! You are the best!”
She turned around in her chair, half a chocolate shake in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “You are absolutely adorable little man. I think I’m your biggest fan.”
Ronnie popped up and started to race right over to her. Ian gently stopped him. “Son, Ms. Sinclair is eating. Remember those conversations we had about respect?”
Ronnie remembered. “Oh yeah.” He turned back to Tess. “I apologize. You just want to enjoy you’re hamburger. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh, sonny, it’s okay. I’m just sitting here, and I’m all alone.” She said. “I’m assuming we’re waiting for the cow to get a degree in political science before they kill it and serve us our hamburgers.
“Alone?” He said.
“Just me and my milkshake. Now come over here and give your biggest fan a big hug.” She said holding out her arms, allowing Ronnie to give her a big one.
“Thank you so much.” Ronnie kissed her cheek.
It was obvious the woman was touched. She turned to Ian. “You have a very special boy there, Mr. Justyn.”
“Thank you. You have made him very, very happy.” Ian touched her shoulder. “Me, too.”
“And he’s made an old lady very happy.” She patted his hand and turned back around.
“Ms. Sinclair…” Ian said. “Would you like to join us?”
She waved her hands. “Oh no…you are having a good time without me. Thank you though.”
“Oh please…” Ronnie asked. “Please come and eat with us Miss Tessie.”
“You don’t mind?” She asked Ian.
“We’d be honored.”
Tessie smiled. “I’d love to.” She stood up; Jeff popped up and held the chair beside him open as she gracefully joined them. “You gentlemen are so kind.”
“Ms. Sinclair, you’ve met my son, Ronnie.” Ian nodded to Jeff as they all took their seats. “And this is my friend, Jeff…”
“No need.” Tess reached out her hand. “Torkelson, you’ve done some fine work. I’ve been impressed since moment one.”
Torkelson gushed, while Ian caught the eyes of a waitress and motioned her over. “I’m flattered Ms. Sinclair.”
“Would you tell our waitress, I think her name’s Camilla, that Ms. Sinclair will be joining us?”
“Of course, Mr. Justyn.” She said politely. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Food would be nice.” Tess smiled.
“Of course.” She said and dashed off.
“I’m supposedly doing the whole healthy thing now.” She said. “Twice a month I have to give all that tofu and wheat grass a good coating of greasy red meat and chocolate just to stave off the conniption fits.”
Camilla appeared apologetically and put a second shake in front everyone and began to offer their burgers.
The four chatted like old friends catching up as they ate. Tessie insisted on picking up the tab and bought everyone the biggest gooiest sundaes on the menu. She prattled on and on about the good old days. The three men hung on every word.
“Of course, after fifteen years I was getting a little long in tooth so I packed it in and didn’t look back.” She said. “Marcus Bickle, he was running the network for David Turner back then, suggested a format change to keep me interested, but it was ridiculous. I’d have been playing the only virgin widow in the known universe. What an idiot…” she scooped vanilla, strawberry and chocolate goo into her mouth.
“But you’ve been approached since, haven’t you?’ Ian asked.
“Oh sure, but no one has any guts these days. Shoot, Ian, you seem to be the only one around these days.”
“Coming from you, I consider that a high compliment.”
“You stick out like a sour thumb, young man. I’d work for you in a heart beat.” She sniggered. “Wanna give an old has been a job?”
“Tessie, if I thought you were serious I’d throw you across this table and give you my own special sauce.” Ian confessed.
“Honey, no need to go that far. Besides, I was a dyke before it was cool.” Tessie’s eyes got big. “Oops, forgot about the boy.”
“That’s okay, Miss Tessie.” Ronnie wrestled to feed himself an overstuffed spoon. “We studied dikes in school. Did you come to America straight from Holland?”
Tess put her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap and looked Ronnie straight in the eye. “Yes I did, in a covered wagon.”
“That’s cool.”
Jeff sprayed chocolate sauce across the table laughing, covering Ian’s shirt. “Shoot…” He reached for a napkin to wipe it off, knocking over a half finished shake that landed on a spoon. The spoon somersaulted in the air and landed in Ian’s sundae, tossing a wad of ice cream and a cherry that plopped on Ian’s neck and ran down the inside of his shirt.
“Oooh baby!” Ian said reaching down in his shirt and grabbing a handful of goop from his chest. As he tossed it on the table, he heard a little pop and a metal tinkle as the wad hit the tabletop. “Now that’s cool!”
The table laughed and did it’s best to clean up the mess, Camilla now never far from the table, joining in to help.
“Too bad we didn’t have that on tape.” Tess said, helping the waitress gather used napkins. “We couldn’t recreate that if we tried.”
“You willing to give it a shot?” Ian eyed her.
“You offering me a deal, Sticky Man?” Tessie eyed him back.
“No.” Ian said, wiping his fingers. “I’m flat out offering you a series, a five year guarantee.”
“You produce, I don’t do a pilot, and I have script and cast approval.”
“I’ll exec, we don’t have time for a pilot, and blow the cast and script approval out your ass.” Ian drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “You get equal billing and I’ll match Jeff Torkelson’s contract.”
Tessie sat back in her chair. “Tough guy, huh? Torkelson’s got a fat deal, but I overhear the show’s a piece of crap.”
“You’re overhearing must be bad. We canned that a few minutes ago. I have another idea. Jeff are you in?”
“Me and the legend of comedy? Are you kidding me?” Jeff gushed.
“Put up or shut up.” Tess said.
“Say yes, give me give five minutes and be ready to start in two weeks.” Ian said.
Tessie looked at her watch. “Time’s cheap, Justyn. You got four minutes and 51 seconds.”
Ian flipped open his phone and hit a few buttons. “Ronnie, do you have your cell phone on you?”
“Yes, but I’m only allowed to use it for emergencies.” He reminded him.
“This is an emergency buddy.” Ian dipped his finger in his sundae and wrote a number on the table. “Call this number. Ask for Mr. Jenson Michael. When he’s on the line, hand me the phone.” He said and Ronnie reached in his backpack and pulled out a little red phone.
Ian’s call connected. “Mr. Turner? Ian, not a lot of time, I think I’ve solved the Jeff Torkelson problem…I’ve got a question, a legal one. If Jeff is in agreement can we tear up his contract with no hassle or arrange a codicle?…I’ve got a something better in mind…Same amount of money split into two contracts, but double the back end with percentage raises based on share points.” Ian looked at Jeff and Tess for approval.
Tess nodded and Jeff gave him a thumbs up.
“It was a dream contract.” Jeff whispered to her. “Half is still a hefty raise. I’d rather have a good show than lots of money.”
“Good for you boy.” Tess smiled. “We’re gonna get along just fine.”
“A new show, ready in time for fall…” Ian held up his finger and crossed them. “Co-starring Jeff and Tess Sinclair.” Ian had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“Think that’s a good sign?” Jeff asked Tess.
“Me and Dave go way back. My guess is it’s a good sign.” Tess nodded.
“Right, anything, just get it done…Thank you, Mr. Turner. I’ll be ready to announce on Wednesday.”
“Papa…?” Ronnie handed Ian the other phone.
“Jenson? Thank you for holding.” Ian said. “Can you wait just a second longer, I’m balancing plates. Thanks.”
Ian handed his phone to Ronnie. “Puppy, call Miss Wella and try and tell her what’s going on. See if she can meet us at home, Blake too, if she can get hold of him.”
“Got it.”
“Jeff, call your writers, tell them to meet us in my office at the crack of dawn.” Ian said as Jeff hauled out his phone and started dialing.
“What can I do?” Tess asked.
“Look pretty.”
“Type cast again.” She said, and sat back watching the proactive testosterone in the room.
“Okay, Jenson, I’m back.” Ian said into his phone. “What was the name of that series you gave me a couple of scripts for and an episode breakdown for two seasons?” Ian mouthed the word ‘Pen’. Tess produced one from her purse and handed Ian a stack of napkins. “The comedy…single camera…”
“Ooh, I like that.” Tess said to no one listening.
“Uh huh…” Jeff said to his phone. “First thing in the morning…a whole new concept…”
“Do you have an aversion to taking a role as creator and writing consultant if I’ve got the perfect cast and want to go ahead and green light it for fall…yes, for fall and full year commitment…Jenson…Jenson?” Ian looked into his cell phone and over to Tess. “I think he passed out.”
“Newbie?”
Ian nodded his head. “Already has a spot and a 22 ep commitment for another show.” Ian looked at Ronnie, who nodded and imitated Jeff’s thumbs up. “Tell Blake to bring his magic book…Jenson, are you there?”
“Already asked for it, Papa. She gonna see about some of the other staff, too.” Ronnie said. “We need soda, potato chips and ice cream.”
“You got it, Puppy.” Ian said only half listening.
“Be my agent, kid.” Tessie said, slurping on her shake.
“Thank God, I thought you’d died, and I’d have had to kill you.” Ian said back into Ronnie’s phone. “I’ve already got it cast, just have to get approval from them…Jeff Torkelson and Tess Sinclair…Jenson…Jenson…uhm…Jenson?”
Taking a cue from Ian, Jeff said into his phone. “If we approve there’s already two scripts and a two year breakdown…new guy, already working full time on a new show for fall…He’ll be billed as creator and writing consult…Me, too…”
“Is that guy on the phone still breathing?” Tess asked.
“Jenson…if you can hear me moan or slap the phone on a table or something…” Ian pulled the phone away from his ears again. He rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, buddy, I need you to keep breathing. When you calm down, call me back…”
Ronnie got Ian’s attention by waving his hands in the air. “Meet us at the house.”
“Jenson, when you can sit back up, meet us at the house…uh, bye.”
“Ronnie?” Ian looked at the boy.
“Miss Wella and Mr. Blake will meet us at the house about 9:30.”
“Good boy. Jeff?”
“All ago. We’ll all be in your office at the crack of dawn.”
Great. “Tess?”
“Still beautiful.” She turned to Ronnie. “Ya know kid, you’re almost at good at this as your Dad.”
“Two weeks ago I was gatherin’ eggs and playin’ kickball.” Ronnie slip his phone in his backpack and sighed. “I’m just a natural.”
Ian smiled. “Okay, here’s what I got, a great idea from a hot new writer I’ve got under contract. He calls it ‘The World On A String’, but you can change that if you don’t like it.”
“Who cares about the title?” Tess was all business. “What’s the premise?”
“Tess you’re a legendary actress, successful at every endevour, except her personal life.”
“I breathe that.” Tess said.
“Jeff, you are a thirty something widower with a handful of kids, lost his job, living out of a camper who desperate, decides to look up the mother he’s never met and ask for help.”
“This is a comedy?” Jeff asked.
“An hour long dramedy, but you can cut it to a half hour format if you decide. I’m just giving you the breakdown. How you throw it against the wall we’ll all decide once we get everything and everyone in one room.”
“I don’t get it.” Tess said. “How do the two even get together? They have nothing in common.”
“They have one thing.” Ian smiled. “The superstar is the widower’s mother. It’s a story about two people with nothing but blood in common trying to connect in Hollywood.”
Jeff smiled. “In the land of the superficial and the disconnected.”
“Bullseye. Unless the two of you want to come to the house for the working pajama party…” Ian said.
“I sleep in the raw.” Tess smirked.
“Somebody right that down.” Ian quipped. “I’ll fax the scripts and breakdown when I get home tonight. I remember the very first scene clearly. Tess Sinclair, lounging in all her spectacular glory. An assistant comes to her and says ‘Someone is here that insists on seeing you.’ Tess says send them in. It’s Jeff with the three kids. Jeff says “Hello, mother.” Tess turns to her assistant and asks “I have kids”. He looks through a book and says “October 22, 1976.” Tess says, “Did I win something for it?” And one of the kids says, “Yeah, but it wasn’t mother of the year…granny.” And then we roll opening credits.”
“I like it.” Tess thought.
“The first scene sets up a simple premise and defines all the characters.” Jeff smiled. “Gives a lot of great direction for character and situation to go in.”
“You’ll love this guys writing. I’m sure your team with be able to take and turn it into platinum. Believe me, it’s already gold.” Ian beamed. “We’ll bust the veneer of every everyone and everything in town. Show the pathos of two people trying to reconnect in a town where that is the only thing that’s not an art form.”
“You are amazing.” Jeff smiled.
“It’s what they pay me for.” Ian said.
“And Younger Justyn, what do you think of all this?” Tess asked him.
“I think you should do a show about Papa and Granny.” Ronnie smiled. “They’re funny.”
“Granny?” Jeff asked.
“Tippy Shores, she’s my neighbor.” Ian said.
Tess sat up. “Tippy Shores lets you call her Granny?”
“Yes’m.” Ronnie blinked.
“And she let you live?”
“Yes’m”.
Tess looked at Jeff and smiled. Jeff looked at Tess. “This is going to work. I’m in, Ian, I am so in!”
“Oh hell, kid.” Tess grinned. “You had me at wildflowers is just weeds.”
Ian sighed. “I need a cigarette.”
“Me, too.” She agreed. Suddenly the intensity disappeared and the four laughed and had a great time, contracts and storylines the last thing on their minds. The waitress brought the check and they all walked to the door to go their separate ways.
As Ronnie hugged Tess and Jeff, the waitress stopped Ian. “Mr. Justyn, this must be yours. It was lying in a pool of chocolate sauce.” She held up a sticky locket.
Ian smiled. “Oh yes, thank you. I must have yanked it off when I had ice cream tossed down my shirt.” He took it from her. “I hope we didn’t make too much of a mess.” He slipped her a hundred dollar bill.
“Not at all, Mr. Justyn.” She smiled. “Come again, real soon.” She sauntered off with a great tip in her bounce.
“That’s beautiful.” Tess said. “May I see it?”
“Sure.” He handed it to her. “It’s just an old locket. I think it belonged to my mother, but I’m not really sure where it came from.”
Tess cocked her head. “But it has your name on it.”
“No it doesn’t.” He said.
Tess held it up and Ian looked closely. He had seen the scratches before, but assumed they had been gouged there years before when his uncle had kicked it across the wood floor.
The shiny coating had an extra layer now, a sticky brown layer. The waitress must have wiped it with a wet rag. Clear as day; the scratches were now filled in with chocolate sauce.
Ronnie peered up and read. “I…A…N…that’s your name alright.”
Tippy let herself in Ian’s front door the next morning with her key. “Morning, Baby Doll! I got your paper!”
“Granny!” Ronnie jumped into her arms wearing flannel pants and a tee emblazoned with “Southern Fried”. He planted a big kiss on her.
“My, my we are full of energy this morning.” She put the handful down and look with shock at the living room; blankets, rousing bodies with bed head all over the place. “What’s going on, Sugar Plum? It looks like ‘Gone With the Wind’ threw up in here.”
“Oh, we been workin’.”
“Did the office flood or something?” She took a step into the room as she began to recognize faces. “Morning, Ella.”
Ella mumbled and smacked her mouth. “How much onion dip did I eat last night?” She looked at her shirt. “Please tell me it was onion dip.”
Sean stood beside her folding a blanket. “It was onion dip. You want to borrow a comb or should I ask Ian where his weed eater is?”
Ella put her hand to her hair and dashed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her as Wella stepped out. “Hi, Tippy. What brings you over?” She smiled.
“Colton had an early call this morning, and we noticed all the cars. I thought I’d come over and see if Ian needed a hand, at whatever you’re doing.”
“All nighter.” She said. “Have you seen Blake? He said he had some eye cream I could borrow.”
“No.”
“Oh, Granny.” Ronnie was hopping. “It was so much fun. We created a new TV program.”
“Have you been up all night?” She asked him.
“No, Papa made me go to bed at eleven. It was way past my bedtime, but they was lettin’ me help out. It was so much fun!”
“Sounds like it. Where is your Papa?”
“He said something about breakfast.” Wella said. “I assume he’s in the kitchen pouring cereal in lots of bowls.”
Tippy smiled. “Oh you are a stranger in this land.”
“Ronnie!” Ian bellowed from the kitchen. “Get this thing out of here or I’m serving it on toast!”
Ronnie stopped bouncing. “Gotta go.” He raced to the kitchen in a flash. Before they could blink, Ronnie appeared at the door with the cat in his hands. “Papa says breakfast is ready.”
Tippy smiled. “Just in time.” She took Wella by the arm. “Com’mon Wella. If we’re lucky he made fried green tomatoes.”
“Ian cooks?” She said walking to the kitchen door with her.
“He is definitely the marrying kind.”
Tippy held the door open for her, then propped it open while Wella took in the sight of a breakfast bar that made Shoney’s look like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.
Wella turned to Tippy. “Does Saxon Allen know this?” She pointed to the steaming food.
On cue, Saxon Allen came into the dining room with a stack of plates. “Morning.”
“Girl what the hell is wrong with you?” Wella said to her.
“Excuse me?”
“Go in that kitchen, throw that man on the floor, grab him by the hair and drag him to the nearest church.”
“Uhm…” Saxon didn’t know what to say.
“Girlfriend, just gimme a plate and get out of my way.” Wella snatched a plate and started piling on the scrambled eggs and bacon. “You white people…” She mumbled. “Hey! Where’s the fried green tomatoes? I was promised…”
Ian appeared with a plate in his hands. “Looking for these?”
Wella smiled. “Morning, Ian.” She speared two and kissed his cheek.
“Morning, Wella.” He bent over slightly to put the plate down on the sideboard. Wella smacked him on the crown of the head.
“Ow!” Ian straightened up. “What was that for?”
“Hoping to knock some sense into you.” She said looking back and forth between Ian and Saxon. “Never mind. I’m not wasting my breath, too much food to eat.” Wella pulled out a chair and sat down.
“She’s kinda cranky in the mornings.” Ian looked at Saxon.
“Honey.” Tippy grinned breaking open a buttermilk biscuit and arranging it on her plate and looked at Saxon. “Did you spend the night, too?”
“Couldn’t help it.” Saxon said. “Ronnie called at ten o’clock and said it was an emergency to come right over and bring potato chips. I got caught up in the festivities.”
Tippy only half looked where she ladled her gravy. “Where’d ya sleep?”
“In the floor.” Wella slapped half a piece of bacon on her plate. “Beside me.”
Tippy scowled and smacked Saxon on the crown of the head as she bent to pick up a biscuit.
“Ow!” Saxon touched her head. “What was that for?”
“I’m with Wella.” Tippy took a seat beside her. “You kids are just plain stupid.” Wella shoved a fork full of tomato in her mouth with one hand and held the other in the air. Tippy high fived it, as she scooted herself in.
“My cinnamon rolls!” Ian disappeared into the kitchen.
“Please tell me they are from a can.” Wella looked at Tippy.
“Not even the icing.”
Wella rolled her eyes. “Screw the blonde stick. That man’s gonna find himself snuggled up next to a chunky black woman with athlete’s foot.”
Jeff Torkelson came strolling in the dining room and took a deep breath. “Saxon, you made breakfast?”
Tippy and Wella sniggered, while Saxon rolled her eyes. “Jeff, I burn pans boiling water.”
“Who made…?”
Ian came out of the kitchen with a pan of pastries. “Anyone want a cinnamon roll? I just took ‘em out of the oven?”
Tippy leaned over and grabbed them, sitting them in front of her and Wella. Ian turned to Jeff. “There’s more in the oven. Coffee or tea?”
