It would only be the first time that day the room applauded Ian. When he pitched a variety series kicked off by a live concert with Susan Andrews and Jimmy Sage the room was practically riotous. When he announced the new daytime schedule including “Blood Kisses” they practically hoisted him on their shoulders and poured champagne on him.
Yup, it was a good day. By the end of it, all of Ian’s pilots and ideas made the cut. He had been set up as the golden boy and even Simon Kent had to admit that. Ian took it all with a little grain of salt, knowing it all looked great on paper. The real test was when it hit the air.
As the meeting was adjourned, Ian was distracted temporarily shaking hands and receiving congratulations. As the executives left the room, leaving the board members behind for a brief chat before they took a break, Simon Kent stepped in front of Ian.
He didn’t offer his hand, and his face couldn’t hide the distain. “Enjoy it while it lasts Justyn. Success is fleeting.”
Ian smiled, “Actually Simon, I’ve always felt that success was something you held in your heart. You hold fame in your hand, and it blows away very easily. Success is something personal. No one can snatch that away but you.”
“Whatever.” Kent rolled his eyes and sneered. The turned swiftly and marched toward the door.
“Ian?” Denver Metcalfe called from the other end of the room. “Would you and Wella mind staying? The board would like to get your input on something.”
Before Ian turned to say “Of course” he noticed Simon Kent freeze in his tracks and turn red faced back to Ian and the room.
Metcalfe looked at Kent and smiled. “Is there something you’ve forgotten Kent?”
“No.” He stammered. “I just thought that…”
A woman from the board frowned and waved him off. “You are no longer needed Kent.”
Kent looked at the floor and nodded. “Yes.” He said quietly.
“And Kent?” The woman said. “I noticed not one of your pilots even made the first round of cuts. Perhaps you need to start rethinking things. Take a lesson from Ian here, and start thinking outside the box.”
Simon would have spit nails at Ian if he’d had enough iron in his diet that day. He whirled around abruptly and petulantly stomped out of the room.
“Have a seat.” The woman pointed at two chairs. Ian and Wella sat down.
Ian whispered. “Any idea what this is about?” Wella shook her head. They both felt like they had been sent to the Principals office…again.
The woman motioned to David Turner. “Thank you, Jessica. Ian, Wella, I want both of you to know that although I support the decision, I did not prompt nor instigate this. The board made these decisions of their own accord.”
Once again, Ian and Wella looked at each other and then back to the board. Wella swallowed hard.
Ian took a deep breath. “’kay”.
Denver Metcalfe leaned on the long desk in front of him. “Ian take a look at the schedule board up there.”
The woman named Jessica said, “Go ahead, dear, go right up there and look it over.”
Ian looked at Wella and stood, wobbly, and made his way to the schedule that loomed the front wall of the room. He looked at it and then turned back to the nine men and three women in the room.
“That’s our fall schedule.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you happy with it?” Jessica asked.
Ian looked at Turner and then over to Wella, hoping she’d give him some sort of signal, as she had many times before. The only signal he could read from her was barely contained terror.
Ian looked at the woman. “For the most part, ma’am.”
“Ian I have to say I adore your Southern charm. I realize that you say ma’am out of respect, but like you and the term ‘mister’, every time you call me ma’am I wonder where my grandmother is. Please, call me Jessica or, if you must, I’ll settle for Ms. Greginsky.”
“Uhm…” “Ian smiled weakly. “’kay.”
Jessica batted her eyes. She cleared her throat and got back to business. “Ian, if you were put totally in charge, no one to answer to, how would you change that schedule?”
“Oh…I…” Ian looked at Wella, who shrugged.
“Just do it, Ian”. Turner said. “Change anything around, take anything off. Do it.” He ordered.
Ian turned back around to the schedule. He thought about his first interview. Ian sighed. He had no idea what was going on, but somehow he knew this was a test. He’d been boldly honest from moment one. It was too late to turn back now.
He reached to the Saturday schedule that simply said “Reruns”, pulled off the magnet there and placed it on the table. He looked up to gage the reaction. The board was watching his every move, exchanging glances with each other.
Ian next pulled off the magnet for the series “A Saga Leading Nowhere”, yanking it off Sunday nights and putting it in the Saturday slot he’d emptied. He then got in the trash and pulled out two comedies the execs had decided to can after one season. He put them in the hour slot he made on Sunday. He looked it over one more time, then nodded his head and returned to his seat.
The board members looked at each other. “Interesting.” Metcalfe said glancing to David Turner. “That’s all?”
“I think that’s the best we can do with what we have to offer. Any more and I think our core audience would abandon us. If we do another major cleaning like this next fall, provided the majority of our new shows work, we should be at least number two.”
“You left a hole.” Jessica Greginsky pointed out. “Two hours nine to eleven on Saturdays.”
“I’m wondering about Saturday as a whole.” Ned Bellamy spoke up. He was the youngest member of the board and the only person of color. “Why would you move our top rated series to the lowest rated night of the week?”
Ian felt Wella’s hand on his thigh. He smiled, remembering what that meant. “It also is the night of the week the biggest percentage of television watchers say they don’t watch because there is nothing on, young religious families with children.”
“That’s why it’s scheduled for Sunday nights. To attract those viewers.” Bellamy said.
“Sir, most members of Protestant religions go to church on Sunday nights, arriving home between eight thirty and nine. They’d watch it, if it were on at a time they were home; Saturday nights looking for something to watch with the kids.”
Bellamy’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Metcalfe. “There hasn’t been a hit on Saturday nights since when? Mary Tyler Moore in the seventies?”
“The audience is still there, just not the one’s who watch the rest of the week.” Ian defended. “It’s the only night of the week we can afford niche programming, and we waste it with reruns or stuff already canceled we need to burn to offset cost.”
“But the hole, dear.” Greggy repeated. “Would you keep reruns there?”
“Sort of.” Ian looked at Wella who smiled lightly and nodded. “We’ve been talking, and we think if we are going to do reruns, why does it have to be current programming? If I were in charge, I’d turn those two hours into a block of classic HRT programs; stuff in our vaults that hasn’t been seen in years.”
“Like?” David Turner asked.
“Classic HRT movies and Tess Sinclair’s sitcom…”
“That’s been in syndication for years.” Someone scoffed.
Ian nodded. “But only two hundred episodes, it ran for fifteen years at a time when 30 to 36 episodes were the norm, dust off the other 340, and all the things that ran in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, the ones that made us the best network in the world, all which bring back smiles to faces when they’re mentioned and most of which haven’t been seen since they left the airwaves.”
Jessica Greginsky turned to Denver Metcalfe. “Signature reruns. We dust them off, broadcast them and then drop them to video.” She turned to David and nodded her head. “Win, win.”
Metcalfe looked around the room. “Are there any reservations?” The board all resounded assuring him there wasn’t. “Dave…” he nodded to the board. “We have our schedule.”
The old man smiled. “Thank you, Young Justyn. Now for the matter at hand, Wella, Young Justyn…”
Wella took Ian’s hand under the table and they braced for whatever was coming.
“As of Monday morning there will be some major changes in structure. You are aware of Jack Tolan, also Lance Crockett is busy telling his staff all but four we’ve chosen are being let go or sent back to the mail room. Each development team will now have two people for promotion.”
“We think we’ll get better results having the promotion developed along with the product itself.” Jessica smiled. “You’ve proven that.”
“We are keeping a small team which, for the time being, Lance Crawford will head up. His job will be to co-ordinate overall. That team and all of the development team will answer to the Head of Development and Promotion, a new position we are putting in place. That position will answer to me and only me.”
“Of course.” Ian nodded.
“As for Tolan’s position…” Turner began.
“Excuse me.” Ian interrupted him. “I just want to go on the record, again, as saying I have not now nor ever had designs on Jack’s position.”
Jessica Greginsky smiled. “You enjoy what you do.”
“Yes, ma…Jess...i…ca... I love it. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do, and I think it’s how I can best help HRT.” Ian said emphatically.
Metcalfe frowned. “You’d never want to be vice president of the network?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that, maybe some day when I’m ready. I’ve still so much to learn.”
Metcalfe leaned back in his chair and smiled. He exchanged that smile with everyone in the room. “You’re right on both counts, but at the same time, you’re wrong.”
Ian looked at Wella. “I don’t understand.”
David Turner stepped in. “Young Justyn…Ian, you are correct in saying that you are not ready for Tolan’s position, but I want to work with you on a daily basis. When we feel you are confident, I will step back. There is much for you to learn, and we’ve all been noticing there is much you can teach us.”
Jessica leaned forward. “Ian, you do realize that this morning we had ten hours of time to fill?”
“And we did that.” Ian said.
“Yes.” She smiled. “There are five development teams, Kent’s boobs presented nothing worth looking at twice. Two teams had one hour each, and third had ninety minutes.”
“The rest came from your team, two thirds of it, and there was never any question as to whether or not to snap it up for the schedule, just where to place it for the best advantage.” Ned Grayson said. “It’s not only unheard of, I don’t think it’s ever happened. At least not at HRT.”
Ian gulped. “I don’t know what to say. The team worked hard. I’m proud of them.”
Denver Metcalfe folded his hands together. “Are you willing to do anything we ask you to do, without question?”
“Of course.”
“Done.” He said and looked at Turner.
“We’ll make the formal announcement at the press conference next week.” Turner and company began closing folders and gathering up items. “Wella you’ll be right there with Young Justyn every step of the way. You’re going to have much more responsibility as well.”
“Darling, we have every confidence in you as well.” Jessica Greginsky said as she picked up her purse. “We know you’re a team. That’s what drew our attention in the first place.” She walked by and kissed Wella on the cheek. “Let’s do a girl’s night. I’ll call you.” She said and was out the door.
David Turner was the last to leave the room. “Still taking Friday off?”
Ian and Wella nodded.
“Good. Come in tomorrow, I’ll bring donuts. We’ll congratulate the team and start making some decisions. Congratulations, you two.” Turner strutted toward the door. He shook his head. “You remind me of the young upstarts that started this company.”
He disappeared, leaving Wella and Ian still seated at the table. They remained silent for a moment.
Ian finally turned to Wella. “What just happened?”
“I think we just got promoted.”
“Not fired?”
“No.” Wella turned to Ian. “Sometimes I wonder about you child. You just got crowned prince and royal heir to the throne and I got your old job and you think we both just got fired.”
“Are you sure?”
She thought a moment. “Pretty sure.”
“Can we go home now?”
“Probably, but let’s sit here a minute, just in case.” She said.
“Good. I don’t think my legs work anymore.”
“I peed my pants.” Wella sighed.
“I need a cigarette.”
Wella looked around and pulled a pack out of Ian’s coat pocket. She lit one, handed it to him, then lit one for herself.
Ian flicked an ash in a cup of water. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
Wella puffed her Marlboro, sucked it in and let out a thick stream. “It’s either that or go number two in my pants.”
Showing posts with label Television. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Television. Show all posts
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Vignette #104: Blindsides
“Before we begin the process of elimination, I believe we need to discuss the current situation with the Jeff Torkelson project.”
Everyone looked at Simon Kent, who smiled and stood. “Most of you know that I initiated the contract, but there were some minor creative differences. The show was heading in a strong direction, but well…I’ll let Ian take over from here. He stepped in and the ball is totally in his court.”
Kent smirked and took his seat. The room looked at Ian, all with questionable looks of various degrees on their faces. David Turner grinned “Young Justyn you have the floor.”
Ian nodded. “May I?”
“By all means.” Turner took his seat and Ian walked to the head of the room.
“Thank you, Simon. I start by thanking you for the wonderful opportunity that you handed me. You are to be applauded for not only seizing an opportunity, but allowing an unseasoned pier to help in shaping it. As Simon said, the show is heading in a very strong, and if I may say so, very exciting direction. We only have one little problem…”
“Problem?” Simon did spider mirror exercises with his fingers. “How could there be a problem? Do tell.”
“Actually, it’s not really a problem, with everyone’s approval it actually solves a problem. The original idea was a spin off.”
“That’s what was contracted.” Kent puffed.
“No, sir. What was contracted was a series with a full year commitment, provided it be ready for airing this fall. Jeff Torkelson and his contracted writing staff had trouble coming up with a sustainable concept for a spin off. Fortunately, through some hard work and sheer luck we were able to come up with an alternative concept, one we already had a development agreement on and we begin shooting the series in two weeks.”
“Casting is done?” Metcalfe couldn’t believe.
“Actually, yes.” Ian assured. “We were able to use the two actors already contracted for the spin off, and the other two regulars, one lead and one reoccurring have already signed on the dotted line.”
Trent Rockford spoke up. “Another lead? Torkelson had already wangled his way into being the highest paid lead in television. What the hell did you sign another lead for? It was unaffordable as it was.”
Ian nodded to Wella, who began to pass out folders with contracts. “The folders Wella is now passing out contains all the contracts and cost analysis of the series, no longer a Jeff Torkelson project, but “The World On A String” starring Jeff Torkelson and legendary HRT star Tess Sinclair.”
“Tess Sinclair?” Someone said. “You signed Tess Sinclair?”
“Yes.” Ian said. “If you turn to the first contract you will see an agreement signed by Jeff and myself declaring the initial contract mediated by Mr. Kent null and void, followed by a new contract at exactly half the original price, with higher back end and raises for the five year term based on ratings increases.”
“He agreed to that?” Kent’s face fell.
“Mr. Torkelson and Ms. Sinclair both agreed that it was more important to make a good series that was affordable to the network.”
“They believe in the project that much?” Rockford asked.
“Absolutely.” Ian smiled. “Please take note, we have broken down the cost analysis to the first contract against the new contracts. “The World On a String” is still an expensive series but only slightly higher than the cost of any new program at any network.”
Everyone but Simon Kent and his assistant applauded. Kent tossed the files on the table in front of him. Simon looked at Ian. “How is any of this possible? You just started on Monday.”
“Wait a minute.” One of the other execs put his hands on the table. “You did this in two days?”
Ian nodded his head and continued. “The original idea was from Jenson Michaels, whom my department has under contract. When Tessie came into the picture, I remembered it.” Ian nodded to Wella again, who began passing out bound scripts.
“These are the first two scripts, the first folder has an episode breakdown for two years. Now, Torkelson’s writers will tweak them slightly but they decided they were too good not to use as stood.”
“You said there was a problem.” Metcalfe said. “All I see here is gold.”
“Well the problem is this is not a half hour sitcom. This is a one hour dramedy, throw “Ugly Betty” and “Mad Men” in a blender and you get “The World On A String”. My suggestion is moving “John and Agnes” from 9:30 to 8:30 on Thursday, filling the early hole and the last one as well.”
“I always thought that ‘John and Agnes’ was more a family oriented show anyway.” Someone piped up.
“It is our highest rated sitcom, and will serve a better build into “String” than the other way around.” Ian said.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed but apprehensive.” Simon grinned. “You threw all of this together in two days. I’ll just put it out there. We shouldn’t okay this until we’ve seen a pilot. Sinclair is a notorious diva and I doubt has any chemistry with Torkelson. We shouldn’t even think about this until we have a pilot.”
“We don’t have time for that.” Ian told him. “Not if we plan to announce it for the fall.”
“Then we pull it off.” Simon smiled and looked around the room. “I move we just cancel the project until we see something concrete.”
“Not a problem.” Ian smiled. “I don’t have a pilot, but we did shoot a teaser for you, even we wanted to see about chemistry between the two leads.”
David Turner stood. “Ian, let me step in here, if I may…” Ian nodded and returned to his seat. “First of all, let me just point out that what you are about to see is two fold. After you see this you will no doubt agree with Ian and myself…”
“You knew about this?” Kent said.
“Of course.” Turner looked down on the man. “Young Justyn wasn’t about to mess with the fortunes of this network with out getting input and approval from a superior, something a couple of you might want to begin taking into consideration.”
Kent’s shrunk back in his chair. Turner beamed, “Now where was I…oh yes, two fold. You are about to see the teaser for “World On A String”, and how it will be used with the fall campaign. The board was so excited when they saw it, we’ve already unanimously approved it.”
Simon Kent clapped his hands and giggled. “I knew it!”
The room including Ian rolled their eyes. Someone even murmured “I heart HRT.”
“Now this is just a…what did he call it, a simple Flash computer program, when it’s transferred over to film it will be a little softer.” Turner seemed pleased. “Shall we roll it?”
He took his seat as the lights dimmed. Wella looked at Ian and patted his thigh, whispering, “At least our teaser will be good.”
The screen at the front of the room lit up and the soft sounds of an orchestra could be heard. A classic picture faded into to view, the portrait of the woman from the lobby. As it went to sepia an announcer’s voice said simply “Hutton”. The process repeated twice with the other two portraits, the announcer saying “Redfield” and then “Turner”. As the final portrait faded into the network logo the room heard “The legend continues this fall…”
Ian and Wella were dumbstruck. It was the campaign they had designed and didn’t bother to submit. They looked at each other and then back to the screen. A classic portrait of Tess Sinclair faded into the logo. It was an iconic shot from the cover of TV Guide of “Tessie” in all her diva glory.
It went sepia fading into a shot of Tessie in the exact pose this time in color. The camera pulled back revealing her on a chaise in modern day diva glory. Jeff Torkelson came into the shot, baby in arm and five year old with thick glasses in hand. He stopped at Tess and frowned. “Got to go for unemployment.”
The little girl crawled over Tess and sits on her legs staring at her. Jeff handed Tess the baby. “You’re in charge”. He walked out of the shot and the camera panned in for a close up of Tess and the baby, every ounce of diva gone.
The announcer said, “The World on a String, Thursdays this fall a new legend is born.”
The baby spits up and Tess looks at the camera as the shot turns to sepia.
The room howled. Applause broke out and the room got to its feet. Even Simon Kent stood, staring angry holes into Ian, but clapping along.
Everyone looked at Simon Kent, who smiled and stood. “Most of you know that I initiated the contract, but there were some minor creative differences. The show was heading in a strong direction, but well…I’ll let Ian take over from here. He stepped in and the ball is totally in his court.”
Kent smirked and took his seat. The room looked at Ian, all with questionable looks of various degrees on their faces. David Turner grinned “Young Justyn you have the floor.”
Ian nodded. “May I?”
“By all means.” Turner took his seat and Ian walked to the head of the room.
“Thank you, Simon. I start by thanking you for the wonderful opportunity that you handed me. You are to be applauded for not only seizing an opportunity, but allowing an unseasoned pier to help in shaping it. As Simon said, the show is heading in a very strong, and if I may say so, very exciting direction. We only have one little problem…”
“Problem?” Simon did spider mirror exercises with his fingers. “How could there be a problem? Do tell.”
“Actually, it’s not really a problem, with everyone’s approval it actually solves a problem. The original idea was a spin off.”
“That’s what was contracted.” Kent puffed.
“No, sir. What was contracted was a series with a full year commitment, provided it be ready for airing this fall. Jeff Torkelson and his contracted writing staff had trouble coming up with a sustainable concept for a spin off. Fortunately, through some hard work and sheer luck we were able to come up with an alternative concept, one we already had a development agreement on and we begin shooting the series in two weeks.”
“Casting is done?” Metcalfe couldn’t believe.
“Actually, yes.” Ian assured. “We were able to use the two actors already contracted for the spin off, and the other two regulars, one lead and one reoccurring have already signed on the dotted line.”
Trent Rockford spoke up. “Another lead? Torkelson had already wangled his way into being the highest paid lead in television. What the hell did you sign another lead for? It was unaffordable as it was.”
Ian nodded to Wella, who began to pass out folders with contracts. “The folders Wella is now passing out contains all the contracts and cost analysis of the series, no longer a Jeff Torkelson project, but “The World On A String” starring Jeff Torkelson and legendary HRT star Tess Sinclair.”
“Tess Sinclair?” Someone said. “You signed Tess Sinclair?”
“Yes.” Ian said. “If you turn to the first contract you will see an agreement signed by Jeff and myself declaring the initial contract mediated by Mr. Kent null and void, followed by a new contract at exactly half the original price, with higher back end and raises for the five year term based on ratings increases.”
“He agreed to that?” Kent’s face fell.
“Mr. Torkelson and Ms. Sinclair both agreed that it was more important to make a good series that was affordable to the network.”
“They believe in the project that much?” Rockford asked.
“Absolutely.” Ian smiled. “Please take note, we have broken down the cost analysis to the first contract against the new contracts. “The World On a String” is still an expensive series but only slightly higher than the cost of any new program at any network.”
Everyone but Simon Kent and his assistant applauded. Kent tossed the files on the table in front of him. Simon looked at Ian. “How is any of this possible? You just started on Monday.”
“Wait a minute.” One of the other execs put his hands on the table. “You did this in two days?”
Ian nodded his head and continued. “The original idea was from Jenson Michaels, whom my department has under contract. When Tessie came into the picture, I remembered it.” Ian nodded to Wella again, who began passing out bound scripts.
“These are the first two scripts, the first folder has an episode breakdown for two years. Now, Torkelson’s writers will tweak them slightly but they decided they were too good not to use as stood.”
“You said there was a problem.” Metcalfe said. “All I see here is gold.”
“Well the problem is this is not a half hour sitcom. This is a one hour dramedy, throw “Ugly Betty” and “Mad Men” in a blender and you get “The World On A String”. My suggestion is moving “John and Agnes” from 9:30 to 8:30 on Thursday, filling the early hole and the last one as well.”
“I always thought that ‘John and Agnes’ was more a family oriented show anyway.” Someone piped up.
“It is our highest rated sitcom, and will serve a better build into “String” than the other way around.” Ian said.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed but apprehensive.” Simon grinned. “You threw all of this together in two days. I’ll just put it out there. We shouldn’t okay this until we’ve seen a pilot. Sinclair is a notorious diva and I doubt has any chemistry with Torkelson. We shouldn’t even think about this until we have a pilot.”
“We don’t have time for that.” Ian told him. “Not if we plan to announce it for the fall.”
“Then we pull it off.” Simon smiled and looked around the room. “I move we just cancel the project until we see something concrete.”
“Not a problem.” Ian smiled. “I don’t have a pilot, but we did shoot a teaser for you, even we wanted to see about chemistry between the two leads.”
David Turner stood. “Ian, let me step in here, if I may…” Ian nodded and returned to his seat. “First of all, let me just point out that what you are about to see is two fold. After you see this you will no doubt agree with Ian and myself…”
“You knew about this?” Kent said.
“Of course.” Turner looked down on the man. “Young Justyn wasn’t about to mess with the fortunes of this network with out getting input and approval from a superior, something a couple of you might want to begin taking into consideration.”
Kent’s shrunk back in his chair. Turner beamed, “Now where was I…oh yes, two fold. You are about to see the teaser for “World On A String”, and how it will be used with the fall campaign. The board was so excited when they saw it, we’ve already unanimously approved it.”
