He was determined to change things. Simon Kent was not one to stand idly by and let others get the upper hand. There wasn’t anything that went on in this building Kent didn’t know about. Well, after this afternoon, he had to admit there wasn’t much that went on he didn’t know about.
Kent slammed his fist on his desk thinking about it. He had been at HRT a long time. He deserved better than this and, by God, he was going to get it. He’d crushed worthier opponents before than Ian Justyn. Simon Kent was a gladiator, and no one could defeat him.
The man knew when to strike, knew when to out maneuver and knew when to sit back and watch an opponent kill himself. Kent had laid low long enough. He had bided his time waiting for Jack Tolan’s position and he was going to get it. This network was his. No one was taking it from him, especially an upstart who had just crawled out from under some mountain crag.
Simon took a deep breath, and walked to the window of his office, third from the top. “Just one more floor.” He thought out loud and paced. He tossed people a lot more talented than Justyn under the bus before. Why did this little gnat keep escaping the tire tread?
What did Ian Justyn have that kept allowing him to one up him? Granted he was younger, and Kent had to admit, more talented. Talent never had anything to do with it otherwise Kent himself would have never lasted. Hell, most of the people in this town wouldn’t have made it if the game was based on talent.
This was corporate “Survivor”—out play, out wit, out last. Kent was a genius at this game. He’d dedicated his life to it, to this network for over thirty years. He’d stolen the recipe, stirred the pot and served up revenge long before that brother and sister got together and procreated Ian Justyn.
Obviously, he had underestimated him. Somehow the little rat had gotten in some pretty good bites. Kent knew the tables had turned and it was his clock that was now ticking. There wasn’t much time left. The boy had dazzled them all, but he hadn’t fooled Kent.
“Yes.” Simon smiled. Justyn thought he was down for the count. What a better time to cut him off at the knees? If he could just keep himself in the game until it was obvious that the Hunka Hunka HRT was little more than a forgettable wet dream.
He looked at the memo of the new Fall Schedule. Kent curled up his lips as he looked over all the Justyn had managed to get behind everyone’s backs. He wished he’d thought of it first. It was all ridiculous.
It was a simple matter of hanging on until the fall. Moving the highest rated show to Saturday night? Ha! And that pulpy science fiction thing as a soap in late afternoon? Simon laughed out loud. As soon as the ratings dive bombed, Justyn would be toast and the board would come snacking on his hors d’oeuvre again.
“Well…” Kent ogled his reflection in the window. “The brat thinks the war is over. What better time to sneak up behind him and show him exactly who Ceasar is.”
“Fine.” Lance Crawford tossed the last of his desk into a cardboard box. “If that’s the way they want it. That’s the way they get it.”
So he was being demoted and put down on the first floor. He really didn’t like this job in the first place. It was all just a stepping stone.
He picked up his box and headed to the elevator. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for that idiot Simon Kent. “I should have known better.” He said as the elevator doors shut. He pushed the first floor button.
Kent spent so much time trying to knock Justyn off his rung on the ladder we all fell off. But you couldn’t tell that prissy little flit anything. If he’d have just let Justyn alone, none of this would have happened. Kent practically paved the yellow brick road Justyn was now dancing on with his rag tag team.
Crawford smiled as he leaned against the car wall. “They may think they’ve almost made it to the Land of Oz.” He thought. “But surprise Dorothy, Kent was just the wicked witch.”
The doors opened and Crawford made his way to his new, smaller office. “Wait til’ he gets a load of the man behind the curtain.”
The perfectly coiffed woman on the screen smiled into the camera. “The golden boy strikes again.”
“A legend mixes it up with TV’s number one boy toy,” Her equally plastic co-host said.
“And those aren’t even the headlines on today’s Showbiz Now!” An announcer proclaimed as the iconic theme song kicked off the graphics.
Clare grabbed the clicker and started changing channels. “Doesn’t this town know there’s something else going on in the world besides themselves?”
She gave up and reached for the French pastry by her bedside. “Mmmm, gotta love Napoleon.” She sighed licking chocolate and cream off her lips. She leaned back on her pillows and savored every bite.
“We turn now to our analyst Reed Harlowe…Reed, thanks for being with us today.”
“Thank you, Montana, it always good to be here.”
“So what’s your take on the bold moves over at HRT?”
Clare rolled her eyes, but realized she had no choice. She sighed and stuffed her mouth full again.
“For years the network seemed to be out of the race, languishing further and further behind. After seeming complacent for the bottom of the heap, suddenly HRT is making the world sit up and take notice.”
“Ratings have been inching up, most attributing the small spike to new cover boy Ian Justyn.” Montana added.
“True.” Reed agreed. “But the industry as a whole paid little attention, knowing a charismatic headline maker does not a network make, but HRT and Justyn seem to be out to prove they are not only in the game, but taking back the kingdom they created.”
“Go, Ian!” Clare pumped her fist in the air. “Whoop! Whoop!”
“What’s the run down Reed?”
“Nothing is official yet, but insider’s say that Justyn pulled off several coups that have the other networks trembling. First and foremost, the Hunka Hunka HRT secured the rights to all three books in the “Blood Kisses” trilogy, so hot every studio in town has been gunning for the properties since the first book topped the best seller list six years ago.”
“Any word as to what they plan to do with it?” Montana asked, reading from the teleprompter.
“Rumors are running the gamut, but no definite word. As usual, “Blood Kisses” author Amanda Jackson isn’t any where to be found, but her camp confirmed that a deal with HRT has been made.”
“Why HRT, Reed?”
“Two words.” Reed looked at Montana. “Ian Justyn.”
“Whoop! Whoop!” Clare said. “Bring home the bacon, baby!”
“Justyn is proving himself to be more than just a Hunka Hunka HRT not only capturing the prize “Blood Kisses” flag, but also snagging new free agent and television’s hottest sex symbol Jeff Torkelson for a series starting this fall.”
“Quite a score for someone ABC’s president recently scoffed was a pretty little flash in the pan no one would remember by fall.”
“And what a score it is Montana, our insiders tell us that apparently Torkelson is only half the package. Comedy icon Tess Sinclair is coming out of retirement to co-star in the series said to already be guaranteed a full season.”
“Who the hell is Tess Sinclair?” Clare turned up her nose.
“HRT will formally announce the series, and most likely intentions for “Blood Kisses” at a formal press conference unveiling their fall line up next week.” Montana confirmed.
“We’ll have to wait until fall to see if the power moves add up to big ratings, but the rumors themselves have already sent the other networks scrambling.” Reed looked back to the camera. “It would seem that HRT do nothing else to keep the town from buzzing more about them, but they have one more shocking secret slipping out.”
“What else could they do?” Montana feigned excited shock.
“Once again, nothing has been confirmed, but we have it on good authority that VP Jack Tolan has been let go.”
“Hasn’t Tolan headed up the television division since the mid 80’s?”
“Tolan has been with the company all through its golden age, stepping into the top spot when the network seemed unstoppable, but the big hits stopped coming. In the era of cable and pay network HRT is forging a new direction and obviously feel Tolan is no longer the man to guide it.”
“Any idea who’ll be taking over?”
“For the time being David Turner, the man who built the network from the ground up will be taking over the reins.”
“And Ian Justyn?”
“Yeah, what about my Ian?” Clare said sucking the sticky off her fingers.
“Justyn is said to be moving up quickly, assuming the title Director of Development and Promotion, a position newly created just for him. Our insider says the position is a thinly veiled prize to keep Justyn from jumping ship while he’s being groomed to take over the reins of the network.”
“So if his moves turn into rating’s success…” Montana encouraged.
“By this time next year, HRT will hand him the keys to the kingdom.” Reed finished.