“Uh, Coffee…black.” Jeff held up his hand. “Who made the coffee?”
“I did.” Blake looked up from his corner of the table, mouth full of pancakes.
Jeff smiled and took the cup Ian offered. “No offense.”
“None taken. Don’t see how you can drink the stuff anyway.” Ian looked around the room. “Every body awake or at least faking it?”
“I haven’t seen Tessie or Jenson.” Daryn said going back for more biscuits and gravy. “Can we work at your house for breakfast every morning?”
“Tess is in the kitchen on the phone and Jenson’s in the bathroom barfing.” Ian said.
“Again.”
“Remind me to have a bucket handy when he wins the Emmy or at least make sure my seat’s not anywhere near him.” Someone said.
“Are you kidding?” Someone else piped in. “On nomination day he’ll have a coronary.”
Ian looked at his feet. “Ronnie where’s the rodent?”
He looked up from his eggs. “In the backyard playing with Ralphie.”
“Has Ralphie had breakfast?” Ian leaned over to look through the door into the yard.
“You feed the neighbor’s dog?” Saxon asked him.
“He’s hoping the dog will eat the cat.” Tippy said barely taking a breath.
Ian leaned back from the door after noticing the cat and the dog chasing a ball together. “Stupid animals.”
Ronnie grinned and picked up some toast. “They’re friends.” He looked around. “Hey, Papa, do we have any more apple jelly?”
“No. We’ll make some more next week.” Ian opened up a cabinet under the sideboard. “We got grape and blueberry.”
“Blueberry.”
“I’ll take the grape.” Sean said. “Unless you got apple butter hidden somewhere.”
Ian put three jars on the table.
“He makes his own jelly?” Wella looked at Tippy, who just sighed and nodded her head.
“Sad, isn’t it?”
“Tippy? Got a question for you.” Ian said.
“Shoot, Baby Doll.”
“Did you have my locket engraved when you sent it to the jewelers?”
“Why of course not. I wouldn’t even let him buff the scratches out. I just had him polish it and put on a new clasp.” She looked at an empty plate. “Are those other cinnamon rolls ready yet?”
“Saxon, would you mind getting those out of the oven for me?” Ian asked. “It’s the box underneath the round thingys that get hot.”
“Smart aleck. I know that.” Saxon uncrossed her arms. “Do I just push a button and they pop out or do I have to slide something open?”
“I’ll do it.” Daryn got up from the table and headed to the kitchen door.
“Icing’s in the fridge!” Ian yelled as the door closed behind her. He turned back to Tippy. “So you didn’t have my name engraved on it?”
“Of course not, Baby Doll.”
Ian took the locket out of his pocket and dangled it from the chain in front of her. “Then what’s this?”
Tippy put down her fork and wiped her hands while she chewed. “Chocolate.” She swallowed. “I think it’s chocolate.”
“Look at it.”
She reached out and took the locket in the palm of her hand. Ian gently let the chain gather in her palm as well. Tippy looked up at Ian. “I don’t know what to say, Baby Doll. I didn’t do that. I picked it up from the jeweler, inspected it, paid him then brought it straight to you and hung it around your neck.”
“How did it get there?” Ian asked.
“Baby Doll, I have no idea, about either the chocolate or your name.” She handed it back to him.
Blake reached out his hand. “Let me see it.”
Ian gave it to him. “That hasn’t left my neck since you brought it back. How did my name get on it?” He said to no one inparticular.
“Aw…” Blake had flipped open the locket. He and Ella were looking at the pictures. “Is that you?”
Ian blushed. “I assume so, and the other my mother.”
“Let me see.” Jeff said.
Blake handed it to Jeff. “Ian, the lettering is so light. Is it possible that the engraving was always there, and you didn’t realize it until you got kinky with the chocolate?”
“First of all I didn’t get kinky with the chocolate, but I guess that could be it. I knew there were some scratches on the back. I supposed we just couldn’t tell it was lettering until the episode with the sundaes last night.”
“You were getting kinky with chocolate.” Tippy piped up.
“No we weren’t.” Jeff cut right in. “I knocked over a shake at dinner and it steam rolled. Ian, do you have a magnifying glass?”
“Drawer behind you.” Ronnie said.
“When did you discover the name, Baby Doll? This morning in the shower?”
“Gross. I’m not putting chocolate sauce on my body!”
“How do you feel about whipped cream?” Wella smiled.
Ian looked at her and smirked. “Depends on whose eating it.”
“Will you marry me?” Wella pushed her plate aside.
“Wouldn’t you rather just use me, toss me aside and come back again when you need a real man?”
There were catcalls while Tippy and Wella high fived again.
Jeff looked up from studying the locket with a magnifying glass. “Have you ever tried caramel?”
Wella beamed. “Party at my house Saturday night.” She pointed at Jeff. “You is invited.”
“People.” Ronnie spoke up. “There are children in the room still trying to eat.”
“Sorry, Ronnie.” Wella bit her lip and put the napkin from her lap to her plate. “Ian I’ll help with the pots and pans.”
Ian looked at her like she was an idiot. “What barn were you raised in? You clean as you cook.”
Wella sat back down and looked at Saxon. “Girl, we got to chat.”
“Speaking of parties.” Ian announced. “The party will be here on Saturday.”
“Party?” Daryn came back in with a tray of iced rolls that quickly got snapped up. “What’d I miss?”
“We pulled an all-nighter that, I must say, was a big success. I talked with David Turner this morning, and he’s agreed to give everyone Friday off. Saturday morning, bring your families, friends, whoever. We’ll eat and relax in the backyard. Bring swim suits.”
“You’re gonna cook?” Sean looked up hopefully.
“I’m gonna cook, breakfast and lunch.” Ian waited for the cheers. “Now, I thought we would do a little work. Pearce Warner will be here, and I though we’d do a round table on ‘America Alive!’ just the way we did with ‘World On A String’, and I thought our friends and relatives, since they are our target audience, would be perfect sounding boards. I promise not too much work, mostly fun.”
“Speaking of work.” Blake stood up. “Where’s Lee?”
“Over here.” Lee looked up from his cinnamon roll.
“You’ve got the equipment ready?” Blake asked.
“Waiting for us when we arrive.” Lee munched.
“Did we find a baby?” Someone else asked.
Jeff motioned Ian over to him with his finger. “Ian, buddy, got another mystery for you.”
“Shoot.” Ian came over with Saxon at his side.
“This isn’t your baby picture.”
“How can you be sure?” Saxon asked.
“See for yourself.” Jeff handed her the locket and the magnifying glass. Jeff looked at Ian. “The baby’s naked.”
Ian blushed. “Well, yes, but its such a tiny shot. Probably cut out of a bigger picture.
“He’s right, Ian.” Saxon handed him the glass. “This is definitely not you.”
“You can barely tell.” Jeff said.
“Oh my God.” Ian said quietly.
“What is it, Baby Doll?” Tippy looked over his shoulder. She squinted her eyes and then Ian allowed her a closer look. “That’s a baby girl.”
Simon Kent was all smiles when he walked in the building that morning. In less than two hours would be the final fall schedule meeting. He knew Justyn and his “team” must be pulling their hair out.
He chuckled to himself as he got off the elevator and stepped out onto Ian’s floor. He caught himself humming, but stopped in time. He was positive the dippy redhead behind the desk didn’t hear him.
“Good morning, dear.” He said.
“Good morning, Mr. Kent.” She smiled. “May I help you?”
“I thought I’d stop by and see if Justyn needed my help.” Simon smiled, hopefully concerned. “Big meeting this morning. Poor boy, must be beside himself.”
The red head cocked her head. “Uh…no. He’s not even in the office yet.”
“Oh?”
“He was taking his son somewhere to go fishing.”
“Fishing?” Kent smirked.
“Deep sea fishing, I think. Would you like me to give him a message?”
“No.” Kent took a step back. “No thank you, but he’ll be in soon?”
“In time for the meeting.”
“Strange.” He thought silently. “Taking a page from my book. Sit back let the peons pull out their hair then blame them.” He ticked off, also in his head.
“Just tell him, I’ll see him in the conference room.” Kent turned to leave. “We’re expected big things from him.” He tossed over his shoulder.
He could hardly wait to get in the elevator, before he said “Big disaster.” As soon as the doors closed he laughed heartily out loud and did a little dance.
The doors came open. Lance Crockett caught him jigging. “I see you heard the rumor, too.” He said as the doors shut.
Kent regained his dignity. “Oh, yes. Poor Justyn. I’m afraid his days are numbered. They called an emergency meeting of the board this morning.”
“What are you talking about?” Lance asked.
“I’ll be surprised if they don’t have him clearing out his desk while we are putting the final touches on the fall schedule. Too bad about the Torkelson show.”
“Kent, what have you been adding to your Metamucil?”
“Oh come one, Lance. You can’t stand the smug little prick any more than I can.”
“True.”
“Your just jealous that I’m the one who put the final nail in his coffin.” Kent stuck his nose up in the air.
“I don’t know anything about Justyn. The board officially fired Jack Tolan this morning, or made him use his built up leave time in leau of the rest of his contract.”
Simon looked at Crockett. “Tolan?”
“Don’t know why, but apparently it was big.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “My floor.”
As Lance stepped off the car, he noticed Simon Kent leaned against the wall with visions of sugar plums dancing through his head. “Oh Kent. If the running back and forth to legal, and David Turner with a bigger grin on his face than yours is any indication, that smug little prick neither one of us can stand just side stepped what ever meager cow pile you plopped in his way.”
“I doubt that, Crockett. There’s no way he can salvage the Torkelson fiasco.”
“Kent, you’re the one who forced the contract to begin with. Are you too stupid to smell the crap on your own fingers?”
“Torkelson wanted to work specifically with Justyn. I just stepped aside and let Justyn and the pretty boy scramble to fix something that obviously wasn’t broken.” Kent smiled, sure of himself. “ See you at the meeting.”
“Won’t be there.” Crockett held the doors open another second.
“Won’t be there?” Kent was aghast. “The head of promotions not at the fall schedule meeting? That’s ridiculous. Why?”
“I spit on Superman’s cape in full view of Metropolis. Now I have to keep my distance in order to save my job. Let that be your lesson for the day Lex Luthor.” Lance released the doors and let them shut.
Simon Kent smiled. “Fool.” He said and sighed. “Hmmm…I think I’ll make some calls and start the bidding war for redecorating my new office.” When the elevator doors open he skipped out to his own floor.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Vignette #42: Daytime
Tolan finally took back over, moving on to the next order of business. Both Ian and David Turner remained silent, but the old man kept glancing over at the younger, seeming to note his reaction to anything and everything. Simon Kent remained an obnoxious power mouth, wresting away as much control as he could from Tolan.
“And finally, we will be announcing shortly the cancellation of “Sebastian Manor” and adding that hour to “America Alive!” Tolan added as almost an after thought.
This was what Ian had been waiting for. He turned to Wella, who dropped her eyes and nodded ever so slightly.
“Excuse me if I am speaking out of turn,” Ian asked timidly, “Is that a done deal?” He couldn’t help but see Kent, shooting him a look that could only be interpreted as deadly.
“Well, no, but I think we are pretty unanimously in agreement…” Tolan answered.
“I understand that, but are we sure that that this the best move?”
Kent rolled his eyes and plopped his pudgy hands on the table. “It makes perfect sense. “Sebastian Manor” is a huge disaster…”
“Despite a pedigree…” Ian interrupted to Kent’s annoyance.
“Soaps are losing ratings, and we expect to let “The Best of Everything” go when its contract is up, as well. Soaps are dead. Let the affiliates have the time.” Kent waved his hands in the air.
“Actually…” Ian stood, “If I may…?”
“Please, proceed…” Tolan took a seat and looked at David Turner, sitting there with intrigued pleasure on his face. Kent practically spit on Ian as he began handing out copies of the information his staff had compiled.
“If you will take a look at this data, we may want to reconsider before any formal announcements are made. While “America Alive!” is our highest rated daytime show, it is also by far our most expensive and adding the 9 am hour will actually triple the cost.”
Ian referred to his own notes. “That extension would be competing with Regis, Ellen and a host of others that will clobber us in ratings. According to this research most of our affiliates wouldn’t even pick up the added hour, as they have established hits guaranteeing them market shares up to five points higher than our peak at 7 am.”
“So essentially, you believe that we’d just be losing another hour to the affiliates?” Logan queried.
“Absolutely, and it would be the most expensive loss on our schedule, day or prime.” Ian added.
“Well…” Kent snorted, “That will be saving the network a lot of money in the long run and many headaches sooner than later.”
“Actually, if you will pick up the copies behind the previous data, you will see that more than sixty percent of the money earned from daytime comes from our two soap operas, plus the fact that in foreign markets they regenerate the same amount of money or more, while “America Alive” has no foreign market value whatsoever.”
“We are all aware of that fact,” Tolan remarked, “But as Simon pointed out, soaps are a dying breed, it makes more sense to just get out and take the hit, rather than continue to see our market shares dry up.”
“Jack, that seems true on the surface, but you have to look a little outside the box…” Ian saw Wella pull on her ear, meaning he was beginning to step over the line. “I’m sorry let me rephrase that…”
Kent pounded his fist on the table, “I don’t think I care to be told what I already know, by a boy whose only job here seems to be to get attention by wiggling his fanny in public!”
“Excuse me?” Ian’s buttons had been pushed and Wella could have gouged her eyes out and she still would not have been able to stop her boss now. She just sat back and hoped he didn’t hang himself.
“If you were paying a little more attention to what was going on in the industry instead of ogling my tight little ass maybe HRT wouldn’t be in the decline it’s in.”
There were a couple of nervous giggles, and Kent stood up. “I don’t have to listen to this!”
“Sit down!" Ian glared at the man. "I respected you enough to let you insult me from the moment I walked in and by God you wee little man, you will sit down, shut up and listen to what I have to say!”
Kent turned to see if Tolan, or any one, would back him up. He slowly sat down in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “By all means, please proceed.”
“Throughout the world, and even in US prime time, soap operas are the highest rated and most profitable programming. You can quibble about those dollars, but we seem to be forgetting that daytime drama is great seeding ground for the network and the entertainment industry as a whole. You would be hard pressed to name one major actor, writer, producer or director working today that didn’t spend some time there.”
Ian allowed a moment for the executives to process those statements. David Turner nodded his head, and Ian took that as a sign to proceed. “As a whole, we simply haven’t kept up with the public. Daytime is still playing to a 1960’s audience that no longer exists. The story telling is slow and shoddy. You can tune into almost any soap once a week and still not miss many details. When it comes to “Sebastian Manor” you can tune in once a month”
Tolan turned to the older man on his right, “Is that guy still tied up naked in the chair?”
Ian answered for him, “Yes, as he has been for thirteen weeks now. What we need to do is reinvent or at minimum modernize our daytime dramas. Find the fine line in the speed of storytelling that makes you not want to miss the episode, but not tune out completely if you do because you won’t be able to catch up. With that will come the ratings, the profits and the industry will start looking back at us to set the standard. It’s a small step, but it’s a step.”
Kent smiled, “Very impressive, Mr. Justyn, but you have left out one glaring detail.”
“Which would be?”
“A daytime soap opera has not been launched successfully since the mid-sixties.” Kent smiled and patted his chubby little hands together.
“Wrong again. In the late seventies, CBS launched “The Bold and the Beautiful”, not initially successful, but they stood behind it and in three years, rather than the average five, it became the number two daytime program, as has been for the last ten years, right behind “The Young and the Restless”, which was launched in 1972, the last immediate hit launched in daytime drama.”
“Can we afford to take that time, though?” The older gentleman asked.
“I don’t think we can afford not to try, and we can ease the cost of doing so by launching it with our Fall line up. We push it with our Prime Time programming giving it the aura of glamour and excitement, something not usually associated with soaps. All we would have to do is be able to back up that aura.”
Ian closed his folder, “I apologize, Mr. Kent, for my outburst. You will find me very passionate about what I believe in and ready to fight for it until the last drop of blood is spilled, much like yourself.”
Kent nodded his head, and least feigning acceptance of Ian’s apology.
“Well, I think we have a lot to think about, but I think we all are probably thinking the same thing. There’s not much time to develop and launch a new daytime drama, so we’d better get cracking.” Tolan said to the table.
Kent smiled, “Oh Jack, why don’t we just put it in the obviously capable hands of Mr. Justyn? We’ll give him a head start on profitability by handing all of daytime to him; just fold it into his team, as he says.”
There were snickers around the table. David Turner, sat forward. “Kent, I think that’s a great idea.” He turned to a stunned Ian and mumbled, “Probably the only really good one he’s had all day.” He looked directly at Ian. “Son, do you think you can handle that?”
“I…uh…”
Turner leaned back in his seat. “I think you can.”
Jack Tolan looked at Ian. “Son, that baby is all yours now.”
“Uh...thank you, sir.” Wella almost had to pick him up off the floor, but first she had to pick up herself.
Ian looked over at Kent, whom to his surprise was gloating. “Yes, young Mr. Justyn. I think we all look forward to seeing just what you do with something you obviously feel so passionate about.”
Neither remembered much of the rest of the meeting. They adjourned for the day just in time for a late lunch.
Ian ran straight to the can and vomited. It went well, but he didn’t expect to just be handed the daytime division like that. It was unheard of. He looked at the toilet and mumbled to himself. “Well now is time to shit or get off the pot.”
“And finally, we will be announcing shortly the cancellation of “Sebastian Manor” and adding that hour to “America Alive!” Tolan added as almost an after thought.
This was what Ian had been waiting for. He turned to Wella, who dropped her eyes and nodded ever so slightly.
“Excuse me if I am speaking out of turn,” Ian asked timidly, “Is that a done deal?” He couldn’t help but see Kent, shooting him a look that could only be interpreted as deadly.
“Well, no, but I think we are pretty unanimously in agreement…” Tolan answered.
“I understand that, but are we sure that that this the best move?”
Kent rolled his eyes and plopped his pudgy hands on the table. “It makes perfect sense. “Sebastian Manor” is a huge disaster…”
“Despite a pedigree…” Ian interrupted to Kent’s annoyance.
“Soaps are losing ratings, and we expect to let “The Best of Everything” go when its contract is up, as well. Soaps are dead. Let the affiliates have the time.” Kent waved his hands in the air.
“Actually…” Ian stood, “If I may…?”
“Please, proceed…” Tolan took a seat and looked at David Turner, sitting there with intrigued pleasure on his face. Kent practically spit on Ian as he began handing out copies of the information his staff had compiled.
“If you will take a look at this data, we may want to reconsider before any formal announcements are made. While “America Alive!” is our highest rated daytime show, it is also by far our most expensive and adding the 9 am hour will actually triple the cost.”
Ian referred to his own notes. “That extension would be competing with Regis, Ellen and a host of others that will clobber us in ratings. According to this research most of our affiliates wouldn’t even pick up the added hour, as they have established hits guaranteeing them market shares up to five points higher than our peak at 7 am.”
“So essentially, you believe that we’d just be losing another hour to the affiliates?” Logan queried.
“Absolutely, and it would be the most expensive loss on our schedule, day or prime.” Ian added.
“Well…” Kent snorted, “That will be saving the network a lot of money in the long run and many headaches sooner than later.”