Simon Kent clapped his hands and giggled. “I knew it!”
The room including Ian rolled their eyes. Someone even murmured “I heart HRT.”
“Now this is just a…what did he call it, a simple Flash computer program, when it’s transferred over to film it will be a little softer.” Turner seemed pleased. “Shall we roll it?”
He took his seat as the lights dimmed. Wella looked at Ian and patted his thigh, whispering, “At least our teaser will be good.”
The screen at the front of the room lit up and the soft sounds of an orchestra could be heard. A classic picture faded into to view, the portrait of the woman from the lobby. As it went to sepia an announcer’s voice said simply “Hutton”. The process repeated twice with the other two portraits, the announcer saying “Redfield” and then “Turner”. As the final portrait faded into the network logo the room heard “The legend continues this fall…”
Ian and Wella were dumbstruck. It was the campaign they had designed and didn’t bother to submit. They looked at each other and then back to the screen. A classic portrait of Tess Sinclair faded into the logo. It was an iconic shot from the cover of TV Guide of “Tessie” in all her diva glory.
It went sepia fading into a shot of Tessie in the exact pose this time in color. The camera pulled back revealing her on a chaise in modern day diva glory. Jeff Torkelson came into the shot, baby in arm and five year old with thick glasses in hand. He stopped at Tess and frowned. “Got to go for unemployment.”
The little girl crawled over Tess and sits on her legs staring at her. Jeff handed Tess the baby. “You’re in charge”. He walked out of the shot and the camera panned in for a close up of Tess and the baby, every ounce of diva gone.
The announcer said, “The World on a String, Thursdays this fall a new legend is born.”
The baby spits up and Tess looks at the camera as the shot turns to sepia.
The room howled. Applause broke out and the room got to its feet. Even Simon Kent stood, staring angry holes into Ian, but clapping along.
Vignette #103: Twitter
By the time Ian got to the penthouse conference room, Simon Kent was in full bloom. He had the attention of as many as he could get. He spouted tidbits of information and encouragement like a human “Twitter”.
“And the fall campaign Crawford came up with.” He put his hand to his heart and “swooned”. “It’s so adorable. I heart HRT. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Trent Rockford, one of the other development execs, rolled his eyes. “Ever read a bumper sticker, Simon?”
Kent shot him a questionable look. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one with any intelligence reads that garbage. The only people more foolish than the ones who plaster their vehicles with that offensive trash are the morons who get drunk, write it and sell it from their cardboard boxes.”
Rockford laughed to himself and shook his head. Ian smiled and began to stack his sheathed mockups on an easel that was in the corner.
Kent leaned over to his assistant. “Look, Justyn is getting ready for show and tell.” The assistant tittered with him. They began whispering back and forth to each other, stopping only when David Turner entered the room heading for the leather chair at the end of the table.
Denver Metcalfe patted Ian on the back and went up, taking the first seat immediately to Turner’s right. Turner was nodding hello, shaking hands and looking around the room. When he caught Ian’s eye, he nodded and winked.
Ian knew that meant Turner felt he’d managed to keep any information from getting to Kent. Ian subtly nodded and took his seat beside Wella toward the end of the table.
“Looks like everyone here. Shall we begin?” Turner said.
Simon Kent smiled. “Shouldn’t we wait for Jack?”
Turner smiled. “He won’t be with us today, Simon. We’ll proceed without him.”
Kent pushed his chair from the table and began to push his ample round frame up. “As senior executive, I’ll be happy to moderate in his behalf.”
“Not necessary, Kent.” Turner stopped him in mid-stand. “As president of this company since it’s founding, I think I can handle that.”
The smile left Kent’s face. “Of course.” He realized he was half standing, half sitting and eased himself back down. “By all means.”
“For those of you that haven’t heard via the grapevine, as of today Jack Tolan is no longer with us. He has decided to take his retirement effective immediately.”
“Oh…” Kent graced the room with a “heartfelt” sigh oblivious only to the pigeon that left his calling card on the window behind him.
“Briefly, the board and I have decided on some restructuring, starting with his position. Until we decide upon his successor and exactly how that position fits into our restructure, I will be assuming all of his duties.”
“I assume that you will be naming his successor soon.” Even Kent was embarrassed that slipped out of his mouth.
“No.” Turner informed the room to Kent’s chagrin. “At this point we don’t feel the need to do so. It is more important that we implement the restructuring before offering a contracted position whose responsibilities may vary drastically in the coming months.”
Metcalf spoke up. “May I also add, that with the excitement being created for the fall season and our concentration over the summer being building upon that, the board feels it is the only focus necessary. We have several candidates in mind, both in and out of our corporate structure.”
Turner nodded. “We will concentrate on building the best fall line up we have had in years, while continuing to observe the candidates, taking our time to make the right choice for a VP who can best help steer us in the direction we feel the network and the company needs to go as a whole. That said let’s get down to business…”
The first hour was a tedious rundown from each department, followed by a small break. David Turner then went over what had already been decided, what shows they were canceling, and went over the decisions already made to fill the holes.
A whopping ten hours of programming needed to be filled. HRT was at the bottom of the heap for the third year in a row, drastic measures had to be taken and everyone was stepping up to bat. Virtually every night would have a change. Eight of the ten hours had been filed. The pilots that still hadn’t been ruled out, had all been reviewed again. All that was left was to decided what to schedule and where to schedule it.
“And the fall campaign Crawford came up with.” He put his hand to his heart and “swooned”. “It’s so adorable. I heart HRT. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Trent Rockford, one of the other development execs, rolled his eyes. “Ever read a bumper sticker, Simon?”
Kent shot him a questionable look. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one with any intelligence reads that garbage. The only people more foolish than the ones who plaster their vehicles with that offensive trash are the morons who get drunk, write it and sell it from their cardboard boxes.”
Rockford laughed to himself and shook his head. Ian smiled and began to stack his sheathed mockups on an easel that was in the corner.
Kent leaned over to his assistant. “Look, Justyn is getting ready for show and tell.” The assistant tittered with him. They began whispering back and forth to each other, stopping only when David Turner entered the room heading for the leather chair at the end of the table.
Denver Metcalfe patted Ian on the back and went up, taking the first seat immediately to Turner’s right. Turner was nodding hello, shaking hands and looking around the room. When he caught Ian’s eye, he nodded and winked.
Ian knew that meant Turner felt he’d managed to keep any information from getting to Kent. Ian subtly nodded and took his seat beside Wella toward the end of the table.
“Looks like everyone here. Shall we begin?” Turner said.
Simon Kent smiled. “Shouldn’t we wait for Jack?”
Turner smiled. “He won’t be with us today, Simon. We’ll proceed without him.”
Kent pushed his chair from the table and began to push his ample round frame up. “As senior executive, I’ll be happy to moderate in his behalf.”
“Not necessary, Kent.” Turner stopped him in mid-stand. “As president of this company since it’s founding, I think I can handle that.”
The smile left Kent’s face. “Of course.” He realized he was half standing, half sitting and eased himself back down. “By all means.”
“For those of you that haven’t heard via the grapevine, as of today Jack Tolan is no longer with us. He has decided to take his retirement effective immediately.”
“Oh…” Kent graced the room with a “heartfelt” sigh oblivious only to the pigeon that left his calling card on the window behind him.
“Briefly, the board and I have decided on some restructuring, starting with his position. Until we decide upon his successor and exactly how that position fits into our restructure, I will be assuming all of his duties.”
“I assume that you will be naming his successor soon.” Even Kent was embarrassed that slipped out of his mouth.
“No.” Turner informed the room to Kent’s chagrin. “At this point we don’t feel the need to do so. It is more important that we implement the restructuring before offering a contracted position whose responsibilities may vary drastically in the coming months.”
Metcalf spoke up. “May I also add, that with the excitement being created for the fall season and our concentration over the summer being building upon that, the board feels it is the only focus necessary. We have several candidates in mind, both in and out of our corporate structure.”
Turner nodded. “We will concentrate on building the best fall line up we have had in years, while continuing to observe the candidates, taking our time to make the right choice for a VP who can best help steer us in the direction we feel the network and the company needs to go as a whole. That said let’s get down to business…”
The first hour was a tedious rundown from each department, followed by a small break. David Turner then went over what had already been decided, what shows they were canceling, and went over the decisions already made to fill the holes.
A whopping ten hours of programming needed to be filled. HRT was at the bottom of the heap for the third year in a row, drastic measures had to be taken and everyone was stepping up to bat. Virtually every night would have a change. Eight of the ten hours had been filed. The pilots that still hadn’t been ruled out, had all been reviewed again. All that was left was to decided what to schedule and where to schedule it.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Chapter Nineteen: Blindsides
It was to be one heck of a busy day. “Meetings, meetings, meetings.” Wella said to herself as she placed copies of files and stacks of notepads at various places around the boardroom.
In a few minutes the ball would start rolling and not stop until the end of the day. Wella loved it. She loved every aspect of her job, the creativity, the last minute deals and the meetings where everything was decided. The only thing she hated was stacking up copies of files and notepads.
She looked up in time to see Ian walk through the door. “Did we get everything?”
He let out two lungs full of air. “We lack one little call from legal. They’ll call Blake’s cell any moment now.”
“Let’s hope it’s in time.”
“This shouldn’t take long, but we’ll drag it out as long as necessary until we get that last little nail.” Ian patted her shoulder. “Have I told you today how wonderful you are?”
“Yes, but a fat raise and a new car says it so much better.”
“When I get those, you get those.”
Wella fussed with his tie a minute. “You’re gonna be fine, Ian. Blake will be here and I’m going to run around like a chicken with my head cut off tying up loose ends at the other end of the rope, but I’ll be back.” She smiled and squeezed his shoulders.
“Hey, Wella.” Ian smiled. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She patted his cheek as a man entered the room.
Ian turned to him and smiled. “Mr. Metcalfe, how are you this morning?”
“Fine, Ian. You?” Denver Metcalfe was the unofficial chairman of the board, almost an honorary title elected annually among the shareholders. Turner held all the power, but he always allowed his board to have an equal say, in most cases.
It was Metcalfe, who had made his name in the newsprint industry, that usually represented the board in matters Turner, and sometimes the board themselves, felt they needed a presence in. Ian knew the board had met yesterday, and would again after the staff dictated the fall lineup. The board would attend, break and then re-meet for final approval.
Ian also knew, that while he and his team were finishing up the Torkelson, now Torkelson/Sinclair, project the board had called Jack Tolan in for an emergency session. He had no idea what it was about, and unless someone said otherwise he felt the politics didn’t concern him.
“I am well, sir.” Ian turned to Wella. “Have you met my assistant, Manwella Johnson?”
Metcalfe smiled. “I’ve seen her in the hall on occasion but we were both usually dashing off in opposite directions. It is a pleasure to have a name to go with the face, Ms. Johnston.”
Wella shook his hand. “Same here, and please call me Wella.”
“I assume Mr. Turner is on his way?” Ian asked.
“Not far behind.” Metcalfe took a seat. “I’m glad I have just a few minutes alone with you. Please take a seat.” He motioned for both Ian and Wella to sit down.
They looked at each other and did as asked.
“I wanted to commend you both for the fine work you have been doing for this company. You have created an excitement in these hallways that has been missing for much too long. Not to mention the positive buzz in the industry.”
“Well, thank you sir. I think I can speak for the whole team in saying we are working hard to turn that from buzz into simple fact.” Ian said.
Metcalfe leaned forward. “I understand we have the two of you to thank personally for uncovering that little embarrassing incident in accounting.”
Ian and Wella looked at each other again. “We just saw some inconsistencies, sir.”
“Would you mind telling me how?”
“Well, it was a small series of things actually.” Ian looked at Wella.
“Things just didn’t add up.” Wella added. “Things easily overlooked, but when they kept happening we quietly investigated.”
“And ended up saving this company hundreds of thousand of dollars.” Metcalfe said. “Who knows how long it went on?”
“When we can trace it back to the beginning, we’ll probably have a better idea of who was behind it.” Ian said. “We thought it started in my department, but when digging further, I’m just the one who caught it.”
Ian turned to the opened door. “Blake would you bring in that file, the payroll one?”
Metcalfe motioned to the intercom. “My God, Justyn. That’s what this is for.”
Wella smiled, “Believe me, Mr. Metcalfe, this is easier.”
“There’s something about me and electronic devises that don’t mesh.” Ian apologized.
“Like my wife and a car?” Metcalfe smiled.
“Something like that.” Ian said blushing.
Blake came in with a thick folder and put it in front of Ian. “Thanks, Blake.” Ian scooted the pile of contracts to Metcalfe. “Know any of these people?”
Metcalfe looked through the stack. “Robert Tolliver…Faith Harkness…Bruno Schimelmeyer…according to these contracts they are all paid employees of HRT.” He looked at the contract he was holding, “And paid very well. Who are they?”
“No one seems to know.” Ian pulled another sheet out of the pile in front of him. “I got last’s month’s budget and almost choked when I saw how much over my department was for salaries. I called HR and was told there was no mistake, and they sent down all the contracts for my department…”
“So?”
“So…there were sixty four contracts.”
“We merged two departments, that sounds about right…”
“I only kept a total of twenty three people…that left forty one contracts. I thought at first they might have been misfiled from other departments or terminations/transfers that hadn’t been properly handled.”
“That wasn’t the case?"
“It was for three…that leaves thirty eight employees that no one seems to have ever seen, heard of or signed in and out at any of the gates. The only two things they seem to have in common is they all have direct deposit and someone has forged my name on the contracts.”
“You can prove that?"
“Take a good look, sir.” Ian pointed to the signature on one of the contracts. “My name is typed correctly, and the signature is almost perfect, except for one small loop.”
“Ooops…”
“Ooops. HR typed my name wrong when I first started, but I always signed it correctly…J-U-S-T-Y-N….I’ve already had these contracts purged from the system…no more paychecks…but I think we should do our own investigation and then get the police involved.”
“We quietly checked most of the other departments as well.” Wella said. “We turned up almost eighty more contracts of employees no one has ever heard of or have ever signed in or out of the building.”
“You don’t miss a trick do you?” Metcalfe smiled. “Any ideas who’s involved...?”
“Sort of…but no proof. Just a guess…but stick around, I’m about to put the brakes on another little scam, providing I have the legal basis to do so.” Ian filled Metcalfe in.
He hung his head, “Ian I am ashamed. We’ve always just given our execs cart blanche. I had no idea that this had happened.”
“Legal didn’t blink an eye either. Maybe this is normal, but that’s not how you run a business.”
“Have you told Turner?”
“He knows, now, and we think we’ve come up with a way to counteract it. We’re just waiting on the word from legal.”
“And we got it…all but the final twist…” David Turner entered in a fine gray suit and with a spring in his step, “and they will call as soon as it’s cleared.”
Ian stood and helped Mr. Turner to a seat. “How are you today?”
“Great…” He said “And you?”
Ian patted him on the shoulder as Turner turned to the other in the room. “Denver?”
“Dave, Ian just caught me up to speed and I have to apologize…”
“No need.” Turner waved his hand. “These were sneaky dealings; I’m as much to blame as you. Fortunately we have a young upstart here on the team whose part blood hound.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I just had a gut feeling and kept digging. What was done is perfectly legal, if a little immoral, but this is Hollywood.”
Wella patted Turner on the shoulder and put a bottle of chilled spring water in front of him. “Hey there handsome, how you doing today?”
“Oh, Wella, my dear, if I were only young enough…”
“Okay children…” Blake said over the intercom, “He’s here, is everything ready to go?”
Ian looked at Turner. Turner nodded his head. “Send him in.”
“Well, off to get everything ready for the fun part.” Wella stood and nodded to the rest of the room. “Mr. Metcalfe, once again a pleasure. Mr. Turner as always. I will see everyone in about 90 minutes.”
She scooted out the door as the group turned to see Blake escorting Baxter Reilly into the conference room.
Ian nodded his head. “Good morning Mr. Reilly,” Ian shook Reilly’s hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure before.”
“No, I don’t believe we have.” Ian couldn’t help but notice the smarmy grin and he couldn’t wait to wipe it off his face. Reilly leaned in, “Let’s not waste a lot of time, gentlemen. Shall we just get to it?”
Ian smiled, “Absolutely.” He opened the file in front of him. “Obviously we have a problem and we are here to figure out what we can do about it.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush. I don’t have time for it and Ian here looks like he could use a nap. You are canceling “Sebastian Manor”. I’m not stupid, just cut to the chase.” Reilly continued to grin, his pencil thin lips almost disappearing into his unkempt beard.
“That decision hasn’t been made, Mr. Reilly…” Ian quietly, but firmly said.
For a brief moment the smile disappeared from Reilly’s face, but returned with an icky sweet voice. “Please, Ian, call me Baxter…all my friends do.”
“Well thank you…” Ian returned the sticky sweet smile “…Mr. Reilly.”
Reilly’s eyes squinted but the smile stayed in place. “It’s no secret that you are developing another soap. It’s also no secret that you are staring at my contract.” He placed his hands behind his head and stuck his chest out. “Tell me about it…”
“Gladly…we have obtained rights to and are developing a new one hour daytime drama based on the Amanda Jackson gothic trilogy…” It was Ian’s turn to smile, he knew that was a bombshell to Reilly and Denver Metcalfe wasn’t aware of that fact either, only the team and David Turner knew.
Metcalfe sat back in his chair and smiled. “Justyn you are just full of surprises…”
“I certainly hope that before this day is through you will have learned that fact several times over…” Ian said. “I had planned on waiting until after the schedule meeting and announce it formally then, but Mr. Reilly has every right to hear it first.”
“Obviously, you’ll need to make room on the daytime schedule and I appreciate you telling me first…” Reilly acquiesced.
“Actually, Mr. Reilly,” Ian corrected him, “I don’t need to make room. “Blood Kisses” will debut, hopefully, premiere week running three nights per in prime time for three weeks as a limited series. We will also run those same episodes, expanded to five hours for three weeks, an hour a day in the 4 PM time slot, not 3 PM, so I don’t necessarily have to cancel “Manor”.
“Don’t be ridiculous…” Reilly pooh poohed, “the affiliates won’t go for that. I’m afraid your lack of experience is making you assume…”
“I’m not assuming anything. We talked 10 affiliates in key markets into moving “The Best of Everything” into that slot for the last two months, which has already resulted in doubling the shares. Couple that with an adaptation of three of the biggest bestsellers of all time and they’ll be falling all over themselves to run it whenever we want…”
“Impressive…” Reilly continued to smile. “I look forward to working on it…”
Ian smiled. “You won’t be working on it. You won’t be going anywhere near it, in fact an old friend of yours, the author herself, Amanda Jackson, will be exec producing and writing. As you were, she has been given carte blanche.”
Ian took a quick look at Turner and Metcalfe, who were exchanging glances. Metcalfe was not bothering to hide a surprised, pleasure filled shock. Turner was grinning, ear to ear, in what Ian almost thought might be pride.
Baxter Reilly saw it and registered it as well. He nabbed their attention back in his favor. “My contract is right there in front of you Justyn. You know the terms and I intend on holding you to them. You cancel “Sensation Manor” and I exec produce and automatically become head writer on any dramatic replacement for the length of my contract.”
“But you wouldn’t do that.” Ian leaned in closely, mocked Reilly smarmy grin. "Now would you friend?”
“In a heartbeat.” Reilly folded his hands on the table and got in Ian’s face. “Got a problem with that? Sue me…bitch…”
Ian reached out and tapped Reilly on the fuzzy check. “But you still seem to be under the impression that we are canceling Sebastian Manor.”
Blake’s phone rang. “Excuse me…” He got up and stepped outside.
“You can’t afford to add a third daytime drama, you have no choice. Once you cancel my drama any new one is mine as well.” He tapped the contract, file still open in front of them. “Read it and weep.” He turned to Tolan and Metcalfe. “You boys might want to rethink the toddler…” Reilly wiggled his fingers toward Ian. “He’s not very good at this.”
Blake re-entered the room and handed the phone to Ian. “Excuse me, Ian, but this is an emergency. You need to take this…”
“Thank you.” Ian took the cell and went through as brief series of “uhs” and “I sees”.
Turner leaned over to Reilly. “Baxter, I’m afraid my money’s on the new kid.”
Reilly had lost his smile and started to sweat by the time that Ian closed the phone and handed it back to Blake. Ian smiled, folded his hands and nodded his head while looking over the contract in front of him. “Gentlemen, we do have a small problem. I apologize.”
Metcalfe looked panicked. “Oh?”
“Yes, I’m afraid we’ve been looking at the wrong contract. This is Mr. Reilly’s original contract not the renewal. We need the one hammered out by Simon Kent and Reilly himself.”
Reilly waved his hands in the air, “Oh that’s just a formality. They are virtually the same, just the dates and a few numbers changed.”
“No, no. We can’t proceed until we have the formal, current contract. It just wouldn’t be fair to you, now would it?” Ian turned to Blake. “Blake, do you have the current contract for Mr. Reilly?”
“Hmmmm.” Blake said. “Let me see. I think it’s here…” He shuffled through his stack of papers.
David Turner smiled and pulled it out of his coat pocket. “Why I have it right here.”
Ian snatched it before Baxter Reilly could. “Oh thank you, Mr. Turner. It was very hard to find. Did you realize that after it was signed it never got sent up to legal to be filed? If it wasn’t for the fact that Mr. Turner started demanding to see it, and Simon Kent’s secretary found it behind the filing cabinet in his office, Mr. Reilly here would probably have the only valid copy.”
Reilly eyes were wide. “Oh, I’m sure that was just an error on his part…”
David Turner smiled. “I’m sure…”
“Oh here it is!” Blake pulled out copies for everyone in the room. Metcalfe quickly scanned it.
“I thought you said it was basically the same, Reilly?” Metcalfe was not happy.
“Let me give you the bullet points, just in case you’ve forgotten Baxter…” Ian suggested.
“No…let me…” David Turner stood. “It seems that Mr. Reilly here and Mr. Kent formed a little production company, along with a third party which they would have to do to legally incorporate. A little production company that owns the title and all footage once HRT finished airing it. HRT gets a fair share of the profit, as does Reilly here, along with a nice chunk for their little company…a nice chunk that gets bigger in foreign markets and bumping to 100% of those profits the moment the show gets cancelled for as long as it continues to run in those foreign markets.”
“And seeing that most of those markets are several years behind in airings that would give their little company millions of dollars in pure profit per year for a minimum five to seven years.” Ian put his finger to his lips. “Hmmm…I wondered why Kent seemed so adamant that Sebastian Manor get canned…the greedy little devil.”
“Don’t get cocky…” Reilly snapped. “Bottom line, like it or not, this is a valid contract and you will honor it!”