“Remember you heard it here first on “Showbiz Now”. In other news…”
“Oh yeah!” Clare sighed. She looked around her. “Make lots and lots of money, Ian ‘cause when the time is right, Mama’s gonna get it all.”
Clare stuck her tongue out at the TV and laughed. She reached for another Napoleon and chowed down.
“Dave?” Simon Kent poked his head in the door and smiled. “You have a moment?”
David Turner hid the scowl on his face as best he could. “Sure. Sit down.”
Kent delicately shut the door behind him and sat down in the chair across from Turner. He folded his hands in his lap and made himself comfortable. He sighed, then smiled. “I understand.”
Turner looked up from his paperwork. “Understand what?”
“Our time has come.” Simon released his hands and put them on the chair arms. “I step aside.”
“You’re resigning?”
“All I ask is that I am allowed to stay for the remainder of my contract.” Kent looked down. “I dedicated my life to this network, to you, so please, let me leave with a little dignity.”
“That’s pretty much up to you, Kent, but personally you let the dignity ship sail away a long time ago.”
Simon nodded his head.
“Well, is that it?” Turner asked pointedly.
“Yes. I won’t waste any more of your time.” Kent stood up.
“You should have thought about that years ago, too.”
Simon Kent struggled to keep his anger in check. “May I say something to you, friend to friend?”
“Kent, we’ve never been friends.” Turner put his pen down and his glasses on the paperwork. “But if you have something to say, I have enough respect for your time to listen.”
The rotund little man nodded and stepped to the desk. He seemed to be thinking precisely about his words. “He’ll break your heart.”
“Excuse me?” Turner scoffed.
“You know what I’m talking about, Dave. We’ve all seen it before. Ian Justyn is just another in a much too long series of handsome young men you’ve attached yourself to, young men that you’ve mentored and staked your reputation, this company’s reputation on. Everyone has failed, Dave. This one will, too.”
Turner harumphed and picked his glasses back up.
“I won’t say I told you so when it happens, but I hope you’ll remember that I warned you in time and that once again you didn’t listen.”
“Oh, I’m listening Kent.” Dave peered over the top of his glasses. “I hear every word you’ve said.”
“And you will still let this boy railroad you, taking this network further down the drain. It can’t take much more, Dave. I dare say, this is the last hurrah.” Kent nodded his head and turned to go.
Turner let him get all the way to the door. “Wait a minute, Kent.”
David tossed his glasses back on the desk and waited for the man to turn around. He motioned for him to take his seat again.
“You’ve made sure I understand, Simon. Now I want to make sure you understand.” Turner stood up and went over to the bar. “Scotch?”
“Thank you.” Kent smiled, but didn’t dare move from his chair.
“You seem to be under the impression that I’m not aware of the state of my own company.” He poured two stiff ones, and handed one to Kent.
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” He said as he accepted the drink.
“You may not have come right out and said it, but you danced all around it and pointed at it with your twinkle toes.”
Kent scowled at him as they saluted each other with their glasses and took a drink. “Dave you are constantly misjudging…”
“Simon, I’m trying to be nice here, so do us both a favor and shut the hell up.”
Kent’s eyes popped and David Turner continued. “Just because I’ve out lived everyone in this town doesn’t mean I’m senile. Granted, I probably haven’t got that many good years ahead of me. If I’ve got a year at all.”
“Oh, don’t give me that, nonsense.” Simon said. “You’ll out live us all.”
“I’m 94 years old. One good sniffle and I’ll be hooked up to more wires than a Muppet, but I’ll be damned if I’ll out live this company. I’ve stood back and played the old man too long. Look what’s it’s gotten me.”
“You should be proud.”
“I would be, if the damn thing could survive without me. Ninety Four years, Kent and the only thing I’ve got to show for it is a case of tarnished foo foo and once great conglomerate I had absolutely no intention of building in the first place. That’s my legacy in this world Kent, feel good crap with my name on it and a barely breathing mistake.”
“If that’s how you truly feel, Dave. Then maybe it is time you do just sit back and let it die, or hand it over to people who still believe in it, people who deserve it.” Kent sat his empty glass down with just a little too much English.
“You?” Turner smirked.
Kent shrugged his shoulders.
“You don’t believe in this company, Kent. You’ve just been floating through contract cycles, thinking eventually you’ll be in control long enough to suck it dry.”
“How can you say that, Dave?” Simon looked hurt. “After all the years I’ve put in?”
“Oh, tuck your bottom lip back in. No one’s looking and no one sure as hell is buying.” Dave handed Simon his glass. “Pour us another.”
Kent poured them both another drink, bringing the bottle back with him and put it on the desk. “You’re all put kicking my ass out the door, Dave. You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Simon, face it, you’re kicking your own ass out the door.”
Kent looked Turner in the eye. “Ian Justyn is a slick player, and he’s been using your crush on him to take this whole company for a ride.”
Turner laughed, out loud.
“I’ve seen you do this before, Dave.” Kent tried to say calmly and firmly.
“And I’ve seen you have the same knee jerk reaction to every kid that came along for over thirty years now. Any one who has ever managed to take the focus off you for more than two seconds is automatically a threat.”
“They’ve all come after me, because they know I’m the one that has to go down for them to go up.”
“You are the only one who ever believed that.” Turner leaned in close. “Do you know why you are even still here?”
“Because I’ve been able to give this network product the audience wants for thirty years.” Kent said smugly.
“Simon, the product you’ve turned out as a whole has lower demographics than dead air. You are still here because quite frankly, I enjoy sitting behind my desk and watching you try and kill off your misguided perception of the competition. I kept thinking that one day you’d use that keen killer instinct and come up with something good or at least get smart enough to join forces with someone who had talent.”
“I’m insulted.”
“No you’re not.” Dave freshened up their glasses. “You really don’t give a shit what people say or think or you’d have crawled back under your rock years ago.”
“I managed to get rid of a lot of losers for you.”
“And you chased off a lot more that we needed. I should have just fired your butt years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Frankly, I’ve been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the right one. Simon you haven’t got the ability to make great television, but you do have an annoying capability to inadvertently create a great fighter. That’s what this company needs, a great fighter who can also create good television. We’re out of time. You are too much of a liability now and my pre-burial plan is all paid up.”
“You’re putting it all on Justyn?”
“Why not? He’s kicked your ass in every direction but out of the closet. You’ve squeezed that kid until I thought his head would pop off, and damn if it didn’t explode in all the right colors. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
“You think I created that monster?”
Turner knocked back his drink. “Face it, you couldn’t create diarrhea with a dozen babies and a vial of black plague.” He sat back and smiled. “But you did force a young man to fight for his life, and instead of focusing it on you, he focused it on the company. He did what you could have done all along, but didn’t think you had to.”
“So you are just going to hand him the keys to the car and let him drive off into the sunset?”
“How stupid do you think I am, Kent? I’m going to give the kid a chance, but I’m not letting anyone drive my car again. Look what happened when I did.”
“I’ll admit, he’s made an impressive first impression, but I doubt you’ll see anything else. Too much luck involved, nobody’s can keep that streak going.”
Dave shook his head. “If you knew anything about that boy, Kent. You’d have an entirely different opinion.”
“I know he’s a hillbilly with a sob story, boo hoo. Unlike most people in the building, I don’t let little things like that color my vision.”
Turner stood. “And that’s exactly why you were allowed to hang around for thirty years instead of making us fight to keep you here.”
Kent matched his stance. “You are so wrong, Turner.”
“It really doesn’t matter. You are welcome to stay until you’re contract runs out, but you so much as belch without saying excuse me…”
Simon Kent put up his hands to interrupt. “I understand, I’ve been warned. Play nice and at least I get to leave the sandbox without a black eye.”
“I’m doing what I think I have to do.” David Turner reached out his hand.