“Actually, if you will pick up the copies behind the previous data, you will see that more than sixty percent of the money earned from daytime comes from our two soap operas, plus the fact that in foreign markets they regenerate the same amount of money or more, while “America Alive” has no foreign market value whatsoever.”
“We are all aware of that fact,” Tolan remarked, “But as Simon pointed out, soaps are a dying breed, it makes more sense to just get out and take the hit, rather than continue to see our market shares dry up.”
“Jack, that seems true on the surface, but you have to look a little outside the box…” Ian saw Wella pull on her ear, meaning he was beginning to step over the line. “I’m sorry let me rephrase that…”
Kent pounded his fist on the table, “I don’t think I care to be told what I already know, by a boy whose only job here seems to be to get attention by wiggling his fanny in public!”
“Excuse me?” Ian’s buttons had been pushed and Wella could have gouged her eyes out and she still would not have been able to stop her boss now. She just sat back and hoped he didn’t hang himself.
“If you were paying a little more attention to what was going on in the industry instead of ogling my tight little ass maybe HRT wouldn’t be in the decline it’s in.”
There were a couple of nervous giggles, and Kent stood up. “I don’t have to listen to this!”
“Sit down!" Ian glared at the man. "I respected you enough to let you insult me from the moment I walked in and by God you wee little man, you will sit down, shut up and listen to what I have to say!”
Kent turned to see if Tolan, or any one, would back him up. He slowly sat down in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “By all means, please proceed.”
“Throughout the world, and even in US prime time, soap operas are the highest rated and most profitable programming. You can quibble about those dollars, but we seem to be forgetting that daytime drama is great seeding ground for the network and the entertainment industry as a whole. You would be hard pressed to name one major actor, writer, producer or director working today that didn’t spend some time there.”
Ian allowed a moment for the executives to process those statements. David Turner nodded his head, and Ian took that as a sign to proceed. “As a whole, we simply haven’t kept up with the public. Daytime is still playing to a 1960’s audience that no longer exists. The story telling is slow and shoddy. You can tune into almost any soap once a week and still not miss many details. When it comes to “Sebastian Manor” you can tune in once a month”
Tolan turned to the older man on his right, “Is that guy still tied up naked in the chair?”
Ian answered for him, “Yes, as he has been for thirteen weeks now. What we need to do is reinvent or at minimum modernize our daytime dramas. Find the fine line in the speed of storytelling that makes you not want to miss the episode, but not tune out completely if you do because you won’t be able to catch up. With that will come the ratings, the profits and the industry will start looking back at us to set the standard. It’s a small step, but it’s a step.”
Kent smiled, “Very impressive, Mr. Justyn, but you have left out one glaring detail.”
“Which would be?”
“A daytime soap opera has not been launched successfully since the mid-sixties.” Kent smiled and patted his chubby little hands together.
“Wrong again. In the late seventies, CBS launched “The Bold and the Beautiful”, not initially successful, but they stood behind it and in three years, rather than the average five, it became the number two daytime program, as has been for the last ten years, right behind “The Young and the Restless”, which was launched in 1972, the last immediate hit launched in daytime drama.”
“Can we afford to take that time, though?” The older gentleman asked.
“I don’t think we can afford not to try, and we can ease the cost of doing so by launching it with our Fall line up. We push it with our Prime Time programming giving it the aura of glamour and excitement, something not usually associated with soaps. All we would have to do is be able to back up that aura.”
Ian closed his folder, “I apologize, Mr. Kent, for my outburst. You will find me very passionate about what I believe in and ready to fight for it until the last drop of blood is spilled, much like yourself.”
Kent nodded his head, and least feigning acceptance of Ian’s apology.
“Well, I think we have a lot to think about, but I think we all are probably thinking the same thing. There’s not much time to develop and launch a new daytime drama, so we’d better get cracking.” Tolan said to the table.
Kent smiled, “Oh Jack, why don’t we just put it in the obviously capable hands of Mr. Justyn? We’ll give him a head start on profitability by handing all of daytime to him; just fold it into his team, as he says.”
There were snickers around the table. David Turner, sat forward. “Kent, I think that’s a great idea.” He turned to a stunned Ian and mumbled, “Probably the only really good one he’s had all day.” He looked directly at Ian. “Son, do you think you can handle that?”
“I…uh…”
Turner leaned back in his seat. “I think you can.”
Jack Tolan looked at Ian. “Son, that baby is all yours now.”
“Uh...thank you, sir.” Wella almost had to pick him up off the floor, but first she had to pick up herself.
Ian looked over at Kent, whom to his surprise was gloating. “Yes, young Mr. Justyn. I think we all look forward to seeing just what you do with something you obviously feel so passionate about.”
Neither remembered much of the rest of the meeting. They adjourned for the day just in time for a late lunch.
Ian ran straight to the can and vomited. It went well, but he didn’t expect to just be handed the daytime division like that. It was unheard of. He looked at the toilet and mumbled to himself. “Well now is time to shit or get off the pot.”
Monday, November 1, 2010
Vignette #33: F-Bombs
As Ian recalled a few good memories of the past he noticed he was within seeing distance of the guard shack at the entrance to the lot. It was always a kick pulling up and having security peer in the car and say, “Have a good day, Mr. Justyn.” He felt like he was driving into some 40’s movie. Today would be no different, or would it?
There seemed to be a large crowd gathered outside the gate with guards trying to keep the way clear. As he got closer he saw the group was comprised of cameramen and reporters with readied microphones. “What happened here?” He said out loud to no one.
He barely had time to notice that one of the guards had recognized his car and was trying very discreetly to motion him through. Having that moment fly right over his head, Ian slowed down and rolled down his window. “Good morning, everything okay?”
Ian’s car was instantly surrounded by the reporters. Lights flared and microphones were shoved into his car window. Ian was taken totally by surprise.
“Is it true that you are going to be named the new head of HRT studios, Mr. Justyn?”, “Was this weekend all a publicity stunt to improve the network ratings?”, “Will you verify that you and Saxon Allen got married over the weekend?” The questions came rapid fire from every direction, all at once.
All Ian could say was, “What the fuck is going on?” Instinctively he knew when on tape to throw in f-bomb and ruin the shot. It would sometimes buy enough time to get your bearings. The guards were Keystone copping in an attempt to get Ian through the gate to the safety of the lot, but the rowdy ménage was having no part of it, determined to be the first to get a statement for God knows what.
Ian decided the best way to get through this alive was to nip it in the bud, in a politically correct rhetoric way. He put his car in park, shoved his car door open with all his might, finally shouting above the din, “For a group of people determined to get a statement from me, you don’t seem to want to let me out of my car to make one. Get back and I’ll come out and answer all questions!”
The eager hounds quickly fought amongst themselves until a path was cleared to allow Ian to get out of his car. As soon as he stood, the questions began to fire again. Ian looked to one of the guards, “Would you mind pulling this out of the way?”
One of the younger guards looked like Ian had just run him over with the damn car. “Me, Mr. Just…er…Ian?”
Ian nodded his head. “Please.”
The young man hopped in the car, put it in gear and pulled it through the gate. The reporters kept hollering absurd questions and statements, paying absolutely no attention to the looks that were being exchanged between Ian and the guards.
One of the bigger guards stepped between Ian and the mob, raising his hands and shouting, “Alright you people, calm down, calm down.” He finally screamed at the top of his lungs, “SHUT UP!”
And the crowd fell silent. The guard continued. “If you will all compose yourself, Mr. Justyn has consented to give you a statement. We’ll give you two minutes to get yourselves set up for the shot.”
The guard looked at Ian and Ian at the guard. The reporters hurriedly positioned themselves trying to get the perfect set up in less than ninety seconds. They were professionals. They could do it.
Ian cleared his throat and took a step toward the reporters. He started to say something but the guard held up his hand. “Sir, let’s just have to do this one time. I’ll give a count. Ready?”
Ian nodded his head, the reporters fumbled and the guard counted down, “Five…four…three…” and then he mouthed and held up fingers signaling two…one…
On the one, Ian looked at the guard, nodded his head and started his statement. “Thank you for being here. Obviously there is only one thing I can say about the events that have brought you all here today…"
Ian looked down and shuffled his feet, hands in pockets, double checking the target in the corner of his eye. He lifted his head. Staring straight into the cameras and lights with a smile on his face said firmly, “I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about” and darted for a small opening one guard standing ready had made with the iron gate.
Before the reporters knew what hit them, Ian was through to safety and the reporters were shoving microphones and pole lights through the bars like those hungry people in cages in “Planet of the Apes”.
Ian sauntered on his way, stopping long enough to bow graciously to the guards who were all high fiving each other. Before he got back into his Chevy, he turned to the young guard who held the door for him. “Tell everyone thanks and that lunch is on me.”
“Oh thank you, sir.” The young man said as he slammed Ian’s car door shut for him. “You have a great day Mr. Ian, sir!” And Ian drove off.
There seemed to be a large crowd gathered outside the gate with guards trying to keep the way clear. As he got closer he saw the group was comprised of cameramen and reporters with readied microphones. “What happened here?” He said out loud to no one.
He barely had time to notice that one of the guards had recognized his car and was trying very discreetly to motion him through. Having that moment fly right over his head, Ian slowed down and rolled down his window. “Good morning, everything okay?”
Ian’s car was instantly surrounded by the reporters. Lights flared and microphones were shoved into his car window. Ian was taken totally by surprise.
“Is it true that you are going to be named the new head of HRT studios, Mr. Justyn?”, “Was this weekend all a publicity stunt to improve the network ratings?”, “Will you verify that you and Saxon Allen got married over the weekend?” The questions came rapid fire from every direction, all at once.
All Ian could say was, “What the fuck is going on?” Instinctively he knew when on tape to throw in f-bomb and ruin the shot. It would sometimes buy enough time to get your bearings. The guards were Keystone copping in an attempt to get Ian through the gate to the safety of the lot, but the rowdy ménage was having no part of it, determined to be the first to get a statement for God knows what.
Ian decided the best way to get through this alive was to nip it in the bud, in a politically correct rhetoric way. He put his car in park, shoved his car door open with all his might, finally shouting above the din, “For a group of people determined to get a statement from me, you don’t seem to want to let me out of my car to make one. Get back and I’ll come out and answer all questions!”
The eager hounds quickly fought amongst themselves until a path was cleared to allow Ian to get out of his car. As soon as he stood, the questions began to fire again. Ian looked to one of the guards, “Would you mind pulling this out of the way?”
One of the younger guards looked like Ian had just run him over with the damn car. “Me, Mr. Just…er…Ian?”
Ian nodded his head. “Please.”
The young man hopped in the car, put it in gear and pulled it through the gate. The reporters kept hollering absurd questions and statements, paying absolutely no attention to the looks that were being exchanged between Ian and the guards.
One of the bigger guards stepped between Ian and the mob, raising his hands and shouting, “Alright you people, calm down, calm down.” He finally screamed at the top of his lungs, “SHUT UP!”
And the crowd fell silent. The guard continued. “If you will all compose yourself, Mr. Justyn has consented to give you a statement. We’ll give you two minutes to get yourselves set up for the shot.”
The guard looked at Ian and Ian at the guard. The reporters hurriedly positioned themselves trying to get the perfect set up in less than ninety seconds. They were professionals. They could do it.
Ian cleared his throat and took a step toward the reporters. He started to say something but the guard held up his hand. “Sir, let’s just have to do this one time. I’ll give a count. Ready?”
Ian nodded his head, the reporters fumbled and the guard counted down, “Five…four…three…” and then he mouthed and held up fingers signaling two…one…
On the one, Ian looked at the guard, nodded his head and started his statement. “Thank you for being here. Obviously there is only one thing I can say about the events that have brought you all here today…"
Ian looked down and shuffled his feet, hands in pockets, double checking the target in the corner of his eye. He lifted his head. Staring straight into the cameras and lights with a smile on his face said firmly, “I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about” and darted for a small opening one guard standing ready had made with the iron gate.
Before the reporters knew what hit them, Ian was through to safety and the reporters were shoving microphones and pole lights through the bars like those hungry people in cages in “Planet of the Apes”.
Ian sauntered on his way, stopping long enough to bow graciously to the guards who were all high fiving each other. Before he got back into his Chevy, he turned to the young guard who held the door for him. “Tell everyone thanks and that lunch is on me.”
“Oh thank you, sir.” The young man said as he slammed Ian’s car door shut for him. “You have a great day Mr. Ian, sir!” And Ian drove off.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Chapter Twelve: Late
It was so much later than usual, then again he didn’t usually party hop all night long either. The team wasn’t expecting him until after lunch. Wella had already left a message with the progress made at the morning power rally.
He had slept in. It was only nine, but he was already bored and gathered his gear heading for the garage. He tossed the backpack in the passenger bucket, and hit the genie button as he slipped into the car.
The car was getting older, perhaps he should think about getting a new one, but it turned right over. Out of habit, and the possibility that Ralphie had escaped and was waiting for him in the driveway, Ian stretched his right arm across and looked over it through the back window.
He began to back out, and got almost out of the garage, but slammed on the brakes. There was another car parked in his drive way. He looked at he beat up Camero, blocking his way. He put his beat up Chevy in park.
The Camero door opened and out stepped a young man. Ian didn’t recognize him. The man in simple jeans, tee and jacket walked right up to Ian’s window. “Excuse me…Mr. Justyn?”
Ian kept the window half rolled up, foot on the brake, but ready to slam the accelerator at a moment’s notice. “Yes.”
“I apologize, sir. My name is Max Mitchell, I’m a friend…was a friend of Bambi Helton. Could we…I mean, do you have a minute?” He began to stammer.
He knew he probably shouldn’t. “Well, I’m on my way to work…”
“I’ll only take a moment of your time sir.” The man, Max, seemed to be genuinely as embarrassed to be here, as Ian was talking with a stranger in his driveway.
“I know I should have…” the guy stood up, and shook his head. “Never mind, this is stupid.” He seemed to say to himself. Be bent over to get to Ian’s eye level. “Forgive me for intruding, and stalking you down. It won’t happen again.”
Max straightened up, shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and headed back to his car. Ian let him get almost there. There was something about his demeanor. He turned off the Chevy, and got open the door, saying, “Wait” as he started to step out.
The man stopped and turned as Ian stood and said, “You’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble. Is there something I can do for you? I’m sorry I forgot your name.”
The young man took a tentative step. “Max. Max Mitchell.”
Ian put out his hand. Max looked at it and finally took it, shaking hands with him. “What may I help you with, Max?”
Max looked to be struggling with his words. “Mr. Justyn, did you by any chance give Bambi some money, well a lot of money…cash?”
Ian was taken aback. “No.”
He nodded his head. “Thank you, Mr. Justyn.” He turned to get back into his car.
“Mr. Mitchell?” Ian stopped him. “She did come to my office. We talked about a series idea she had, but that was all.”
“Yes. I know. I was just…”
“Mr. Mitchell…Max, I’m sorry. I don’t know what your relationship with her was but…”
“Co-workers, we were co-workers or used to be. We’re both trying to get out of the business. She was having a rougher time, but we talked every day, sort of our own get out of porn program.”
“Oh…” Ian said. “So she was…”
“A porn star?” Max shook his head. “Surely you couldn’t take one look at her and not know…”
“No, I knew what she did. Even if I didn’t she was right up front.” Ian pointed towards the house. “Do you want to come inside and talk a minute? About Bambi? I kind of need to talk about it, maybe it would…I don’t know…help us both.”
Ian tried not to let the man know that he could see him trembling, not from fear or anger, but from pain. Ian knew the signs. It was something he could recognize immediately. “I make a terrible cup of coffee, but if you think you can survive it.”
Max smiled. “Yeah. That would be good.”
The young man silently allowed Ian to lead the way into his kitchen. He sat down at the table so lost, Ian felt. Ian struggled to remember what he had done with that coffee Tippy had bought.
“Actually sir…” Ian turned to find the man looking at him. “Tea would be nice, I’d really like a cup of tea.”
“Now that, I can do.” Ian noticed the man, elbows on his knees looking at the floor, the ceiling, anything as long as he didn’t have to focus his eyes. Ian heated water in the microwave and put a steaming mug in front of him.
Ian sat down across from him and handed Max a little basket of teas. “Sugar?”
The man smiled as Ian whirled the little caddy in the middle of the table so he could easily reach the sugar. “You’re not one of those milk with tea people are you?” Ian asked.
“No, sir.” Max smiled.
“First of all, stop the sir stuff. My name is Ian. I’d appreciate it if you called me that.” He reached for his own tea bag as he watched Max liberally spooning sugar in his mug.
Mac looked up at Ian watching him, and put the spoon back in the bowl.
“Just three?” Ian smiled. “I’m a four myself.”
“Trying to cut down.” Max took a sip of his tea. “Bambi said you didn’t like sir or mister.”
“I’m a back woods boy, I have a little trouble dealing with all the respect that I was taught are attached to those words.” Ian took a sip from his mug. “Max, you asked me if I gave Bambi some cash. Did she suddenly have lots of money?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say she had it or that she’d be getting it?”
“She showed it to me. I don’t know how much it was, but there was a lot. In an envelope, like they leave on the night stand while you get dressed, only not nearly that much.” He took a sip. “Bambi had done well, but it had been a while since she had that much money. She’d sold her house, and was living in a little apartment, but if she didn’t get a break soon…”
“The two of you were close.”
He nodded. “She kind of took me in, I was in a bad way and she helped me get clean, and then we decided to help each other get clean.”
“So she was involved with drugs.”
Max looked straight in his eyes. “Not that I was aware of. Ian, she bitched at me, and begged me to get sober. Holed up with me and helped me get through it, when I decided to.”
“But you said you were helping each other get clean?”
“The porn, that’s the worst drug to kick.” Max looked at the table and rolled the mug around between his hands. “Worst drug there is.”
“You said it was easier for you.” Ian encouraged.
“Bambi had been around a long time, but time isn’t kind when your paycheck depends on being young and beautiful. She started with a little tuck here, and little lift there…I bet she spent more money on her face and body than you did on this house.”
“There are a lot of women and men…”
“It wasn’t a sign of vanity. With Bambi, it was a sign of desperation…the drug, the porn drug. It makes you do things you’d never believe you’d do. What’s worse is you don’t even realize that you’re doing them until it’s too late.”
Ian nodded his head. “I feel like I contributed to this…to her death.”
“No. No, you should of seen her the few days before…you gave her something she hadn’t had in a long time.”
“What was that, a kinder, gentler rejection?”
“Hope, you gave her hope.”
“Then why? What she did doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Me either. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I thought maybe you saw things differently. I guess we both were wrong.”
“When did you see her last?”
“I caught up with her not long after she left your office and I was with her until the night before they found her. She didn’t let me out of her sight for almost 48 hours. Then I take off and next thing I know, the police are calling me and telling me...”
“So when left her you thought she was fine?” Max nodded his head, holding his head down so Ian couldn’t see his bottom lip quivering.
“Max, you can’t blame yourself. You did what you could. When you are used to that much pain, you get real good at covering it up so no one else knows. I know that for a fact.”
Max looked at him, and despite how hard he was trying the young man had no choice to let the tears start to fall. “That’s just it. She wasn’t having a crisis. I was.”