“You are absolutely right…” Ian said “…and we have every intention of honoring it should we cancel “Sebastian Manor”…
“You have no choice…and Blood Kisses is still mine. That little dyke can kiss my ass.”
“Keep the lips and the comments in check, Reilly. Don’t offer anything up until I’m through with it. I’m afraid you didn’t read your own contract correctly or maybe you’re just not very good at this.” Ian smiled while he let that sink in. “Perhaps you just need a nap!”
In folded his hands together on the table and looked Reilly square in the eye. “Let me read a little addendum here that you keep misquoting…upon cancellation of said program, HRT is hereby bound to fill the vacated time slot with any drama developed by either Baxter Reilly or his production company.”
“What’s the point? It’s there in black and white. I get any show used to fill Manor’s time slot.” Reilly smile was back with a vengeance.
Metcalfe sat up. He got the point. “Oh, you or this company have a new show in development?”
“Of course not, we…” Reilly looked like he had just been hit with a truck. “I could claim that I was not given notice or enough time to develop a new show…”
“You’ve been at the bottom of the ratings from the get go Reilly. No one’s going to believe that.”
“Fine, but Amanda Jackson doesn’t have the experience I do, and I have two Emmy nominations for writing…” Reilly tried to talk his way into Blood Kisses.
“True, Amanda does not have experience as a head writer, and you do have two Emmy nominations, as a member of a writing team, not one for any soap as a head writer—not one.”
“Neither does she.” he insisted.
“No but she does have six nominations and two wins as a member of a writing team, and she would have had the head writer’s experience, but you weaseled a job away from her and then managed to black ball her.”
“That’s her side of the story.”
“Don’t care…and I need to take just a little break to thank you,” Ian smiled.
“What for?” Baxter spit.
“If it weren’t for the way you treated Amanda, she never would have agreed to my idea for a daytime soap. As soon as she realized in doing so she got carte blanche sweet revenge, it unleashed some astounding creativity and a not so surprisingly long line of very talented revenge seeking people all of whom you treated just as badly or worse.” Ian smiled. “‘Blood Kisses’ is hers and hers alone. Just like Sensation Manor is yours and yours alone.”
“Which you are canceling.”
“Which we are not.” Ian shut the folder in front of him.
“You can’t afford three soaps!” Reilly pounded his fist on the table.
Metcalfe agreed with him. “Unfortunately Ian, he’s right. We don’t have much of a choice here.”
“Yes we do.” Ian said
“Legal gave the okay?” Turner asked.
“100%” Ian smiled, “And they offered me a job. As of this moment production on ‘Sebastian Manor’ has been suspended. It is not canceled, just suspended until further notice.”
“You can’t do that!” Reilly screamed.
Ian smiled. “If you don’t like it, sue me...bitch.” He stood up. “I think this concludes our business…I need a nap.”
“Wait! You little asshole! I still own “Sebastian Manor” the moment it ceases production, canceled or not, I can take it elsewhere and sell it.”
Ian smiled. “You are absolutely correct, Reilly and I am sure that the bottom soap you took pains to make sure was the laughing stock of the industry has great value, and once again you don’t do this very well.”
“Excuse me?” Reilly bellowed.
“Reilly you own the title and the story. Anything you’ve written or filmed still belongs to us, as well as any likeness or facsimile, until we’ve canceled it. Leaving you with a title and some characters you can’t write for for another four years. You also forgot that the actor’s contracts are with HRT not your little company, so any one who would be fool enough to buy the piece of crap would have to completely recast.”
“You can’t do this!” Reilly slammed both fists on the table and spit as he whaled.
“I just did…take me to court if you like. In fact, I dare you.” Ian stood and headed for the door. “I can assure you personally that every newspaper in the country will be faxed a copy of that contract. While what you pulled is not illegal, it is certainly unethical and you’ll never work again.”
Ian picked up his backpack and shook hands with everyone in the room, saving Reilly for last, who refused to take his hand. “Reilly this has been so much fun. I leave you with three words to remember my by…kiss my ass.”
Blake grinned, picked up his paperwork and left the room behind Ian.
“Justyn, wait a moment.” Ian turned to see Denver Metcalfe trying to catch up to him. He stopped and turned.
“Do you know if your boy, Lee, has the two teasers we asked for ready?” He asked.
“Teasers?” Ian turned to Blake.
“Yes, Mr. Metcalfe.” Blake stepped in. “Probably by now. I’m just heading over to production to get them. I’ll bring them straight to the board room.”
“Thank you…Blake, is it?” Metcalfe said.
“Yes, sir.” Blake nodded. “I’ll let you know if there’s a delay or problem.”
“Tell me.” Metcalfe focused back on Ian. “What do you think of the fall campaign Crawford and his people came up with?”
Ian plastered on a smile. “Oh I heart HRT, Mr. Metcalfe.”
Metcalfe laughed and slapped Ian on the back. “Justyn, I’m looking forward to the rest of your surprises. What I’m most looking forward to is the ones we’ve got planned for you.” He sauntered back to the room from which he came, chuckling all the way.
“I’m not so sure I like the sound of that.” Ian looked at Blake, who shrugged. “What kind of teasers is Lee doing?”
“I don’t really know.” He said as they walked to the elevator together. “All I know is that David Turner called specifically for Lee, and Lee has been up in the production office all day.”
“Any guesses or insight?” Ian followed Blake into the elevator.
“Mr. Turner knew we were doing a quick teaser for “World On A String” to show at the fall schedule meeting, right?”
“Absolutely. We wanted something to show and gage the chemistry between Jeff and Tess.”
Blake smiled. “He asked for two, so my theory is they are adding it and the teaser for “Hollow Points”, our two set series to the fall campaign ads to show the board what they have in mind.”
“Yay.” Ian slumped against the wall. “I heart HRT coupled with…” Ian shook himself. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
The elevators opened and they walked onto their floor. They had about an hour to regroup and head up to the biggest meeting of the year. Pretty much, everything was set, but this was that last chance anyone had to haggle, air a concern or get something changed before the board formally agreed.
This was also where Ian had to present his daytime line up, and the newly redesigned Jeff Torkelson show, as well as all the in department designed trade and print campaigns for all their shows. Ian was stoked. This was when he felt he got to show everyone what his department was made of.
He couldn’t help but feel a little smug. This was also where he got to watch Simon Kent squirm. He knew good and well that Kent was deliberately trying to sabotage him. He warned him but he didn’t listen. Just like when he was the dirty kid in school. The taunts and teases always brought out the best in Ian. Hopefully, Simon Kent was about to learn that.
The only problem now, was catching Kent off guard. Fortunately the man was too self absorbed to see anything but flowers he’d planted. If he even had an inkling that someone else was tending the roses, he’d have enough time to prune the fingerprints.
The trick was to keep Baxter Reilly from telling Simon Kent about “Sebastian Manor”, and, for that matter, “Blood Kisses”. Even David Turner thought it was important to keep him in the dark until the formal announcement. There were too many dirty dealings, and they hoped he would tip his hand to the extent of his involvement if blindsided.
Ian wasn’t sure he was behind the accounting fraud. The only evidence at hand was Kent’s department was the only one that didn’t have bogus employees. Personally, Ian didn’t think he was smart enough. He wasn’t smart enough to not send up red flags about the “Sebastian Manor” cancellation by being too insistent upon it. Anyone that obvious, in Ian’s opinion didn’t have the smarts to pull a scam that big.
The fact that there were so many bogus employees from Ian’s department made him think that someone was trying to set him up. Whoever it was knew too much about how the company worked by finding loopholes in checks and balances. They were smart enough to know how to do it in a manner that was virtually untraceable, as well as how to set it up to subtly point a finger by taking advantage of someone they thought was naïve. They were also a pretty damned good at forgery. None of that added up to Simon Kent.
Ian shook his head. He had to keep his mind on the matters at hand. Members of his team had been playing “Mission: Impossible” all day. David Turner was busy keeping Baxter Reilly busy, making sure he couldn’t get to a phone or anywhere near Simon Kent. With Turner in the room, everyone was pretty sure Reilly wouldn’t dare pull out a cell phone and try to text. The man would be too busy trying to save his own hide.
Blake looked at his watch. “Okay Boss Man, time to head up. You ready?”
Ian snapped his fingers. “Piece of cake.” Ian’s raspberry blackberry buzzed. It was a text from Daryn, who was on Kent watch.
“Queen to Pawn 21”
Ian smiled. “Kent’s on his way to the board room.” He handed his blackberry to Blake.
Blake typed in “Queen on parade” and hit send.
Immediately a message from Sean came back. “Waving at crowd.”
“Headed straight there.” Blake started to hand the device back to Ian. “Wait…text from Wella…the queen’s on her throne.”
“Okay, let’s head up.” Blake and Ian gathered material and headed for the elevator. When the door’s opened, Sean stepped out beaming.
“You are having way too much fun.” Ian told him.
“Here.” Sean handed him an I-Phone. “I always knew life on the streets of Chicago would pay off.”
“What’s this?” Ian asked.
“Kent’s cell phone.” Sean smiled. “As I was texting you I bumped into him and lifted it from his pocket. He was too busy calling me a rude something I didn’t understand to realize that I was way out of pick pocket practice.”
Blake and Ian smiled at each other. “I’ll call Mr. Turner and tell him to put the mutt out of his misery.” Blake started dialing as the doors shut on Ian, now alone in the elevator.
By the time Ian got to the penthouse conference room, Simon Kent was in full bloom. He had the attention of as many as he could get. He spouted tidbits of information and encouragement like a human “Twitter”.
“And the fall campaign Crawford came up with.” He put his hand to his heart and “swooned”. “It’s so adorable. I heart HRT. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Trent Rockford, one of the other development execs, rolled his eyes. “Ever read a bumper sticker, Simon?”
Kent shot him a questionable look. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one with any intelligence reads that garbage. The only people more foolish than the ones who plaster their vehicles with that offensive trash are the morons who get drunk, write it and sell it from their cardboard boxes.”
Rockford laughed to himself and shook his head. Ian smiled and began to stack his sheathed mockups on an easel that was in the corner.
Kent leaned over to his assistant. “Look, Justyn is getting ready for show and tell.” The assistant tittered with him. They began whispering back and forth to each other, stopping only when David Turner entered the room heading for the leather chair at the end of the table.
Denver Metcalfe patted Ian on the back and went up, taking the first seat immediately to Turner’s right. Turner was nodding hello, shaking hands and looking around the room. When he caught Ian’s eye, he nodded and winked.
Ian knew that meant Turner felt he’d managed to keep any information from getting to Kent. Ian subtly nodded and took his seat beside Wella toward the end of the table.
“Looks like everyone here. Shall we begin?” Turner said.
Simon Kent smiled. “Shouldn’t we wait for Jack?”
Turner smiled. “He won’t be with us today, Simon. We’ll proceed without him.”
Kent pushed his chair from the table and began to push his ample round frame up. “As senior executive, I’ll be happy to moderate in his behalf.”
“Not necessary, Kent.” Turner stopped him in mid-stand. “As president of this company since it’s founding, I think I can handle that.”
The smile left Kent’s face. “Of course.” He realized he was half standing, half sitting and eased himself back down. “By all means.”
“For those of you that haven’t heard via the grapevine, as of today Jack Tolan is no longer with us. He has decided to take his retirement effective immediately.”
“Oh…” Kent graced the room with a “heartfelt” sigh oblivious only to the pigeon that left his calling card on the window behind him.
“Briefly, the board and I have decided on some restructuring, starting with his position. Until we decide upon his successor and exactly how that position fits into our plans for the future of HRT, I will be assuming all of his duties.”
“I assume that you will be naming his successor soon.” Even Kent was embarrassed that slipped out of his mouth.
“No.” Turner informed the room to Kent’s chagrin. “At this point we don’t feel the need to do so. It is more important that we implement the restructuring before offering a contracted position whose responsibilities may vary drastically in the coming months.”
Metcalfe spoke up. “May I also add, that with the excitement being created for the fall season and our concentration over the summer being building upon that, the board feels it is the only focus necessary. We have several candidates in mind, both in and out of our corporate structure.”
Turner nodded. “We will concentrate on building the best fall line up we have had in years, while continuing to observe the candidates, taking our time to make the right choice for a VP who can best help steer us in the direction we feel the network and the company needs to go as a whole. That said let’s get down to business…”
The first hour was a tedious rundown from each department, followed by a small break. David Turner then went over what had already been decided, what shows they were canceling, and went over the decisions already made to fill the holes.
A whopping ten hours of programming needed to be filled. HRT was at the bottom of the heap for the fifth year in a row, drastic measures had to be taken and everyone was stepping up to bat. Virtually every night would have a change. Eight of the ten hours had been filed. The pilots that still hadn’t been ruled out, had all been reviewed again. All that was left was to decided what to schedule and where to schedule it.
“Before we begin the process of elimination, I believe we need to discuss the current situation with the Jeff Torkelson project.”
Everyone looked at Simon Kent, who smiled and stood. “Most of you know that I initiated the contract, but there were some minor creative differences. The show was heading in a strong direction, but well…I’ll let Ian take over from here. He stepped in and the ball is totally in his court.”
Kent smirked and took his seat. The room looked at Ian, all with questionable looks of various degrees on their faces. David Turner grinned “Young Justyn you have the floor.”
Ian nodded. “May I?”
“By all means.” Turner took his seat and Ian walked to the head of the room.
“Thank you, Simon. I start by thanking you for the wonderful opportunity that you handed me. You are to be applauded for not only seizing an opportunity, but allowing an unseasoned pier to help in shaping it. As Simon said, the show is heading in a very strong, and if I may say so, very exciting direction. We only have one little problem…”
“Problem?” Simon did spider mirror exercises with his fingers. “How could there be a problem? Do tell.”
“Actually, it’s not really a problem, with everyone’s approval it actually solves a problem. The original idea was a spin off.”
“That’s what was contracted.” Kent puffed.
“No, sir. What was contracted was a series with a full year commitment, provided it be ready for airing this fall. Jeff Torkelson and his contracted writing staff had trouble coming up with a sustainable concept for a spin off. Fortunately, through some hard work and sheer luck we were able to come up with an alternative concept, one we already had a development agreement on and we begin shooting the series in two weeks.”
“Casting is done?” Metcalfe couldn’t believe.
“Actually, yes.” Ian assured. “We were able to use the two actors already contracted for the spin off, and the other two regulars, one lead and one reoccurring have already signed on the dotted line.”
Trent Rockford spoke up. “Another lead? Torkelson had already wangled his way into being the highest paid lead in television. What the hell did you sign another lead for? It was unaffordable as it was.”
Ian nodded to Wella, who began to pass out folders with contracts. “The folders Wella is now passing out contain all the contracts and cost analysis of the series, no longer a Jeff Torkelson project, but “The World On A String” starring Jeff Torkelson and legendary HRT star Tess Sinclair.”
“Tess Sinclair?” Someone said. “You signed Tess Sinclair?”
“Yes.” Ian said. “If you turn to the first contract you will see an agreement signed by Jeff and myself declaring the initial contract mediated by Mr. Kent null and void, followed by a new contract at exactly half the original price, with higher back end and raises for the five year term based on ratings increases.”
“He agreed to that?” Kent’s face fell.
“Mr. Torkelson and Ms. Sinclair both agreed that it was more important to make a good series that was affordable to the network.”
“They believe in the project that much?” Rockford asked.
“Absolutely.” Ian smiled. “Please take note, we have broken down the cost analysis to the first contract against the new contracts. “The World On a String” is still an expensive series but only slightly higher than the cost of any new program at any network.”
Everyone but Simon Kent and his assistant applauded. Kent tossed the files on the table in front of him. Simon looked at Ian. “How is any of this possible? You just started on Monday.”
“Wait a minute.” One of the other execs put his hands on the table. “You did this in two days?”
Ian nodded his head and continued. “The original idea was from Jenson Michaels, whom my department has under contract. When Tessie came into the picture, I remembered it.” Ian nodded to Wella again, who began passing out bound scripts.
“These are the first two scripts, the first folder has an episode breakdown for two years. Now, Torkelson’s writers will tweak them slightly but they decided they were too good not to use as stood.”
“You said there was a problem.” Metcalfe said. “All I see here is gold.”
“Well the problem is this is not a half hour sitcom. This is a one hour dramedy, throw “Ugly Betty” and “Mad Men” in a blender and you get “The World On A String”. My suggestion is moving “John and Agnes” from 9:30 to 8:30 on Thursday, filling the early hole and the last one as well.”
“I always thought that ‘John and Agnes’ was more a family oriented show anyway.” Someone piped up.
“It is our highest rated sitcom, and will serve a better build into “String” than the other way around.” Ian said.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed but apprehensive.” Simon grinned. “You threw all of this together in two days. I’ll just put it out there. We shouldn’t okay this until we’ve seen a pilot. Sinclair is a notorious diva and I doubt has any chemistry with Torkelson. We shouldn’t even think about this until we have a pilot.”
“We don’t have time for that.” Ian told him. “Not if we plan to announce it for the fall.”
“Then we pull it off.” Simon smiled and looked around the room. “I move we just cancel the project until we see something concrete.”
“Not a problem.” Ian smiled. “I don’t have a pilot, but we did shoot a teaser for you, even we wanted to see about chemistry between the two leads.”
David Turner stood. “Ian, let me step in here, if I may…” Ian nodded and returned to his seat. “First of all, let me just point out that what you are about to see is two fold. After you see this you will no doubt agree with Ian and myself…”
“You knew about this?” Kent said.
“Of course.” Turner looked down on the man. “Young Justyn wasn’t about to mess with the fortunes of this network with out getting input and approval from a superior, something a couple of you might want to begin taking into consideration.”
Kent’s shrunk back in his chair. Turner beamed, “Now where was I…oh yes, two fold. You are about to see the teaser for “World On A String”, and how it will be used with the fall campaign. The board was so excited when they saw it, we’ve already unanimously approved it.”
Simon Kent clapped his hands and giggled. “I knew it!”
The room including Ian rolled their eyes. Someone even murmured “I heart HRT.”
“Now this is just a…what did he call it, a simple Flash computer program, when it’s transferred over to film it will be a little softer.” Turner seemed pleased. “Shall we roll it?”
He took his seat as the lights dimmed. Wella looked at Ian and patted his thigh, whispering, “At least our teaser will be good.”
The screen at the front of the room lit up and the soft sounds of an orchestra could be heard. A classic picture faded into to view, the portrait of the woman from the lobby. As it went to sepia an announcer’s voice said simply “Hutton”. The process repeated twice with the other two portraits, the announcer saying “Redfield” and then “Turner”. As the final portrait faded into the network logo the room heard “The legend continues this fall…”
Ian and Wella were dumbstruck. It was the campaign they had designed and didn’t bother to submit. They looked at each other and then back to the screen. A classic portrait of Tess Sinclair faded into the logo. It was an iconic shot from TV Guide of “Tessie” in all her diva glory.
It went sepia fading into a current shot of Tessie in the exact pose this time in color. The camera pulled back revealing her on a chaise in modern day diva glory. Jeff Torkelson came into the shot, baby in arm and five year old with thick glasses in hand. He stopped at Tess and frowned. “Got to go for unemployment.”
The little girl crawled over Tess and sat on her legs staring at her. Jeff handed Tess the baby. “You’re in charge”. He walked out of the shot and the camera panned in for a close up of Tess and the baby, every ounce of diva gone.
The announcer said, “The World on a String, Thursdays this fall a new legend is born.” The baby spit up and Tess looks at the camera as the shot froze and faded back into the original sepia tone.
The room howled. Applause broke out and the room got to its feet. Even Simon Kent stood, staring angry holes into Ian, but clapping along.
It would only be the first time that day the room applauded Ian. When he pitched a variety series kicked off by a live concert with Susan Andrews and Jimmy Sage the room was practically riotous. When he announced the new daytime schedule including “Blood Kisses” they practically hoisted him on their shoulders and poured champagne on him.
Yup, it was a good day. By the end of it, all of Ian’s pilots and ideas made the cut. He had been set up as the golden boy and even Simon Kent had to admit that. Ian took it all with a little grain of salt, knowing it all looked great on paper. The real test was when it all hit the air.
As the meeting was adjourned, Ian was distracted temporarily shaking hands and receiving congratulations. As the executives left the room, leaving the board members behind for a brief chat before they took a break, Simon Kent stepped in front of Ian.
He didn’t offer his hand, and his face couldn’t hide the disdain. “Enjoy it while it lasts Justyn. Success is fleeting.”
Ian smiled, “Actually Simon, I’ve always felt that success was something you held in your heart. You hold fame in your hand, and it blows away very easily. Success is something personal. No one can snatch that away but you.”
“Whatever.” Kent rolled his eyes and sneered. The turned swiftly and marched toward the door.
“Ian?” Denver Metcalfe called from the other end of the room. “Would you and Wella mind staying? The board would like to get your input on something.”
Before Ian turned to say “Of course” he noticed Simon Kent freeze in his tracks and turn red faced back to Ian and the room.
Metcalfe looked at Kent and smiled. “Is there something you’ve forgotten Kent?”
“No.” He stammered. “I just thought that…”
A woman from the board frowned and waved him off. “You are no longer needed Kent.”
Kent looked at the floor and nodded. “Yes.” He said quietly.
“And Kent?” The woman said. “I noticed not one of your pilots even made the first round of cuts. Perhaps you need to start rethinking things. Take a lesson from Ian here, and start thinking outside the box.”
Simon would have spit nails at Ian if he’d had enough iron in his diet that day. He whirled around abruptly and petulantly stomped out of the room.
“Have a seat.” The woman pointed at two chairs. Ian and Wella sat down.
Ian whispered. “Any idea what this is about?” Wella shook her head. They both felt like they had been sent to the Principals office…again.
The woman motioned to David Turner. “Thank you, Jessica. Ian, Wella, I want both of you to know that although I support this, I did not prompt nor instigate it. The board made these decisions of their own accord.”
Once again, Ian and Wella looked at each other and then back to the board. Wella swallowed hard.
Ian took a deep breath. “’kay”.
Denver Metcalfe leaned on the long desk in front of him. “Ian take a look at the schedule board up there.”
The woman named Jessica said, “Go ahead, dear, go right up there and look it over.”
Ian looked at Wella and stood, wobbly, and made his way to the schedule that loomed the front wall of the room. He looked at it and then turned back to the nine men and three women in the room.
“That’s our fall schedule.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you happy with it?” Jessica asked.
Ian looked at Turner and then over to Wella, hoping she’d give him some sort of signal, as she had many times before. The only signal he could read from her was barely contained terror.
Ian looked at the woman. “For the most part, ma’am.”