Kent took it and shook. “Me, too.” He said and closed David Turner’s door behind him. He leaned against the closed door. “Me, too.” He smiled and went on his merry way.
He was finally asleep. Ian found himself just sitting by the boy’s bedside a lot, just watching him breathe. He seemed to be doing fine, but Ian knew how easy it was to convince people of that. Ian pulled the comforter up around Ronnie’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. He double-checked to make sure the cat was curled up with him and shut the bedroom door.
The doctors assured Ian that Ronnie was doing well. Examinations and private sessions had led to the conclusion that the sexual abuse had not been re-current. Other than the one trauma, Ronnie had a happy, healthy childhood. When the doctors told Ian that, he burst into tears of relief.
It had been hard enough for Ian to live with himself knowing he’d given his son away. The thought that he’d condemned him to a childhood of perverted abuse would have been more than he could have handled. He’d already lived it. Having had his son repeat history would have broken him completely.
But why just then? Why would Kyle Osbourne suddenly, for no apparent reason, turn like that? Especially knowing that he could be caught at any moment? It didn’t make sense. Was it Ian’s sudden presence?
Ian couldn’t shake the questions out of his head, and it was really the last thing he needed to concentrate on. Maybe he should call Sparky, and get her to do a little private investigating for him. Then maybe he could lose the feeling there was something he was missing and concentrate solely on his son.
His son. He still wasn’t used to even letting himself think that. He was a father now, and not just in his head, in his heart. It was a physical fact.
Ronnie would come pouncing on his bed at the crack of dawn. He’d smile and chat and giggle all through breakfast, kiss and hug him before he went to work and be a subconscious vision of comfort knowing that when he opened up the door at night, Ronnie would still be there, the word “Papa” falling constantly from his lips.
But Ian knew Ronnie had a secret. Ian kept so many, he knew when someone had one they couldn’t bear to share. Ronnie, for lack of a better term, hadn’t landed yet. He was faking it well.
They’d made it easy; a big house, lots of people spinning around him distracting him with a brand new happy life. Ronnie hadn’t had a chance to be sad. He hadn’t mourned. He went straight from terror to peace, with no natural progression.
There was nothing left of what he lost to help him. The child had nothing left of it, but that stupid cat and a pair of underpants. The rest had gone up in smoke or was blown to tiny unrecognizable fragments.
Ian hoped that when Reese arrived tomorrow, they had found a few things, even if just trinkets. He knew how important that was for a man who was once a child who had nothing, not even love. Ian knew it was essential to a child who had had it all simply because he was loved and then had it all go kaboom.
He chided himself. He had to stop thinking that he was never loved as a child. He’d had a session with a doctor himself. He didn’t know that it was going to open the door to eternal ya ya, but it would, if nothing else, make him feel like he was trying.
It wasn’t fair to say he had never been loved. There was Taylor, Taylor with whom he made that beautiful, perfect little energy ball finally unplugged for the night in his room. There was Jude, the man who made him feel safe, encouraged him and made sure he knew that there was more to life than kicks in the stomach, taunts from bullies and trembling in fear.
And Aunt Hil…Ian smiled sadly. Hilary Johnston, the one person in the world that made him live, sometimes even if it was just a good swift lick in the rump. Whether it was making sure he could feed himself, to making sure the bones weren’t broken and the cuts didn’t get infected, to grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he took a breath, ready to fight again.
She was gone. It hurt in so many ways. Much like Ronnie, he had gone from burying the woman who kept him struggling to breathe to being a father with no natural progression. He needed her now, more than ever. How was he going to be able to do this without her? Who was going to lovingly knock the fight back into him when he was ready to give up?
The irony of it all wasn’t wasted on him. He’d begged for so long for his past to disappear. Now that he buried it with Hilary Johnston, he wasn’t sure how to even get through the day. It made him want to laugh until he choked to death with tears.
“Hey, Baby Doll.” Tippy said quietly.
Ian was suddenly found himself sitting on the balcony staring at the stars.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you sitting there and thought I’d just sit with you a while. Is that okay?”
Ian nodded his head and started to put out his cigarette. Tippy grabbed his hand. “Go ahead.”
He smiled. “I thought you went home.”
“I did.”
“You forget something?”
She shook her head. “Just checking on ya.”
“Ronnie’s fine, sleeping away.”
“I know, darlin’.” Tippy smiled, then took his hand and held it. “He’s not the only boy in the world that needs some one to peek in on him once and a while.”
She turned and looked at the same stars Ian was looking at. She looked at the sky and squeezed his hand, just let to him know the tears now falling silently down his face were all part of the natural progression.
Showing posts with label Untitled Masterpiece. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Untitled Masterpiece. Show all posts
Saturday, November 27, 2010
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.”
Monday, November 22, 2010
Chapter Eighteen: Superman
Red Robin was a small chain specializing in gourmet hamburgers. A family oriented place, they had the second best hamburgers in the world, and the best chocolate shakes. It was their second visit in as many weeks.
“Back again?” The hostess recognized them.
“I’d have been back sooner, but I cain’t drive yet.” Ronnie smiled.
“Table for two?” She asked.
“Three, please.” Ian said. “A friend should be joining us shortly.”
The young girl looked at Ian. “I’m sorry Mr. Justyn, are you waiting for Mr. Torkelson?”
“Yes. Yes we are.”
“He’s already waiting for you.” She picked up two menus and two rolls of silverware. “Follow me please. We have you discreetly in the back.”
“Thank you.”
Ronnie followed the young lady, chipperly chatting most of the way. Ian followed behind, lead to a darker end of the restaurant. Ian forgot this was Hollywood, even superstars liked to bring their kids to family burger joints. Of course they would have a section out of the way, a little harder to get to and with dimmer lighting.
When he saw them coming, Jeff Torkelson stood and smiled. “I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.”
“Sorry, the traffic was a little heavier than normal.” Ian shook his hand. “Jeff, this is my son Ronnie.”
Jeff smiled and put out his hand. Ronnie took it and simply said , “Hi.”
Jeff pulled out a chair and Ian helped Ronnie sit. “Ronnie, Mr. Torkelson is going to be starring in a new series this fall.”
“We hope”. Jeff said.
“You look familiar.” Ronnie smiled. “I only used to get two channels, now we got so many I’ll never be able to watch ‘em all.”
“Most of them aren’t worth watching.” Jeff pulled up a chair to one side of him.
Ian tried hard to hide the pride as Ronnie began asking a series of very intelligent questions for a ten-year-old farm boy. Jeff kept looking at Ian, sitting on the other side of his son, with his own impressed look.
“Are you sure, you’re not just a very short executive?” Jeff finally asked.
“Not today.” Ronnie allowed the waitress to put the chocolate shake in front of him that Ian had ordered. “Maybe when I finish grammar school though. I think I’d be fun.”
“Grammar school, huh?” Jeff smiled. “Any idea what you really want to be?”
“Well…” Ronnie thought while sipping his shake. “I think I’d like to be like my Papa.”
“And exactly what is that?” He asked.
Ronnie looked at Torkelson like he should have known. “He makes people’s dreams come true.” The boy grinned from ear to ear.
“That he does.” Jeff grinned at Ian. “That he does.”
Ian put his arm around the back of Ronnie’s chair. “Puppy, Mr. Torkelson and I are going to talk a little shop while we eat. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.” Ronnie looked at his father. “Do ya need my help? I’m in a pretty important demo…they aim lots a commercials at me.”
Jeff laughed. “That they do.” He sipped his own shake. “Tell you what. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“What’s the problem Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie pushed his glass to the side and folded his hands together on the tabletop.
“Well, Younger Justyn…” Jeff started with, making Ronnie grin from ear to ear. “We had a premise for my new show, but it’s not working. Do you understand what I mean by premise?”