“You?”
He nodded his head. “You a church goer?”
Ian was ashamed to admit. “No, I had an Aunt who used to take me when I was little, but now…”
Max nodded. “I was raised in a good home. We cleaned up and marched in the doors every time the church was open. I was taught that once your name’s written down in the Lamb’s Book of Life, no one can erase it.”
“Yes…” Ian trailed off.
“Well, my name and Bambi’s name are written down in the Devil’s Book of Hell and it for sure never comes off, no matter how hard you try. You can get so far away from it that you almost forget it’s there, but it’s like a big old scar on your face that never heals.”
“Max, what happened?”
Max grimaced. “I got fired from a job, a real job. Not much of one, but it was a start, making sandwiches for a little café, a nice clean place. Then some guy came in, told the sweet little owner he’d seen me…well, do I have to explain?”
Ian shook his head, and Max nodded his in appreciation, “So she pulled me aside, told me she was sorry, but she had to let me go. It was a little family place, and it was hard enough to keep the place open without worrying that…I understood. I really did, but man…” he slammed his fist down on his thigh.
“Maybe you just need to leave L.A., go someplace where it’s harder for people to see the that kind of stuff.”
“If there were only such a place.”
“The little town I’m from, you could go there Max. You can’t even buy that stuff without driving a long distance.”
“Do they have internet?”
“Well yes.”
“Then all they have to do is type Rick Buttler into a browser and they’ll find a nice unhealthy array of websites they where can see me in all my sordid glory. Internet makes it all so easy. That’s how I got started, at sixteen. Did you know on most adult websites you can click on an icon and put in an application to model, as they call it?”
“No. No I didn’t.”
“You can, and it works. It’s easy. You start just doing a few solos, and then they offer you more money to do the same thing with another model. They assure you that you don’t have to touch them, just do what you’ve done before, with the understanding there’s money if you do more. When you’re sixteen, pretending to be eighteen and they offer you five hundred dollars to give a guy a helping hand it’s hard to turn down.”
“I didn’t even realize…”
“You don’t. Even when you’re doing it. You find yourself there, naked, doing things your mama told you would make you rot in hell, but you’re there and thinking, this would be an easy way to pay for college, and no one will ever know.”
Max sighed. “Then it’s more money to get on your knees, and more to lay on your back and before you know it…it’s a drug Ian. And when you kick it, there’s no twelve step program, and no matter how hard you try…it doesn’t matter if your minding your own business, finally feeling good about yourself, the moment you finally see the sun, some dude walks up and oh so discreetly whispers in your ear, “Man you can really suck cock.”
“I’m sorry, Max. What can I do?”
“Nothing. Not a thing. Now that I hear myself, I realize that it was all probably my fault.”
“How could what Bambi did be your fault?”
“She was hiding her own crisis, to help me with mine.”
“Maybe.” Ian looked at his empty cup. “More tea?”
“No. I should go. Thank you Ian. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He stood and walked his cup over to the sink and placed it in.
“Let me walk out with you.” Ian put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and walked with him to the car. He shook his hand and held the door open as he got in his old jalopy.
“Max…you are welcome here anytime.” He handed Max his cell phone number and a direct line to his office. “Anytime you need to talk, if you need any kind of help at all. I’ll do whatever I can.”
He turned the little card over and over. “Why would you do that…for me?”
“You were a friend of Bambi, and I feel like I owe her.” Ian bent down to be able to look in his face this time. “And I know what it’s like to feel no matter what you do, no one will ever let you be anything more than what they think you are, and what they think isn’t good.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it…anything.”
Max nodded his head and cranked the car several times before it started up. It finally turned over and Max nodded goodbye.
Ian put his hands on the open window. “Wait…Max? The money, did she tell you where the money came from?”
“No. She just told me she was going to use it to change back.”
“Change back?”
“Yeah, we looked up a doctor in the phone book and she was gonna have it all taken out, you know the super boobs and the cheeks and stuff.”
“She was going to have it all reversed?”
“As much as the money would allow. She said she wasn’t proud of how she got it, but she was gonna take it and make sure next time she looked in the mirror, she’d see something resembling a human being and not a freak.”
“Had she done it? Had the surgery?”
Max smiled. “You really have no clue about that stuff do you?” He shook his head and laughed a little. “She didn’t have time. The money’s gone though, envelope…every thing.”
“I guess the police have it. You did tell the police, right?”
“No.”
“Why not? Max, maybe it was a robbery and someone tried to cover it up.”
“Ian, the police never bothered to ask. They just hauled me in to identify the body and give me a hard time. They didn’t ask me or anyone else I know one thing about who she was, what was going on or what kind of state she might have been in. To them, she’s just a used up porn queen tired of being unable to do anything else but open wide. I guess one look and that’s all there is.”
“Max, how do I stay in contact with you?”
“Oh, uhm…I’m kinda…”
“Where are you living?”
“I got a cell phone…that’s probably the best way. Gotta a pencil?”
Ian handed him a pen. Max grabbed his hand and wrote his cell phone number down. Ian looked in the back of the car, and saw some dirty clothes and a filthy quilt. He reached in his pocket and got his wallet. He emptied it out and shoved the money at him. “Here take this.”
“What for?”
“Shut up and take it, Max.”
“I’m cool, it’s okay…really.”
Ian shoved the money in the pocket of the tee. “Flowers, Max. Buy some flowers for Bambi. She seemed like the kind of woman who’d like lots of flowers.”
“Daffodils. She loved daffodils.”
“Yeah…” Ian stepped back and the car started to roll. “Max…call me later. Just check in a let me know how you’re doing.”
“Serious?”
“Bambi’s gone now, and someone’s got to keep you on the…uh straight and narrow.”
“Sure…”
Ian watched him drive out of the driveway. When he turned to see the man look back, he waved. Ian was a firm believer that any time you looked back someone should be standing there to wave goodbye.
Watching him drive off, he looked at the phone number scribbled on the back of his hand. “Ew!” He went back into the house, jotted the number down and then washed his hand. As he dried, he stared at a stack of scripts piled neatly on the end table in the living room.
Hanging the towel on the rack, he searched for his cell phone. He hit speed dial and went to the stack.
“Morning Ian.” Came to cheery voice on the other end.
“Morning Blake, anything going on?”
“Nothing we can’t handle. We’ll see you after lunch?”
“Actually…” he methodically started making a second pile of scripts, “I’m on my way in, but would you mind calling a florist and having some flowers sent for me?”
“Gee, I wonder who to?” Blake laughed.
“Saxon Allen, please. Do you need an address?”
“Not any more. Anything special?”
He held up the script he was looking for. “Daffodils, a couple of hundred dollars worth, fill up her living room with daffodils.”
“Mmmm…”
Ian wasn’t sure wasn’t the sound meant. “Thanks, Blake. Schedule for this afternoon?”
“Pretty clear, although Susan Andrews wants to be called the moment you’re in the office.”
“Interesting.”
“I’ll call her and let her know you’re on your way in.”
“Don’t. Just send the flowers to Saxon, please.”
“Sure, boss man.”
“See you in an hour. Bye.” Ian shut the phone and put it back in his pocket, and piled the scripts back in one alphabetical pile. He tossed the single on the table and then reached back in his pocket hitting speed dial again.
Tucking the phone between his shoulder and his ear, Ian managed to not cut the signal as usual and heard it go straight to voice mail. “Hi, Saxon. It’s me. Listen, when you wake up, don’t even try to make me think you aren’t still in bed, would you come to my office? I have something for you. Thanks.”
He started to hang up and added. “And don’t bother slapping on a coat of makeup, you’re perfect without out it. Just come to me, as soon as you can.” The phone slipped out and dropped on the hardwood floor, splintering in three pieces. “Crap.”
He fussed at himself, then scooped up the pieces and dropped them in the open zipper pocket of his backpack. Before he left the house, he picked up the lone script, slipping it into the slot in the back pack he reserved for scripts, and headed toward his car.
The team was all gathered around Daryn’s laptop. The face on the screen was smiling. “She may have lost the Oscar, but all of Hollywood is buzzing about how she may won the prize anyway.” The still of Saxon Allen twirled and the jazzy iconic theme song buzzed along as the opening graphics flickered.
Wella looked up and then back. “We got time, keep it on.”
“Good morning and welcome to First Hollywood I’m Maria Vasquez.” The anchor smiled in the camera. “Last night was Hollywood’s biggest night, but the talk of the town was Golden Girl, Saxon Allen nominee for Best Actress who may just have snagged the Golden Boy after all.”
The camera switched to footage of Saxon and Ian arm in arm and smiling on the red carpet. “The gorgeous couple, who insisted they are just old friends, laughed and smiled and looked like so much more.”
“Don’t they look…” Daryn sat back and stared.
“Perfect…just perfect…” someone else sighed.
“Saxon Allen, the bubbly bombshell who can’t be stopped at the box office, stepped out on to the red carpet with none other than Ian Justyn, the new studio exec making his own meteoric rise. The Hunka Hunka HRT, as he’s been dubbed…”
“Oh, he’s gonna love that.” Wella shook her head.
“All of Hollywood watched the Oscars being handed out, but couldn’t take their eyes of the couple as they laughed, cuddled and danced to their own music all night long.”
Ella looked up, “It’s him….”
Everyone looked up and watched Ian step off the elevator and toward them. Daryn slammed the lid down, and grabbed a steno pad. “Okay, Wella I called over to Fox and they said that they had no idea where that rumor came from. Must be just a rumor.”
“And according to contracts, she isn’t interested in selling the rights yet.” Someone else added.
“Okay, Good.” Wella tried to make it look like they were having an impromptu. “Sean, have you managed to set up a meeting with any of her people?”
“Whose her?” Ian said looking up from his stack of messages.
“Who?”
“Her?”
“Uh…”
“Rosalie Addams.” Sean pulled out of his behind.
“And she would be…?”
“The woman who writes the romance series we thought might be a good fit for the daytime hole.” Daryn piped in.
“Oh.” He turned his attention back to his messages. “Blake did you send those flowers?”
“Yes boss man.”
“Thank you” and with that his door was closed.
Wella whirled around to the team and said quietly but clearly, “Okay who the hell’s Rosalie Addams?”
“I don’t know.” Sean said, “I made it up.” He pointed and the print on her blouse, “Rose”, nodded his head at the brunette on the desk corner, “Lee” and “Damn, that was easier than I thought, hope he buys it.”
Wella looked at Ian’s office door quickly and back. “So far so good. Lee get on the Internet and see if anyone even close to that name has written a romance novel, run down to the store and buy a copy of it, then put on your desk for a few days.”
“Got it.” Lee ran to his desk.
“We’ll pass it around a week or two and then we can loose it.” Ella plotted.
“I’ll read it.” Blake. “I’ll read anything. That ought to do it.”
“Oh and guys?” Ian stuck his head out of his office.
“Yes, Ian?” Wella smiled.
“Showbiz Today got better shots.” Ian closed his door.
Sean looked at the door. “I hate him. I really, really hate him.”
“So do I still find the book?” Lee asked.
“Forget it honey. We’ve been caught, nothing we can do now it sit and wait for pay backs.” Wella said. “I’ll be in my office.”
“Oh God! Nobody move!” Daryn ran to the coatroom screaming, “Get Ian. Get Ian now!”
“What?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before!” They heard her yell over things being tossed around. She came rushing back out, plastic Barnes & Nobel bag clutched to her chest. “Where’s Ian?”
“Honey, calm down!” Wella insisted.
“No, no, everyone come here!” She went to the desk they had all been gathered around. “Ian!” She yelled.
Ian came out of his office. “Anyone have any idea where the painting in my office came from?”
Wella, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, David Turner had that sent down and hung in your office. Don’t you like it?”
“Ian, I think….” Daryn mumbled.
“It’s beautiful. I just turned around and there it was.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Have you had a good look at it?”
“Ian, excuse me, but…” Daryn tried to interrupt.
“Well, no, it was wrapped in brown paper when they brought it down. Can I pop in and…”
“Damn it!” Daryn stomped her foot. “Listen to me!”
“Chill, Daryn, chill.” Ian looked at her. “Okay, you’ve got our attention…geez…”
“Thank you. Ian I think I’ve solved the problem. It’ll take some work, but…”
“Which problem? Unfortunately right now you have to be specific.”
“Daytime hole…or at least the possibility of it.”
“Okay, Daryn honey,” Wella warned, “Take a deep breath.”
Daryn nodded her head and let out two lungs full of air, then sped on. “My sister’s having knee surgery, so I stopped by the bookstore to get her something to read, so I bought her these…” She dumped two books on the desktop like they were bars of gold.
Ian crinkled his eyes. “So?”
Blake took a look. “Oh I love these! Have you read them?” Blake asked Daryn as he picked one up. “I’m dying for the last one, but it doesn’t come out until this summer!”
“She wanted to just borrow my copies, but I’m not letting them out of my sight, so I…” Daryn admitted.
“Ladies, the book club meets on Wednesday, what are you babbling about?” Ian interrupted.
“Blood Kisses.” They said in excited harmony.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, why didn’t you say so!” Wella said picking up the second book. “Is this number two? I’ve been looking for it for three months. It’s always sold out.”
“I had to special order it...and wait. I was afraid it would be Christmas before I got a copy, but they called this morning and said it was in.” Daryn said.
“Okay, okay, what is it?” Ian asked catching the book Blake tossed to him.
“My turn…” Wella said, “Excuse me? Where have you been? You have never heard of this trilogy?”
“Should I know about Bloody Kisses?”
“BLOOD Kisses” the whole tam practically corrected him.
“Only the hottest series of books written for adults in the last ten years.”
“Romance…”
“Sex…”
“Oh god the sex…”
“Mystery.”
“Vampires…”
“Oh…” Ian was disappointed. “Another one of those vampire things.”
Blake went into hissy. “Oh no no no no. You cannot and will not dismiss these glorious epics as one of those vampire things.”
“Sorry”, Ian said.
“Uh uh, Ian Grayson Justyn. These make Buffy look like muffin slayer, Dracula look like a shill for marshmallow cereal and Twilight look like a fart after dark. These books, these books have transcended anything previous and everything beyond. They are masterpieces, good old fashioned bodice ripping let me suck the blood out of your neck while we have hot steamy sex trashy masterpieces.”
Ian blinked. “I stand corrected.” He opened up the paper back cover and fanned through the pages. “So they’re good?”
“Perfect. Sales across the board.” Someone piped up. “Teens, college kids, housewives…”
“Old ladies, scifi geeks, horror fans, men…straight, gay absolutely across the board”, someone else finished.
“And?” I asked.
“And we’ll never get them…” Sean said.
“Come on…” Daryn insisted. “There’s a chance. She has turned down every major, but with the final book coming out, maybe now’s the time to strike.”
Sean shook his head. “Buzz is, she just not interested. I know for a fact she’s turned down direct offers from Spielberg, James Cameron and Pedro Almodovar.”
“She’s the one everyone wants.” Wella agreed. “She knows it, and she’s holding out until she gets exactly what she wants.”
“And?” Ian asked.
“And unfortunately nobody knows what that is. She doesn’t return phone calls, she doesn’t take meetings, and doesn’t speak to any one but her editor.” Sean sadly announced.
Ian pointed to the picture in the back of the paperback. “This her?”
Sean leaned over to look. “Yep, that’s her.”
Ian read a moment. “Uh huh…Blake get my neighbor Kellen on the phone please.”
“Okay.” He said looking in his book and picking up his phone. “Do you want me to call your cell first, so we can find it?”
“No. It’s in three pieces in my backpack. Can you work your phone magic on it, please?”
Blake rolled his eyes, double checked the number and punched the buttons.
“Ella…” Ian looked up from the book, “I need a thorough bio on this woman, start here at HRT.”
“HRT?” Daryn asked.
“Says here she got her start writing for “The Best of Everything”. Let’s see if there’s still any kind of connection.”
“Ian…” Blake handed him his phone.
“Hey, buddy, did we wake you…got a bizarre little shot in the dark for you…your ex-wife Amanda, right…uh huh…you said she’s a writer. Blood Kisses by any chance…you couldn’t persuade her to send me some copies could you…Oh, okay…sure, well thanks…later.”
“No go. Huh?’ Sean smiled.
“Actually, she gave him an advanced copy of number three to give to me, said for him to hint she’d love to chat. Apparently, she’s been after him to introduce us. Blake send someone over to pick up some books from my neighbor, and when Saxon gets here just send her right in.” Ian tossed the book back to Sean. “Ella I need that bio asap.” He strode toward his office, stopping at the last minute he turned, “And that my friends is why they call he the Hunka Hunka HRT.”
The office door shut.
“I hate him. I really, really hate him.” Sean said.
There was a slight knock on Ian’s door. He looked up from the galley he was reading. “Come in.”
Susan Andrews stuck her head in the door.
“Susan.” Ian stood. “Please, have a seat.”
She folded her light jacket over her arm and seated herself. “Thank you.”
“May I take your coat? Get you something to drink?” He asked as he seated himself.
“No, I’ll only stay a minute.” She smiled. “You look rested, after your long night.”
“The same to you.”
They remained quiet for a moment. Ian wasn’t sure what to say, and Susan seemed to be looking around the room until she came up with something herself.
“Susan, I’m surprised to see you so soon.” He finally said. “Is there something I can do for you? You alluded last night that we could probably have some business that would be mutually beneficial.”
“Yes, yes.” Susan’s eyes dropped to her lap. “Of course. I’ve been thinking that you might possibly be interested in a sort of soundtrack deal.”
“Soundtrack?”
“I have a large music corporation, and I’ve worked very hard to gather and contract talented people that some how don’t fall into the niches that most record labels seem to be attracted to.”
“I’ve always been impressed with the output of your label. You’ve done well, seeking out the best of the unique and do an impressive job finding them airplay.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking that perhaps we could both benefit by that.”
“Alright, what did you have in mind?”
“Well, it’s not as easy for us to get airplay, for the bulk of our artists. Although Internet is cheap, it is painfully difficult to get people to seek out our artist’s work if they aren’t getting some kind of exposure other than clubs and, well, internet.”
“I understand, but…”
“Well, ever since I saw you at…” Susan blushed. “Anyway, I keep thinking about HRT and all the programming and how expensive it is for your side of the industry to get music rights…”
Ian smiled, thinking he was now understanding. “So you were thinking, maybe some sort of first look musically for our producers at some sort of reduced licensing fee?”
“Actually yes…”
“Susan, that’s great for me, but what does that get for you?”
“I was watching a rerun of something with J.J. the other day, and at the end there was like a little tag that said in tonight’s episode included music by so and so available at so and so. I thought maybe in exchange for music, allowing that the artist agrees, we could do that, listing websites, download and label information.”
“Actually, that could be done.” Ian leaned in a little closer. “But Susan, as I understand it usually when that sort of thing happens its all prearranged to coincide with an upcoming release of the artist.”
“Usually, but I thought the we could simply open up our artist catalogs, specifically for HRT. It would certainly give your programming a more inexpensive outlet to use music as they needed, and generate and regenerate interest in our catalogs.”
“Why don’t we both talk with our legal departments and see if there might be any snags, and go from there. Personally, I think it’s a great idea, and as you said beneficial to both of us.”