“Ian I have to say I adore your Southern charm. I realize that you say ma’am out of respect, but like you and the term ‘mister’, every time you call me ma’am I wonder where my grandmother is. Please, call me Jessica or, if you must, I’ll settle for Ms. Greginsky.”
“Uhm…” “Ian smiled weakly. “’kay.”
Jessica batted her eyes. She cleared her throat and got back to business. “Ian, if you were put totally in charge, no one to answer to, how would you change that schedule?”
“Oh…I…” Ian looked at Wella, who shrugged.
“Just do it, Ian”. Turner said. “Change anything around, take anything off. Do it.” He ordered.
Ian turned back around to the schedule. He thought about his first interview. Ian sighed. He had no idea what was going on, but somehow he knew this was a test. He’d been boldly honest from moment one. It was too late to turn back now.
He reached to the Saturday schedule that simply said “Reruns”, pulled off the magnet there and placed it on the table. He looked up to gage the reaction. The board was watching his every move, exchanging glances with each other.
Ian next pulled off the magnet for the series “A Saga Leading Nowhere”, yanking it off Sunday nights and putting it in the Saturday slot he’d emptied. He then got in the trash and pulled out two comedies the execs had decided to can after one season. He put them in the hour slot he made on Sunday. He looked it over one more time, then nodded his head and returned to his seat.
The board members looked at each other. “Interesting.” Metcalfe said glancing to David Turner. “That’s all?”
“I think that’s the best we can do with what we have to offer. Any more and I think our core audience would abandon us. If we do another major cleaning like this next fall, provided the majority of our new shows work, we should be at least number two.”
“You left a hole.” Jessica Greginsky pointed out. “Two hours nine to eleven on Saturdays.”
“I’m wondering about Saturday as a whole.” Ned Bellamy spoke up. He was the youngest member of the board and the only person of color. “Why would you move our top rated series to the lowest rated night of the week?”
Ian felt Wella’s hand on his thigh. He smiled, remembering what that meant. “It also is the night of the week the biggest percentage of television watchers say they don’t watch because there is nothing on, young religious families with children.”
“That’s why it’s scheduled for Sunday nights. To attract those viewers.” Bellamy said.
“Sir, most members of Protestant religions go to church on Sunday nights, arriving home between eight thirty and nine. They’d watch it, if it were on at a time they were home; Saturday nights looking for something to watch with the kids.”
Bellamy’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Metcalfe. “There hasn’t been a hit on Saturday nights since when? Mary Tyler Moore in the seventies?”
“The audience is still there, just not the one’s who watch the rest of the week.” Ian defended. “It’s the only night of the week we can afford niche programming, and we waste it with reruns or series already canceled we need to burn to offset cost.”
“But the hole from nine to eleven, dear.” Greggy repeated. “Would you keep reruns there?”
“Sort of.” Ian looked at Wella who smiled lightly and nodded. “We’ve been talking, and we think if we are going to do reruns, why does it have to be current programming? If I were in charge, I’d turn those two hours into a block of classic HRT programs; stuff in our vaults that hasn’t been seen in years.”
“Like?” David Turner asked.
“Old HRT films, Tess Sinclair’s sitcom…”
“That’s been in syndication for years.” Someone scoffed.
Ian nodded. “But only two hundred episodes, it ran for fifteen years at a time when 30 to 36 episodes were the norm, dust off the other 340, and all the things that ran in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, the ones that made us the best network in the world, all which bring back smiles to faces when they’re mentioned and most of which haven’t been seen since they left the airwaves.”
Jessica Greginsky turned to Denver Metcalfe. “Signature reruns. We dust them off, broadcast them and then drop them to video.” She turned to David and nodded her head. “Win, win.”
Metcalfe looked around the room. “Are there any reservations?” The board all resounded assuring him there wasn’t. “Dave…” he nodded to the board. “We have our schedule.”
The old man smiled. “Thank you, Young Justyn. Now for the matter at hand, Wella, Young Justyn…”
Wella took Ian’s hand under the table and they braced for whatever was coming.
“As of Monday morning there will be some major changes in structure. You are aware of Jack Tolan, also Lance Crockett is busy telling his staff all but four we’ve chosen are being let go or sent back to the mail room. Each development team will now have two people for promotion.”
“We think we’ll get better results having the promotion developed along with the product itself.” Jessica smiled. “You’ve proven that.”
“We are keeping a small team which, for the time being, Lance Crawford will head up. His job will be to co-ordinate overall. That team and all of the development team will answer to the Head of Development and Promotion, a new position we are putting in place. That position will answer to me and only me.”
“Of course.” Ian nodded.
“As for Tolan’s position…” Turner began.
“Excuse me.” Ian interrupted him. “I just want to go on the record, again, as saying I have not now nor ever had designs on Jack’s position.”
Jessica Greginsky smiled. “You enjoy what you do.”
“Yes, ma…Jess...i…ca... I love it. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do, and I think it’s how I can best help HRT.” Ian said emphatically.
Metcalfe frowned. “You’d never want to be vice president of the network?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that, maybe some day when I’m ready. I’ve still so much to learn.”
Metcalfe leaned back in his chair and smiled. He exchanged that smile with everyone in the room. “You’re right on both counts, but at the same time, you’re wrong.”
Ian looked at Wella. “I don’t understand.”
David Turner stepped in. “Young Justyn…Ian, you are correct in saying that you are not ready for Tolan’s position, but I want to work with you on a daily basis. When we feel you are confident, I will step back. There is much for you to learn, and we’ve all been noticing there is much you can teach us.”
Jessica leaned forward. “Ian, you do realize that this morning we had ten hours of time to fill?”
“And we did that.” Ian said.
“Yes.” She smiled. “There are five development teams, Kent’s boobs presented nothing worth looking at twice. Two teams had one hour each, and third had ninety minutes.”
“The rest came from your team, two thirds of it, and there was never any question as to whether or not to snap it up for the schedule, just where to place it for the best advantage.” Ned Bellamy said. “It’s not only unheard of, I don’t think it’s ever happened. At least not at HRT.”
Ian gulped. “I don’t know what to say. The team worked hard. I’m proud of them.”
Denver Metcalfe folded his hands together. “Are you willing to do anything we ask you to do, without question?”
“Of course.”
“Done.” He said and looked at Turner.
“We’ll make the formal announcement at the press conference next week.” Turner and company began closing folders and gathering up items. “Wella you’ll be right there with Young Justyn every step of the way. You’re going to have much more responsibility as well.”
“Darling, we have every confidence in you both.” Jessica Greginsky said as she picked up her purse. “We know you’re a team. That’s what drew our attention in the first place.” She walked by and kissed Wella on the cheek. “Let’s do a girl’s night. I’ll call you.” She said and was out the door.
David Turner was the last to leave the room. “Still taking Friday off?”
Ian and Wella nodded.
“Good. Come in tomorrow, I’ll bring donuts. We’ll congratulate the team and start making some decisions. Congratulations, you two.” Turner strutted toward the door. He shook his head. “You remind me of the young upstarts that started this company.”
He disappeared, leaving Wella and Ian still seated at the table. They remained silent for a moment.
Ian finally turned to Wella. “What just happened?”
“I think we just got promoted.”
“Not fired?”
“No.” Wella turned to Ian. “Sometimes I wonder about you child. You just got crowned prince and royal heir to the throne and I got your old job and you think we both just got fired.”
“Are you sure?”
She thought a moment. “Pretty sure.”
“Can we go home now?”
“Probably, but let’s sit here a minute, just in case.” She said.
“Good. I don’t think my legs work anymore.”
“I peed my pants.” Wella sighed.
“I need a cigarette.”
Wella looked around and pulled a pack out of Ian’s coat pocket. She lit one, handed it to him, then lit one for herself.
Ian flicked an ash in a cup of water. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
Wella puffed her Marlboro, sucked it in and let out a thick stream. “It’s either that or go number two in my pants.”
In a few minutes the ball would start rolling and not stop until the end of the day. Wella loved it. She loved every aspect of her job, the creativity, the last minute deals and the meetings where everything was decided. The only thing she hated was stacking up copies of files and notepads.
She looked up in time to see Ian walk through the door. “Did we get everything?”
He let out two lungs full of air. “We lack one little call from legal. They’ll call Blake’s cell any moment now.”
“Let’s hope it’s in time.”
“This shouldn’t take long, but we’ll drag it out as long as necessary until we get that last little nail.” Ian patted her shoulder. “Have I told you today how wonderful you are?”
“Yes, but a fat raise and a new car says it so much better.”
“When I get those, you get those.”
Wella fussed with his tie a minute. “You’re gonna be fine, Ian. Blake will be here and I’m going to run around like a chicken with my head cut off tying up loose ends at the other end of the rope, but I’ll be back.” She smiled and squeezed his shoulders.
“Hey, Wella.” Ian smiled. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She patted his cheek as a man entered the room.
Ian turned to him and smiled. “Mr. Metcalfe, how are you this morning?”
“Fine, Ian. You?” Denver Metcalfe was the unofficial chairman of the board, almost an honorary title elected annually among the shareholders. Turner held all the power, but he always allowed his board to have an equal say, in most cases.
It was Metcalfe, who had made his name in the newsprint industry, that usually represented the board in matters Turner, and sometimes the board themselves, felt they needed a presence in. Ian knew the board had met yesterday, and would again after the staff dictated the fall lineup. The board would attend, break and then re-meet for final approval.
Ian also knew, that while he and his team were finishing up the Torkelson, now Torkelson/Sinclair, project the board had called Jack Tolan in for an emergency session. He had no idea what it was about, and unless someone said otherwise he felt the politics didn’t concern him.
“I am well, sir.” Ian turned to Wella. “Have you met my assistant, Manwella Johnson?”
Metcalfe smiled. “I’ve seen her in the hall on occasion but we were both usually dashing off in opposite directions. It is a pleasure to have a name to go with the face, Ms. Johnston.”
Wella shook his hand. “Same here, and please call me Wella.”
“I assume Mr. Turner is on his way?” Ian asked.
“Not far behind.” Metcalfe took a seat. “I’m glad I have just a few minutes alone with you. Please take a seat.” He motioned for both Ian and Wella to sit down.
They looked at each other and did as asked.
“I wanted to commend you both for the fine work you have been doing for this company. You have created an excitement in these hallways that has been missing for much too long. Not to mention the positive buzz in the industry.”
“Well, thank you sir. I think I can speak for the whole team in saying we are working hard to turn that from buzz into simple fact.” Ian said.
Metcalfe leaned forward. “I understand we have the two of you to thank personally for uncovering that little embarrassing incident in accounting.”
Ian and Wella looked at each other again. “We just saw some inconsistencies, sir.”
“Would you mind telling me how?”
“Well, it was a small series of things actually.” Ian looked at Wella.
“Things just didn’t add up.” Wella added. “Things easily overlooked, but when they kept happening we quietly investigated.”
“And ended up saving this company hundreds of thousand of dollars.” Metcalfe said. “Who knows how long it went on?”
“When we can trace it back to the beginning, we’ll probably have a better idea of who was behind it.” Ian said. “We thought it started in my department, but when digging further, I’m just the one who caught it.”
Ian turned to the opened door. “Blake would you bring in that file, the payroll one?”
Metcalfe motioned to the intercom. “My God, Justyn. That’s what this is for.”
Wella smiled, “Believe me, Mr. Metcalfe, this is easier.”
“There’s something about me and electronic devises that don’t mesh.” Ian apologized.
“Like my wife and a car?” Metcalfe smiled.
“Something like that.” Ian said blushing.
Blake came in with a thick folder and put it in front of Ian. “Thanks, Blake.” Ian scooted the pile of contracts to Metcalfe. “Know any of these people?”
Metcalfe looked through the stack. “Robert Tolliver…Faith Harkness…Bruno Schimelmeyer…according to these contracts they are all paid employees of HRT.” He looked at the contract he was holding, “And paid very well. Who are they?”
“No one seems to know.” Ian pulled another sheet out of the pile in front of him. “I got last’s month’s budget and almost choked when I saw how much over my department was for salaries. I called HR and was told there was no mistake, and they sent down all the contracts for my department…”
“So?”
“So…there were sixty four contracts.”
“We merged two departments, that sounds about right…”
“I only kept a total of twenty three people…that left forty one contracts. I thought at first they might have been misfiled from other departments or terminations/transfers that hadn’t been properly handled.”
“That wasn’t the case?"
“It was for three…that leaves thirty eight employees that no one seems to have ever seen, heard of or signed in and out at any of the gates. The only two things they seem to have in common is they all have direct deposit and someone has forged my name on the contracts.”
“You can prove that?"
“Take a good look, sir.” Ian pointed to the signature on one of the contracts. “My name is typed correctly, and the signature is almost perfect, except for one small loop.”
“Ooops…”
“Ooops. HR typed my name wrong when I first started, but I always signed it correctly…J-U-S-T-Y-N….I’ve already had these contracts purged from the system…no more paychecks…but I think we should do our own investigation and then get the police involved.”
“We quietly checked most of the other departments as well.” Wella said. “We turned up almost eighty more contracts of employees no one has ever heard of or have ever signed in or out of the building.”
“You don’t miss a trick do you?” Metcalfe smiled. “Any ideas who’s involved...?”
“Sort of…but no proof. Just a guess…but stick around, I’m about to put the brakes on another little scam, providing I have the legal basis to do so.” Ian filled Metcalfe in.
He hung his head, “Ian I am ashamed. We’ve always just given our execs cart blanche. I had no idea that this had happened.”
“Legal didn’t blink an eye either. Maybe this is normal, but that’s not how you run a business.”
“Have you told Turner?”
“He knows, now, and we think we’ve come up with a way to counteract it. We’re just waiting on the word from legal.”
“And we got it…all but the final twist…” David Turner entered in a fine gray suit and with a spring in his step, “and they will call as soon as it’s cleared.”
Ian stood and helped Mr. Turner to a seat. “How are you today?”
“Great…” He said “And you?”
Ian patted him on the shoulder as Turner turned to the other in the room. “Denver?”
“Dave, Ian just caught me up to speed and I have to apologize…”
“No need.” Turner waved his hand. “These were sneaky dealings; I’m as much to blame as you. Fortunately we have a young upstart here on the team whose part blood hound.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I just had a gut feeling and kept digging. What was done is perfectly legal, if a little immoral, but this is Hollywood.”
Wella patted Turner on the shoulder and put a bottle of chilled spring water in front of him. “Hey there handsome, how you doing today?”
“Oh, Wella, my dear, if I were only young enough…”
“Okay children…” Blake said over the intercom, “He’s here, is everything ready to go?”
Ian looked at Turner. Turner nodded his head. “Send him in.”
“Well, off to get everything ready for the fun part.” Wella stood and nodded to the rest of the room. “Mr. Metcalfe, once again a pleasure. Mr. Turner as always. I will see everyone in about 90 minutes.”
She scooted out the door as the group turned to see Blake escorting Baxter Reilly into the conference room.
Ian nodded his head. “Good morning Mr. Reilly,” Ian shook Reilly’s hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure before.”
“No, I don’t believe we have.” Ian couldn’t help but notice the smarmy grin and he couldn’t wait to wipe it off his face. Reilly leaned in, “Let’s not waste a lot of time, gentlemen. Shall we just get to it?”
Ian smiled, “Absolutely.” He opened the file in front of him. “Obviously we have a problem and we are here to figure out what we can do about it.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush. I don’t have time for it and Ian here looks like he could use a nap. You are canceling “Sebastian Manor”. I’m not stupid, just cut to the chase.” Reilly continued to grin, his pencil thin lips almost disappearing into his unkempt beard.
“That decision hasn’t been made, Mr. Reilly…” Ian quietly, but firmly said.
For a brief moment the smile disappeared from Reilly’s face, but returned with an icky sweet voice. “Please, Ian, call me Baxter…all my friends do.”
“Well thank you…” Ian returned the sticky sweet smile “…Mr. Reilly.”
Reilly’s eyes squinted but the smile stayed in place. “It’s no secret that you are developing another soap. It’s also no secret that you are staring at my contract.” He placed his hands behind his head and stuck his chest out. “Tell me about it…”
“Gladly…we have obtained rights to and are developing a new one hour daytime drama based on the Amanda Jackson gothic trilogy…” It was Ian’s turn to smile, he knew that was a bombshell to Reilly and Denver Metcalfe wasn’t aware of that fact either, only the team and David Turner knew.
Metcalfe sat back in his chair and smiled. “Justyn you are just full of surprises…”
“I certainly hope that before this day is through you will have learned that fact several times over…” Ian said. “I had planned on waiting until after the schedule meeting and announce it formally then, but Mr. Reilly has every right to hear it first.”
“Obviously, you’ll need to make room on the daytime schedule and I appreciate you telling me first…” Reilly acquiesced.
“Actually, Mr. Reilly,” Ian corrected him, “I don’t need to make room. “Blood Kisses” will debut, hopefully, premiere week running three nights per in prime time for three weeks as a limited series. We will also run those same episodes, expanded to five hours for three weeks, an hour a day in the 4 PM time slot, not 3 PM, so I don’t necessarily have to cancel “Manor”.
“Don’t be ridiculous…” Reilly pooh poohed, “the affiliates won’t go for that. I’m afraid your lack of experience is making you assume…”
“I’m not assuming anything. We talked 10 affiliates in key markets into moving “The Best of Everything” into that slot for the last two months, which has already resulted in doubling the shares. Couple that with an adaptation of three of the biggest bestsellers of all time and they’ll be falling all over themselves to run it whenever we want…”
“Impressive…” Reilly continued to smile. “I look forward to working on it…”
Ian smiled. “You won’t be working on it. You won’t be going anywhere near it, in fact an old friend of yours, the author herself, Amanda Jackson, will be exec producing and writing. As you were, she has been given carte blanche.”
Ian took a quick look at Turner and Metcalfe, who were exchanging glances. Metcalfe was not bothering to hide a surprised, pleasure filled shock. Turner was grinning, ear to ear, in what Ian almost thought might be pride.
Baxter Reilly saw it and registered it as well. He nabbed their attention back in his favor. “My contract is right there in front of you Justyn. You know the terms and I intend on holding you to them. You cancel “Sensation Manor” and I exec produce and automatically become head writer on any dramatic replacement for the length of my contract.”
“But you wouldn’t do that.” Ian leaned in closely, mocked Reilly smarmy grin. "Now would you friend?”
“In a heartbeat.” Reilly folded his hands on the table and got in Ian’s face. “Got a problem with that? Sue me…bitch…”
Ian reached out and tapped Reilly on the fuzzy check. “But you still seem to be under the impression that we are canceling Sebastian Manor.”
Blake’s phone rang. “Excuse me…” He got up and stepped outside.
“You can’t afford to add a third daytime drama, you have no choice. Once you cancel my drama any new one is mine as well.” He tapped the contract, file still open in front of them. “Read it and weep.” He turned to Tolan and Metcalfe. “You boys might want to rethink the toddler…” Reilly wiggled his fingers toward Ian. “He’s not very good at this.”
Blake re-entered the room and handed the phone to Ian. “Excuse me, Ian, but this is an emergency. You need to take this…”
“Thank you.” Ian took the cell and went through as brief series of “uhs” and “I sees”.
Turner leaned over to Reilly. “Baxter, I’m afraid my money’s on the new kid.”
Reilly had lost his smile and started to sweat by the time that Ian closed the phone and handed it back to Blake. Ian smiled, folded his hands and nodded his head while looking over the contract in front of him. “Gentlemen, we do have a small problem. I apologize.”
Metcalfe looked panicked. “Oh?”
“Yes, I’m afraid we’ve been looking at the wrong contract. This is Mr. Reilly’s original contract not the renewal. We need the one hammered out by Simon Kent and Reilly himself.”
Reilly waved his hands in the air, “Oh that’s just a formality. They are virtually the same, just the dates and a few numbers changed.”
“No, no. We can’t proceed until we have the formal, current contract. It just wouldn’t be fair to you, now would it?” Ian turned to Blake. “Blake, do you have the current contract for Mr. Reilly?”
“Hmmmm.” Blake said. “Let me see. I think it’s here…” He shuffled through his stack of papers.
David Turner smiled and pulled it out of his coat pocket. “Why I have it right here.”
Ian snatched it before Baxter Reilly could. “Oh thank you, Mr. Turner. It was very hard to find. Did you realize that after it was signed it never got sent up to legal to be filed? If it wasn’t for the fact that Mr. Turner started demanding to see it, and Simon Kent’s secretary found it behind the filing cabinet in his office, Mr. Reilly here would probably have the only valid copy.”
Reilly eyes were wide. “Oh, I’m sure that was just an error on his part…”
David Turner smiled. “I’m sure…”
“Oh here it is!” Blake pulled out copies for everyone in the room. Metcalfe quickly scanned it.
“I thought you said it was basically the same, Reilly?” Metcalfe was not happy.
“Let me give you the bullet points, just in case you’ve forgotten Baxter…” Ian suggested.
“No…let me…” David Turner stood. “It seems that Mr. Reilly here and Mr. Kent formed a little production company, along with a third party which they would have to do to legally incorporate. A little production company that owns the title and all footage once HRT finished airing it. HRT gets a fair share of the profit, as does Reilly here, along with a nice chunk for their little company…a nice chunk that gets bigger in foreign markets and bumping to 100% of those profits the moment the show gets cancelled for as long as it continues to run in those foreign markets.”
“And seeing that most of those markets are several years behind in airings that would give their little company millions of dollars in pure profit per year for a minimum five to seven years.” Ian put his finger to his lips. “Hmmm…I wondered why Kent seemed so adamant that Sebastian Manor get canned…the greedy little devil.”
“Don’t get cocky…” Reilly snapped. “Bottom line, like it or not, this is a valid contract and you will honor it!”
“You are absolutely right…” Ian said “…and we have every intention of honoring it should we cancel “Sebastian Manor”…
“You have no choice…and Blood Kisses is still mine. That little dyke can kiss my ass.”
“Keep the lips and the comments in check, Reilly. Don’t offer anything up until I’m through with it. I’m afraid you didn’t read your own contract correctly or maybe you’re just not very good at this.” Ian smiled while he let that sink in. “Perhaps you just need a nap!”
In folded his hands together on the table and looked Reilly square in the eye. “Let me read a little addendum here that you keep misquoting…upon cancellation of said program, HRT is hereby bound to fill the vacated time slot with any drama developed by either Baxter Reilly or his production company.”
“What’s the point? It’s there in black and white. I get any show used to fill Manor’s time slot.” Reilly smile was back with a vengeance.
Metcalfe sat up. He got the point. “Oh, you or this company have a new show in development?”
“Of course not, we…” Reilly looked like he had just been hit with a truck. “I could claim that I was not given notice or enough time to develop a new show…”
“You’ve been at the bottom of the ratings from the get go Reilly. No one’s going to believe that.”