Ronnie nodded. “What the show is about.” He turned to Ian. “Right?”
“Right.”
Ronnie cleared his throat and turned back to Jeff. “So the show’s suckin’ big time and you need to figure out how to fix it before September.”
“Exactly.”
Ronnie cocked his head and put his finger to his chin. “Do ya have anything in the...can?”
Even Ian was impressed with that one. “Not yet son. We have some scripts, one good, one okay and the rest really bad.”
“Really, really bad.” Jeff added.
“Well, my Grampaw says that you have to buy the seeds before ya plant the garden. Seems to me what you needs to do is make sure ya got all the right tools, plow the ground up real good and make sure everything’s ready. My guess is ya tossed a handful a seeds from boxes with pretty pictures and didn’t realize that most wildflowers is just weeds.”
There was a cackle from someone sitting behind them. “I think I understood that.” Jeff said.
“He’s been hanging around Tippy Shores a lot.” Ian said. “Ronnie, put that in English for us.”
Ronnie rolled his eyes. “You rushed into something and didn’t think it through. Since ya didn’t loose nothing but a little time and some paper, just yank up the weeds and re-seed the field.”
“Ah!” Jeff nodded. “Younger Mr. Justyn, you want to walk your father and I through this process. Just so we don’t make any mistakes this time.”
“Okay. What cha got that’s good?”
“Well, me, of course?” Jeff said.
“Blow your own horn much?” Ronnie said to another cackle from behind them. Ronnie smiled, “Just teasin’ sir. If ya weren’t good my Papa wouldn’t give you the time of day. What else you bringin’ to the table?”
“The writer’s are good.” Jeff said.
“Great actually.” Ian piped in. “Probably the best comedy writing team around.”
“Then why is the show so bad, Papa?” Ronnie asked.
“Once and a while, when it comes to a series, the original idea is funny and easy to write for, but…” Ian thought a second to properly explain to his son, and maybe even to himself. “But the hard part is coming up with an idea and characters that make it easy to write consistently good episodes.”
“Writers, actors and producers have to come up with twenty two to twenty four really good episodes a year.” Jeff added. “And then do that every year as long as they keep making the show.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Ronnie sipped his milk shake. “So your idea was good, but it’s not…uhm…good enough for more than one or two really funny shows.”
“That’s right.”
“So come up with another idea you can get more good shows out of.” Ronnie sat back in his chair and smiled. “Problem solved.”
“Sort of.” Ian said. “The problem is we have a contract, that looked like a good idea at the time, but has everybody at a disadvantage because of some things that were put in that have kind of painted us in a corner.”
“Like a bill from Congress?” Ronnie asked. Whoever it was behind them, howled this time. Ronnie turned around to see who it was, but turned back.
“Pretty much.” Ian said. “It’s a good contract, but if we adhere to it we turn out a really bad show that loses the company lots of money, and damages the reputations of Mr. Torkelson and some other really good people.”
“Do think you so, too, Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie asked.
“Yes.”
Ronnie shrugged. “Tear up the contract and start over.”
“What?” Ian said.
“Hey, I’m just a kid wondering where his hamburger is, but a contract is an agreement between two people to make sure everything done a certain way right?”
“Well…yes.” Ian said.
“If both people think it was bad, can’t you both agree to tear it up or make another contract that says the first one sucks and we agree to do this instead?”
Lights went off in both Jeff and Ian’s heads. Ian looked at his son. “Kid, you want a job?”
“I got one.” Ronnie sucked on his straw, obviously at the bottom of his shake. “An’ I’m only getting ten bucks a week for it. Let me get a new agent an’ I’ll get back to ya.”
Once again, there was a cackle of laughter behind them. All three turned to see who it was.
Not finding the culprit, Ian said to Jeff. “Bottom line, do you want to do a series for HRT?”
“Absolutely.”
“Forget anything Simon Kent said.” Ian took a long spoon a stirred a metal cup with more milk shake in it and refilled Ronnie’s glass. “Are you insistent that the series be a spin off?”
“I think it probably could be done, but I’ll go with a better one if you insist it start in September.”
Ian nodded his head. “Here’s my problem, Jeff, and maybe my solution. Kent in all his well meaning glory has already leaked to the press, and done interviews that a new series starring you will be in our Fall line up.”
“Understood.”
“However, and my staff and I have been over every inch of cyberspace to make sure, not once did Kent say or allude to the fact that the show was a spin off, only a project starring Jeff Torkelson. I think delaying anything past that would look bad for both of us. The press will have a field day. They’ll automatically tag whatever show we come up with as a loser, effectively killing it before it has a chance.”
“Okay, back to square one.” Jeff frowned, refilling his own glass.
“What I can do, if all goes well, is buy us a little more time. Here’s the plot. No one knows it yet, but I’ve managed to get my own uber hot property, a three week limited series that I’ll do my best to get run Premiere Week.”
Jeff laughed. “That had better be some hot project.”
Ian smiled and wriggled his eyebrows. “Pretty much guaranteed. I’m still pinching myself.”
“Let me guess…” Jeff smirked. “You scooped the entire entertainment industry and got the rights to ‘Blood Kisses’.”
Ian’s face fell. Jeff shot up straight in his chair. “You got effing ‘Blood Kisses’?”
“Shh!” Ian leaned in. “Keep your voice down. How did you know? There are only about have a dozen people who know that.”
“I was joking.” Jeff said. “You got Amanda Jackson to give you rights? Holy crap, Ian Justyn, will you marry me?”
“Ew…” Ian said to another cackle behind them. “I got more than that, Jeff. I got all three books.”
“All three?”
Ian nodded. “Amanda is writing and directing, plus “Blood Kisses” is going to be my new daytime drama.”
“Holy sh…” Jeff looked at Ronnie, who was busy looking at the people seated behind them. “sshhh…ooot. Holy shoot, Ian, you’re right that will definitely buy us three more weeks.”
“Four if they approve the concert special.” Ian said. “Susan Andrews and Jimmy Sage are both recording new albums and will be launching a tour together in the fall. They’ve both agreed to kick the tour off with a live concert on HRT as part of an updated variety series format Wella and I have come up with.”
“You are either the luckiest SOB in the universe or the next Norman Lear.” Torkelson sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Forgive me, but holy shit, you’re just getting warmed up.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Jeff, but Lear had “All That Glitters” after a string of hits. Let’s make sure you aren’t my first tank.”
“Any ideas?”
“Let’s eat on it, and see what we come up with. The only thing I’ve got is, forgive me, act your age.”
“Huh?” Jeff sat up in his chair again.
“My feeling is when setting up the spin off character they went back to the original Robbie, instead of what he matured to. That took away all his warmth and charm. When you where twenty something it was adorable, now that you’re thirty something all I could think of was, give it up dude and get a real job.”
“I see your point.”
“And I’ve seen much of your other work. You are a wonderful character actor in a matinee idols body.”
“Thank you.”
“You can play something that’s a lot more of a stretch, much more than pretty and adorably dumb. People will watch just because it’s you, but your talent and hopefully some good writing will keep them coming back for more.”
“Papa?” Ronnie patted Ian shoulder. “Forgive me for interrupting, but that woman back there. She looks like Tessie.”
Ian smiled and looked in the direction. “I think you’re right, Ronnie.”
“Whose Tessie?”
Ronnie’s mouth dropped open. “You work in television and you don’t know who Tessie is?”
“Okay…” Jeff smiled. “Who is this woman that I should know?”
“Only the best TV star EVER!” Ronnie gushed. “Papa and I watch her show every day!”
Ian, who’d been busy looking at the woman, turned back to the conversation. “Tess Sinclair.”