Susan smiled, “Good. I don’t watch a lot of television, at our house it’s pretty much old Sniffles the mouse cartoons and Sesame Street. I’d make it a point it to watch more myself, but I really find very little of interest. My TiVo is only set for Carol Burnett reruns.”
Ian smiled. “I miss the variety shows. Hers was the last good one, and you’ve pointed out why. They are so expensive to do.”
“Well, maybe we can change that.” Susan stood. “Thank you for your time, Ian.”
Ian stood and took her hand. “It was a pleasure, as always.” Ian walked around the desk and went to the door to open it for her.
“I almost forgot.” Susan snapped open her purse and pulled something out. “I thought you might like this. Marc Torrey had some old tapes of…I had them put on disc and thought. Well, just enjoy them.”
Ian took the little box of disks. “Thank you. That was…I’ll…thank you Susan.”
She nodded her head, and reached over and kissed him on the cheek, reaching up to rub a little smear of lipstick. “I hope to see you soon.”
Ian nodded his head and opened the door, catching David Turner in mid knock. “Oh, excuse me. I’m interrupting” the old man said.
“David…” Susan smiled warmly and hugged him. “You look wonderful.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear, Susan.” He almost cradled her in his arms. “You make an old man’s heart sing.”
“Why don’t I let the two of you chat?” Ian said. “I’m going to take a moment to speak to Blake.”
“Of course, that would be nice.” Susan kissed Ian again. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I look forward to it.” Ian turned to Turner. “I’ll be back in just a moment, and then I’m all yours.”
“Great, my boy. You take your time. I’ll delight myself in this young lady.”
Ian stepped over to Blake’s desk.
“I need you to set up a meeting this week with legal for me.”
“No problem.” He said, picking up a pencil. “Concerning?”
“Music licensing.”
“Specific? General?”
“Not sure, fees, that sort of thing…”
“Okay.” Blake picked up a large manila envelope and handed it to him. “This just arrived from your neighbor. I was waiting for Ms. Andrews to leave.”
“Thank you.”
“And Saxon Allen called, she’s on her way.”
“Thank you again.” Ian fidgeted with the package. “Blake where would you take a woman to dinner?”
“My mother’s if I wanted her to die happy.”
“You know what I mean…some place special.”
“Romantic?” Blake grinned.
Ian blushed. “Yeah.”
“Someplace that says I had to work my ass off to get us in, but I wanted you to know that you are worth the trouble and all I want to do is concentrate on you?”
He blushed again. “Yes…”
Blake said the name of some place very French.
“Oookay….think you can arrange it, for this week?” Ian said.
“I may have to put out…”
“No problem then?”
Blake shot him a look. “I’ll do my best.”
“Wednesday night?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Just make it Wednesday night, someplace exclusive, someplace romantic, and something I can pronounce.”
“I’ll write it down phonetically for you…in crayon.”
“Kisses, sweetness.”
“Do lunch?”
Ian mocked call me with his fingers. Ian walked towards his office and Blake yelled. “Oh, they’re sending you over a new phone!”
Ian gave him the thumbs up as he shut the door, immediately turning his attention to the gentlemen standing in his office looking at the painting he had given him.
“It’s beautiful, thank you.”
“You like it?”
“Absolutely.” Ian stood with the man and looked at the canvas, a waterfront scene in the moonlight. “You shouldn’t have, I am honored and humbled.”
“Don’t get excited, dear boy. It’s been in a closet of my penthouse for years. I remembered it and thought it might appeal to you.”
“It does. I’m not a connoisseur by any means, but it definitely appeals to me.”
“A little birdy by the name of Mamie Rae Tipton told me you were partial to the artist.”
“I am?”
“She said you had one in your home, and stood for hours just admiring it.”
“I do?”
“Herman Elysian, he gave this to me as a gift before he passed away, one of several, actually. I thought you might like this particular one. It kind of reminds me of you for some reason.”
“Oh?” Ian motioned for the man to take his usual comfy chair, and Ian took the one beside it as was becoming their custom.
“Strong, fascinating and seeming unaware of the power and passion it possesses.”
Ian smiled. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered, confused or kiss you.”
Turner threw back his head and laughed. “Now to the business at hand. I got a call today from CNN.”
“Okay.”
“The CEO is a long time frenemy of mine…”
“Frenemy?”
“Yes, frenemy, Blake is helping me hip up my vocabulary…”
Ian held back the snort as best he could. “Okay…”
“Any way, you have pissed him off to no end.”
“I have? I’m sorry, Mr. Turner. Please, what have I done?”
“Well, my boy, you apparently have put a stumbling block, oh screw it…Pearce Warner. It seems Warner has informed CNN that he’s no longer willing to negotiate with them until he has a chance to talk with you.”
“Oh, yes…”
“America Alive? Pearce Warner?”
“Well, Mr. Turner. It was just an idea…I put in a call to him, tried to persuade him, but didn’t think it would go anywhere. I’ll be happy to call CNN and make any rectification you see fit.”
“Don’t you dare,” Turner even stamped his cane. “He’s exactly what we need. Good move, and if we steal him away from CNN, I’ll do a little dance. They’ve been stealing my people away for years. Whatever you have to offer Warner, you got it. Just get it done. That’s an order.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Walk an old man to the elevator?”
“Absolutely.”
Ian gave the old man his arm, and Turner gratefully appreciated the help, complaining as usual that getting old was “shit”.
As they waited for the elevator, Ian, although he hated skipping links in the chain, turned to his prime resource. “Mr. Turner, I was wondering if you could help me with a little dilemma?”
“I’ll do my best, Young Justyn.”
“I’ve been having a little trouble tracking down a contract.”
“Have you contacted legal? They should be able to send down anything you need almost immediately.”
“That’s always been the case before, but they seem to be either taking their time or ignoring my request for the ‘Sebastian Manor’ contracts. I’m sure it’s an over sight, but they keep sending me copies of the original contract, but not the current.”
“I’m sure it’s just a mix up.”
“Probably. I really need the current to note any changes so I can make sure that any decisions we make are not only financially feasible but legal.”
Turner nodded his head. “I’ll put in a call myself. Anything else?”
Turner and Ian looked up to find Lance Crockett had appeared in front of them.
“Crockett? Are you still popping out of the woodwork?” Turner glanced up at the tall man with a thinly disguised look of disdain on his face.
“I got off the elevator, Mr. Turner. Didn’t you hear the doors open?” He said smiling.
“We were engrossed in conversation.” Ian told him. “We just weren’t paying attention. Did you need to see me?”
Crockett handed him a folder. “Just dropping off the itinerary for Wednesday’s press conference.”
“Thank you.” Ian took the folder, and quickly looked at the pages. “I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”
“Certainly.” Crockett turned back to the old man. “Shall we share the elevator, Mr. Turner?”
“No, you go ahead.” Turner waved him away. “Young Justyn and I aren’t quite finished here.”
“Certainly.” Ian help but couldn’t notice that Crockett almost bowed. Realizing he’d been dismissed from court Lance turned and returned to the elevator, pressing the button with a little ding.
“Listen, why don’t you just…” Ian started to say.
Turner took Ian’s arm, and pulled him a step back from the elevator, intently watching Crockett until the elevator arrived and had shut to whisk the man away. “What do you think of him?” Turner asked.
”Personally?” Turner nodded his head. “I really don’t know him other than he arrives, gives me an extremely detailed list of what I’m supposed to say, right down to ways to answer any questions that might come up.”
“And?”
“And other than the fact that he gets very irate if I don’t follow everything to the letter, which means he’s perpetually pissed off at me. That’s it.”
“He’s one of Kent’s people. Kent talked Tolan in to hiring him when old Seymour Budzynski retired. I should have stepped in, but I hire people to do a job and I really do my best to let them do it.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Not that I don’t like Crockett, I just question…ahh, never mind.”
“Mr. Turner, you’re the boss.”
“Of course I am.”
“Just thought I’d remind you of that.”
Turner looked at the elevator and then back to Ian and smiled. “Yes.”
The elevator doors opened, Turner and Ian both looked up and smiled as Saxon Allen stepped out of the car. “Ian, my boy, if nothing else, you have the most beautiful women waltzing in and out of your office. I may just pull a chair up here in the foyer and just enjoy all day long.”
He reached his hand out to Saxon, who tenderly took it. “Ms. Allen, thank you for gracing this humble building with your beauty this fine day.”
Saxon blushed. “Mr. Turner, you as always, you know just how to make me feel like a woman.”
“Oh, if only I were younger.” He said. “My dear, if only I were younger.” The old man looked at Ian and back to Saxon. “I’ll be on my way, and let the two of you spend a little quality time together.”
Turner stepped into the still waiting elevator. He pushed the button to his floor. “Well, kiss her hello, you fool.” He shook his head in disgust. “Young people!”
It was almost a shock for Ian to see Saxon in casual slacks and a conservative blouse. He couldn’t help but smile, thinking that this was when she was her most beautiful. Ian took her hands and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thank you for the flowers. I got up and walked into my living room and it was filled with yellow and white pedals. Thank you.”
“Thank you for a wonderful evening.” He said. “Shall we head to my office?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
There was small talk as they took the twenty or so steps to Ian’s office. They stopped for a moment here and there to say hello to various staff members, and for her to plant a kiss on Blake’s cheek and give Wella a big hug. They had no idea that all eyes were upon them.
After Saxon had commented on the painting Turner had given to Ian, and rehashed the prior evening, they got to business. Saxon had read the two scripts and the synopsis of story ideas for a series written by Jenson Michaels. She was intrigued with the man’s writing enough that she was serious in wanting to discuss the possibility of working with him and Ian as Executive Producer of the show.
“Of course, I’ll need to meet with him so we can see if we can work together.” She smiled at Ian.
“I’m warning you, Jenson’s a newbie, but I think he’s just what you need.”
“What might that be, prey tell?” Saxon quipped.
Ian looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “A virgin to screw up your way.” Saxon giggled. “Okay, I’ll set it up, and…” He reached back to the trusty backpack, now resting on the sideboard behind him. “One more thing.”
Ian pulled a script out, going directly to Saxon and placing it in her hands. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
He pulled a chair closer to her and sat down. “I’ve debated on this all day, but I’ve decided it’s the right thing to do. Once you read it, you may not agree.”
She looked at the cover and back up to him, “Quarters?”
“It’s a movie script from Jenson Michael. I asked him to send me everything he had. The original script he gave me was a little too pat, so I talked him in to just bringing over his file cabinet. That’s where we found the series, and hidden away was this…” He rubbed his hand across the front of the script, “This shocking little…gem. I’ve not been able to put it out of my head.”
“What’s it about?”
“Saxon, let it just hit you straight on. I think you’ll end up with the same reaction I did. I’m in television, not film. That’s why I’m passing it on to you. The female lead is perfect for you. I think maybe even more than what you had in mind, and I’m not sure it’s even doable, but take a look.”
“Mmm, anything that stirs your passion up, has to be…” She cocked her head and looked at him. “Let’s not go there.” She waved the manuscript at him. “This will be perfect reading on the plane.”
“You’re taking a trip?”
“Yes.” She tucked the script in her shoulder bag. “I leave tomorrow morning.”
“I didn’t realize that you were flying off somewhere.”
“Spur of the moment.” She stood and squeezed his hand and walked toward the door. “Rudy’s taking me to Sydney. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Rudy?”
“Rudolph Van Patten,” She put her hand to her chest, “my paramour. We’ve been on the outs, but he called this morning and is determined to whisk me off my feet again, and I’m going to let him.” She laughed.
“I didn’t know you were dating someone.”
“We’d broken up, but I think that he got a little jealous seeing all those pictures of us. So, he’s come crawling back.” Saxon put her arms around Ian’s waist. “Of course, I’m going to make him grovel, but I think he’s the one, Ian. I really do.”
She put her head on Ian’s shoulder and squeezed him close. “Every time you come into my life, the best things happen.”
Ian rubbed her back and stared at the painting on the wall. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Well, Clem, gotta run.” She kissed him on the lips and pulled away. In an instant she was out the door, and Ian could hear her blowing kisses and saying goodbye to everyone as she went to the elevator.
Ian pursed his lips and sighed. He made a few phone calls, signed a little paperwork and then packed his pack and turned off the lights. As he slowly walked toward the elevator, Blake handed him a little box.
“You’re cell phone. Don’t drop it. Don’t throw it in the pool. Don’t run over it with the car, and for cryin’ out loud don’t lose it!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And here…” Blake handed him a slip of paper.
“I got your reservations, Wednesday night, 7:30. Do not be late and make sure you tip the matre’d at least a week’s rent. Everything else I attached to your credit card.” Blake smiled.
“Perfect.”
“Did you tell her? Was she impressed?” Blake wanted all the details.
“Yes. Thank you.” Was all Ian said before he wished Blake a good night and walked away. As he passed by the foyer he said goodnight to those who still remained. Daryn stood at the elevator, as he approached.
“May we share?” He asked her.
“Of course.”
“How’s the boyfriend?”
“Great.”
“I wanted to thank you for coming up with the ‘Blood Kisses’ idea. I think you’re right, hopefully we can tie it all up in a nice little bow.”
“I hope so.” She smiled as the got in the elevator, Ian waiting until she stepped in first. They rode to the lobby in silence.
“Daryn…” Ian stopped her as she headed for the door. “I wanted to give you this.” Ian handed her the reservation information. “As a thank you for your hard work. Take off early, get all dolled up and have a night to remember, on me. Everything’s taken care of…except tipping the matre’d.”
“Oh my God, Ian.” She looked at the paper. “Do you know how hard this place is to get into?”
He smiled. “Just enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”
Daryn kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t wait to tell Darrell.”
Ian watched her rush off in a cloud of joy, almost forgetting to stop by the front desk and sign out. The older black man behind the desk turned the book around and handed Ian a pen for him to sign.
“That was awful nice of you, Mr. Justyn.”
“Rusty, how many times…?”
The older man nodded his head and chortled. “Ian…I can always tell a member of your staff just by watching them leave.”
“Oh?”
Rusty nodded his head. “They’re always happy or excited. It’s a nice change to what normally stomps out that door.” He turned the book back around.
“I’m glad.” Ian smiled and turned to leave.
Rusty spoke up so he could hear him and Ian pushed at the glass doors. “Yup always happy. Look forward to the day you do the same Mr. Ian.”
Ian stopped, but only momentarily, and continued to the garage.
He didn’t want to think about it. He poured himself back into work, buckling down even harder. The contracts he asked for finally arrived, eye opening as they were. He had done meeting after meeting, way into the night. Things were falling into place, and it excited him.
It didn’t take Ian long to get lost in the paperwork before him. He spend his evening at home in the usual manner, on the table by the pool taking all the pieces of the work day and finding ways to fit them into a yet to be named masterpiece to present the next.
“Hard at work as usual I see?” The voice came from the other end of the patio. “May we interrupt?”
Ian looked up from his notebook to see Kellen, Ralphie in tow, followed closely behind by the dynamic woman with long dark hair he had seen on the balcony that fateful night.
“Of course.” Ian stood. Reaching out his hand to the beautiful woman, who was more exotic and intoxicating than he imagined close up. “You must be Amanda.”
Amanda ignored the outstretched hand, slipped her arms around him and kissed him wetly on the lips. “You are even more delicious close up than you are from two hundred feet away.”
Ian blushed. “Oh my.” She said, taking a step back and turning to Kellen. “And modest. I could just eat him alive.”
“Now, now Amanda.” Kellen warned her. “Not everyone is on the menu.”
“Of course, not Kellen.” She smiled and seated herself at the table. “Just because he’s not an appetizer, doesn’t mean that he wasn’t made to whet the appitite.”
“Drinks?” Ian stammered. “I should get us drinks? Uhm? I have scotch, maybe some vodka…”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Amanda purred.
“I was having hot tea.”
“Scotch then, neat, but only if you’ll join me.”
Ian whisked the paperwork off the table and shoved it in the cabana, as he grabbed a bottle and three glasses. Ralphie barked at Ian for his share of attention. Ian put the bottle down, and got to his haunches to receive doggie kisses from the setter. “And I missed you big boy.”
Kellen explained to his ex, who had a questioning look on her face. “Ralphie seems to have figured out how to open doors. He’s constantly inviting himself over here while I’m at work.”
Ian roughed Ralphie’s coat. “He’s gotten to be such a welcome companion. I never had animals, well pets growing up.”
“Kellen said you were a farm boy—cows and chickens, the whole lot.”
“Well, chickens, only cows when we could afford one and usually only until we needed the meat.”
“What did your family raise?”
“Whatever we could corn, beans. My uncle tried to make a living raising tobacco, but it really wasn’t much of a cash crop, and pretty much stripped the land over time.”
“Interesting.” Amanda said.
“No.” Ian stood from Ralphie and motioned for Kellen to join them at the table. “Not at all.”
Amanda pointed to the bottle. “May we?”
“Oh, absolutely. Forgive me for forgetting. I don’t drink very often, and my social skills need a little polish.” Ian stood and poured a neat drink for Amanda. He picked up a second glass. “Kellen?”
“Actually, none for me. My job is done.” Kellen said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Ralphie and I will head back over to the house and leave the two of you to discuss whatever it is the two of you will discuss.”
“Just stay.” Ian said.
“No. I’ve learned not to be in the ocean when the shark is circling the prey. It’s too easy to get caught in all the thrashing and chomping.”
“Kellen…” Amanda pouted. “You make it sound like I’ve been stalking the poor man, just waiting for the kill.”
Kellen leaned over and kissed his ex-wife on the cheek. “Amanda, dear, I know you’ve been chomping at the bit to discuss business. All I know about the business you two are in is that when you point the little rectangle thingy and press the buttons, somebody somewhere panics because I changed the channels, and quite frankly I enjoy my power of stupidity.” He patted Ian on the back. “She knows what she wants, Ian, and she’ll get it.”
“I think you misunderstand just who is the shark and who is the prey.” Ian smiled.
“This is going to be more fun than I ever dreamed.” Amanda purred.
Kellen smiled and looked at Amanda. “Play nicely children.”
Ian scruffed Ralphie’s ears and kissed him goodnight on the snout, then watched him wag his tail behind his master until they disappeared in the night. He turned to pour himself a drink to find Amanda had already done so and topped hers off. He seated himself and held his glass up in salute.
“So, did you like the books?” She asked.
“Surprisingly yes.” Ian told her. “I usually hate the genre and avoid it like I do, oh French kissing a cobra whose tail I just stuck in the toaster, but I like the way you write. I like the way you seem to be unfolding one story when actually telling another.”
“Thank you.”
“And I’m not just talking about the trilogy. I’ve read four of your other novels as well.”
“You’ve been a busy boy.”
“I always like to know my prey.”
“Mmm.” She licked her lips. “Shall we just whip them out and flop them on the table?”
Ian laughed.
“Amanda, you have been approached by every major, and in response have made yourself absolutely unattainable. With every book, the sales got bigger, the offers got more intense, and you responded with stonewall seclusion. All I had to do was make one phone call to a second party, just to double check a hunch and here you are.” She nodded. “Why HRT?”
“Oh Ian, I could care less about HRT.
“You know what you have, and you’ve been waiting for the just the right time.”
“I’m a business woman, as well as an artist. I know I will probably never get this chance again. Can you blame me?”