“Fine, but Amanda Jackson doesn’t have the experience I do, and I have two Emmy nominations for writing…” Reilly tried to talk his way into Blood Kisses.
“True, Amanda does not have experience as a head writer, and you do have two Emmy nominations, as a member of a writing team, not one for any soap as a head writer—not one.”
“Neither does she.” he insisted.
“No but she does have six nominations and two wins as a member of a writing team, and she would have had the head writer’s experience, but you weaseled a job away from her and then managed to black ball her.”
“That’s her side of the story.”
“Don’t care…and I need to take just a little break to thank you,” Ian smiled.
“What for?” Baxter spit.
“If it weren’t for the way you treated Amanda, she never would have agreed to my idea for a daytime soap. As soon as she realized in doing so she got carte blanche sweet revenge, it unleashed some astounding creativity and a not so surprisingly long line of very talented revenge seeking people all of whom you treated just as badly or worse.” Ian smiled. “‘Blood Kisses’ is hers and hers alone. Just like Sensation Manor is yours and yours alone.”
“Which you are canceling.”
“Which we are not.” Ian shut the folder in front of him.
“You can’t afford three soaps!” Reilly pounded his fist on the table.
Metcalfe agreed with him. “Unfortunately Ian, he’s right. We don’t have much of a choice here.”
“Yes we do.” Ian said
“Legal gave the okay?” Turner asked.
“100%” Ian smiled, “And they offered me a job. As of this moment production on ‘Sebastian Manor’ has been suspended. It is not canceled, just suspended until further notice.”
“You can’t do that!” Reilly screamed.
Ian smiled. “If you don’t like it, sue me...bitch.” He stood up. “I think this concludes our business…I need a nap.”
“Wait! You little asshole! I still own “Sebastian Manor” the moment it ceases production, canceled or not, I can take it elsewhere and sell it.”
Ian smiled. “You are absolutely correct, Reilly and I am sure that the bottom soap you took pains to make sure was the laughing stock of the industry has great value, and once again you don’t do this very well.”
“Excuse me?” Reilly bellowed.
“Reilly you own the title and the story. Anything you’ve written or filmed still belongs to us, as well as any likeness or facsimile, until we’ve canceled it. Leaving you with a title and some characters you can’t write for for another four years. You also forgot that the actor’s contracts are with HRT not your little company, so any one who would be fool enough to buy the piece of crap would have to completely recast.”
“You can’t do this!” Reilly slammed both fists on the table and spit as he whaled.
“I just did…take me to court if you like. In fact, I dare you.” Ian stood and headed for the door. “I can assure you personally that every newspaper in the country will be faxed a copy of that contract. While what you pulled is not illegal, it is certainly unethical and you’ll never work again.”
Ian picked up his backpack and shook hands with everyone in the room, saving Reilly for last, who refused to take his hand. “Reilly this has been so much fun. I leave you with three words to remember my by…kiss my ass.”
Blake grinned, picked up his paperwork and left the room behind Ian.
“Justyn, wait a moment.” Ian turned to see Denver Metcalfe trying to catch up to him. He stopped and turned.
“Do you know if your boy, Lee, has the two teasers we asked for ready?” He asked.
“Teasers?” Ian turned to Blake.
“Yes, Mr. Metcalfe.” Blake stepped in. “Probably by now. I’m just heading over to production to get them. I’ll bring them straight to the board room.”
“Thank you…Blake, is it?” Metcalfe said.
“Yes, sir.” Blake nodded. “I’ll let you know if there’s a delay or problem.”
“Tell me.” Metcalfe focused back on Ian. “What do you think of the fall campaign Crawford and his people came up with?”
Ian plastered on a smile. “Oh I heart HRT, Mr. Metcalfe.”
Metcalfe laughed and slapped Ian on the back. “Justyn, I’m looking forward to the rest of your surprises. What I’m most looking forward to is the ones we’ve got planned for you.” He sauntered back to the room from which he came, chuckling all the way.
“I’m not so sure I like the sound of that.” Ian looked at Blake, who shrugged. “What kind of teasers is Lee doing?”
“I don’t really know.” He said as they walked to the elevator together. “All I know is that David Turner called specifically for Lee, and Lee has been up in the production office all day.”
“Any guesses or insight?” Ian followed Blake into the elevator.
“Mr. Turner knew we were doing a quick teaser for “World On A String” to show at the fall schedule meeting, right?”
“Absolutely. We wanted something to show and gage the chemistry between Jeff and Tess.”
Blake smiled. “He asked for two, so my theory is they are adding it and the teaser for “Hollow Points”, our two set series to the fall campaign ads to show the board what they have in mind.”
“Yay.” Ian slumped against the wall. “I heart HRT coupled with…” Ian shook himself. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
The elevators opened and they walked onto their floor. They had about an hour to regroup and head up to the biggest meeting of the year. Pretty much, everything was set, but this was that last chance anyone had to haggle, air a concern or get something changed before the board formally agreed.
This was also where Ian had to present his daytime line up, and the newly redesigned Jeff Torkelson show, as well as all the in department designed trade and print campaigns for all their shows. Ian was stoked. This was when he felt he got to show everyone what his department was made of.
He couldn’t help but feel a little smug. This was also where he got to watch Simon Kent squirm. He knew good and well that Kent was deliberately trying to sabotage him. He warned him but he didn’t listen. Just like when he was the dirty kid in school. The taunts and teases always brought out the best in Ian. Hopefully, Simon Kent was about to learn that.
The only problem now, was catching Kent off guard. Fortunately the man was too self absorbed to see anything but flowers he’d planted. If he even had an inkling that someone else was tending the roses, he’d have enough time to prune the fingerprints.
The trick was to keep Baxter Reilly from telling Simon Kent about “Sebastian Manor”, and, for that matter, “Blood Kisses”. Even David Turner thought it was important to keep him in the dark until the formal announcement. There were too many dirty dealings, and they hoped he would tip his hand to the extent of his involvement if blindsided.
Ian wasn’t sure he was behind the accounting fraud. The only evidence at hand was Kent’s department was the only one that didn’t have bogus employees. Personally, Ian didn’t think he was smart enough. He wasn’t smart enough to not send up red flags about the “Sebastian Manor” cancellation by being too insistent upon it. Anyone that obvious, in Ian’s opinion didn’t have the smarts to pull a scam that big.
The fact that there were so many bogus employees from Ian’s department made him think that someone was trying to set him up. Whoever it was knew too much about how the company worked by finding loopholes in checks and balances. They were smart enough to know how to do it in a manner that was virtually untraceable, as well as how to set it up to subtly point a finger by taking advantage of someone they thought was naïve. They were also a pretty damned good at forgery. None of that added up to Simon Kent.
Ian shook his head. He had to keep his mind on the matters at hand. Members of his team had been playing “Mission: Impossible” all day. David Turner was busy keeping Baxter Reilly busy, making sure he couldn’t get to a phone or anywhere near Simon Kent. With Turner in the room, everyone was pretty sure Reilly wouldn’t dare pull out a cell phone and try to text. The man would be too busy trying to save his own hide.
Blake looked at his watch. “Okay Boss Man, time to head up. You ready?”
Ian snapped his fingers. “Piece of cake.” Ian’s raspberry blackberry buzzed. It was a text from Daryn, who was on Kent watch.
“Queen to Pawn 21”
Ian smiled. “Kent’s on his way to the board room.” He handed his blackberry to Blake.
Blake typed in “Queen on parade” and hit send.
Immediately a message from Sean came back. “Waving at crowd.”
“Headed straight there.” Blake started to hand the device back to Ian. “Wait…text from Wella…the queen’s on her throne.”
“Okay, let’s head up.” Blake and Ian gathered material and headed for the elevator. When the door’s opened, Sean stepped out beaming.
“You are having way too much fun.” Ian told him.
“Here.” Sean handed him an I-Phone. “I always knew life on the streets of Chicago would pay off.”
“What’s this?” Ian asked.
“Kent’s cell phone.” Sean smiled. “As I was texting you I bumped into him and lifted it from his pocket. He was too busy calling me a rude something I didn’t understand to realize that I was way out of pick pocket practice.”
Blake and Ian smiled at each other. “I’ll call Mr. Turner and tell him to put the mutt out of his misery.” Blake started dialing as the doors shut on Ian, now alone in the elevator.
By the time Ian got to the penthouse conference room, Simon Kent was in full bloom. He had the attention of as many as he could get. He spouted tidbits of information and encouragement like a human “Twitter”.
“And the fall campaign Crawford came up with.” He put his hand to his heart and “swooned”. “It’s so adorable. I heart HRT. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Trent Rockford, one of the other development execs, rolled his eyes. “Ever read a bumper sticker, Simon?”
Kent shot him a questionable look. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one with any intelligence reads that garbage. The only people more foolish than the ones who plaster their vehicles with that offensive trash are the morons who get drunk, write it and sell it from their cardboard boxes.”
Rockford laughed to himself and shook his head. Ian smiled and began to stack his sheathed mockups on an easel that was in the corner.
Kent leaned over to his assistant. “Look, Justyn is getting ready for show and tell.” The assistant tittered with him. They began whispering back and forth to each other, stopping only when David Turner entered the room heading for the leather chair at the end of the table.
Denver Metcalfe patted Ian on the back and went up, taking the first seat immediately to Turner’s right. Turner was nodding hello, shaking hands and looking around the room. When he caught Ian’s eye, he nodded and winked.
Ian knew that meant Turner felt he’d managed to keep any information from getting to Kent. Ian subtly nodded and took his seat beside Wella toward the end of the table.
“Looks like everyone here. Shall we begin?” Turner said.
Simon Kent smiled. “Shouldn’t we wait for Jack?”
Turner smiled. “He won’t be with us today, Simon. We’ll proceed without him.”
Kent pushed his chair from the table and began to push his ample round frame up. “As senior executive, I’ll be happy to moderate in his behalf.”
“Not necessary, Kent.” Turner stopped him in mid-stand. “As president of this company since it’s founding, I think I can handle that.”
The smile left Kent’s face. “Of course.” He realized he was half standing, half sitting and eased himself back down. “By all means.”
“For those of you that haven’t heard via the grapevine, as of today Jack Tolan is no longer with us. He has decided to take his retirement effective immediately.”
“Oh…” Kent graced the room with a “heartfelt” sigh oblivious only to the pigeon that left his calling card on the window behind him.
“Briefly, the board and I have decided on some restructuring, starting with his position. Until we decide upon his successor and exactly how that position fits into our plans for the future of HRT, I will be assuming all of his duties.”
“I assume that you will be naming his successor soon.” Even Kent was embarrassed that slipped out of his mouth.
“No.” Turner informed the room to Kent’s chagrin. “At this point we don’t feel the need to do so. It is more important that we implement the restructuring before offering a contracted position whose responsibilities may vary drastically in the coming months.”
Metcalfe spoke up. “May I also add, that with the excitement being created for the fall season and our concentration over the summer being building upon that, the board feels it is the only focus necessary. We have several candidates in mind, both in and out of our corporate structure.”
Turner nodded. “We will concentrate on building the best fall line up we have had in years, while continuing to observe the candidates, taking our time to make the right choice for a VP who can best help steer us in the direction we feel the network and the company needs to go as a whole. That said let’s get down to business…”
The first hour was a tedious rundown from each department, followed by a small break. David Turner then went over what had already been decided, what shows they were canceling, and went over the decisions already made to fill the holes.
A whopping ten hours of programming needed to be filled. HRT was at the bottom of the heap for the fifth year in a row, drastic measures had to be taken and everyone was stepping up to bat. Virtually every night would have a change. Eight of the ten hours had been filed. The pilots that still hadn’t been ruled out, had all been reviewed again. All that was left was to decided what to schedule and where to schedule it.
“Before we begin the process of elimination, I believe we need to discuss the current situation with the Jeff Torkelson project.”
Everyone looked at Simon Kent, who smiled and stood. “Most of you know that I initiated the contract, but there were some minor creative differences. The show was heading in a strong direction, but well…I’ll let Ian take over from here. He stepped in and the ball is totally in his court.”
Kent smirked and took his seat. The room looked at Ian, all with questionable looks of various degrees on their faces. David Turner grinned “Young Justyn you have the floor.”
Ian nodded. “May I?”
“By all means.” Turner took his seat and Ian walked to the head of the room.
“Thank you, Simon. I start by thanking you for the wonderful opportunity that you handed me. You are to be applauded for not only seizing an opportunity, but allowing an unseasoned pier to help in shaping it. As Simon said, the show is heading in a very strong, and if I may say so, very exciting direction. We only have one little problem…”
“Problem?” Simon did spider mirror exercises with his fingers. “How could there be a problem? Do tell.”
“Actually, it’s not really a problem, with everyone’s approval it actually solves a problem. The original idea was a spin off.”
“That’s what was contracted.” Kent puffed.
“No, sir. What was contracted was a series with a full year commitment, provided it be ready for airing this fall. Jeff Torkelson and his contracted writing staff had trouble coming up with a sustainable concept for a spin off. Fortunately, through some hard work and sheer luck we were able to come up with an alternative concept, one we already had a development agreement on and we begin shooting the series in two weeks.”
“Casting is done?” Metcalfe couldn’t believe.
“Actually, yes.” Ian assured. “We were able to use the two actors already contracted for the spin off, and the other two regulars, one lead and one reoccurring have already signed on the dotted line.”
Trent Rockford spoke up. “Another lead? Torkelson had already wangled his way into being the highest paid lead in television. What the hell did you sign another lead for? It was unaffordable as it was.”
Ian nodded to Wella, who began to pass out folders with contracts. “The folders Wella is now passing out contain all the contracts and cost analysis of the series, no longer a Jeff Torkelson project, but “The World On A String” starring Jeff Torkelson and legendary HRT star Tess Sinclair.”
“Tess Sinclair?” Someone said. “You signed Tess Sinclair?”
“Yes.” Ian said. “If you turn to the first contract you will see an agreement signed by Jeff and myself declaring the initial contract mediated by Mr. Kent null and void, followed by a new contract at exactly half the original price, with higher back end and raises for the five year term based on ratings increases.”
“He agreed to that?” Kent’s face fell.
“Mr. Torkelson and Ms. Sinclair both agreed that it was more important to make a good series that was affordable to the network.”
“They believe in the project that much?” Rockford asked.
“Absolutely.” Ian smiled. “Please take note, we have broken down the cost analysis to the first contract against the new contracts. “The World On a String” is still an expensive series but only slightly higher than the cost of any new program at any network.”
Everyone but Simon Kent and his assistant applauded. Kent tossed the files on the table in front of him. Simon looked at Ian. “How is any of this possible? You just started on Monday.”
“Wait a minute.” One of the other execs put his hands on the table. “You did this in two days?”
Ian nodded his head and continued. “The original idea was from Jenson Michaels, whom my department has under contract. When Tessie came into the picture, I remembered it.” Ian nodded to Wella again, who began passing out bound scripts.
“These are the first two scripts, the first folder has an episode breakdown for two years. Now, Torkelson’s writers will tweak them slightly but they decided they were too good not to use as stood.”
“You said there was a problem.” Metcalfe said. “All I see here is gold.”
“Well the problem is this is not a half hour sitcom. This is a one hour dramedy, throw “Ugly Betty” and “Mad Men” in a blender and you get “The World On A String”. My suggestion is moving “John and Agnes” from 9:30 to 8:30 on Thursday, filling the early hole and the last one as well.”
“I always thought that ‘John and Agnes’ was more a family oriented show anyway.” Someone piped up.
“It is our highest rated sitcom, and will serve a better build into “String” than the other way around.” Ian said.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed but apprehensive.” Simon grinned. “You threw all of this together in two days. I’ll just put it out there. We shouldn’t okay this until we’ve seen a pilot. Sinclair is a notorious diva and I doubt has any chemistry with Torkelson. We shouldn’t even think about this until we have a pilot.”
“We don’t have time for that.” Ian told him. “Not if we plan to announce it for the fall.”
“Then we pull it off.” Simon smiled and looked around the room. “I move we just cancel the project until we see something concrete.”
“Not a problem.” Ian smiled. “I don’t have a pilot, but we did shoot a teaser for you, even we wanted to see about chemistry between the two leads.”
David Turner stood. “Ian, let me step in here, if I may…” Ian nodded and returned to his seat. “First of all, let me just point out that what you are about to see is two fold. After you see this you will no doubt agree with Ian and myself…”
“You knew about this?” Kent said.
“Of course.” Turner looked down on the man. “Young Justyn wasn’t about to mess with the fortunes of this network with out getting input and approval from a superior, something a couple of you might want to begin taking into consideration.”
Kent’s shrunk back in his chair. Turner beamed, “Now where was I…oh yes, two fold. You are about to see the teaser for “World On A String”, and how it will be used with the fall campaign. The board was so excited when they saw it, we’ve already unanimously approved it.”
Simon Kent clapped his hands and giggled. “I knew it!”
The room including Ian rolled their eyes. Someone even murmured “I heart HRT.”
“Now this is just a…what did he call it, a simple Flash computer program, when it’s transferred over to film it will be a little softer.” Turner seemed pleased. “Shall we roll it?”
He took his seat as the lights dimmed. Wella looked at Ian and patted his thigh, whispering, “At least our teaser will be good.”
The screen at the front of the room lit up and the soft sounds of an orchestra could be heard. A classic picture faded into to view, the portrait of the woman from the lobby. As it went to sepia an announcer’s voice said simply “Hutton”. The process repeated twice with the other two portraits, the announcer saying “Redfield” and then “Turner”. As the final portrait faded into the network logo the room heard “The legend continues this fall…”
Ian and Wella were dumbstruck. It was the campaign they had designed and didn’t bother to submit. They looked at each other and then back to the screen. A classic portrait of Tess Sinclair faded into the logo. It was an iconic shot from TV Guide of “Tessie” in all her diva glory.
It went sepia fading into a current shot of Tessie in the exact pose this time in color. The camera pulled back revealing her on a chaise in modern day diva glory. Jeff Torkelson came into the shot, baby in arm and five year old with thick glasses in hand. He stopped at Tess and frowned. “Got to go for unemployment.”
The little girl crawled over Tess and sat on her legs staring at her. Jeff handed Tess the baby. “You’re in charge”. He walked out of the shot and the camera panned in for a close up of Tess and the baby, every ounce of diva gone.
The announcer said, “The World on a String, Thursdays this fall a new legend is born.” The baby spit up and Tess looks at the camera as the shot froze and faded back into the original sepia tone.
The room howled. Applause broke out and the room got to its feet. Even Simon Kent stood, staring angry holes into Ian, but clapping along.
It would only be the first time that day the room applauded Ian. When he pitched a variety series kicked off by a live concert with Susan Andrews and Jimmy Sage the room was practically riotous. When he announced the new daytime schedule including “Blood Kisses” they practically hoisted him on their shoulders and poured champagne on him.
Yup, it was a good day. By the end of it, all of Ian’s pilots and ideas made the cut. He had been set up as the golden boy and even Simon Kent had to admit that. Ian took it all with a little grain of salt, knowing it all looked great on paper. The real test was when it all hit the air.
As the meeting was adjourned, Ian was distracted temporarily shaking hands and receiving congratulations. As the executives left the room, leaving the board members behind for a brief chat before they took a break, Simon Kent stepped in front of Ian.
He didn’t offer his hand, and his face couldn’t hide the disdain. “Enjoy it while it lasts Justyn. Success is fleeting.”
Ian smiled, “Actually Simon, I’ve always felt that success was something you held in your heart. You hold fame in your hand, and it blows away very easily. Success is something personal. No one can snatch that away but you.”
“Whatever.” Kent rolled his eyes and sneered. The turned swiftly and marched toward the door.
“Ian?” Denver Metcalfe called from the other end of the room. “Would you and Wella mind staying? The board would like to get your input on something.”
Before Ian turned to say “Of course” he noticed Simon Kent freeze in his tracks and turn red faced back to Ian and the room.
Metcalfe looked at Kent and smiled. “Is there something you’ve forgotten Kent?”
“No.” He stammered. “I just thought that…”
A woman from the board frowned and waved him off. “You are no longer needed Kent.”
Kent looked at the floor and nodded. “Yes.” He said quietly.
“And Kent?” The woman said. “I noticed not one of your pilots even made the first round of cuts. Perhaps you need to start rethinking things. Take a lesson from Ian here, and start thinking outside the box.”
Simon would have spit nails at Ian if he’d had enough iron in his diet that day. He whirled around abruptly and petulantly stomped out of the room.
“Have a seat.” The woman pointed at two chairs. Ian and Wella sat down.
Ian whispered. “Any idea what this is about?” Wella shook her head. They both felt like they had been sent to the Principals office…again.
The woman motioned to David Turner. “Thank you, Jessica. Ian, Wella, I want both of you to know that although I support this, I did not prompt nor instigate it. The board made these decisions of their own accord.”
Once again, Ian and Wella looked at each other and then back to the board. Wella swallowed hard.
Ian took a deep breath. “’kay”.
Denver Metcalfe leaned on the long desk in front of him. “Ian take a look at the schedule board up there.”
The woman named Jessica said, “Go ahead, dear, go right up there and look it over.”
Ian looked at Wella and stood, wobbly, and made his way to the schedule that loomed the front wall of the room. He looked at it and then turned back to the nine men and three women in the room.
“That’s our fall schedule.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you happy with it?” Jessica asked.
Ian looked at Turner and then over to Wella, hoping she’d give him some sort of signal, as she had many times before. The only signal he could read from her was barely contained terror.
Ian looked at the woman. “For the most part, ma’am.”
“Ian I have to say I adore your Southern charm. I realize that you say ma’am out of respect, but like you and the term ‘mister’, every time you call me ma’am I wonder where my grandmother is. Please, call me Jessica or, if you must, I’ll settle for Ms. Greginsky.”
“Uhm…” “Ian smiled weakly. “’kay.”
Jessica batted her eyes. She cleared her throat and got back to business. “Ian, if you were put totally in charge, no one to answer to, how would you change that schedule?”
“Oh…I…” Ian looked at Wella, who shrugged.
“Just do it, Ian”. Turner said. “Change anything around, take anything off. Do it.” He ordered.
Ian turned back around to the schedule. He thought about his first interview. Ian sighed. He had no idea what was going on, but somehow he knew this was a test. He’d been boldly honest from moment one. It was too late to turn back now.
He reached to the Saturday schedule that simply said “Reruns”, pulled off the magnet there and placed it on the table. He looked up to gage the reaction. The board was watching his every move, exchanging glances with each other.
Ian next pulled off the magnet for the series “A Saga Leading Nowhere”, yanking it off Sunday nights and putting it in the Saturday slot he’d emptied. He then got in the trash and pulled out two comedies the execs had decided to can after one season. He put them in the hour slot he made on Sunday. He looked it over one more time, then nodded his head and returned to his seat.