Torkelson understood. “Oh, that Tessie.” He looked down at the boy. “You are right, again, Ronnie. She is the best TV star ever. Do you know that the reason I want to stay in television is because my dream, the one you’re Papa is going to make come true, is to one day be half as good as Tessie.”
“Only half?” Ronnie asked.
“Well, I’ll settle for half, but aiming for it all.” Jeff rubbed Ronnie’s head.
Ian found himself staring at the woman seated behind them. “You know, Ronnie, I think that is Tessie.”
“Are you sure?” Ronnie said.
Jeff found himself looking. “I think you’re right.”
“She can hear you know. She’s old, not deaf.” Tess’s voice boomed without turning around. “However she appreciates your kind words.”
Ian blushed. “Sorry, Ms Sinclair. We didn’t mean to disturb your meal.”
“That’s fine Mr. Justyn. Just an old lady now cheating on her diet, and surprised and pleased that someone still remembers her.” She said.
“Oh, Ms Sinclair!” Ronnie protested. “How could anyone forget you! You are the best!”
She turned around in her chair, half a chocolate shake in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “You are absolutely adorable little man. I think I’m your biggest fan.”
Ronnie popped up and started to race right over to her. Ian gently stopped him. “Son, Ms. Sinclair is eating. Remember those conversations we had about respect?”
Ronnie remembered. “Oh yeah.” He turned back to Tess. “I apologize. You just want to enjoy you’re hamburger. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh, sonny, it’s okay. I’m just sitting here, and I’m all alone.” She said. “I’m assuming we’re waiting for the cow to get a degree in political science before they kill it and serve us our hamburgers.
“Alone?” He said.
“Just me and my milkshake. Now come over here and give your biggest fan a big hug.” She said holding out her arms, allowing Ronnie to give her a big one.
“Thank you so much.” Ronnie kissed her cheek.
It was obvious the woman was touched. She turned to Ian. “You have a very special boy there, Mr. Justyn.”
“Thank you. You have made him very, very happy.” Ian touched her shoulder. “Me, too.”
“And he’s made an old lady very happy.” She patted his hand and turned back around.
“Ms. Sinclair…” Ian said. “Would you like to join us?”
She waved her hands. “Oh no…you are having a good time without me. Thank you though.”
“Oh please…” Ronnie asked. “Please come and eat with us Miss Tessie.”
“You don’t mind?” She asked Ian.
“We’d be honored.”
Tessie smiled. “I’d love to.” She stood up; Jeff popped up and held the chair beside him open as she gracefully joined them. “You gentlemen are so kind.”
“Ms. Sinclair, you’ve met my son, Ronnie.” Ian nodded to Jeff as they all took their seats. “And this is my friend, Jeff…”
“No need.” Tess reached out her hand. “Torkelson, you’ve done some fine work. I’ve been impressed since moment one.”
Torkelson gushed, while Ian caught the eyes of a waitress and motioned her over. “I’m flattered Ms. Sinclair.”
“Would you tell our waitress, I think her name’s Camilla, that Ms. Sinclair will be joining us?”
“Of course, Mr. Justyn.” She said politely. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Food would be nice.” Tess smiled.
“Of course.” She said and dashed off.
“I’m supposedly doing the whole healthy thing now.” She said. “Twice a month I have to give all that tofu and wheat grass a good coating of greasy red meat and chocolate just to stave off the conniption fits.”
Camilla appeared apologetically and put a second shake in front everyone and began to offer their burgers.
The four chatted like old friends catching up as they ate. Tessie insisted on picking up the tab and bought everyone the biggest gooiest sundaes on the menu. She prattled on and on about the good old days. The three men hung on every word.
“Of course, after fifteen years I was getting a little long in tooth so I packed it in and didn’t look back.” She said. “Marcus Bickle, he was running the network for David Turner back then, suggested a format change to keep me interested, but it was ridiculous. I’d have been playing the only virgin widow in the known universe. What an idiot…” she scooped vanilla, strawberry and chocolate goo into her mouth.
“But you’ve been approached since, haven’t you?’ Ian asked.
“Oh sure, but no one has any guts these days. Shoot, Ian, you seem to be the only one around these days.”
“Coming from you, I consider that a high compliment.”
“You stick out like a sour thumb, young man. I’d work for you in a heart beat.” She sniggered. “Wanna give an old has been a job?”
“Tessie, if I thought you were serious I’d throw you across this table and give you my own special sauce.” Ian confessed.
“Honey, no need to go that far. Besides, I was a dyke before it was cool.” Tessie’s eyes got big. “Oops, forgot about the boy.”
“That’s okay, Miss Tessie.” Ronnie wrestled to feed himself an overstuffed spoon. “We studied dikes in school. Did you come to America straight from Holland?”
Tess put her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap and looked Ronnie straight in the eye. “Yes I did, in a covered wagon.”
“That’s cool.”
Jeff sprayed chocolate sauce across the table laughing, covering Ian’s shirt. “Shoot…” He reached for a napkin to wipe it off, knocking over a half finished shake that landed on a spoon. The spoon somersaulted in the air and landed in Ian’s sundae, tossing a wad of ice cream and a cherry that plopped on Ian’s neck and ran down the inside of his shirt.
“Oooh baby!” Ian said reaching down in his shirt and grabbing a handful of goop from his chest. As he tossed it on the table, he heard a little pop and a metal tinkle as the wad hit the tabletop. “Now that’s cool!”
The table laughed and did it’s best to clean up the mess, Camilla now never far from the table, joining in to help.
“Too bad we didn’t have that on tape.” Tess said, helping the waitress gather used napkins. “We couldn’t recreate that if we tried.”
“You willing to give it a shot?” Ian eyed her.
“You offering me a deal, Sticky Man?” Tessie eyed him back.
“No.” Ian said, wiping his fingers. “I’m flat out offering you a series, a five year guarantee.”
“You produce, I don’t do a pilot, and I have script and cast approval.”
“I’ll exec, we don’t have time for a pilot, and blow the cast and script approval out your ass.” Ian drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “You get equal billing and I’ll match Jeff Torkelson’s contract.”
Tessie sat back in her chair. “Tough guy, huh? Torkelson’s got a fat deal, but I overhear the show’s a piece of crap.”
“You’re overhearing must be bad. We canned that a few minutes ago. I have another idea. Jeff are you in?”
“Me and the legend of comedy? Are you kidding me?” Jeff gushed.
“Put up or shut up.” Tess said.
“Say yes, give me give five minutes and be ready to start in two weeks.” Ian said.
Tessie looked at her watch. “Time’s cheap, Justyn. You got four minutes and 51 seconds.”
Ian flipped open his phone and hit a few buttons. “Ronnie, do you have your cell phone on you?”
“Yes, but I’m only allowed to use it for emergencies.” He reminded him.
“This is an emergency buddy.” Ian dipped his finger in his sundae and wrote a number on the table. “Call this number. Ask for Mr. Jenson Michael. When he’s on the line, hand me the phone.” He said and Ronnie reached in his backpack and pulled out a little red phone.
Ian’s call connected. “Mr. Turner? Ian, not a lot of time, I think I’ve solved the Jeff Torkelson problem…I’ve got a question, a legal one. If Jeff is in agreement can we tear up his contract with no hassle or arrange a codicle?…I’ve got a something better in mind…Same amount of money split into two contracts, but double the back end with percentage raises based on share points.” Ian looked at Jeff and Tess for approval.
Tess nodded and Jeff gave him a thumbs up.
“It was a dream contract.” Jeff whispered to her. “Half is still a hefty raise. I’d rather have a good show than lots of money.”
“Good for you boy.” Tess smiled. “We’re gonna get along just fine.”