“No. Smart thing to do, you’ve played the cards well, Amanda, all you have to do now is point, say you and get anything you want.”
She pointed her finger at him. “You.”
“Why?”
“I do my research to Ian, and let me just say I find you fascinating, fascinating and impressive. You’ve been in this town only a few months and already have everyone looking in your direction. Let me rephrase that, glued to your every move.”
“Maybe not for the right reasons.”
“Ian, if it weren’t for the right reasons, no one would still be watching…so closely. You infiltrated a legion of white collar tight asses, known for chewing up and spitting out the young, the bright and the determined. Usually some one like you has to kiss their ass until they wither and become extinct. Instead you rather boldly bare your own ass in public, make them drool over it and dare them not to kiss it. The really impressive thing is that they seem to be the only ones breaking a sweat.”
“Dumb luck?”
“Now you may be naïve, and maybe you stumbled into some of your quick success, but you back up the dumb moves with bold ones You take no prisoners and make no apologies about it. Why wouldn’t some one who thinks she’s doing the same thing want to a line herself with that?”
“How would you know about my bold moves, my dumb ones unfortunately are available for free with any high speed connection?”
“Let’s just say that I have a dear old friend, who would have done anything to cut you off at the knees but is now one of your legions of staunch allies. Believe me, Ian, when you can turn that much foaming hatred into a lather of fawning drool, it’s very impressive.”
“And who ever this is has kept…?”
“I’m not sure if it was conscious or not, but night after night of phone calls kvetching then suddenly getting the same amount of phone calls spewing awe it’s been easy to keep tabs, whether I wanted to or not. Of course the phone calls all still start with “Guess what the asshole did today?”
“Trish Apple? Are you talking about Trish Apple?”
She smiled. “And there’s the other thing, my turn to ask the question—why?”
“Why what?”
“What she did was terrible, nasty and a very poorly executed, but brilliant scheme. Why did you keep her around, and not have her drawn and quartered? And don’t give some Southern cliché diarrhea that’s meant to be witty either.”
“First, let me say that Trish and I have developed a rather I hate you so much I can’t stand it mutual admiration society, but you’re right she should have been fired and/or gone to jail. However, I knew I had to hit the ground running, the rube was playing with the big boys, and I figured that sooner or later I’d need a goon with big old balls they had no problem ripping off and throwing under the bus.”
“True, the only thing scarier than an extremist with a new hemorrhoid and a microphone, is a loyal diesel dyke whose been pissed off, which is what is so amazing. You pissed that woman off and now she’s a crime fighting sidekick, but don’t tell her I told you that. I like my tits where they are.”
Ian sighed and put down his drink. “Now I guess I should feel guilty about making her sharpen all my pencils and line them up on my blotter according the height and color every morning before I get into the office.” He thought a moment, “No, but I will tell Sean to stop sneaking in after her and messing with them.”
“You are nasty.”
“Understand, please, that I’m not about to be sucker punched again. I’m sure it will happen, but like any good improvisational comedian, I’m going over every possible scenario in advance so my well rehearsed jokes will look spontaneous.”
“Ian, let me blow my own horn, here. I am handing you a hot, let’s face it, flavor of the month, my crown jewels and the only string attached is that you are attached. When this hits the media you will be elevated above and beyond any flash in the pan. You will be the envy of every mogul walking the face of the earth.”
“That I am aware of, especially having read the third book, when that hits the stands, the din of people begging for a taste of the cake will only escalate.”
“I think you and I are a lot a like, Ian Justyn. I never would have thought so, but we are. At first, I thought okay, my ex-husband who is really not much of a people person likes him. He doesn’t trust easily, not after what I did to him…and I don’t blame him. When Trish jumped on the bandwagon, I had to take a serious look, and I like what I see. Ian I like what I feel. You should take that as a compliment.”
“I do. Can we fight now?”
“Yes. Let’s.”
“My assumption is that you have no interest in film versions of the three books. Correct?”
“I’ve seen the ‘Twilight’ things. I’ve seen the most wonderful novels turned into the most hideous ninety-eight some odd minutes of torture. No thanks, I’d rather have Trish rearrange my anatomy.”
“You’re thinking mini-series, maybe a follow up series. I can’t believe that you don’t have some wonderfully twisted plots in mind with the characters left at the end of the third book.”
Amanda smiled, touched her finger tips to her finger tips and smiled. She threw her head back and laughed. “I knew this would be perfect!”
“This is were we get to fight. I’ve got a mostly similar idea. I’m thinking three limited run series running back to back, a highly promoted saga to kick off what will become the most talked about…” Ian leaned back in the chair, “…daytime drama ever.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Amanda went instantaneously from enthralled to appalled. “You want to turn my masterpiece into one of those low rent HRT soaps nobody watches? I don’t think so.”
“No Amanda,” Ian finally sat forward. “I want you to turn my low rent HRT soaps into a masterpiece that no one would dare not watch.”
“If you think you can talk me into that, I have severely misjudged you.” She pushed back her chair. “Forgive me for wasting both our time.”
“Amanda, give me one more minute, just one. You see I think you are right, we are both a lot alike, and I am offering tit for tat. Why should you hand me something that will without a doubt send my fledgling career into orbit without being able to offer you something juicy in return? Well something in return besides that big pile of dirty money.”
“Okay.” Amanda released her grip on the arms of the chair. “You have my attention.”
“You didn’t ask me an important question.”
“Which is?”
“Why would I suddenly be interested in the biggest selling Gothic Romance of all time, when quite frankly the genre just flat out doesn’t interest me to the point I didn’t even realize it existed until this morning?”
Amanda turned her head to the side and stared at Ian. “You’re right. Why, and more importantly why would you insult me with a pitch for a soap opera?”
“It wasn’t the books that caught my eye, Amanda. It was the little bio in the back. It was that and a little fact checking that made me put two and two together to make several million.”
Ian walked over to his backpack and pulled out a file folder, stuffed to the gills. He placed it on the table in front of Amanda and got on his knees. He took her hands and looked into her eyes.
“So Amanda Jackson, would you give me Ian Justyn, the honor of, together, turning “Blood Kisses” in to the most innovative daytime drama in history, the one every one will try and fail to imitate. Will you give me a clear career path covered with industry drool and allow this humble man in return to give you…revenge, sweet roll naked on the bed covered in your enemy’s blood revenge.”
That dirty little twinkle came back into her eyes. “Do tell, Ian Justyn. Do tell.”
He had slept in. It was only nine, but he was already bored and gathered his gear heading for the garage. He tossed the backpack in the passenger bucket, and hit the genie button as he slipped into the car.
The car was getting older, perhaps he should think about getting a new one, but it turned right over. Out of habit, and the possibility that Ralphie had escaped and was waiting for him in the driveway, Ian stretched his right arm across and looked over it through the back window.
He began to back out, and got almost out of the garage, but slammed on the brakes. There was another car parked in his drive way. He looked at he beat up Camero, blocking his way. He put his beat up Chevy in park.
The Camero door opened and out stepped a young man. Ian didn’t recognize him. The man in simple jeans, tee and jacket walked right up to Ian’s window. “Excuse me…Mr. Justyn?”
Ian kept the window half rolled up, foot on the brake, but ready to slam the accelerator at a moment’s notice. “Yes.”
“I apologize, sir. My name is Max Mitchell, I’m a friend…was a friend of Bambi Helton. Could we…I mean, do you have a minute?” He began to stammer.
He knew he probably shouldn’t. “Well, I’m on my way to work…”
“I’ll only take a moment of your time sir.” The man, Max, seemed to be genuinely as embarrassed to be here, as Ian was talking with a stranger in his driveway.
“I know I should have…” the guy stood up, and shook his head. “Never mind, this is stupid.” He seemed to say to himself. Be bent over to get to Ian’s eye level. “Forgive me for intruding, and stalking you down. It won’t happen again.”
Max straightened up, shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and headed back to his car. Ian let him get almost there. There was something about his demeanor. He turned off the Chevy, and got open the door, saying, “Wait” as he started to step out.
The man stopped and turned as Ian stood and said, “You’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble. Is there something I can do for you? I’m sorry I forgot your name.”
The young man took a tentative step. “Max. Max Mitchell.”
Ian put out his hand. Max looked at it and finally took it, shaking hands with him. “What may I help you with, Max?”
Max looked to be struggling with his words. “Mr. Justyn, did you by any chance give Bambi some money, well a lot of money…cash?”
Ian was taken aback. “No.”
He nodded his head. “Thank you, Mr. Justyn.” He turned to get back into his car.
“Mr. Mitchell?” Ian stopped him. “She did come to my office. We talked about a series idea she had, but that was all.”
“Yes. I know. I was just…”
“Mr. Mitchell…Max, I’m sorry. I don’t know what your relationship with her was but…”
“Co-workers, we were co-workers or used to be. We’re both trying to get out of the business. She was having a rougher time, but we talked every day, sort of our own get out of porn program.”
“Oh…” Ian said. “So she was…”
“A porn star?” Max shook his head. “Surely you couldn’t take one look at her and not know…”
“No, I knew what she did. Even if I didn’t she was right up front.” Ian pointed towards the house. “Do you want to come inside and talk a minute? About Bambi? I kind of need to talk about it, maybe it would…I don’t know…help us both.”
Ian tried not to let the man know that he could see him trembling, not from fear or anger, but from pain. Ian knew the signs. It was something he could recognize immediately. “I make a terrible cup of coffee, but if you think you can survive it.”
Max smiled. “Yeah. That would be good.”
The young man silently allowed Ian to lead the way into his kitchen. He sat down at the table so lost, Ian felt. Ian struggled to remember what he had done with that coffee Tippy had bought.
“Actually sir…” Ian turned to find the man looking at him. “Tea would be nice, I’d really like a cup of tea.”
“Now that, I can do.” Ian noticed the man, elbows on his knees looking at the floor, the ceiling, anything as long as he didn’t have to focus his eyes. Ian heated water in the microwave and put a steaming mug in front of him.
Ian sat down across from him and handed Max a little basket of teas. “Sugar?”
The man smiled as Ian whirled the little caddy in the middle of the table so he could easily reach the sugar. “You’re not one of those milk with tea people are you?” Ian asked.
“No, sir.” Max smiled.
“First of all, stop the sir stuff. My name is Ian. I’d appreciate it if you called me that.” He reached for his own tea bag as he watched Max liberally spooning sugar in his mug.
Mac looked up at Ian watching him, and put the spoon back in the bowl.
“Just three?” Ian smiled. “I’m a four myself.”
“Trying to cut down.” Max took a sip of his tea. “Bambi said you didn’t like sir or mister.”
“I’m a back woods boy, I have a little trouble dealing with all the respect that I was taught are attached to those words.” Ian took a sip from his mug. “Max, you asked me if I gave Bambi some cash. Did she suddenly have lots of money?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say she had it or that she’d be getting it?”
“She showed it to me. I don’t know how much it was, but there was a lot. In an envelope, like they leave on the night stand while you get dressed, only not nearly that much.” He took a sip. “Bambi had done well, but it had been a while since she had that much money. She’d sold her house, and was living in a little apartment, but if she didn’t get a break soon…”
“The two of you were close.”
He nodded. “She kind of took me in, I was in a bad way and she helped me get clean, and then we decided to help each other get clean.”
“So she was involved with drugs.”
Max looked straight in his eyes. “Not that I was aware of. Ian, she bitched at me, and begged me to get sober. Holed up with me and helped me get through it, when I decided to.”
“But you said you were helping each other get clean?”
“The porn, that’s the worst drug to kick.” Max looked at the table and rolled the mug around between his hands. “Worst drug there is.”
“You said it was easier for you.” Ian encouraged.
“Bambi had been around a long time, but time isn’t kind when your paycheck depends on being young and beautiful. She started with a little tuck here, and little lift there…I bet she spent more money on her face and body than you did on this house.”
“There are a lot of women and men…”
“It wasn’t a sign of vanity. With Bambi, it was a sign of desperation…the drug, the porn drug. It makes you do things you’d never believe you’d do. What’s worse is you don’t even realize that you’re doing them until it’s too late.”
Ian nodded his head. “I feel like I contributed to this…to her death.”
“No. No, you should of seen her the few days before…you gave her something she hadn’t had in a long time.”
“What was that, a kinder, gentler rejection?”
“Hope, you gave her hope.”
“Then why? What she did doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Me either. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I thought maybe you saw things differently. I guess we both were wrong.”
“When did you see her last?”
“I caught up with her not long after she left your office and I was with her until the night before they found her. She didn’t let me out of her sight for almost 48 hours. Then I take off and next thing I know, the police are calling me and telling me...”
“So when left her you thought she was fine?” Max nodded his head, holding his head down so Ian couldn’t see his bottom lip quivering.
“Max, you can’t blame yourself. You did what you could. When you are used to that much pain, you get real good at covering it up so no one else knows. I know that for a fact.”
Max looked at him, and despite how hard he was trying the young man had no choice to let the tears start to fall. “That’s just it. She wasn’t having a crisis. I was.”
“You?”
He nodded his head. “You a church goer?”
Ian was ashamed to admit. “No, I had an Aunt who used to take me when I was little, but now…”
Max nodded. “I was raised in a good home. We cleaned up and marched in the doors every time the church was open. I was taught that once your name’s written down in the Lamb’s Book of Life, no one can erase it.”
“Yes…” Ian trailed off.
“Well, my name and Bambi’s name are written down in the Devil’s Book of Hell and it for sure never comes off, no matter how hard you try. You can get so far away from it that you almost forget it’s there, but it’s like a big old scar on your face that never heals.”
“Max, what happened?”
Max grimaced. “I got fired from a job, a real job. Not much of one, but it was a start, making sandwiches for a little café, a nice clean place. Then some guy came in, told the sweet little owner he’d seen me…well, do I have to explain?”
Ian shook his head, and Max nodded his in appreciation, “So she pulled me aside, told me she was sorry, but she had to let me go. It was a little family place, and it was hard enough to keep the place open without worrying that…I understood. I really did, but man…” he slammed his fist down on his thigh.
“Maybe you just need to leave L.A., go someplace where it’s harder for people to see the that kind of stuff.”
“If there were only such a place.”
“The little town I’m from, you could go there Max. You can’t even buy that stuff without driving a long distance.”
“Do they have internet?”
“Well yes.”
“Then all they have to do is type Rick Buttler into a browser and they’ll find a nice unhealthy array of websites they where can see me in all my sordid glory. Internet makes it all so easy. That’s how I got started, at sixteen. Did you know on most adult websites you can click on an icon and put in an application to model, as they call it?”
“No. No I didn’t.”
“You can, and it works. It’s easy. You start just doing a few solos, and then they offer you more money to do the same thing with another model. They assure you that you don’t have to touch them, just do what you’ve done before, with the understanding there’s money if you do more. When you’re sixteen, pretending to be eighteen and they offer you five hundred dollars to give a guy a helping hand it’s hard to turn down.”
“I didn’t even realize…”
“You don’t. Even when you’re doing it. You find yourself there, naked, doing things your mama told you would make you rot in hell, but you’re there and thinking, this would be an easy way to pay for college, and no one will ever know.”
Max sighed. “Then it’s more money to get on your knees, and more to lay on your back and before you know it…it’s a drug Ian. And when you kick it, there’s no twelve step program, and no matter how hard you try…it doesn’t matter if your minding your own business, finally feeling good about yourself, the moment you finally see the sun, some dude walks up and oh so discreetly whispers in your ear, “Man you can really suck cock.”
“I’m sorry, Max. What can I do?”
“Nothing. Not a thing. Now that I hear myself, I realize that it was all probably my fault.”
“How could what Bambi did be your fault?”
“She was hiding her own crisis, to help me with mine.”
“Maybe.” Ian looked at his empty cup. “More tea?”
“No. I should go. Thank you Ian. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He stood and walked his cup over to the sink and placed it in.
“Let me walk out with you.” Ian put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and walked with him to the car. He shook his hand and held the door open as he got in his old jalopy.
“Max…you are welcome here anytime.” He handed Max his cell phone number and a direct line to his office. “Anytime you need to talk, if you need any kind of help at all. I’ll do whatever I can.”
He turned the little card over and over. “Why would you do that…for me?”
“You were a friend of Bambi, and I feel like I owe her.” Ian bent down to be able to look in his face this time. “And I know what it’s like to feel no matter what you do, no one will ever let you be anything more than what they think you are, and what they think isn’t good.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it…anything.”
Max nodded his head and cranked the car several times before it started up. It finally turned over and Max nodded goodbye.
Ian put his hands on the open window. “Wait…Max? The money, did she tell you where the money came from?”
“No. She just told me she was going to use it to change back.”
“Change back?”
“Yeah, we looked up a doctor in the phone book and she was gonna have it all taken out, you know the super boobs and the cheeks and stuff.”
“She was going to have it all reversed?”
“As much as the money would allow. She said she wasn’t proud of how she got it, but she was gonna take it and make sure next time she looked in the mirror, she’d see something resembling a human being and not a freak.”
“Had she done it? Had the surgery?”
Max smiled. “You really have no clue about that stuff do you?” He shook his head and laughed a little. “She didn’t have time. The money’s gone though, envelope…every thing.”
“I guess the police have it. You did tell the police, right?”
“No.”
“Why not? Max, maybe it was a robbery and someone tried to cover it up.”
“Ian, the police never bothered to ask. They just hauled me in to identify the body and give me a hard time. They didn’t ask me or anyone else I know one thing about who she was, what was going on or what kind of state she might have been in. To them, she’s just a used up porn queen tired of being unable to do anything else but open wide. I guess one look and that’s all there is.”
“Max, how do I stay in contact with you?”
“Oh, uhm…I’m kinda…”
“Where are you living?”
“I got a cell phone…that’s probably the best way. Gotta a pencil?”
Ian handed him a pen. Max grabbed his hand and wrote his cell phone number down. Ian looked in the back of the car, and saw some dirty clothes and a filthy quilt. He reached in his pocket and got his wallet. He emptied it out and shoved the money at him. “Here take this.”
“What for?”
“Shut up and take it, Max.”
“I’m cool, it’s okay…really.”
Ian shoved the money in the pocket of the tee. “Flowers, Max. Buy some flowers for Bambi. She seemed like the kind of woman who’d like lots of flowers.”
“Daffodils. She loved daffodils.”
“Yeah…” Ian stepped back and the car started to roll. “Max…call me later. Just check in a let me know how you’re doing.”
“Serious?”
“Bambi’s gone now, and someone’s got to keep you on the…uh straight and narrow.”
“Sure…”
Ian watched him drive out of the driveway. When he turned to see the man look back, he waved. Ian was a firm believer that any time you looked back someone should be standing there to wave goodbye.
Watching him drive off, he looked at the phone number scribbled on the back of his hand. “Ew!” He went back into the house, jotted the number down and then washed his hand. As he dried, he stared at a stack of scripts piled neatly on the end table in the living room.
Hanging the towel on the rack, he searched for his cell phone. He hit speed dial and went to the stack.
“Morning Ian.” Came to cheery voice on the other end.
“Morning Blake, anything going on?”
“Nothing we can’t handle. We’ll see you after lunch?”
“Actually…” he methodically started making a second pile of scripts, “I’m on my way in, but would you mind calling a florist and having some flowers sent for me?”