The board members looked at each other. “Interesting.” Metcalfe said glancing to David Turner. “That’s all?”
“I think that’s the best we can do with what we have to offer. Any more and I think our core audience would abandon us. If we do another major cleaning like this next fall, provided the majority of our new shows work, we should be at least number two.”
“You left a hole.” Jessica Greginsky pointed out. “Two hours nine to eleven on Saturdays.”
“I’m wondering about Saturday as a whole.” Ned Bellamy spoke up. He was the youngest member of the board and the only person of color. “Why would you move our top rated series to the lowest rated night of the week?”
Ian felt Wella’s hand on his thigh. He smiled, remembering what that meant. “It also is the night of the week the biggest percentage of television watchers say they don’t watch because there is nothing on, young religious families with children.”
“That’s why it’s scheduled for Sunday nights. To attract those viewers.” Bellamy said.
“Sir, most members of Protestant religions go to church on Sunday nights, arriving home between eight thirty and nine. They’d watch it, if it were on at a time they were home; Saturday nights looking for something to watch with the kids.”
Bellamy’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Metcalfe. “There hasn’t been a hit on Saturday nights since when? Mary Tyler Moore in the seventies?”
“The audience is still there, just not the one’s who watch the rest of the week.” Ian defended. “It’s the only night of the week we can afford niche programming, and we waste it with reruns or series already canceled we need to burn to offset cost.”
“But the hole from nine to eleven, dear.” Greggy repeated. “Would you keep reruns there?”
“Sort of.” Ian looked at Wella who smiled lightly and nodded. “We’ve been talking, and we think if we are going to do reruns, why does it have to be current programming? If I were in charge, I’d turn those two hours into a block of classic HRT programs; stuff in our vaults that hasn’t been seen in years.”
“Like?” David Turner asked.
“Old HRT films, Tess Sinclair’s sitcom…”
“That’s been in syndication for years.” Someone scoffed.
Ian nodded. “But only two hundred episodes, it ran for fifteen years at a time when 30 to 36 episodes were the norm, dust off the other 340, and all the things that ran in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, the ones that made us the best network in the world, all which bring back smiles to faces when they’re mentioned and most of which haven’t been seen since they left the airwaves.”
Jessica Greginsky turned to Denver Metcalfe. “Signature reruns. We dust them off, broadcast them and then drop them to video.” She turned to David and nodded her head. “Win, win.”
Metcalfe looked around the room. “Are there any reservations?” The board all resounded assuring him there wasn’t. “Dave…” he nodded to the board. “We have our schedule.”
The old man smiled. “Thank you, Young Justyn. Now for the matter at hand, Wella, Young Justyn…”
Wella took Ian’s hand under the table and they braced for whatever was coming.
“As of Monday morning there will be some major changes in structure. You are aware of Jack Tolan, also Lance Crockett is busy telling his staff all but four we’ve chosen are being let go or sent back to the mail room. Each development team will now have two people for promotion.”
“We think we’ll get better results having the promotion developed along with the product itself.” Jessica smiled. “You’ve proven that.”
“We are keeping a small team which, for the time being, Lance Crawford will head up. His job will be to co-ordinate overall. That team and all of the development team will answer to the Head of Development and Promotion, a new position we are putting in place. That position will answer to me and only me.”
“Of course.” Ian nodded.
“As for Tolan’s position…” Turner began.
“Excuse me.” Ian interrupted him. “I just want to go on the record, again, as saying I have not now nor ever had designs on Jack’s position.”
Jessica Greginsky smiled. “You enjoy what you do.”
“Yes, ma…Jess...i…ca... I love it. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do, and I think it’s how I can best help HRT.” Ian said emphatically.
Metcalfe frowned. “You’d never want to be vice president of the network?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that, maybe some day when I’m ready. I’ve still so much to learn.”
Metcalfe leaned back in his chair and smiled. He exchanged that smile with everyone in the room. “You’re right on both counts, but at the same time, you’re wrong.”
Ian looked at Wella. “I don’t understand.”
David Turner stepped in. “Young Justyn…Ian, you are correct in saying that you are not ready for Tolan’s position, but I want to work with you on a daily basis. When we feel you are confident, I will step back. There is much for you to learn, and we’ve all been noticing there is much you can teach us.”
Jessica leaned forward. “Ian, you do realize that this morning we had ten hours of time to fill?”
“And we did that.” Ian said.
“Yes.” She smiled. “There are five development teams, Kent’s boobs presented nothing worth looking at twice. Two teams had one hour each, and third had ninety minutes.”
“The rest came from your team, two thirds of it, and there was never any question as to whether or not to snap it up for the schedule, just where to place it for the best advantage.” Ned Bellamy said. “It’s not only unheard of, I don’t think it’s ever happened. At least not at HRT.”
Ian gulped. “I don’t know what to say. The team worked hard. I’m proud of them.”
Denver Metcalfe folded his hands together. “Are you willing to do anything we ask you to do, without question?”
“Of course.”
“Done.” He said and looked at Turner.
“We’ll make the formal announcement at the press conference next week.” Turner and company began closing folders and gathering up items. “Wella you’ll be right there with Young Justyn every step of the way. You’re going to have much more responsibility as well.”
“Darling, we have every confidence in you both.” Jessica Greginsky said as she picked up her purse. “We know you’re a team. That’s what drew our attention in the first place.” She walked by and kissed Wella on the cheek. “Let’s do a girl’s night. I’ll call you.” She said and was out the door.
David Turner was the last to leave the room. “Still taking Friday off?”
Ian and Wella nodded.
“Good. Come in tomorrow, I’ll bring donuts. We’ll congratulate the team and start making some decisions. Congratulations, you two.” Turner strutted toward the door. He shook his head. “You remind me of the young upstarts that started this company.”
He disappeared, leaving Wella and Ian still seated at the table. They remained silent for a moment.
Ian finally turned to Wella. “What just happened?”
“I think we just got promoted.”
“Not fired?”
“No.” Wella turned to Ian. “Sometimes I wonder about you child. You just got crowned prince and royal heir to the throne and I got your old job and you think we both just got fired.”
“Are you sure?”
She thought a moment. “Pretty sure.”
“Can we go home now?”
“Probably, but let’s sit here a minute, just in case.” She said.
“Good. I don’t think my legs work anymore.”
“I peed my pants.” Wella sighed.
“I need a cigarette.”
Wella looked around and pulled a pack out of Ian’s coat pocket. She lit one, handed it to him, then lit one for herself.
Ian flicked an ash in a cup of water. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
Wella puffed her Marlboro, sucked it in and let out a thick stream. “It’s either that or go number two in my pants.”
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Chapter Seventeen: Truth
Ian put down the phone. “That was strange.” He looked up at David Turner, sitting across from him in his office. “Forgive me, sir, but now I am really wondering about our accounting department.”
“What now?”
“Well, I called to ask about a new car.”
“It’s about time. I surprised that old thing you drive got you to California, let alone is still running.”
“Yeah, well…anyway, I just called because of the sudden increases in my monthly expenses to see how much I could afford to spend.”
“You make a good salary Young Justyn. There shouldn’t be a problem.”
“But the new house, suddenly a child who needs everything. I just don’t want to get caught up in over spending.” Ian explained.
“You’re maybe a little too prudent, but good for you.” Turner leaned forward. “Was there some sort of problem?”
“Well, no…” Ian looked at the phone. “He said buy two, they’re small and then laughed out loud.”
“That is rather odd. I won’t pry into your expenses, but I sign the checks. I know how much you make. You shouldn’t have any problem at all.”
“I just don’t find my accountant’s lack of concern over my expenses to be very comforting, especially when he seems to find it so amusing.”
“Maybe he’s just finds someone making a high end executive salary concerned about a small purchase refreshing.”
“I don’t think buying a car and raising a ten year old are small purchases.” Ian looked at his boss.
“Ian, most of the people in your position call accounting to see if they can afford the second summer home on Maui.”
“Oh.” Ian felt dumb, then looked back up at Turner. “How can they afford that?”
“They can’t, but do it anyway.”
“Maybe I should tell people my Aunt Hil’s old shack is a resort cabin on the Blue Ridge Parkway.”
Turner threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll pay you a million dollars to offer it to Simon Kent for the weekend, but only if you give me a head start so I can see the look on his face when his chauffeur pulls in the driveway.”
“Blue Ridge I could get away with, resort cabin it ain’t.” Ian smiled with the old man.
“Have you decided what you are going to do with it?”
Ian shook his head. “Not yet. It’s been emptied out and closed up. Reese flew down this weekend and is bringing back the contents in a couple of days. Once probate is finished, I’ll figure something out. We’re razing the farm, but I don’t know if I can do that to Aunt Hil’s place. It would also break my heart to think of it just rotting there on the side of the mountain.”
“Take your time. You never know. You may want to go back there sometime.”
“Not for a long while.” Ian said.
“How’s the boy doing?” Turner asked, genuine in his concern.
“Well, I think. We’re still adjusting, and I really hate the cat, but he’s such a smart kid. Tippy is amazed at how smart he is. I’m just amazed. We were concerned that he’d be behind when he started school here in the fall, but according to his test scores he’s way ahead of them.”
“Good. Good.”
“We’re only concerned about his speech patterns. The last thing Ronnie needs is to have the kid’s bully him because he talks like a hillbilly, but he seems to be aware of that and is working really hard to improve.”
“Relax, Young Justyn. He’s like his father.”
Ian couldn’t help but smile. “My only concern is that we were both poor kids, suddenly with access to more money and superficial stuff than we ever dreamed of. I don’t want either of us taking that flow of the almighty dollar for granted. The flow could stop just as easily as it started.” Ian opened a file on his desk. “Anyway, back to the matters at hand. Have you read the file legal sent over?”
“Yes. I think our initial plan is the correct path, don’t you?”
“I agree. All we have to do is figure out the time lines.”
“If we pull the rug before the fall schedule announcement they could leak to the press in retaliation.” The old man mused.
“We’ve managed to keep all of this under wrap so far. Think we can do it another couple of weeks until the big press conference?”
“Maybe we should split the difference and do it after the final fall schedule meeting on Wednesday. Most of it is bound to leak after that anyway and the news wires have already picked up the fact that we stole Pearce Warner from CNN.”
Ian nodded his head. “But if we can wait until after the press conference, they may think they’ve gotten away with it and reveal more than we already know about.”
“Good point.” David tapped his cane on the floor. “Let’s go ahead and start contract negotiations though. Everybody knows Warner is coming aboard. Maybe the negotiations will help you decide what definite directions to take that in, and that really has nothing to do with the other.”
“I’m a little nervous about that. I don’t mind being underhanded with people who deserve it, but I feel bad that most of the morning news show team has been completely left out of the loop.”
“Young Justyn, some are going to like it and some are not. You do your job well, amazingly well for a rookie. I dare say many have been anxiously waiting to see what kind of magic you shower down on them. Just do it and don’t worry about hurting people’s feelings. You aren’t deliberately crushing them, or ruining anyone’s career.”
“Some people will get upset and leave.”
“Tell ‘em not to let the door smack ‘em on the ass on the way out.”
Ian nodded. “Anything else, sir?”
“Just a couple of little things.” Turner leaned back in his chair.
“Shoot.”
“Have you seen the fall promo campaign Crockett’s people put together?”
That was a question Ian had hoped wouldn’t come up. “Yes.”
“I heart HRT.” Turner scrunched up his already wrinkled face in disgust. “What do you think?”
Ian sighed. “Actually sir, I think it’s awful. I understand what he’s going for, which is exactly what we asked for, something that will catch the eye of a younger market but not insult the older.”
“And…?”
“And I think it reflects most of what comes out of Lance Crockett’s office, exactly what is required, nothing more nothing less. It will deliver exactly what it has before. The older demographic will think it’s non-offensive and mildly amusing. The younger demographic will find it laughably outdated and ignore us, as always, in droves.”
Turner nodded his head. “If I didn’t own the place, and saw that campaign I’d certainly head over to Fox or CBS. Hell, I’d turn off the TV completely and read a book.”
“Well, we don’t have to accept it.”
“True, but can Crockett’s people come up with something else in so short a time that won’t be even worse, or at most the same thing in a different color?”
“Mr. Turner, do we always have to go exclusively with something designed from in house? Perhaps we could energize that department by letting them know they have competition.”
“That’s what I was thinking. My plan is to let him do his little presentation and then coax the rest of the board to open up the campaign to some outside sources. If they don’t see things my way, I’ll pull rank and do it anyway.”
“You da boss.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“You can not tell me that someone on your team hasn’t come up with some idea for a fall campaign.” Turner grinned.
“Actually, we have, but we opted not to go beyond putting a mock trailer together. We were afraid that a few of the more seasoned might perceive it as showboating and get the programs we’ve worked so hard on to be overlooked intentionally.”
“May I see what you came up with?”
“Sure. I’ll have Sean send a dupe up to your office. It’s just a few things we did on a simple Flash program. We were thinking…never mind. It kind of speaks for itself.”
“Would expect no less.”
“Anything else?”
“The Torkelson Show.” David Turner spit out. “It sucks.”
Ian blinked. “And?”
“I know it. Torkelson knows it and you knew it all along.”
“I don’t do I told you so.”
“Think your team can fix it?”
“I doubt it. The first script is brilliant. The second is cute. By the first commercial break the third becomes Pink Lady and Jeff Meets Supertrain. Then it really gets bad.”
“Suggestions? Instinct?”
“Don’t put it on the fall schedule. Give his people time to regroup, maybe a different direction or an entirely new concept.”
“Kent’s already run trades. We’ll look like fools.”
“And we won’t airing the most expensive bowel movement in history?”
“Good point, but…”
“Then do this.” Ian’s mind was racing. “Just formally announce a half hour starring Jeff Torkelson. That’s really all that’s in verifiable print. That gives him enough time to completely change the premise and/or title, frees them up creatively and yet adheres to the contract on both ends.”
“Will you meet with Torkelson?”
“Is that a question or an order?”
“Let’s call it the big boss suggesting strongly.”
“Not a problem then.” Ian took a deep breath.
“But?”
“Simon Kent. I don’t want to sneak around behind his back, and quite frankly I have little desire to stir Tallulah Belle’s bees up.”
“Kent suggested it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Kent and Torkelson hate each other with a passion. Torkelson doesn’t trust Kent and quite frankly I think Kent wants the show to be a big disaster.”
“He’s after the VP spot. Why would he want his own idea to be such a disaster?”
“Think about it. The show is suppose to bring in the young demographic, a demographic he doesn’t think we really need. If it bombs, especially if it’s a big bomb, the board will think twice about going that far beyond our base audience again.”
Ian nibbled on a pencil. “Makes sense, and if he washes his hands of it and turns it over to me he gets two proverbial birds with one stone.”
“It’s sink or swim time, Ian.”
“Okay, I choose swim.”
“Good man, Torkelson’s waiting for your call. Do it today.”
“You got it. Something informal; I’m taking Ronnie to get hamburgers tonight.”
“I’m sure your son can burp a better idea than Kent.”
“I guess we’ll see. Give me a sec.” Ian pressed a button on the intercom. “Blake, get Jeff Torkelson on the phone for me.”
“You got it Boss Man.”
“Anything else?”
“Not really.” Turner raised an eye. “You trying to get rid of me?”
“Nope. Just wondering when it’s time to end business and call a couple of hookers for us.”
Turner laughed. “Okay, but I get the red head this time.” Turner leaned in. “One more little thing, strictly off the record.”
“Sure.”
“Kent’s contract is up in August. He’s deliberately put off contract negotiations, probably thinking if he can wait until after the Fall Season reveal he’ll be negotiating for Tolan’s job.”
“It makes sense.” Ian said. “He’s been here longer than anyone. It would be the natural progression. I think every one pretty much assumes that’s what will happen.”
“The board has already determined, surprisingly without my swinging my weight around. They aren’t going to negotiate. When his people try and set up a meeting, they are going to thank him politely for his years of service and hang up.”
“Oooh.” Ian frowned. “Can I take that month off?”
Ian thought a moment. “Do they know about…?” He asked Turner.
He shook his head. “Not a clue. His track record is just abysmal. The last ten years he’s produced expensive failure after failure, always blaming it on some factor out of his control. The board has just gotten wise. Crockett will probably be out the door as soon as his contract is up as well.”
“Will any of us have a job?” Ian asked.
“All of this is between you and I, but there is going to be a complete restructuring.”
“I won’t even tell the cat.”
Turner smiled. “How’s that working out?”
Ian took a deep breath. “Well, for starters, the vet informed us it’s not a he, but a she. Ronnie’s named her Rodie.”
“Rodie?”
“Short for ‘The Rodent’. It still follows me around everywhere, and for some reason I can’t get the neighbor’s dog to eat it. It has stopped being on my face staring at me when I wake up in the morning. I think screaming and throwing it against the wall four days in a row finally rang its little Pavlovian bell.”
Turner laughed.
“Unfortunately, Billy and Sparky…”
“Billy and Sparky?”
“My best friend and his sister, they’ve been closing up Aunt Hil’s house for me. They found the Mama cat and the rest of the litter. The furry demon phoenixes somehow rose from the ashes and survived. For a moment I thought Ronnie would insist we go get them and bring them all home.”
“You changed his mind?”
“Actually, Billy’s daughter is getting one of the kittens. Sparky has taken in the mother, and one of their brother’s is taking one. If we can find a home for one more, Ronnie won’t resort to blackmail.” Ian crossed his fingers and held them up. “Pray for me.”
Turner shook his head. “Young Justyn, fatherhood suits you so. You want to be a hero?”
“Only if I don’t have to wear blue tights, at least not until I tone up my thighs a little more.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You?” Ian was surprised. “You like cats?”
“Don’t know, never had one, but I’ve been thinking about it. They’re pretty independent and I thought it might be the perfect pet for an old man.” David Turner used his cane to stand. “Be nice to have something besides a hot water bottle to come home to. Haven’t had that since way before you were born.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Make it happen.” Turner tapped his cane on the floor.
“Okay, but if you change your mind. I don’t want it back, and however you dispose of it will just be between us.”
“I’ll make sure it’s something satisfyingly grisly.”
“God bless you.”
“Well, I will get out of your hair.”
“Never a problem, Mr. Turner.”
They both stood. Turner moved toward the office door.
“Oh, Mr. Turner. One more thing.”
“Certainly.”
“Saturday, I’m throwing a very casual party at my house for the team. They don’t know it yet. It’s my surprise for them, a thanks for all the hard work sort of thing.”
“That’s sounds like a great idea. You need HRT to fund it?”
“No.” Ian smiled. “Nothing like that. I realize that my home…well you know where I live.”
Turner nodded his head and looked at the floor.
“If you would, Ronnie and I would both like you to come.”
The old man smiled. “I appreciate that, Young Justyn. I have to admit…let me think about it.”
“Certainly.”
Ian’s intercom buzzed. Blake’s voice rang out. “Jeff Torkelson on line three, Boss Man.”
Ian pressed what he hoped was the right button. “Thank you.”
Turner smiled. “I’ll let you get back to real work. Let me know when the hookers arrive.”
“What?” Blake’s voice said.
“Uhm…I said thank you.”
“No. You put me on speaker phone.” Blake giggled. “The button beside it and pick up the phone before you hit line three or you’ll cut him off.”
“Can we just get some cans and string?”
“Face it, Boss Man, you’re a whiz at everything, except anything electronic. You’re kind of a moron in that department.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Any time.” Blake said. “And some one waiting to see you when you get off the phone.”
“’Kay.” Ian picked up the phone at hit the right button. “Jeff?”
“Ian.” Torkelson’s voice seemed almost relieved.
“I’m still on speaker phone.” Blake said.
“Hold on Jeff.” Ian started to push buttons. “If I cut you off, call back.” He pushed some more buttons.
“Still here.” Blake said.
“Crap.” Ian hissed. “I think I broke it.”
“What else is new?” Blake sighed. “I’ll be right in.”
“Jeff? Are you still there at least?”
“Yeah, having a great time actually.” Ian could swear he was laughing. “Can you tie your own shoes?”
“I don’t know. Mommy buys me velcro tabs.” Ian looked up as Blake came in and went straight for the phone system on Ian’s desk. “So what’s up?”
“Save me.” Jeff said.
“Say three hail Marys and give to the poor.” Blake shoved Ian out of his chair. “Or we could just take a meeting.”
“Can we do the meeting? I’m Jewish.”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to part the Red Sea.”
“But didn’t you do it once before?”
“Just a rumor.” Ian tried to keep out of Blake’s way. “I’m taking my son to that new family hamburger joint tonight for dinner.”
“You got a kid?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get a kid?”
“Uhm…the normal way?”
“He’s got a cat, too!” Blake said. Ian gave him a dirty look and hit a button on the phone just to get even.
“I didn’t know.”
“Long story…anyway, I thought you might join us. Just have a guy night and see what we can figure out.”
“Trying to impress the kid by introducing me, huh?”
“No offense, but he probably has no idea who you are.”
“You just take him out of the box or something?”
“Sort of.” Ian said as Blake snickered. “Long story. I thought tonight we could get together and chat informally before we start being seen in the office and starting rumors. Bring the wife, we’ll make it a family affair.”
“The wife doesn’t do red meat.”
“I’m thinking divorce.”
“Long story.” Jeff said.
“Touche,” Ian vollied back. “Meet us tonight around 7?”
“You got it. You buy the burgers, I’ll buy the beer.”
“I’ll buy the burgers, no beer for my son or me.”
“Afraid you’ll rip off your shirt and start to dance?”
“Afraid I’ll turn blue and end up in the hospital. I’m allergic to hops.”
“Bummer.”
“Doesn’t bother me. If I want something cold that tastes like that I’ll urinate in a cup and refrigerate it.”
“Can I have beer?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t rip off your shirt and start to dance.”
“My abs are pretty hot.”
“Unless I can scrub my socks on them, I don’t really care.”
“Kinky.”
“Seven?”
“Seven.”
“Just put down the phone and step away.” Blake said frustrated. “Don’t touch anything.”
Ian gently put the phone in the cradle, held up both hands and took two steps backward. “I’m sorry.”
“Honestly Ian, you are like that wizard in the ‘Dresden Files’. You come within five feet of anything electronic and it implodes.”
“If it’s any comfort, I’m not real good at Yahtzee either.”
“Go away before I kill you.” Blake pointed toward the door.
“Are you throwing me out of my office?”
“You choose. The door or the balcony.” Blake picked up the whole phone box and started unplugging cords. “Lance Crockett is waiting for you by my desk.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “The balcony, I choose the balcony.”
“Go!” Blake pointed toward the door. “And play nice. I just had the carpet cleaned.”