“A new show, ready in time for fall…” Ian held up his finger and crossed them. “Co-starring Jeff and Tess Sinclair.” Ian had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“Think that’s a good sign?” Jeff asked Tess.
“Me and Dave go way back. My guess is it’s a good sign.” Tess nodded.
“Right, anything, just get it done…Thank you, Mr. Turner. I’ll be ready to announce on Wednesday.”
“Papa…?” Ronnie handed Ian the other phone.
“Jenson? Thank you for holding.” Ian said. “Can you wait just a second longer, I’m balancing plates. Thanks.”
Ian handed his phone to Ronnie. “Puppy, call Miss Wella and try and tell her what’s going on. See if she can meet us at home, Blake too, if she can get hold of him.”
“Got it.”
“Jeff, call your writers, tell them to meet us in my office at the crack of dawn.” Ian said as Jeff hauled out his phone and started dialing.
“What can I do?” Tess asked.
“Look pretty.”
“Type cast again.” She said, and sat back watching the proactive testosterone in the room.
“Okay, Jenson, I’m back.” Ian said into his phone. “What was the name of that series you gave me a couple of scripts for and an episode breakdown for two seasons?” Ian mouthed the word ‘Pen’. Tess produced one from her purse and handed Ian a stack of napkins. “The comedy…single camera…”
“Ooh, I like that.” Tess said to no one listening.
“Uh huh…” Jeff said to his phone. “First thing in the morning…a whole new concept…”
“Do you have an aversion to taking a role as creator and writing consultant if I’ve got the perfect cast and want to go ahead and green light it for fall…yes, for fall and full year commitment…Jenson…Jenson?” Ian looked into his cell phone and over to Tess. “I think he passed out.”
“Newbie?”
Ian nodded his head. “Already has a spot and a 22 ep commitment for another show.” Ian looked at Ronnie, who nodded and imitated Jeff’s thumbs up. “Tell Blake to bring his magic book…Jenson, are you there?”
“Already asked for it, Papa. She gonna see about some of the other staff, too.” Ronnie said. “We need soda, potato chips and ice cream.”
“You got it, Puppy.” Ian said only half listening.
“Be my agent, kid.” Tessie said, slurping on her shake.
“Thank God, I thought you’d died, and I’d have had to kill you.” Ian said back into Ronnie’s phone. “I’ve already got it cast, just have to get approval from them…Jeff Torkelson and Tess Sinclair…Jenson…Jenson…uhm…Jenson?”
Taking a cue from Ian, Jeff said into his phone. “If we approve there’s already two scripts and a two year breakdown…new guy, already working full time on a new show for fall…He’ll be billed as creator and writing consult…Me, too…”
“Is that guy on the phone still breathing?” Tess asked.
“Jenson…if you can hear me moan or slap the phone on a table or something…” Ian pulled the phone away from his ears again. He rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, buddy, I need you to keep breathing. When you calm down, call me back…”
Ronnie got Ian’s attention by waving his hands in the air. “Meet us at the house.”
“Jenson, when you can sit back up, meet us at the house…uh, bye.”
“Ronnie?” Ian looked at the boy.
“Miss Wella and Mr. Blake will meet us at the house about 9:30.”
“Good boy. Jeff?”
“All ago. We’ll all be in your office at the crack of dawn.”
Great. “Tess?”
“Still beautiful.” She turned to Ronnie. “Ya know kid, you’re almost at good at this as your Dad.”
“Two weeks ago I was gatherin’ eggs and playin’ kickball.” Ronnie slip his phone in his backpack and sighed. “I’m just a natural.”
Ian smiled. “Okay, here’s what I got, a great idea from a hot new writer I’ve got under contract. He calls it ‘The World On A String’, but you can change that if you don’t like it.”
“Who cares about the title?” Tess was all business. “What’s the premise?”
“Tess you’re a legendary actress, successful at every endevour, except her personal life.”
“I breathe that.” Tess said.
“Jeff, you are a thirty something widower with a handful of kids, lost his job, living out of a camper who desperate, decides to look up the mother he’s never met and ask for help.”
“This is a comedy?” Jeff asked.
“An hour long dramedy, but you can cut it to a half hour format if you decide. I’m just giving you the breakdown. How you throw it against the wall we’ll all decide once we get everything and everyone in one room.”
“I don’t get it.” Tess said. “How do the two even get together? They have nothing in common.”
“They have one thing.” Ian smiled. “The superstar is the widower’s mother. It’s a story about two people with nothing but blood in common trying to connect in Hollywood.”
Jeff smiled. “In the land of the superficial and the disconnected.”
“Bullseye. Unless the two of you want to come to the house for the working pajama party…” Ian said.
“I sleep in the raw.” Tess smirked.
“Somebody right that down.” Ian quipped. “I’ll fax the scripts and breakdown when I get home tonight. I remember the very first scene clearly. Tess Sinclair, lounging in all her spectacular glory. An assistant comes to her and says ‘Someone is here that insists on seeing you.’ Tess says send them in. It’s Jeff with the three kids. Jeff says “Hello, mother.” Tess turns to her assistant and asks “I have kids”. He looks through a book and says “October 22, 1976.” Tess says, “Did I win something for it?” And one of the kids says, “Yeah, but it wasn’t mother of the year…granny.” And then we roll opening credits.”
“I like it.” Tess thought.
“The first scene sets up a simple premise and defines all the characters.” Jeff smiled. “Gives a lot of great direction for character and situation to go in.”
“You’ll love this guys writing. I’m sure your team with be able to take and turn it into platinum. Believe me, it’s already gold.” Ian beamed. “We’ll bust the veneer of every everyone and everything in town. Show the pathos of two people trying to reconnect in a town where that is the only thing that’s not an art form.”
“You are amazing.” Jeff smiled.
“It’s what they pay me for.” Ian said.
“And Younger Justyn, what do you think of all this?” Tess asked him.
“I think you should do a show about Papa and Granny.” Ronnie smiled. “They’re funny.”
“Granny?” Jeff asked.
“Tippy Shores, she’s my neighbor.” Ian said.
Tess sat up. “Tippy Shores lets you call her Granny?”
“Yes’m.” Ronnie blinked.
“And she let you live?”
“Yes’m”.
Tess looked at Jeff and smiled. Jeff looked at Tess. “This is going to work. I’m in, Ian, I am so in!”
“Oh hell, kid.” Tess grinned. “You had me at wildflowers is just weeds.”
Ian sighed. “I need a cigarette.”
“Me, too.” She agreed. Suddenly the intensity disappeared and the four laughed and had a great time, contracts and storylines the last thing on their minds. The waitress brought the check and they all walked to the door to go their separate ways.
As Ronnie hugged Tess and Jeff, the waitress stopped Ian. “Mr. Justyn, this must be yours. It was lying in a pool of chocolate sauce.” She held up a sticky locket.
Ian smiled. “Oh yes, thank you. I must have yanked it off when I had ice cream tossed down my shirt.” He took it from her. “I hope we didn’t make too much of a mess.” He slipped her a hundred dollar bill.
“Not at all, Mr. Justyn.” She smiled. “Come again, real soon.” She sauntered off with a great tip in her bounce.
“That’s beautiful.” Tess said. “May I see it?”
“Sure.” He handed it to her. “It’s just an old locket. I think it belonged to my mother, but I’m not really sure where it came from.”
Tess cocked her head. “But it has your name on it.”
“No it doesn’t.” He said.
Tess held it up and Ian looked closely. He had seen the scratches before, but assumed they had been gouged there years before when his uncle had kicked it across the wood floor.
The shiny coating had an extra layer now, a sticky brown layer. The waitress must have wiped it with a wet rag. Clear as day; the scratches were now filled in with chocolate sauce.
Ronnie peered up and read. “I…A…N…that’s your name alright.”