“Gee, I wonder who to?” Blake laughed.
“Saxon Allen, please. Do you need an address?”
“Not any more. Anything special?”
He held up the script he was looking for. “Daffodils, a couple of hundred dollars worth, fill up her living room with daffodils.”
“Mmmm…”
Ian wasn’t sure wasn’t the sound meant. “Thanks, Blake. Schedule for this afternoon?”
“Pretty clear, although Susan Andrews wants to be called the moment you’re in the office.”
“Interesting.”
“I’ll call her and let her know you’re on your way in.”
“Don’t. Just send the flowers to Saxon, please.”
“Sure, boss man.”
“See you in an hour. Bye.” Ian shut the phone and put it back in his pocket, and piled the scripts back in one alphabetical pile. He tossed the single on the table and then reached back in his pocket hitting speed dial again.
Tucking the phone between his shoulder and his ear, Ian managed to not cut the signal as usual and heard it go straight to voice mail. “Hi, Saxon. It’s me. Listen, when you wake up, don’t even try to make me think you aren’t still in bed, would you come to my office? I have something for you. Thanks.”
He started to hang up and added. “And don’t bother slapping on a coat of makeup, you’re perfect without out it. Just come to me, as soon as you can.” The phone slipped out and dropped on the hardwood floor, splintering in three pieces. “Crap.”
He fussed at himself, then scooped up the pieces and dropped them in the open zipper pocket of his backpack. Before he left the house, he picked up the lone script, slipping it into the slot in the back pack he reserved for scripts, and headed toward his car.
The team was all gathered around Daryn’s laptop. The face on the screen was smiling. “She may have lost the Oscar, but all of Hollywood is buzzing about how she may won the prize anyway.” The still of Saxon Allen twirled and the jazzy iconic theme song buzzed along as the opening graphics flickered.
Wella looked up and then back. “We got time, keep it on.”
“Good morning and welcome to First Hollywood I’m Maria Vasquez.” The anchor smiled in the camera. “Last night was Hollywood’s biggest night, but the talk of the town was Golden Girl, Saxon Allen nominee for Best Actress who may just have snagged the Golden Boy after all.”
The camera switched to footage of Saxon and Ian arm in arm and smiling on the red carpet. “The gorgeous couple, who insisted they are just old friends, laughed and smiled and looked like so much more.”
“Don’t they look…” Daryn sat back and stared.
“Perfect…just perfect…” someone else sighed.
“Saxon Allen, the bubbly bombshell who can’t be stopped at the box office, stepped out on to the red carpet with none other than Ian Justyn, the new studio exec making his own meteoric rise. The Hunka Hunka HRT, as he’s been dubbed…”
“Oh, he’s gonna love that.” Wella shook her head.
“All of Hollywood watched the Oscars being handed out, but couldn’t take their eyes of the couple as they laughed, cuddled and danced to their own music all night long.”
Ella looked up, “It’s him….”
Everyone looked up and watched Ian step off the elevator and toward them. Daryn slammed the lid down, and grabbed a steno pad. “Okay, Wella I called over to Fox and they said that they had no idea where that rumor came from. Must be just a rumor.”
“And according to contracts, she isn’t interested in selling the rights yet.” Someone else added.
“Okay, Good.” Wella tried to make it look like they were having an impromptu. “Sean, have you managed to set up a meeting with any of her people?”
“Whose her?” Ian said looking up from his stack of messages.
“Who?”
“Her?”
“Uh…”
“Rosalie Addams.” Sean pulled out of his behind.
“And she would be…?”
“The woman who writes the romance series we thought might be a good fit for the daytime hole.” Daryn piped in.
“Oh.” He turned his attention back to his messages. “Blake did you send those flowers?”
“Yes boss man.”
“Thank you” and with that his door was closed.
Wella whirled around to the team and said quietly but clearly, “Okay who the hell’s Rosalie Addams?”
“I don’t know.” Sean said, “I made it up.” He pointed and the print on her blouse, “Rose”, nodded his head at the brunette on the desk corner, “Lee” and “Damn, that was easier than I thought, hope he buys it.”
Wella looked at Ian’s office door quickly and back. “So far so good. Lee get on the Internet and see if anyone even close to that name has written a romance novel, run down to the store and buy a copy of it, then put on your desk for a few days.”
“Got it.” Lee ran to his desk.
“We’ll pass it around a week or two and then we can loose it.” Ella plotted.
“I’ll read it.” Blake. “I’ll read anything. That ought to do it.”
“Oh and guys?” Ian stuck his head out of his office.
“Yes, Ian?” Wella smiled.
“Showbiz Today got better shots.” Ian closed his door.
Sean looked at the door. “I hate him. I really, really hate him.”
“So do I still find the book?” Lee asked.
“Forget it honey. We’ve been caught, nothing we can do now it sit and wait for pay backs.” Wella said. “I’ll be in my office.”
“Oh God! Nobody move!” Daryn ran to the coatroom screaming, “Get Ian. Get Ian now!”
“What?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before!” They heard her yell over things being tossed around. She came rushing back out, plastic Barnes & Nobel bag clutched to her chest. “Where’s Ian?”
“Honey, calm down!” Wella insisted.
“No, no, everyone come here!” She went to the desk they had all been gathered around. “Ian!” She yelled.
Ian came out of his office. “Anyone have any idea where the painting in my office came from?”
Wella, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, David Turner had that sent down and hung in your office. Don’t you like it?”
“Ian, I think….” Daryn mumbled.
“It’s beautiful. I just turned around and there it was.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Have you had a good look at it?”
“Ian, excuse me, but…” Daryn tried to interrupt.
“Well, no, it was wrapped in brown paper when they brought it down. Can I pop in and…”
“Damn it!” Daryn stomped her foot. “Listen to me!”
“Chill, Daryn, chill.” Ian looked at her. “Okay, you’ve got our attention…geez…”
“Thank you. Ian I think I’ve solved the problem. It’ll take some work, but…”
“Which problem? Unfortunately right now you have to be specific.”
“Daytime hole…or at least the possibility of it.”
“Okay, Daryn honey,” Wella warned, “Take a deep breath.”
Daryn nodded her head and let out two lungs full of air, then sped on. “My sister’s having knee surgery, so I stopped by the bookstore to get her something to read, so I bought her these…” She dumped two books on the desktop like they were bars of gold.
Ian crinkled his eyes. “So?”
Blake took a look. “Oh I love these! Have you read them?” Blake asked Daryn as he picked one up. “I’m dying for the last one, but it doesn’t come out until this summer!”
“She wanted to just borrow my copies, but I’m not letting them out of my sight, so I…” Daryn admitted.
“Ladies, the book club meets on Wednesday, what are you babbling about?” Ian interrupted.
“Blood Kisses.” They said in excited harmony.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, why didn’t you say so!” Wella said picking up the second book. “Is this number two? I’ve been looking for it for three months. It’s always sold out.”
“I had to special order it...and wait. I was afraid it would be Christmas before I got a copy, but they called this morning and said it was in.” Daryn said.
“Okay, okay, what is it?” Ian asked catching the book Blake tossed to him.
“My turn…” Wella said, “Excuse me? Where have you been? You have never heard of this trilogy?”
“Should I know about Bloody Kisses?”
“BLOOD Kisses” the whole tam practically corrected him.
“Only the hottest series of books written for adults in the last ten years.”
“Romance…”
“Sex…”
“Oh god the sex…”
“Mystery.”
“Vampires…”
“Oh…” Ian was disappointed. “Another one of those vampire things.”
Blake went into hissy. “Oh no no no no. You cannot and will not dismiss these glorious epics as one of those vampire things.”
“Sorry”, Ian said.
“Uh uh, Ian Grayson Justyn. These make Buffy look like muffin slayer, Dracula look like a shill for marshmallow cereal and Twilight look like a fart after dark. These books, these books have transcended anything previous and everything beyond. They are masterpieces, good old fashioned bodice ripping let me suck the blood out of your neck while we have hot steamy sex trashy masterpieces.”
Ian blinked. “I stand corrected.” He opened up the paper back cover and fanned through the pages. “So they’re good?”
“Perfect. Sales across the board.” Someone piped up. “Teens, college kids, housewives…”
“Old ladies, scifi geeks, horror fans, men…straight, gay absolutely across the board”, someone else finished.
“And?” I asked.
“And we’ll never get them…” Sean said.
“Come on…” Daryn insisted. “There’s a chance. She has turned down every major, but with the final book coming out, maybe now’s the time to strike.”
Sean shook his head. “Buzz is, she just not interested. I know for a fact she’s turned down direct offers from Spielberg, James Cameron and Pedro Almodovar.”
“She’s the one everyone wants.” Wella agreed. “She knows it, and she’s holding out until she gets exactly what she wants.”
“And?” Ian asked.
“And unfortunately nobody knows what that is. She doesn’t return phone calls, she doesn’t take meetings, and doesn’t speak to any one but her editor.” Sean sadly announced.
Ian pointed to the picture in the back of the paperback. “This her?”
Sean leaned over to look. “Yep, that’s her.”
Ian read a moment. “Uh huh…Blake get my neighbor Kellen on the phone please.”
“Okay.” He said looking in his book and picking up his phone. “Do you want me to call your cell first, so we can find it?”
“No. It’s in three pieces in my backpack. Can you work your phone magic on it, please?”
Blake rolled his eyes, double checked the number and punched the buttons.
“Ella…” Ian looked up from the book, “I need a thorough bio on this woman, start here at HRT.”
“HRT?” Daryn asked.
“Says here she got her start writing for “The Best of Everything”. Let’s see if there’s still any kind of connection.”
“Ian…” Blake handed him his phone.
“Hey, buddy, did we wake you…got a bizarre little shot in the dark for you…your ex-wife Amanda, right…uh huh…you said she’s a writer. Blood Kisses by any chance…you couldn’t persuade her to send me some copies could you…Oh, okay…sure, well thanks…later.”
“No go. Huh?’ Sean smiled.
“Actually, she gave him an advanced copy of number three to give to me, said for him to hint she’d love to chat. Apparently, she’s been after him to introduce us. Blake send someone over to pick up some books from my neighbor, and when Saxon gets here just send her right in.” Ian tossed the book back to Sean. “Ella I need that bio asap.” He strode toward his office, stopping at the last minute he turned, “And that my friends is why they call he the Hunka Hunka HRT.”
The office door shut.
“I hate him. I really, really hate him.” Sean said.
There was a slight knock on Ian’s door. He looked up from the galley he was reading. “Come in.”
Susan Andrews stuck her head in the door.
“Susan.” Ian stood. “Please, have a seat.”
She folded her light jacket over her arm and seated herself. “Thank you.”
“May I take your coat? Get you something to drink?” He asked as he seated himself.
“No, I’ll only stay a minute.” She smiled. “You look rested, after your long night.”
“The same to you.”
They remained quiet for a moment. Ian wasn’t sure what to say, and Susan seemed to be looking around the room until she came up with something herself.
“Susan, I’m surprised to see you so soon.” He finally said. “Is there something I can do for you? You alluded last night that we could probably have some business that would be mutually beneficial.”
“Yes, yes.” Susan’s eyes dropped to her lap. “Of course. I’ve been thinking that you might possibly be interested in a sort of soundtrack deal.”
“Soundtrack?”
“I have a large music corporation, and I’ve worked very hard to gather and contract talented people that some how don’t fall into the niches that most record labels seem to be attracted to.”
“I’ve always been impressed with the output of your label. You’ve done well, seeking out the best of the unique and do an impressive job finding them airplay.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking that perhaps we could both benefit by that.”
“Alright, what did you have in mind?”
“Well, it’s not as easy for us to get airplay, for the bulk of our artists. Although Internet is cheap, it is painfully difficult to get people to seek out our artist’s work if they aren’t getting some kind of exposure other than clubs and, well, internet.”
“I understand, but…”
“Well, ever since I saw you at…” Susan blushed. “Anyway, I keep thinking about HRT and all the programming and how expensive it is for your side of the industry to get music rights…”
Ian smiled, thinking he was now understanding. “So you were thinking, maybe some sort of first look musically for our producers at some sort of reduced licensing fee?”
“Actually yes…”
“Susan, that’s great for me, but what does that get for you?”
“I was watching a rerun of something with J.J. the other day, and at the end there was like a little tag that said in tonight’s episode included music by so and so available at so and so. I thought maybe in exchange for music, allowing that the artist agrees, we could do that, listing websites, download and label information.”
“Actually, that could be done.” Ian leaned in a little closer. “But Susan, as I understand it usually when that sort of thing happens its all prearranged to coincide with an upcoming release of the artist.”
“Usually, but I thought the we could simply open up our artist catalogs, specifically for HRT. It would certainly give your programming a more inexpensive outlet to use music as they needed, and generate and regenerate interest in our catalogs.”
“Why don’t we both talk with our legal departments and see if there might be any snags, and go from there. Personally, I think it’s a great idea, and as you said beneficial to both of us.”
Susan smiled, “Good. I don’t watch a lot of television, at our house it’s pretty much old Sniffles the mouse cartoons and Sesame Street. I’d make it a point it to watch more myself, but I really find very little of interest. My TiVo is only set for Carol Burnett reruns.”
Ian smiled. “I miss the variety shows. Hers was the last good one, and you’ve pointed out why. They are so expensive to do.”
“Well, maybe we can change that.” Susan stood. “Thank you for your time, Ian.”
Ian stood and took her hand. “It was a pleasure, as always.” Ian walked around the desk and went to the door to open it for her.
“I almost forgot.” Susan snapped open her purse and pulled something out. “I thought you might like this. Marc Torrey had some old tapes of…I had them put on disc and thought. Well, just enjoy them.”
Ian took the little box of disks. “Thank you. That was…I’ll…thank you Susan.”
She nodded her head, and reached over and kissed him on the cheek, reaching up to rub a little smear of lipstick. “I hope to see you soon.”
Ian nodded his head and opened the door, catching David Turner in mid knock. “Oh, excuse me. I’m interrupting” the old man said.
“David…” Susan smiled warmly and hugged him. “You look wonderful.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear, Susan.” He almost cradled her in his arms. “You make an old man’s heart sing.”
“Why don’t I let the two of you chat?” Ian said. “I’m going to take a moment to speak to Blake.”
“Of course, that would be nice.” Susan kissed Ian again. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I look forward to it.” Ian turned to Turner. “I’ll be back in just a moment, and then I’m all yours.”
“Great, my boy. You take your time. I’ll delight myself in this young lady.”
Ian stepped over to Blake’s desk.
“I need you to set up a meeting this week with legal for me.”
“No problem.” He said, picking up a pencil. “Concerning?”
“Music licensing.”
“Specific? General?”
“Not sure, fees, that sort of thing…”
“Okay.” Blake picked up a large manila envelope and handed it to him. “This just arrived from your neighbor. I was waiting for Ms. Andrews to leave.”
“Thank you.”
“And Saxon Allen called, she’s on her way.”
“Thank you again.” Ian fidgeted with the package. “Blake where would you take a woman to dinner?”
“My mother’s if I wanted her to die happy.”
“You know what I mean…some place special.”
“Romantic?” Blake grinned.
Ian blushed. “Yeah.”
“Someplace that says I had to work my ass off to get us in, but I wanted you to know that you are worth the trouble and all I want to do is concentrate on you?”
He blushed again. “Yes…”
Blake said the name of some place very French.
“Oookay….think you can arrange it, for this week?” Ian said.
“I may have to put out…”
“No problem then?”
Blake shot him a look. “I’ll do my best.”
“Wednesday night?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Just make it Wednesday night, someplace exclusive, someplace romantic, and something I can pronounce.”
“I’ll write it down phonetically for you…in crayon.”
“Kisses, sweetness.”
“Do lunch?”
Ian mocked call me with his fingers. Ian walked towards his office and Blake yelled. “Oh, they’re sending you over a new phone!”
Ian gave him the thumbs up as he shut the door, immediately turning his attention to the gentlemen standing in his office looking at the painting he had given him.
“It’s beautiful, thank you.”
“You like it?”
“Absolutely.” Ian stood with the man and looked at the canvas, a waterfront scene in the moonlight. “You shouldn’t have, I am honored and humbled.”
“Don’t get excited, dear boy. It’s been in a closet of my penthouse for years. I remembered it and thought it might appeal to you.”
“It does. I’m not a connoisseur by any means, but it definitely appeals to me.”
“A little birdy by the name of Mamie Rae Tipton told me you were partial to the artist.”
“I am?”
“She said you had one in your home, and stood for hours just admiring it.”
“I do?”
“Herman Elysian, he gave this to me as a gift before he passed away, one of several, actually. I thought you might like this particular one. It kind of reminds me of you for some reason.”
“Oh?” Ian motioned for the man to take his usual comfy chair, and Ian took the one beside it as was becoming their custom.
“Strong, fascinating and seeming unaware of the power and passion it possesses.”
Ian smiled. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered, confused or kiss you.”
Turner threw back his head and laughed. “Now to the business at hand. I got a call today from CNN.”
“Okay.”
“The CEO is a long time frenemy of mine…”
“Frenemy?”
“Yes, frenemy, Blake is helping me hip up my vocabulary…”
Ian held back the snort as best he could. “Okay…”
“Any way, you have pissed him off to no end.”
“I have? I’m sorry, Mr. Turner. Please, what have I done?”
“Well, my boy, you apparently have put a stumbling block, oh screw it…Pearce Warner. It seems Warner has informed CNN that he’s no longer willing to negotiate with them until he has a chance to talk with you.”
“Oh, yes…”
“America Alive? Pearce Warner?”
“Well, Mr. Turner. It was just an idea…I put in a call to him, tried to persuade him, but didn’t think it would go anywhere. I’ll be happy to call CNN and make any rectification you see fit.”
“Don’t you dare,” Turner even stamped his cane. “He’s exactly what we need. Good move, and if we steal him away from CNN, I’ll do a little dance. They’ve been stealing my people away for years. Whatever you have to offer Warner, you got it. Just get it done. That’s an order.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Walk an old man to the elevator?”
“Absolutely.”
Ian gave the old man his arm, and Turner gratefully appreciated the help, complaining as usual that getting old was “shit”.
As they waited for the elevator, Ian, although he hated skipping links in the chain, turned to his prime resource. “Mr. Turner, I was wondering if you could help me with a little dilemma?”
“I’ll do my best, Young Justyn.”
“I’ve been having a little trouble tracking down a contract.”
“Have you contacted legal? They should be able to send down anything you need almost immediately.”
“That’s always been the case before, but they seem to be either taking their time or ignoring my request for the ‘Sebastian Manor’ contracts. I’m sure it’s an over sight, but they keep sending me copies of the original contract, but not the current.”
“I’m sure it’s just a mix up.”
“Probably. I really need the current to note any changes so I can make sure that any decisions we make are not only financially feasible but legal.”
Turner nodded his head. “I’ll put in a call myself. Anything else?”
Turner and Ian looked up to find Lance Crockett had appeared in front of them.
“Crockett? Are you still popping out of the woodwork?” Turner glanced up at the tall man with a thinly disguised look of disdain on his face.
“I got off the elevator, Mr. Turner. Didn’t you hear the doors open?” He said smiling.