“You’re no fun at all.” Blake pointed again at the door. “Okay…okay.”
Sure enough, Lance Crockett was tapping his foot, waiting impatiently in the chair beside Blake’s desk. Ian plastered on a smile.
“Lance, what may I do for you? I didn’t think there was another press conference scheduled until next week.”
He stood. “We have more important matters to discuss. Your office. Now.”
“Not unless you want to die a horrible agonizing death. I messed up my phone again, and Blake will kill me with his death ray eyes. I’m positive all innocent bystanders within five feet would get vaporized, too.”
“I’m sure you don’t want to do this so…” Lance looked around at the staff, “…publicly.”
“Unless you want to borrow money, I have no problem discussing anything in front of the team.”
“Fine.” Lance crossed his arms and took a hard stance. “I’m getting tired of having to clean up the messes you are constantly making of the HRT image some of us try very hard to preserve.”
Ian didn’t bother. “What have I done now, Lance? Did I take up more than my share of air in the elevator again?”
“Don’t make light of this. First you run off to bumfuck…”
“Watch your mouth, Crockett.”
“…without telling anyone, managed to create an ecological disaster while you’re there and then I discover you’ve with held important personal information. Now, I’m stuck with how to spin this mess and I don’t appreciate it. This has to stop.”
“You are absolutely right.” Ian crossed his arms and glared. “This has to stop. First and foremost, personal information is personal and none of your business. Secondly I went home for a death in the family, intending to only miss one day of work, and once again none of your business.”
“It is my job to…”
“Lance, your job is to promote HRT, not tragedies that happen in my life, or anything to do with my life period.”
“You seem to forget, that anything personal that becomes public becomes my job. I now have to find a way to counter act the negative publicity your naïve ignorance has pulled this network into.”
“Negative? No one but my staff even knew I had gone to Lost Mountain, and they wouldn’t have known if the neighbor’s gas tank or whatever hadn’t exploded.” It was only a small white lie, but the press didn’t know the whole truth about that incident and Lance Crockett sure as hell didn’t need to know.
“Exactly! And there you were right in the middle of it.”
“Lance, I pulled two people out of a fire! How the hell is that negative publicity?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Crockett and Ian turned to see David Turner, red faced and angry.
“Mr. Turner.” Lance smiled sweetly, “Just calm down, sir. I’m taking care of this.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” The old man took a step toward Crockett. “This young man saved two people’s lives, moments after burying the woman who practically raised him. And you’re telling him his actions reflect badly on HRT? What kind of idiot are you?”
“Mr. Turner!” Lance was shocked and obviously incensed at the epithet. “I can not tolerate name calling.”
“And I will not tolerate you any longer. You’re fired!”
“Mr. Turner.” Ian said. “I don’t think that is necessary. Obviously there is more behind this than Lance was allowed to finish. Am I not correct?”
Ian looked at Lance. He could see the wheels spinning and the man carefully choosing his words. “Actually, the problem is not the facts you’ve pointed out Mr. Turner, but the fact that Ian did not inform us of the outcome.”
Ian looked at Turner, knowing that the confused look on the man’s face had to be the same one on his. “Okay, Lance. I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“The press has been very kind to you about this matter, Ian.” Lance said. “But what happens when they find out that you haven’t told the whole truth?”
“Still confused Lance.”
“Don’t play innocent, Justyn. You’re the one who refused to do this in private.”
“Other than proving beyond a shadow of a doubt you are pretty much what Mr. Turner said you were, I’m still totally confused.”
“You really want me to spell it out?” Lance smiled wryly.
“Get to the point, Crockett. I for one still haven’t retracted your termination so make it good. Make it damned good.”
“Fine. You’ve used that as an opportunity to bring home a bastard child and pass it off as taking in a poor waif orphaned by the tragedy.”
“You son of a bitch!” Ian exploded.
It seemed everyone in the world stood up and held their breath. Ian balled up his fists, took a deep breath and counted to ten. “If you ever use that word regarding my son again. If you even think it. I’ll kill you.”
“Ian…” David Turner started.
Ian held up his hand. “Crockett wants the truth. Crockett gets the truth.”
He took a step toward Crockett and bored holes with his eyes. “My son’s mother and I were married on her eighteenth birthday. I was working three minimum wage part time jobs. Out of the blue, I got a scholarship to college. We decided she should live with her father so I could get a degree and hopefully give us a decent chance at a future. I enrolled in school for the fall.”
“This is no longer necessary.” Lance said quietly.
“Shut up. I’m talking now.” Ian hissed. “Taylor discovered she was pregnant. She hid it from me until there was no way I could not know. I decided not to go to college and be with the family that I loved and wanted dearly, determined that no matter what, my wife and child would not live the life that I had been raised in. I didn’t know how, but I would make it happen, but she insisted that I go. So off I went, coming to her every weekend I wasn’t working.”
Ian took a breath, eyes still locked with Crockett’s. “Ronnie was born in September, after three days, three days, of labor. Obviously there were complications. We were poor and didn’t have any insurance. The doctor put that baby boy in my arms and told me that unless I had the money to move Taylor immediately to a better hospital the best he could do was try and stop the bleeding.”
“Oh God.” Wella said quietly from the middle of the room.
“I put my baby boy in my wife’s arms and held them both. I held her while she bled to death, because I was too fucking poor to get her better help. I sat there and watched the mother of my newborn child, the woman I loved more than my own life, die because I didn’t have a choice. I suddenly found myself alone, devastated and a teenage single father with no future.”
Ian cocked his head and asked. “What was I supposed to do, Lance? Allow the product of the one thing I truly loved in this world to suffer the same fate I had? I refused to allow my child to grow up the poor poor kid that I was.”
“You gave him away.” Lance broke eye contact and looked at the floor.
“I found I had a choice and made the best one I could for my son. My wife’s sister and her husband and tried for years to have a child and couldn’t. After four miscarriages they told Janie never to try it again. I kissed my wife’s body, and took my new born son and put him in her sister’s arms.”
“Of course.” Lance slipped his hands in his pockets.
“I tried to never look back. I tried. I knew it was the best thing for him, for them, but every step I took my heart tore open. I thought it would get better in time. I only got better at hiding it. That ache never dulls.”
“It was a good decision honey.” Wella came to him and touched his arm. “It worked out for both of you. He had a loving family and you became a success.”
“Don’t you understand?” Ian looked at her. “The more successful I became, the more it hurt. I could have done it. I could have kept my baby. The guilt, the shame…I cut myself off from everybody…everybody else who had ever been a part of my life, because it reminded me of the pain. Even that started to hurt more than I could bear. Do you know how many times I was smiling on the outside while my own heart was cutting itself to shreds on the inside?”
“I’m sorry.” Lance said faintly.
“I went to my Aunt Hilary’s to bury her, knowing full well I’d have to smile and lie with every breath while my own son treated me like a stranger, a son I hadn’t laid eyes on since he was a few minutes old. I had to stand there and act like he didn’t look so much like the woman I held in my arms until she took her last breath while he looked back at me with her eyes and called me mister.”
Ian wiped the tears from his cheeks with both hands. “Then the world really exploded. Suddenly, I have my little boy back. I can hold him in my arms and tell him how much I hate his cat. Turns out, he knew. He knew all along and he calls me ‘Papa’. He calls me ‘Papa’.”
Wella put her head on Ian’s shoulder and pulled him close. “And there’s always a but. The but this time was that two people had to die to reunite my son and I. The two people who raised him, clothed him and loved him when I didn’t think I could. I got my son and he got his natural father, but in order for that to happen his entire world had to go up in flames.”
Ian took a deep breath. “Congratulations, Lance. You got the truth. Hopefully if the subject comes up you now have the facts to deal with it properly and put a positive spin on it. When you figure out how to do that, let me know. I don’t think I ever can.”
He stepped to David Turner, trembling on his cane. “Mr. Turner, obviously there was a misunderstanding. Lance keeps his job.”
The old man nodded as Ian turned to his staff. “I apologize. I hope you all will understand that I am done for the day. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“Of course.” They all murmured.
Finally, Ian turned to Crockett. “I hope you got want you needed Lance. Please do us both a favor and stay out of my way and out of my sight for as long as possible. I’m going home to pet my son’s cat now. I like that evil fuzz ball a whole lot better than you.”
Blake put Ian’s backpack on his shoulder and gave him a quick hug. Wella grabbed him and kissed him. Ian kissed her back then headed for the elevator that someone already had waiting for him.
He rode the car in silence to the lobby. Ian walked over to the front desk and signed out without a word. As he headed for the door Simon Kent walked in and smiled.
“Justyn.” He cooed. “Having a bad day, are we?”
Ian stopped. “Kent, if you even as much as take another breath while I’m in this building I will rip your arms off and use your face as a drum set.”
He walked to his car, put the key in the ignition and sobbed uncontrollably. As quickly as the crying started, it stopped. Ian wiped his face, clicked into ‘Papa’ mode and drove home.
“The kid is his.” He said into the phone.
“It’s a lie, has to be.”
“It’s really his kid with a back up story that makes shooting Bambi’s mother look like a Mel Brooks farce. Took me two seconds to verify it.”
“Teflon. The man is made of Teflon.”
“Thankfully our take hadn’t leaked to the press yet.”
“That last thing we need is something else to make Justyn look like a martyr.” He heard the other party stirring on his end. “I’m beginning to think this guy is real.”
“No way and who cares. He’s either smart enough or stupid enough to keep ruining our plans.”
“I still vote for stupid.”
“Fortunately, we’re not the only one’s who want him gone.”
“The fat moron still gunning for him?”
“Subtly, but with a passion. Talk about stupid, his version of subtle is sequins without fur.”
“But he’s playing into our hands.”
“True.”
“So we just continue the same track?”
He thought a moment. “I get the feeling if we push in the right direction Justyn will crack himself. The kid is definitely his Achilles heel. As long as he doesn’t find the other body, I think we’re clear.”
“Which reminds me, putting the garbage bag over the man’s head was a stroke of genius.”
“You sure no one will make the connection to the porno queen?”
“Won’t even make the papers. Looked like the guy was into some really kinky sex stuff that went wrong.”
“Be careful, with the boy now, there’s a bigger chance someone will catch you keeping tabs on every move.”
“No sweat. I’m a pro.”
“Still nothing we can use?”
“Unless you can figure out a way to make playing guitar in your underwear make the headlines of ‘Midnight Globe’, no. I tell ya, I got a feeling this guy really is squeaky clean.”
“The timing is all wrong, for us anyway. One way or another Ian Justyn is toast.”
“It needs to be soon. He’s getting too close, whether he knows it or not.”
“Just keep watching. We’ll get this done and then make our move before the dust settles. Hell, Justyn may even end up being the key that makes this whole thing work.”
“I still think we need someone in Justyn’s inner circle.”
“We tried that and you blew it.”
“Not my fault he’s straight.”
The wheels turned a moment. “Rare in this town, but may just work in our favor.”
“Something click?”
If they weren’t on the phone he could have seen the grin stretch across his face. “Oh yeah. I’ll get back to you.”
He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked as he put his hands behind his head. “Thank God for idiots.”
All he had to do was put all the characters in one room and let them kill each other. It would be risky, but it would work. While the battle raged he could move in and clean ‘em out while cleaning up the mess, then move out.
He laughed out loud. “I’ll bait and switch the biggest con in history.”
Of course, he had a back up plan, one his partner didn’t know about, and wouldn’t find out about until after he’d dumped his partner’s body. He’d never left a loose end before. He wasn’t about to now.
“By the way, buddy.” He said reaching for and dialing the phone. “I’m about to have someone in that inner circle even dumber than Justyn himself.”
Two short rings and it connected.
“Hello?”
“Clare, dear. It’s Bruno.” He said in his voice of insincere concern. “How are you feeling?”
“It’s perfect, brilliant!” The woman on the phone gushed. “Personally, I can’t believe any one from Crockett’s department came up with it.”
“They didn’t.” David Turner told her.
“Ian Justyn?” She asked.
“Ian Justyn.” He confirmed.
“Well, that settles everything in my mind.” She said almost to herself. “I take it you messengered this to everyone?”
“Just the board members. The execs have only seen the Crockett design.”
“I heart HRT.” She said no bothering to hide her disdain. “Ridiculous. My guess is this will be a quick vote at the meeting in the morning.”
“I doubt the whole thing will take more than an hour.”
“Did Tolan balk?”
“No. Once he saw what Young Justyn uncovered, he knew it was inevitable.”
“Justyn’s right, keep it under wraps for a while and see if anyone comes forward to wonder where their paychecks are. Where did that kid come from anyway?”
“God.” Turner confirmed.
“I’m going to have to go to church more often.” She said. “Well, David, I just wanted you to know what I thought a head of time, not that any one with half a brain in their head could think anything else.”
“You’re the last to call and confirm.”
“All positive?”
“You were the most negative.” He told her.
“Somehow not surprised. Now if we can just put the schedule together that backs up the campaign.”
“Oh, Jessica…” Turner was confident. “There are some more surprises to come on Wednesday.”
“Good ones for a change?”
“Trust me.”
“I have to David.” She said this time without disdain. “You’d out vote me anyway, but I am totally on board this time. Things are definitely looking up for the fall.”
“We always say that and end up disappointed.” He reminded her. “Somehow this time, I think we won’t be.”
“Midas has returned in the form of a young naïve country boy.”
“Either that or Justyn has just reminded us all what we’ve been able to do all along.”
“Who cares? Things are back on track. Stand behind the rest of us, David, and let us clean house the way we’ve wanted to for years and things will be just like yesterday.”
“I’m finally with you on this, Jess.”
“Prove it in the morning, David. See you then.”
The line clicked. David put his own phone in the cradle. Turner had his own decisions to make before the board meeting.
He couldn’t get the scene in Justyn’s office out of his mind. It haunted him. It had made him cry. He hadn’t done that in years.
Perhaps it was just time to call an end to it all. He couldn’t take it any more. “Young Justyn needs the truth.” He said quietly.
He needed the truth. It could possibly bring an end to everything, everything they had worked so hard to find. The one thing he had learned after all these years is that the end to the story was never exactly what they had planned on. He wasn’t sure he cared any more.
The old man stood and made his way to the door. He slipped his fedora on, and made his way to the penthouse foyer. Tipping his hat, he told his secretary good night, and rode the elevator to the lobby.
When the elevator doors opened, there they were. Those same three faces, still looking young and still seemingly innocent. Little did the world know how guilty they all were.
He stepped forward and looked at them closely, the image of Ian Justyn and his little boy searing in his mind. He reached out and touched the portrait of her.
“What have we done?” He finally managed to say out loud.
He signed out and waited for the car to pull up front. He allowed himself to be treated like the matriarch he was. The one title he’d actually earned.
The old man sat alone in the back seat of his limo. For the second time in too long a time he cried, silently, all the way home.
“What now?”
“Well, I called to ask about a new car.”
“It’s about time. I surprised that old thing you drive got you to California, let alone is still running.”
“Yeah, well…anyway, I just called because of the sudden increases in my monthly expenses to see how much I could afford to spend.”
“You make a good salary Young Justyn. There shouldn’t be a problem.”
“But the new house, suddenly a child who needs everything. I just don’t want to get caught up in over spending.” Ian explained.
“You’re maybe a little too prudent, but good for you.” Turner leaned forward. “Was there some sort of problem?”
“Well, no…” Ian looked at the phone. “He said buy two, they’re small and then laughed out loud.”
“That is rather odd. I won’t pry into your expenses, but I sign the checks. I know how much you make. You shouldn’t have any problem at all.”
“I just don’t find my accountant’s lack of concern over my expenses to be very comforting, especially when he seems to find it so amusing.”
“Maybe he’s just finds someone making a high end executive salary concerned about a small purchase refreshing.”
“I don’t think buying a car and raising a ten year old are small purchases.” Ian looked at his boss.
“Ian, most of the people in your position call accounting to see if they can afford the second summer home on Maui.”
“Oh.” Ian felt dumb, then looked back up at Turner. “How can they afford that?”
“They can’t, but do it anyway.”
“Maybe I should tell people my Aunt Hil’s old shack is a resort cabin on the Blue Ridge Parkway.”
Turner threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll pay you a million dollars to offer it to Simon Kent for the weekend, but only if you give me a head start so I can see the look on his face when his chauffeur pulls in the driveway.”
“Blue Ridge I could get away with, resort cabin it ain’t.” Ian smiled with the old man.
“Have you decided what you are going to do with it?”
Ian shook his head. “Not yet. It’s been emptied out and closed up. Reese flew down this weekend and is bringing back the contents in a couple of days. Once probate is finished, I’ll figure something out. We’re razing the farm, but I don’t know if I can do that to Aunt Hil’s place. It would also break my heart to think of it just rotting there on the side of the mountain.”
“Take your time. You never know. You may want to go back there sometime.”
“Not for a long while.” Ian said.
“How’s the boy doing?” Turner asked, genuine in his concern.
“Well, I think. We’re still adjusting, and I really hate the cat, but he’s such a smart kid. Tippy is amazed at how smart he is. I’m just amazed. We were concerned that he’d be behind when he started school here in the fall, but according to his test scores he’s way ahead of them.”
“Good. Good.”
“We’re only concerned about his speech patterns. The last thing Ronnie needs is to have the kid’s bully him because he talks like a hillbilly, but he seems to be aware of that and is working really hard to improve.”
“Relax, Young Justyn. He’s like his father.”
Ian couldn’t help but smile. “My only concern is that we were both poor kids, suddenly with access to more money and superficial stuff than we ever dreamed of. I don’t want either of us taking that flow of the almighty dollar for granted. The flow could stop just as easily as it started.” Ian opened a file on his desk. “Anyway, back to the matters at hand. Have you read the file legal sent over?”
“Yes. I think our initial plan is the correct path, don’t you?”
“I agree. All we have to do is figure out the time lines.”
“If we pull the rug before the fall schedule announcement they could leak to the press in retaliation.” The old man mused.
“We’ve managed to keep all of this under wrap so far. Think we can do it another couple of weeks until the big press conference?”
“Maybe we should split the difference and do it after the final fall schedule meeting on Wednesday. Most of it is bound to leak after that anyway and the news wires have already picked up the fact that we stole Pearce Warner from CNN.”
Ian nodded his head. “But if we can wait until after the press conference, they may think they’ve gotten away with it and reveal more than we already know about.”
“Good point.” David tapped his cane on the floor. “Let’s go ahead and start contract negotiations though. Everybody knows Warner is coming aboard. Maybe the negotiations will help you decide what definite directions to take that in, and that really has nothing to do with the other.”
“I’m a little nervous about that. I don’t mind being underhanded with people who deserve it, but I feel bad that most of the morning news show team has been completely left out of the loop.”
“Young Justyn, some are going to like it and some are not. You do your job well, amazingly well for a rookie. I dare say many have been anxiously waiting to see what kind of magic you shower down on them. Just do it and don’t worry about hurting people’s feelings. You aren’t deliberately crushing them, or ruining anyone’s career.”
“Some people will get upset and leave.”
“Tell ‘em not to let the door smack ‘em on the ass on the way out.”
Ian nodded. “Anything else, sir?”
“Just a couple of little things.” Turner leaned back in his chair.
“Shoot.”
“Have you seen the fall promo campaign Crockett’s people put together?”
That was a question Ian had hoped wouldn’t come up. “Yes.”
“I heart HRT.” Turner scrunched up his already wrinkled face in disgust. “What do you think?”
Ian sighed. “Actually sir, I think it’s awful. I understand what he’s going for, which is exactly what we asked for, something that will catch the eye of a younger market but not insult the older.”
“And…?”
“And I think it reflects most of what comes out of Lance Crockett’s office, exactly what is required, nothing more nothing less. It will deliver exactly what it has before. The older demographic will think it’s non-offensive and mildly amusing. The younger demographic will find it laughably outdated and ignore us, as always, in droves.”
Turner nodded his head. “If I didn’t own the place, and saw that campaign I’d certainly head over to Fox or CBS. Hell, I’d turn off the TV completely and read a book.”
“Well, we don’t have to accept it.”
“True, but can Crockett’s people come up with something else in so short a time that won’t be even worse, or at most the same thing in a different color?”
“Mr. Turner, do we always have to go exclusively with something designed from in house? Perhaps we could energize that department by letting them know they have competition.”
“That’s what I was thinking. My plan is to let him do his little presentation and then coax the rest of the board to open up the campaign to some outside sources. If they don’t see things my way, I’ll pull rank and do it anyway.”
“You da boss.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“You can not tell me that someone on your team hasn’t come up with some idea for a fall campaign.” Turner grinned.
“Actually, we have, but we opted not to go beyond putting a mock trailer together. We were afraid that a few of the more seasoned might perceive it as showboating and get the programs we’ve worked so hard on to be overlooked intentionally.”
“May I see what you came up with?”
“Sure. I’ll have Sean send a dupe up to your office. It’s just a few things we did on a simple Flash program. We were thinking…never mind. It kind of speaks for itself.”
“Would expect no less.”
“Anything else?”
“The Torkelson Show.” David Turner spit out. “It sucks.”
Ian blinked. “And?”
“I know it. Torkelson knows it and you knew it all along.”
“I don’t do I told you so.”
“Think your team can fix it?”
“I doubt it. The first script is brilliant. The second is cute. By the first commercial break the third becomes Pink Lady and Jeff Meets Supertrain. Then it really gets bad.”
“Suggestions? Instinct?”
“Don’t put it on the fall schedule. Give his people time to regroup, maybe a different direction or an entirely new concept.”
“Kent’s already run trades. We’ll look like fools.”
“And we won’t airing the most expensive bowel movement in history?”
“Good point, but…”
“Then do this.” Ian’s mind was racing. “Just formally announce a half hour starring Jeff Torkelson. That’s really all that’s in verifiable print. That gives him enough time to completely change the premise and/or title, frees them up creatively and yet adheres to the contract on both ends.”
“Will you meet with Torkelson?”
“Is that a question or an order?”
“Let’s call it the big boss suggesting strongly.”
“Not a problem then.” Ian took a deep breath.
“But?”
“Simon Kent. I don’t want to sneak around behind his back, and quite frankly I have little desire to stir Tallulah Belle’s bees up.”
“Kent suggested it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Kent and Torkelson hate each other with a passion. Torkelson doesn’t trust Kent and quite frankly I think Kent wants the show to be a big disaster.”
“He’s after the VP spot. Why would he want his own idea to be such a disaster?”
“Think about it. The show is suppose to bring in the young demographic, a demographic he doesn’t think we really need. If it bombs, especially if it’s a big bomb, the board will think twice about going that far beyond our base audience again.”
Ian nibbled on a pencil. “Makes sense, and if he washes his hands of it and turns it over to me he gets two proverbial birds with one stone.”