Tippy let herself in Ian’s front door the next morning with her key. “Morning, Baby Doll! I got your paper!”
“Granny!” Ronnie jumped into her arms wearing flannel pants and a tee emblazoned with “Southern Fried”. He planted a big kiss on her.
“My, my we are full of energy this morning.” She put the handful down and look with shock at the living room; blankets, rousing bodies with bed head all over the place. “What’s going on, Sugar Plum? It looks like ‘Gone With the Wind’ threw up in here.”
“Oh, we been workin’.”
“Did the office flood or something?” She took a step into the room as she began to recognize faces. “Morning, Ella.”
Ella mumbled and smacked her mouth. “How much onion dip did I eat last night?” She looked at her shirt. “Please tell me it was onion dip.”
Sean stood beside her folding a blanket. “It was onion dip. You want to borrow a comb or should I ask Ian where his weed eater is?”
Ella put her hand to her hair and dashed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her as Wella stepped out. “Hi, Tippy. What brings you over?” She smiled.
“Colton had an early call this morning, and we noticed all the cars. I thought I’d come over and see if Ian needed a hand, at whatever you’re doing.”
“All nighter.” She said. “Have you seen Blake? He said he had some eye cream I could borrow.”
“No.”
“Oh, Granny.” Ronnie was hopping. “It was so much fun. We created a new TV program.”
“Have you been up all night?” She asked him.
“No, Papa made me go to bed at eleven. It was way past my bedtime, but they was lettin’ me help out. It was so much fun!”
“Sounds like it. Where is your Papa?”
“He said something about breakfast.” Wella said. “I assume he’s in the kitchen pouring cereal in lots of bowls.”
Tippy smiled. “Oh you are a stranger in this land.”
“Ronnie!” Ian bellowed from the kitchen. “Get this thing out of here or I’m serving it on toast!”
Ronnie stopped bouncing. “Gotta go.” He raced to the kitchen in a flash. Before they could blink, Ronnie appeared at the door with the cat in his hands. “Papa says breakfast is ready.”
Tippy smiled. “Just in time.” She took Wella by the arm. “Com’mon Wella. If we’re lucky he made fried green tomatoes.”
“Ian cooks?” She said walking to the kitchen door with her.
“He is definitely the marrying kind.”
Tippy held the door open for her, then propped it open while Wella took in the sight of a breakfast bar that made Shoney’s look like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.
Wella turned to Tippy. “Does Saxon Allen know this?” She pointed to the steaming food.
On cue, Saxon Allen came into the dining room with a stack of plates. “Morning.”
“Girl what the hell is wrong with you?” Wella said to her.
“Excuse me?”
“Go in that kitchen, throw that man on the floor, grab him by the hair and drag him to the nearest church.”
“Uhm…” Saxon didn’t know what to say.
“Girlfriend, just gimme a plate and get out of my way.” Wella snatched a plate and started piling on the scrambled eggs and bacon. “You white people…” She mumbled. “Hey! Where’s the fried green tomatoes? I was promised…”
Ian appeared with a plate in his hands. “Looking for these?”
Wella smiled. “Morning, Ian.” She speared two and kissed his cheek.
“Morning, Wella.” He bent over slightly to put the plate down on the sideboard. Wella smacked him on the crown of the head.
“Ow!” Ian straightened up. “What was that for?”
“Hoping to knock some sense into you.” She said looking back and forth between Ian and Saxon. “Never mind. I’m not wasting my breath, too much food to eat.” Wella pulled out a chair and sat down.
“She’s kinda cranky in the mornings.” Ian looked at Saxon.
“Honey.” Tippy grinned breaking open a buttermilk biscuit and arranging it on her plate and looked at Saxon. “Did you spend the night, too?”
“Couldn’t help it.” Saxon said. “Ronnie called at ten o’clock and said it was an emergency to come right over and bring potato chips. I got caught up in the festivities.”
Tippy only half looked where she ladled her gravy. “Where’d ya sleep?”
“In the floor.” Wella slapped half a piece of bacon on her plate. “Beside me.”
Tippy scowled and smacked Saxon on the crown of the head as she bent to pick up a biscuit.
“Ow!” Saxon touched her head. “What was that for?”
“I’m with Wella.” Tippy took a seat beside her. “You kids are just plain stupid.” Wella shoved a fork full of tomato in her mouth with one hand and held the other in the air. Tippy high fived it, as she scooted herself in.
“My cinnamon rolls!” Ian disappeared into the kitchen.
“Please tell me they are from a can.” Wella looked at Tippy.
“Not even the icing.”
Wella rolled her eyes. “Screw the blonde stick. That man’s gonna find himself snuggled up next to a chunky black woman with athlete’s foot.”
Jeff Torkelson came strolling in the dining room and took a deep breath. “Saxon, you made breakfast?”
Tippy and Wella sniggered, while Saxon rolled her eyes. “Jeff, I burn pans boiling water.”
“Who made…?”
Ian came out of the kitchen with a pan of pastries. “Anyone want a cinnamon roll? I just took ‘em out of the oven?”
Tippy leaned over and grabbed them, sitting them in front of her and Wella. Ian turned to Jeff. “There’s more in the oven. Coffee or tea?”
“Uh, Coffee…black.” Jeff held up his hand. “Who made the coffee?”
“I did.” Blake looked up from his corner of the table, mouth full of pancakes.
Jeff smiled and took the cup Ian offered. “No offense.”
“None taken. Don’t see how you can drink the stuff anyway.” Ian looked around the room. “Every body awake or at least faking it?”
“I haven’t seen Tessie or Jenson.” Daryn said going back for more biscuits and gravy. “Can we work at your house for breakfast every morning?”
“Tess is in the kitchen on the phone and Jenson’s in the bathroom barfing.” Ian said.
“Again.”
“Remind me to have a bucket handy when he wins the Emmy or at least make sure my seat’s not anywhere near him.” Someone said.
“Are you kidding?” Someone else piped in. “On nomination day he’ll have a coronary.”
Ian looked at his feet. “Ronnie where’s the rodent?”
He looked up from his eggs. “In the backyard playing with Ralphie.”
“Has Ralphie had breakfast?” Ian leaned over to look through the door into the yard.
“You feed the neighbor’s dog?” Saxon asked him.
“He’s hoping the dog will eat the cat.” Tippy said barely taking a breath.
Ian leaned back from the door after noticing the cat and the dog chasing a ball together. “Stupid animals.”
Ronnie grinned and picked up some toast. “They’re friends.” He looked around. “Hey, Papa, do we have any more apple jelly?”
“No. We’ll make some more next week.” Ian opened up a cabinet under the sideboard. “We got grape and blueberry.”
“Blueberry.”
“I’ll take the grape.” Sean said. “Unless you got apple butter hidden somewhere.”
Ian put three jars on the table.
“He makes his own jelly?” Wella looked at Tippy, who just sighed and nodded her head.
“Sad, isn’t it?”
“Tippy? Got a question for you.” Ian said.
“Shoot, Baby Doll.”
“Did you have my locket engraved when you sent it to the jewelers?”
“Why of course not. I wouldn’t even let him buff the scratches out. I just had him polish it and put on a new clasp.” She looked at an empty plate. “Are those other cinnamon rolls ready yet?”
“Saxon, would you mind getting those out of the oven for me?” Ian asked. “It’s the box underneath the round thingys that get hot.”
“Smart aleck. I know that.” Saxon uncrossed her arms. “Do I just push a button and they pop out or do I have to slide something open?”
“I’ll do it.” Daryn got up from the table and headed to the kitchen door.
“Icing’s in the fridge!” Ian yelled as the door closed behind her. He turned back to Tippy. “So you didn’t have my name engraved on it?”