“We were engrossed in conversation.” Ian told him. “We just weren’t paying attention. Did you need to see me?”
Crockett handed him a folder. “Just dropping off the itinerary for Wednesday’s press conference.”
“Thank you.” Ian took the folder, and quickly looked at the pages. “I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”
“Certainly.” Crockett turned back to the old man. “Shall we share the elevator, Mr. Turner?”
“No, you go ahead.” Turner waved him away. “Young Justyn and I aren’t quite finished here.”
“Certainly.” Ian help but couldn’t notice that Crockett almost bowed. Realizing he’d been dismissed from court Lance turned and returned to the elevator, pressing the button with a little ding.
“Listen, why don’t you just…” Ian started to say.
Turner took Ian’s arm, and pulled him a step back from the elevator, intently watching Crockett until the elevator arrived and had shut to whisk the man away. “What do you think of him?” Turner asked.
”Personally?” Turner nodded his head. “I really don’t know him other than he arrives, gives me an extremely detailed list of what I’m supposed to say, right down to ways to answer any questions that might come up.”
“And?”
“And other than the fact that he gets very irate if I don’t follow everything to the letter, which means he’s perpetually pissed off at me. That’s it.”
“He’s one of Kent’s people. Kent talked Tolan in to hiring him when old Seymour Budzynski retired. I should have stepped in, but I hire people to do a job and I really do my best to let them do it.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Not that I don’t like Crockett, I just question…ahh, never mind.”
“Mr. Turner, you’re the boss.”
“Of course I am.”
“Just thought I’d remind you of that.”
Turner looked at the elevator and then back to Ian and smiled. “Yes.”
The elevator doors opened, Turner and Ian both looked up and smiled as Saxon Allen stepped out of the car. “Ian, my boy, if nothing else, you have the most beautiful women waltzing in and out of your office. I may just pull a chair up here in the foyer and just enjoy all day long.”
He reached his hand out to Saxon, who tenderly took it. “Ms. Allen, thank you for gracing this humble building with your beauty this fine day.”
Saxon blushed. “Mr. Turner, you as always, you know just how to make me feel like a woman.”
“Oh, if only I were younger.” He said. “My dear, if only I were younger.” The old man looked at Ian and back to Saxon. “I’ll be on my way, and let the two of you spend a little quality time together.”
Turner stepped into the still waiting elevator. He pushed the button to his floor. “Well, kiss her hello, you fool.” He shook his head in disgust. “Young people!”
It was almost a shock for Ian to see Saxon in casual slacks and a conservative blouse. He couldn’t help but smile, thinking that this was when she was her most beautiful. Ian took her hands and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thank you for the flowers. I got up and walked into my living room and it was filled with yellow and white pedals. Thank you.”
“Thank you for a wonderful evening.” He said. “Shall we head to my office?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
There was small talk as they took the twenty or so steps to Ian’s office. They stopped for a moment here and there to say hello to various staff members, and for her to plant a kiss on Blake’s cheek and give Wella a big hug. They had no idea that all eyes were upon them.
After Saxon had commented on the painting Turner had given to Ian, and rehashed the prior evening, they got to business. Saxon had read the two scripts and the synopsis of story ideas for a series written by Jenson Michaels. She was intrigued with the man’s writing enough that she was serious in wanting to discuss the possibility of working with him and Ian as Executive Producer of the show.
“Of course, I’ll need to meet with him so we can see if we can work together.” She smiled at Ian.
“I’m warning you, Jenson’s a newbie, but I think he’s just what you need.”
“What might that be, prey tell?” Saxon quipped.
Ian looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “A virgin to screw up your way.” Saxon giggled. “Okay, I’ll set it up, and…” He reached back to the trusty backpack, now resting on the sideboard behind him. “One more thing.”
Ian pulled a script out, going directly to Saxon and placing it in her hands. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
He pulled a chair closer to her and sat down. “I’ve debated on this all day, but I’ve decided it’s the right thing to do. Once you read it, you may not agree.”
She looked at the cover and back up to him, “Quarters?”
“It’s a movie script from Jenson Michael. I asked him to send me everything he had. The original script he gave me was a little too pat, so I talked him in to just bringing over his file cabinet. That’s where we found the series, and hidden away was this…” He rubbed his hand across the front of the script, “This shocking little…gem. I’ve not been able to put it out of my head.”
“What’s it about?”
“Saxon, let it just hit you straight on. I think you’ll end up with the same reaction I did. I’m in television, not film. That’s why I’m passing it on to you. The female lead is perfect for you. I think maybe even more than what you had in mind, and I’m not sure it’s even doable, but take a look.”
“Mmm, anything that stirs your passion up, has to be…” She cocked her head and looked at him. “Let’s not go there.” She waved the manuscript at him. “This will be perfect reading on the plane.”
“You’re taking a trip?”
“Yes.” She tucked the script in her shoulder bag. “I leave tomorrow morning.”
“I didn’t realize that you were flying off somewhere.”
“Spur of the moment.” She stood and squeezed his hand and walked toward the door. “Rudy’s taking me to Sydney. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Rudy?”
“Rudolph Van Patten,” She put her hand to her chest, “my paramour. We’ve been on the outs, but he called this morning and is determined to whisk me off my feet again, and I’m going to let him.” She laughed.
“I didn’t know you were dating someone.”
“We’d broken up, but I think that he got a little jealous seeing all those pictures of us. So, he’s come crawling back.” Saxon put her arms around Ian’s waist. “Of course, I’m going to make him grovel, but I think he’s the one, Ian. I really do.”
She put her head on Ian’s shoulder and squeezed him close. “Every time you come into my life, the best things happen.”
Ian rubbed her back and stared at the painting on the wall. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Well, Clem, gotta run.” She kissed him on the lips and pulled away. In an instant she was out the door, and Ian could hear her blowing kisses and saying goodbye to everyone as she went to the elevator.
Ian pursed his lips and sighed. He made a few phone calls, signed a little paperwork and then packed his pack and turned off the lights. As he slowly walked toward the elevator, Blake handed him a little box.
“You’re cell phone. Don’t drop it. Don’t throw it in the pool. Don’t run over it with the car, and for cryin’ out loud don’t lose it!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And here…” Blake handed him a slip of paper.
“I got your reservations, Wednesday night, 7:30. Do not be late and make sure you tip the matre’d at least a week’s rent. Everything else I attached to your credit card.” Blake smiled.
“Perfect.”
“Did you tell her? Was she impressed?” Blake wanted all the details.
“Yes. Thank you.” Was all Ian said before he wished Blake a good night and walked away. As he passed by the foyer he said goodnight to those who still remained. Daryn stood at the elevator, as he approached.
“May we share?” He asked her.
“Of course.”
“How’s the boyfriend?”
“Great.”
“I wanted to thank you for coming up with the ‘Blood Kisses’ idea. I think you’re right, hopefully we can tie it all up in a nice little bow.”
“I hope so.” She smiled as the got in the elevator, Ian waiting until she stepped in first. They rode to the lobby in silence.
“Daryn…” Ian stopped her as she headed for the door. “I wanted to give you this.” Ian handed her the reservation information. “As a thank you for your hard work. Take off early, get all dolled up and have a night to remember, on me. Everything’s taken care of…except tipping the matre’d.”
“Oh my God, Ian.” She looked at the paper. “Do you know how hard this place is to get into?”
He smiled. “Just enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”
Daryn kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t wait to tell Darrell.”
Ian watched her rush off in a cloud of joy, almost forgetting to stop by the front desk and sign out. The older black man behind the desk turned the book around and handed Ian a pen for him to sign.
“That was awful nice of you, Mr. Justyn.”
“Rusty, how many times…?”
The older man nodded his head and chortled. “Ian…I can always tell a member of your staff just by watching them leave.”
“Oh?”
Rusty nodded his head. “They’re always happy or excited. It’s a nice change to what normally stomps out that door.” He turned the book back around.
“I’m glad.” Ian smiled and turned to leave.
Rusty spoke up so he could hear him and Ian pushed at the glass doors. “Yup always happy. Look forward to the day you do the same Mr. Ian.”
Ian stopped, but only momentarily, and continued to the garage.
He didn’t want to think about it. He poured himself back into work, buckling down even harder. The contracts he asked for finally arrived, eye opening as they were. He had done meeting after meeting, way into the night. Things were falling into place, and it excited him.
It didn’t take Ian long to get lost in the paperwork before him. He spend his evening at home in the usual manner, on the table by the pool taking all the pieces of the work day and finding ways to fit them into a yet to be named masterpiece to present the next.
“Hard at work as usual I see?” The voice came from the other end of the patio. “May we interrupt?”
Ian looked up from his notebook to see Kellen, Ralphie in tow, followed closely behind by the dynamic woman with long dark hair he had seen on the balcony that fateful night.
“Of course.” Ian stood. Reaching out his hand to the beautiful woman, who was more exotic and intoxicating than he imagined close up. “You must be Amanda.”
Amanda ignored the outstretched hand, slipped her arms around him and kissed him wetly on the lips. “You are even more delicious close up than you are from two hundred feet away.”
Ian blushed. “Oh my.” She said, taking a step back and turning to Kellen. “And modest. I could just eat him alive.”
“Now, now Amanda.” Kellen warned her. “Not everyone is on the menu.”
“Of course, not Kellen.” She smiled and seated herself at the table. “Just because he’s not an appetizer, doesn’t mean that he wasn’t made to whet the appitite.”
“Drinks?” Ian stammered. “I should get us drinks? Uhm? I have scotch, maybe some vodka…”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Amanda purred.
“I was having hot tea.”
“Scotch then, neat, but only if you’ll join me.”
Ian whisked the paperwork off the table and shoved it in the cabana, as he grabbed a bottle and three glasses. Ralphie barked at Ian for his share of attention. Ian put the bottle down, and got to his haunches to receive doggie kisses from the setter. “And I missed you big boy.”
Kellen explained to his ex, who had a questioning look on her face. “Ralphie seems to have figured out how to open doors. He’s constantly inviting himself over here while I’m at work.”
Ian roughed Ralphie’s coat. “He’s gotten to be such a welcome companion. I never had animals, well pets growing up.”
“Kellen said you were a farm boy—cows and chickens, the whole lot.”
“Well, chickens, only cows when we could afford one and usually only until we needed the meat.”
“What did your family raise?”
“Whatever we could corn, beans. My uncle tried to make a living raising tobacco, but it really wasn’t much of a cash crop, and pretty much stripped the land over time.”
“Interesting.” Amanda said.
“No.” Ian stood from Ralphie and motioned for Kellen to join them at the table. “Not at all.”
Amanda pointed to the bottle. “May we?”
“Oh, absolutely. Forgive me for forgetting. I don’t drink very often, and my social skills need a little polish.” Ian stood and poured a neat drink for Amanda. He picked up a second glass. “Kellen?”
“Actually, none for me. My job is done.” Kellen said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Ralphie and I will head back over to the house and leave the two of you to discuss whatever it is the two of you will discuss.”
“Just stay.” Ian said.
“No. I’ve learned not to be in the ocean when the shark is circling the prey. It’s too easy to get caught in all the thrashing and chomping.”
“Kellen…” Amanda pouted. “You make it sound like I’ve been stalking the poor man, just waiting for the kill.”
Kellen leaned over and kissed his ex-wife on the cheek. “Amanda, dear, I know you’ve been chomping at the bit to discuss business. All I know about the business you two are in is that when you point the little rectangle thingy and press the buttons, somebody somewhere panics because I changed the channels, and quite frankly I enjoy my power of stupidity.” He patted Ian on the back. “She knows what she wants, Ian, and she’ll get it.”
“I think you misunderstand just who is the shark and who is the prey.” Ian smiled.
“This is going to be more fun than I ever dreamed.” Amanda purred.
Kellen smiled and looked at Amanda. “Play nicely children.”
Ian scruffed Ralphie’s ears and kissed him goodnight on the snout, then watched him wag his tail behind his master until they disappeared in the night. He turned to pour himself a drink to find Amanda had already done so and topped hers off. He seated himself and held his glass up in salute.
“So, did you like the books?” She asked.
“Surprisingly yes.” Ian told her. “I usually hate the genre and avoid it like I do, oh French kissing a cobra whose tail I just stuck in the toaster, but I like the way you write. I like the way you seem to be unfolding one story when actually telling another.”
“Thank you.”
“And I’m not just talking about the trilogy. I’ve read four of your other novels as well.”
“You’ve been a busy boy.”
“I always like to know my prey.”
“Mmm.” She licked her lips. “Shall we just whip them out and flop them on the table?”
Ian laughed.
“Amanda, you have been approached by every major, and in response have made yourself absolutely unattainable. With every book, the sales got bigger, the offers got more intense, and you responded with stonewall seclusion. All I had to do was make one phone call to a second party, just to double check a hunch and here you are.” She nodded. “Why HRT?”
“Oh Ian, I could care less about HRT.
“You know what you have, and you’ve been waiting for the just the right time.”
“I’m a business woman, as well as an artist. I know I will probably never get this chance again. Can you blame me?”
“No. Smart thing to do, you’ve played the cards well, Amanda, all you have to do now is point, say you and get anything you want.”
She pointed her finger at him. “You.”
“Why?”
“I do my research to Ian, and let me just say I find you fascinating, fascinating and impressive. You’ve been in this town only a few months and already have everyone looking in your direction. Let me rephrase that, glued to your every move.”
“Maybe not for the right reasons.”
“Ian, if it weren’t for the right reasons, no one would still be watching…so closely. You infiltrated a legion of white collar tight asses, known for chewing up and spitting out the young, the bright and the determined. Usually some one like you has to kiss their ass until they wither and become extinct. Instead you rather boldly bare your own ass in public, make them drool over it and dare them not to kiss it. The really impressive thing is that they seem to be the only ones breaking a sweat.”
“Dumb luck?”
“Now you may be naïve, and maybe you stumbled into some of your quick success, but you back up the dumb moves with bold ones You take no prisoners and make no apologies about it. Why wouldn’t some one who thinks she’s doing the same thing want to a line herself with that?”
“How would you know about my bold moves, my dumb ones unfortunately are available for free with any high speed connection?”
“Let’s just say that I have a dear old friend, who would have done anything to cut you off at the knees but is now one of your legions of staunch allies. Believe me, Ian, when you can turn that much foaming hatred into a lather of fawning drool, it’s very impressive.”
“And who ever this is has kept…?”
“I’m not sure if it was conscious or not, but night after night of phone calls kvetching then suddenly getting the same amount of phone calls spewing awe it’s been easy to keep tabs, whether I wanted to or not. Of course the phone calls all still start with “Guess what the asshole did today?”
“Trish Apple? Are you talking about Trish Apple?”
She smiled. “And there’s the other thing, my turn to ask the question—why?”
“Why what?”
“What she did was terrible, nasty and a very poorly executed, but brilliant scheme. Why did you keep her around, and not have her drawn and quartered? And don’t give some Southern cliché diarrhea that’s meant to be witty either.”
“First, let me say that Trish and I have developed a rather I hate you so much I can’t stand it mutual admiration society, but you’re right she should have been fired and/or gone to jail. However, I knew I had to hit the ground running, the rube was playing with the big boys, and I figured that sooner or later I’d need a goon with big old balls they had no problem ripping off and throwing under the bus.”
“True, the only thing scarier than an extremist with a new hemorrhoid and a microphone, is a loyal diesel dyke whose been pissed off, which is what is so amazing. You pissed that woman off and now she’s a crime fighting sidekick, but don’t tell her I told you that. I like my tits where they are.”
Ian sighed and put down his drink. “Now I guess I should feel guilty about making her sharpen all my pencils and line them up on my blotter according the height and color every morning before I get into the office.” He thought a moment, “No, but I will tell Sean to stop sneaking in after her and messing with them.”
“You are nasty.”
“Understand, please, that I’m not about to be sucker punched again. I’m sure it will happen, but like any good improvisational comedian, I’m going over every possible scenario in advance so my well rehearsed jokes will look spontaneous.”
“Ian, let me blow my own horn, here. I am handing you a hot, let’s face it, flavor of the month, my crown jewels and the only string attached is that you are attached. When this hits the media you will be elevated above and beyond any flash in the pan. You will be the envy of every mogul walking the face of the earth.”
“That I am aware of, especially having read the third book, when that hits the stands, the din of people begging for a taste of the cake will only escalate.”
“I think you and I are a lot a like, Ian Justyn. I never would have thought so, but we are. At first, I thought okay, my ex-husband who is really not much of a people person likes him. He doesn’t trust easily, not after what I did to him…and I don’t blame him. When Trish jumped on the bandwagon, I had to take a serious look, and I like what I see. Ian I like what I feel. You should take that as a compliment.”
“I do. Can we fight now?”
“Yes. Let’s.”
“My assumption is that you have no interest in film versions of the three books. Correct?”
“I’ve seen the ‘Twilight’ things. I’ve seen the most wonderful novels turned into the most hideous ninety-eight some odd minutes of torture. No thanks, I’d rather have Trish rearrange my anatomy.”
“You’re thinking mini-series, maybe a follow up series. I can’t believe that you don’t have some wonderfully twisted plots in mind with the characters left at the end of the third book.”
Amanda smiled, touched her finger tips to her finger tips and smiled. She threw her head back and laughed. “I knew this would be perfect!”
“This is were we get to fight. I’ve got a mostly similar idea. I’m thinking three limited run series running back to back, a highly promoted saga to kick off what will become the most talked about…” Ian leaned back in the chair, “…daytime drama ever.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Amanda went instantaneously from enthralled to appalled. “You want to turn my masterpiece into one of those low rent HRT soaps nobody watches? I don’t think so.”
“No Amanda,” Ian finally sat forward. “I want you to turn my low rent HRT soaps into a masterpiece that no one would dare not watch.”
“If you think you can talk me into that, I have severely misjudged you.” She pushed back her chair. “Forgive me for wasting both our time.”
“Amanda, give me one more minute, just one. You see I think you are right, we are both a lot alike, and I am offering tit for tat. Why should you hand me something that will without a doubt send my fledgling career into orbit without being able to offer you something juicy in return? Well something in return besides that big pile of dirty money.”
“Okay.” Amanda released her grip on the arms of the chair. “You have my attention.”
“You didn’t ask me an important question.”
“Which is?”
“Why would I suddenly be interested in the biggest selling Gothic Romance of all time, when quite frankly the genre just flat out doesn’t interest me to the point I didn’t even realize it existed until this morning?”
Amanda turned her head to the side and stared at Ian. “You’re right. Why, and more importantly why would you insult me with a pitch for a soap opera?”
“It wasn’t the books that caught my eye, Amanda. It was the little bio in the back. It was that and a little fact checking that made me put two and two together to make several million.”
Ian walked over to his backpack and pulled out a file folder, stuffed to the gills. He placed it on the table in front of Amanda and got on his knees. He took her hands and looked into her eyes.
“So Amanda Jackson, would you give me Ian Justyn, the honor of, together, turning “Blood Kisses” in to the most innovative daytime drama in history, the one every one will try and fail to imitate. Will you give me a clear career path covered with industry drool and allow this humble man in return to give you…revenge, sweet roll naked on the bed covered in your enemy’s blood revenge.”
That dirty little twinkle came back into her eyes. “Do tell, Ian Justyn. Do tell.”
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