“It’s sink or swim time, Ian.”
“Okay, I choose swim.”
“Good man, Torkelson’s waiting for your call. Do it today.”
“You got it. Something informal; I’m taking Ronnie to get hamburgers tonight.”
“I’m sure your son can burp a better idea than Kent.”
“I guess we’ll see. Give me a sec.” Ian pressed a button on the intercom. “Blake, get Jeff Torkelson on the phone for me.”
“You got it Boss Man.”
“Anything else?”
“Not really.” Turner raised an eye. “You trying to get rid of me?”
“Nope. Just wondering when it’s time to end business and call a couple of hookers for us.”
Turner laughed. “Okay, but I get the red head this time.” Turner leaned in. “One more little thing, strictly off the record.”
“Sure.”
“Kent’s contract is up in August. He’s deliberately put off contract negotiations, probably thinking if he can wait until after the Fall Season reveal he’ll be negotiating for Tolan’s job.”
“It makes sense.” Ian said. “He’s been here longer than anyone. It would be the natural progression. I think every one pretty much assumes that’s what will happen.”
“The board has already determined, surprisingly without my swinging my weight around. They aren’t going to negotiate. When his people try and set up a meeting, they are going to thank him politely for his years of service and hang up.”
“Oooh.” Ian frowned. “Can I take that month off?”
Ian thought a moment. “Do they know about…?” He asked Turner.
He shook his head. “Not a clue. His track record is just abysmal. The last ten years he’s produced expensive failure after failure, always blaming it on some factor out of his control. The board has just gotten wise. Crockett will probably be out the door as soon as his contract is up as well.”
“Will any of us have a job?” Ian asked.
“All of this is between you and I, but there is going to be a complete restructuring.”
“I won’t even tell the cat.”
Turner smiled. “How’s that working out?”
Ian took a deep breath. “Well, for starters, the vet informed us it’s not a he, but a she. Ronnie’s named her Rodie.”
“Rodie?”
“Short for ‘The Rodent’. It still follows me around everywhere, and for some reason I can’t get the neighbor’s dog to eat it. It has stopped being on my face staring at me when I wake up in the morning. I think screaming and throwing it against the wall four days in a row finally rang its little Pavlovian bell.”
Turner laughed.
“Unfortunately, Billy and Sparky…”
“Billy and Sparky?”
“My best friend and his sister, they’ve been closing up Aunt Hil’s house for me. They found the Mama cat and the rest of the litter. The furry demon phoenixes somehow rose from the ashes and survived. For a moment I thought Ronnie would insist we go get them and bring them all home.”
“You changed his mind?”
“Actually, Billy’s daughter is getting one of the kittens. Sparky has taken in the mother, and one of their brother’s is taking one. If we can find a home for one more, Ronnie won’t resort to blackmail.” Ian crossed his fingers and held them up. “Pray for me.”
Turner shook his head. “Young Justyn, fatherhood suits you so. You want to be a hero?”
“Only if I don’t have to wear blue tights, at least not until I tone up my thighs a little more.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You?” Ian was surprised. “You like cats?”
“Don’t know, never had one, but I’ve been thinking about it. They’re pretty independent and I thought it might be the perfect pet for an old man.” David Turner used his cane to stand. “Be nice to have something besides a hot water bottle to come home to. Haven’t had that since way before you were born.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Make it happen.” Turner tapped his cane on the floor.
“Okay, but if you change your mind. I don’t want it back, and however you dispose of it will just be between us.”
“I’ll make sure it’s something satisfyingly grisly.”
“God bless you.”
“Well, I will get out of your hair.”
“Never a problem, Mr. Turner.”
They both stood. Turner moved toward the office door.
“Oh, Mr. Turner. One more thing.”
“Certainly.”
“Saturday, I’m throwing a very casual party at my house for the team. They don’t know it yet. It’s my surprise for them, a thanks for all the hard work sort of thing.”
“That’s sounds like a great idea. You need HRT to fund it?”
“No.” Ian smiled. “Nothing like that. I realize that my home…well you know where I live.”
Turner nodded his head and looked at the floor.
“If you would, Ronnie and I would both like you to come.”
The old man smiled. “I appreciate that, Young Justyn. I have to admit…let me think about it.”
“Certainly.”
Ian’s intercom buzzed. Blake’s voice rang out. “Jeff Torkelson on line three, Boss Man.”
Ian pressed what he hoped was the right button. “Thank you.”
Turner smiled. “I’ll let you get back to real work. Let me know when the hookers arrive.”
“What?” Blake’s voice said.
“Uhm…I said thank you.”
“No. You put me on speaker phone.” Blake giggled. “The button beside it and pick up the phone before you hit line three or you’ll cut him off.”
“Can we just get some cans and string?”
“Face it, Boss Man, you’re a whiz at everything, except anything electronic. You’re kind of a moron in that department.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Any time.” Blake said. “And some one waiting to see you when you get off the phone.”
“’Kay.” Ian picked up the phone at hit the right button. “Jeff?”
“Ian.” Torkelson’s voice seemed almost relieved.
“I’m still on speaker phone.” Blake said.
“Hold on Jeff.” Ian started to push buttons. “If I cut you off, call back.” He pushed some more buttons.
“Still here.” Blake said.
“Crap.” Ian hissed. “I think I broke it.”
“What else is new?” Blake sighed. “I’ll be right in.”
“Jeff? Are you still there at least?”
“Yeah, having a great time actually.” Ian could swear he was laughing. “Can you tie your own shoes?”
“I don’t know. Mommy buys me velcro tabs.” Ian looked up as Blake came in and went straight for the phone system on Ian’s desk. “So what’s up?”
“Save me.” Jeff said.
“Say three hail Marys and give to the poor.” Blake shoved Ian out of his chair. “Or we could just take a meeting.”
“Can we do the meeting? I’m Jewish.”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to part the Red Sea.”
“But didn’t you do it once before?”
“Just a rumor.” Ian tried to keep out of Blake’s way. “I’m taking my son to that new family hamburger joint tonight for dinner.”
“You got a kid?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get a kid?”
“Uhm…the normal way?”
“He’s got a cat, too!” Blake said. Ian gave him a dirty look and hit a button on the phone just to get even.
“I didn’t know.”
“Long story…anyway, I thought you might join us. Just have a guy night and see what we can figure out.”
“Trying to impress the kid by introducing me, huh?”
“No offense, but he probably has no idea who you are.”
“You just take him out of the box or something?”
“Sort of.” Ian said as Blake snickered. “Long story. I thought tonight we could get together and chat informally before we start being seen in the office and starting rumors. Bring the wife, we’ll make it a family affair.”
“The wife doesn’t do red meat.”
“I’m thinking divorce.”
“Long story.” Jeff said.
“Touche,” Ian vollied back. “Meet us tonight around 7?”
“You got it. You buy the burgers, I’ll buy the beer.”
“I’ll buy the burgers, no beer for my son or me.”
“Afraid you’ll rip off your shirt and start to dance?”
“Afraid I’ll turn blue and end up in the hospital. I’m allergic to hops.”
“Bummer.”
“Doesn’t bother me. If I want something cold that tastes like that I’ll urinate in a cup and refrigerate it.”
“Can I have beer?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t rip off your shirt and start to dance.”
“My abs are pretty hot.”
“Unless I can scrub my socks on them, I don’t really care.”
“Kinky.”
“Seven?”
“Seven.”
“Just put down the phone and step away.” Blake said frustrated. “Don’t touch anything.”
Ian gently put the phone in the cradle, held up both hands and took two steps backward. “I’m sorry.”
“Honestly Ian, you are like that wizard in the ‘Dresden Files’. You come within five feet of anything electronic and it implodes.”
“If it’s any comfort, I’m not real good at Yahtzee either.”
“Go away before I kill you.” Blake pointed toward the door.
“Are you throwing me out of my office?”
“You choose. The door or the balcony.” Blake picked up the whole phone box and started unplugging cords. “Lance Crockett is waiting for you by my desk.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “The balcony, I choose the balcony.”
“Go!” Blake pointed toward the door. “And play nice. I just had the carpet cleaned.”
“You’re no fun at all.” Blake pointed again at the door. “Okay…okay.”
Sure enough, Lance Crockett was tapping his foot, waiting impatiently in the chair beside Blake’s desk. Ian plastered on a smile.
“Lance, what may I do for you? I didn’t think there was another press conference scheduled until next week.”
He stood. “We have more important matters to discuss. Your office. Now.”
“Not unless you want to die a horrible agonizing death. I messed up my phone again, and Blake will kill me with his death ray eyes. I’m positive all innocent bystanders within five feet would get vaporized, too.”
“I’m sure you don’t want to do this so…” Lance looked around at the staff, “…publicly.”
“Unless you want to borrow money, I have no problem discussing anything in front of the team.”
“Fine.” Lance crossed his arms and took a hard stance. “I’m getting tired of having to clean up the messes you are constantly making of the HRT image some of us try very hard to preserve.”
Ian didn’t bother. “What have I done now, Lance? Did I take up more than my share of air in the elevator again?”
“Don’t make light of this. First you run off to bumfuck…”
“Watch your mouth, Crockett.”
“…without telling anyone, managed to create an ecological disaster while you’re there and then I discover you’ve with held important personal information. Now, I’m stuck with how to spin this mess and I don’t appreciate it. This has to stop.”
“You are absolutely right.” Ian crossed his arms and glared. “This has to stop. First and foremost, personal information is personal and none of your business. Secondly I went home for a death in the family, intending to only miss one day of work, and once again none of your business.”
“It is my job to…”
“Lance, your job is to promote HRT, not tragedies that happen in my life, or anything to do with my life period.”
“You seem to forget, that anything personal that becomes public becomes my job. I now have to find a way to counter act the negative publicity your naïve ignorance has pulled this network into.”
“Negative? No one but my staff even knew I had gone to Lost Mountain, and they wouldn’t have known if the neighbor’s gas tank or whatever hadn’t exploded.” It was only a small white lie, but the press didn’t know the whole truth about that incident and Lance Crockett sure as hell didn’t need to know.
“Exactly! And there you were right in the middle of it.”
“Lance, I pulled two people out of a fire! How the hell is that negative publicity?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Crockett and Ian turned to see David Turner, red faced and angry.
“Mr. Turner.” Lance smiled sweetly, “Just calm down, sir. I’m taking care of this.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” The old man took a step toward Crockett. “This young man saved two people’s lives, moments after burying the woman who practically raised him. And you’re telling him his actions reflect badly on HRT? What kind of idiot are you?”
“Mr. Turner!” Lance was shocked and obviously incensed at the epithet. “I can not tolerate name calling.”
“And I will not tolerate you any longer. You’re fired!”
“Mr. Turner.” Ian said. “I don’t think that is necessary. Obviously there is more behind this than Lance was allowed to finish. Am I not correct?”
Ian looked at Lance. He could see the wheels spinning and the man carefully choosing his words. “Actually, the problem is not the facts you’ve pointed out Mr. Turner, but the fact that Ian did not inform us of the outcome.”
Ian looked at Turner, knowing that the confused look on the man’s face had to be the same one on his. “Okay, Lance. I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“The press has been very kind to you about this matter, Ian.” Lance said. “But what happens when they find out that you haven’t told the whole truth?”
“Still confused Lance.”
“Don’t play innocent, Justyn. You’re the one who refused to do this in private.”
“Other than proving beyond a shadow of a doubt you are pretty much what Mr. Turner said you were, I’m still totally confused.”
“You really want me to spell it out?” Lance smiled wryly.
“Get to the point, Crockett. I for one still haven’t retracted your termination so make it good. Make it damned good.”
“Fine. You’ve used that as an opportunity to bring home a bastard child and pass it off as taking in a poor waif orphaned by the tragedy.”
“You son of a bitch!” Ian exploded.
It seemed everyone in the world stood up and held their breath. Ian balled up his fists, took a deep breath and counted to ten. “If you ever use that word regarding my son again. If you even think it. I’ll kill you.”
“Ian…” David Turner started.
Ian held up his hand. “Crockett wants the truth. Crockett gets the truth.”
He took a step toward Crockett and bored holes with his eyes. “My son’s mother and I were married on her eighteenth birthday. I was working three minimum wage part time jobs. Out of the blue, I got a scholarship to college. We decided she should live with her father so I could get a degree and hopefully give us a decent chance at a future. I enrolled in school for the fall.”
“This is no longer necessary.” Lance said quietly.
“Shut up. I’m talking now.” Ian hissed. “Taylor discovered she was pregnant. She hid it from me until there was no way I could not know. I decided not to go to college and be with the family that I loved and wanted dearly, determined that no matter what, my wife and child would not live the life that I had been raised in. I didn’t know how, but I would make it happen, but she insisted that I go. So off I went, coming to her every weekend I wasn’t working.”
Ian took a breath, eyes still locked with Crockett’s. “Ronnie was born in September, after three days, three days, of labor. Obviously there were complications. We were poor and didn’t have any insurance. The doctor put that baby boy in my arms and told me that unless I had the money to move Taylor immediately to a better hospital the best he could do was try and stop the bleeding.”
“Oh God.” Wella said quietly from the middle of the room.
“I put my baby boy in my wife’s arms and held them both. I held her while she bled to death, because I was too fucking poor to get her better help. I sat there and watched the mother of my newborn child, the woman I loved more than my own life, die because I didn’t have a choice. I suddenly found myself alone, devastated and a teenage single father with no future.”
Ian cocked his head and asked. “What was I supposed to do, Lance? Allow the product of the one thing I truly loved in this world to suffer the same fate I had? I refused to allow my child to grow up the poor poor kid that I was.”
“You gave him away.” Lance broke eye contact and looked at the floor.
“I found I had a choice and made the best one I could for my son. My wife’s sister and her husband and tried for years to have a child and couldn’t. After four miscarriages they told Janie never to try it again. I kissed my wife’s body, and took my new born son and put him in her sister’s arms.”
“Of course.” Lance slipped his hands in his pockets.
“I tried to never look back. I tried. I knew it was the best thing for him, for them, but every step I took my heart tore open. I thought it would get better in time. I only got better at hiding it. That ache never dulls.”
“It was a good decision honey.” Wella came to him and touched his arm. “It worked out for both of you. He had a loving family and you became a success.”
“Don’t you understand?” Ian looked at her. “The more successful I became, the more it hurt. I could have done it. I could have kept my baby. The guilt, the shame…I cut myself off from everybody…everybody else who had ever been a part of my life, because it reminded me of the pain. Even that started to hurt more than I could bear. Do you know how many times I was smiling on the outside while my own heart was cutting itself to shreds on the inside?”
“I’m sorry.” Lance said faintly.
“I went to my Aunt Hilary’s to bury her, knowing full well I’d have to smile and lie with every breath while my own son treated me like a stranger, a son I hadn’t laid eyes on since he was a few minutes old. I had to stand there and act like he didn’t look so much like the woman I held in my arms until she took her last breath while he looked back at me with her eyes and called me mister.”
Ian wiped the tears from his cheeks with both hands. “Then the world really exploded. Suddenly, I have my little boy back. I can hold him in my arms and tell him how much I hate his cat. Turns out, he knew. He knew all along and he calls me ‘Papa’. He calls me ‘Papa’.”
Wella put her head on Ian’s shoulder and pulled him close. “And there’s always a but. The but this time was that two people had to die to reunite my son and I. The two people who raised him, clothed him and loved him when I didn’t think I could. I got my son and he got his natural father, but in order for that to happen his entire world had to go up in flames.”
Ian took a deep breath. “Congratulations, Lance. You got the truth. Hopefully if the subject comes up you now have the facts to deal with it properly and put a positive spin on it. When you figure out how to do that, let me know. I don’t think I ever can.”
He stepped to David Turner, trembling on his cane. “Mr. Turner, obviously there was a misunderstanding. Lance keeps his job.”
The old man nodded as Ian turned to his staff. “I apologize. I hope you all will understand that I am done for the day. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“Of course.” They all murmured.
Finally, Ian turned to Crockett. “I hope you got want you needed Lance. Please do us both a favor and stay out of my way and out of my sight for as long as possible. I’m going home to pet my son’s cat now. I like that evil fuzz ball a whole lot better than you.”
Blake put Ian’s backpack on his shoulder and gave him a quick hug. Wella grabbed him and kissed him. Ian kissed her back then headed for the elevator that someone already had waiting for him.
He rode the car in silence to the lobby. Ian walked over to the front desk and signed out without a word. As he headed for the door Simon Kent walked in and smiled.
“Justyn.” He cooed. “Having a bad day, are we?”
Ian stopped. “Kent, if you even as much as take another breath while I’m in this building I will rip your arms off and use your face as a drum set.”
He walked to his car, put the key in the ignition and sobbed uncontrollably. As quickly as the crying started, it stopped. Ian wiped his face, clicked into ‘Papa’ mode and drove home.
“The kid is his.” He said into the phone.
“It’s a lie, has to be.”
“It’s really his kid with a back up story that makes shooting Bambi’s mother look like a Mel Brooks farce. Took me two seconds to verify it.”
“Teflon. The man is made of Teflon.”
“Thankfully our take hadn’t leaked to the press yet.”
“That last thing we need is something else to make Justyn look like a martyr.” He heard the other party stirring on his end. “I’m beginning to think this guy is real.”
“No way and who cares. He’s either smart enough or stupid enough to keep ruining our plans.”
“I still vote for stupid.”
“Fortunately, we’re not the only one’s who want him gone.”
“The fat moron still gunning for him?”
“Subtly, but with a passion. Talk about stupid, his version of subtle is sequins without fur.”
“But he’s playing into our hands.”
“True.”
“So we just continue the same track?”
He thought a moment. “I get the feeling if we push in the right direction Justyn will crack himself. The kid is definitely his Achilles heel. As long as he doesn’t find the other body, I think we’re clear.”
“Which reminds me, putting the garbage bag over the man’s head was a stroke of genius.”
“You sure no one will make the connection to the porno queen?”
“Won’t even make the papers. Looked like the guy was into some really kinky sex stuff that went wrong.”
“Be careful, with the boy now, there’s a bigger chance someone will catch you keeping tabs on every move.”
“No sweat. I’m a pro.”
“Still nothing we can use?”
“Unless you can figure out a way to make playing guitar in your underwear make the headlines of ‘Midnight Globe’, no. I tell ya, I got a feeling this guy really is squeaky clean.”
“The timing is all wrong, for us anyway. One way or another Ian Justyn is toast.”
“It needs to be soon. He’s getting too close, whether he knows it or not.”
“Just keep watching. We’ll get this done and then make our move before the dust settles. Hell, Justyn may even end up being the key that makes this whole thing work.”
“I still think we need someone in Justyn’s inner circle.”
“We tried that and you blew it.”
“Not my fault he’s straight.”
The wheels turned a moment. “Rare in this town, but may just work in our favor.”
“Something click?”
If they weren’t on the phone he could have seen the grin stretch across his face. “Oh yeah. I’ll get back to you.”
He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked as he put his hands behind his head. “Thank God for idiots.”
All he had to do was put all the characters in one room and let them kill each other. It would be risky, but it would work. While the battle raged he could move in and clean ‘em out while cleaning up the mess, then move out.
He laughed out loud. “I’ll bait and switch the biggest con in history.”
Of course, he had a back up plan, one his partner didn’t know about, and wouldn’t find out about until after he’d dumped his partner’s body. He’d never left a loose end before. He wasn’t about to now.
“By the way, buddy.” He said reaching for and dialing the phone. “I’m about to have someone in that inner circle even dumber than Justyn himself.”
Two short rings and it connected.
“Hello?”
“Clare, dear. It’s Bruno.” He said in his voice of insincere concern. “How are you feeling?”
“It’s perfect, brilliant!” The woman on the phone gushed. “Personally, I can’t believe any one from Crockett’s department came up with it.”
“They didn’t.” David Turner told her.
“Ian Justyn?” She asked.
“Ian Justyn.” He confirmed.
“Well, that settles everything in my mind.” She said almost to herself. “I take it you messengered this to everyone?”
“Just the board members. The execs have only seen the Crockett design.”
“I heart HRT.” She said no bothering to hide her disdain. “Ridiculous. My guess is this will be a quick vote at the meeting in the morning.”
“I doubt the whole thing will take more than an hour.”
“Did Tolan balk?”
“No. Once he saw what Young Justyn uncovered, he knew it was inevitable.”
“Justyn’s right, keep it under wraps for a while and see if anyone comes forward to wonder where their paychecks are. Where did that kid come from anyway?”
“God.” Turner confirmed.
“I’m going to have to go to church more often.” She said. “Well, David, I just wanted you to know what I thought a head of time, not that any one with half a brain in their head could think anything else.”
“You’re the last to call and confirm.”
“All positive?”
“You were the most negative.” He told her.
“Somehow not surprised. Now if we can just put the schedule together that backs up the campaign.”
“Oh, Jessica…” Turner was confident. “There are some more surprises to come on Wednesday.”
“Good ones for a change?”
“Trust me.”
“I have to David.” She said this time without disdain. “You’d out vote me anyway, but I am totally on board this time. Things are definitely looking up for the fall.”
“We always say that and end up disappointed.” He reminded her. “Somehow this time, I think we won’t be.”
“Midas has returned in the form of a young naïve country boy.”
“Either that or Justyn has just reminded us all what we’ve been able to do all along.”
“Who cares? Things are back on track. Stand behind the rest of us, David, and let us clean house the way we’ve wanted to for years and things will be just like yesterday.”
“I’m finally with you on this, Jess.”
“Prove it in the morning, David. See you then.”
The line clicked. David put his own phone in the cradle. Turner had his own decisions to make before the board meeting.
He couldn’t get the scene in Justyn’s office out of his mind. It haunted him. It had made him cry. He hadn’t done that in years.
Perhaps it was just time to call an end to it all. He couldn’t take it any more. “Young Justyn needs the truth.” He said quietly.
He needed the truth. It could possibly bring an end to everything, everything they had worked so hard to find. The one thing he had learned after all these years is that the end to the story was never exactly what they had planned on. He wasn’t sure he cared any more.
The old man stood and made his way to the door. He slipped his fedora on, and made his way to the penthouse foyer. Tipping his hat, he told his secretary good night, and rode the elevator to the lobby.
When the elevator doors opened, there they were. Those same three faces, still looking young and still seemingly innocent. Little did the world know how guilty they all were.
He stepped forward and looked at them closely, the image of Ian Justyn and his little boy searing in his mind. He reached out and touched the portrait of her.
“What have we done?” He finally managed to say out loud.
He signed out and waited for the car to pull up front. He allowed himself to be treated like the matriarch he was. The one title he’d actually earned.
The old man sat alone in the back seat of his limo. For the second time in too long a time he cried, silently, all the way home.
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