“Of course not, Baby Doll.”
Ian took the locket out of his pocket and dangled it from the chain in front of her. “Then what’s this?”
Tippy put down her fork and wiped her hands while she chewed. “Chocolate.” She swallowed. “I think it’s chocolate.”
“Look at it.”
She reached out and took the locket in the palm of her hand. Ian gently let the chain gather in her palm as well. Tippy looked up at Ian. “I don’t know what to say, Baby Doll. I didn’t do that. I picked it up from the jeweler, inspected it, paid him then brought it straight to you and hung it around your neck.”
“How did it get there?” Ian asked.
“Baby Doll, I have no idea, about either the chocolate or your name.” She handed it back to him.
Blake reached out his hand. “Let me see it.”
Ian gave it to him. “That hasn’t left my neck since you brought it back. How did my name get on it?” He said to no one inparticular.
“Aw…” Blake had flipped open the locket. He and Ella were looking at the pictures. “Is that you?”
Ian blushed. “I assume so, and the other my mother.”
“Let me see.” Jeff said.
Blake handed it to Jeff. “Ian, the lettering is so light. Is it possible that the engraving was always there, and you didn’t realize it until you got kinky with the chocolate?”
“First of all I didn’t get kinky with the chocolate, but I guess that could be it. I knew there were some scratches on the back. I supposed we just couldn’t tell it was lettering until the episode with the sundaes last night.”
“You were getting kinky with chocolate.” Tippy piped up.
“No we weren’t.” Jeff cut right in. “I knocked over a shake at dinner and it steam rolled. Ian, do you have a magnifying glass?”
“Drawer behind you.” Ronnie said.
“When did you discover the name, Baby Doll? This morning in the shower?”
“Gross. I’m not putting chocolate sauce on my body!”
“How do you feel about whipped cream?” Wella smiled.
Ian looked at her and smirked. “Depends on whose eating it.”
“Will you marry me?” Wella pushed her plate aside.
“Wouldn’t you rather just use me, toss me aside and come back again when you need a real man?”
There were catcalls while Tippy and Wella high fived again.
Jeff looked up from studying the locket with a magnifying glass. “Have you ever tried caramel?”
Wella beamed. “Party at my house Saturday night.” She pointed at Jeff. “You is invited.”
“People.” Ronnie spoke up. “There are children in the room still trying to eat.”
“Sorry, Ronnie.” Wella bit her lip and put the napkin from her lap to her plate. “Ian I’ll help with the pots and pans.”
Ian looked at her like she was an idiot. “What barn were you raised in? You clean as you cook.”
Wella sat back down and looked at Saxon. “Girl, we got to chat.”
“Speaking of parties.” Ian announced. “The party will be here on Saturday.”
“Party?” Daryn came back in with a tray of iced rolls that quickly got snapped up. “What’d I miss?”
“We pulled an all-nighter that, I must say, was a big success. I talked with David Turner this morning, and he’s agreed to give everyone Friday off. Saturday morning, bring your families, friends, whoever. We’ll eat and relax in the backyard. Bring swim suits.”
“You’re gonna cook?” Sean looked up hopefully.
“I’m gonna cook, breakfast and lunch.” Ian waited for the cheers. “Now, I thought we would do a little work. Pearce Warner will be here, and I though we’d do a round table on ‘America Alive!’ just the way we did with ‘World On A String’, and I thought our friends and relatives, since they are our target audience, would be perfect sounding boards. I promise not too much work, mostly fun.”
“Speaking of work.” Blake stood up. “Where’s Lee?”
“Over here.” Lee looked up from his cinnamon roll.
“You’ve got the equipment ready?” Blake asked.
“Waiting for us when we arrive.” Lee munched.
“Did we find a baby?” Someone else asked.
Jeff motioned Ian over to him with his finger. “Ian, buddy, got another mystery for you.”
“Shoot.” Ian came over with Saxon at his side.
“This isn’t your baby picture.”
“How can you be sure?” Saxon asked.
“See for yourself.” Jeff handed her the locket and the magnifying glass. Jeff looked at Ian. “The baby’s naked.”
Ian blushed. “Well, yes, but its such a tiny shot. Probably cut out of a bigger picture.
“He’s right, Ian.” Saxon handed him the glass. “This is definitely not you.”
“You can barely tell.” Jeff said.
“Oh my God.” Ian said quietly.
“What is it, Baby Doll?” Tippy looked over his shoulder. She squinted her eyes and then Ian allowed her a closer look. “That’s a baby girl.”
Simon Kent was all smiles when he walked in the building that morning. In less than two hours would be the final fall schedule meeting. He knew Justyn and his “team” must be pulling their hair out.
He chuckled to himself as he got off the elevator and stepped out onto Ian’s floor. He caught himself humming, but stopped in time. He was positive the dippy redhead behind the desk didn’t hear him.
“Good morning, dear.” He said.
“Good morning, Mr. Kent.” She smiled. “May I help you?”
“I thought I’d stop by and see if Justyn needed my help.” Simon smiled, hopefully concerned. “Big meeting this morning. Poor boy, must be beside himself.”
The red head cocked her head. “Uh…no. He’s not even in the office yet.”
“Oh?”
“He was taking his son somewhere to go fishing.”
“Fishing?” Kent smirked.
“Deep sea fishing, I think. Would you like me to give him a message?”
“No.” Kent took a step back. “No thank you, but he’ll be in soon?”
“In time for the meeting.”
“Strange.” He thought silently. “Taking a page from my book. Sit back let the peons pull out their hair then blame them.” He ticked off, also in his head.
“Just tell him, I’ll see him in the conference room.” Kent turned to leave. “We’re expected big things from him.” He tossed over his shoulder.
He could hardly wait to get in the elevator, before he said “Big disaster.” As soon as the doors closed he laughed heartily out loud and did a little dance.
The doors came open. Lance Crockett caught him jigging. “I see you heard the rumor, too.” He said as the doors shut.
Kent regained his dignity. “Oh, yes. Poor Justyn. I’m afraid his days are numbered. They called an emergency meeting of the board this morning.”
“What are you talking about?” Lance asked.
“I’ll be surprised if they don’t have him clearing out his desk while we are putting the final touches on the fall schedule. Too bad about the Torkelson show.”
“Kent, what have you been adding to your Metamucil?”
“Oh come one, Lance. You can’t stand the smug little prick any more than I can.”
“True.”
“Your just jealous that I’m the one who put the final nail in his coffin.” Kent stuck his nose up in the air.
“I don’t know anything about Justyn. The board officially fired Jack Tolan this morning, or made him use his built up leave time in leau of the rest of his contract.”
Simon looked at Crockett. “Tolan?”
“Don’t know why, but apparently it was big.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “My floor.”
As Lance stepped off the car, he noticed Simon Kent leaned against the wall with visions of sugar plums dancing through his head. “Oh Kent. If the running back and forth to legal, and David Turner with a bigger grin on his face than yours is any indication, that smug little prick neither one of us can stand just side stepped what ever meager cow pile you plopped in his way.”
“I doubt that, Crockett. There’s no way he can salvage the Torkelson fiasco.”
“Kent, you’re the one who forced the contract to begin with. Are you too stupid to smell the crap on your own fingers?”
“Torkelson wanted to work specifically with Justyn. I just stepped aside and let Justyn and the pretty boy scramble to fix something that obviously wasn’t broken.” Kent smiled, sure of himself. “ See you at the meeting.”
“Won’t be there.” Crockett held the doors open another second.
“Won’t be there?” Kent was aghast. “The head of promotions not at the fall schedule meeting? That’s ridiculous. Why?”
“I spit on Superman’s cape in full view of Metropolis. Now I have to keep my distance in order to save my job. Let that be your lesson for the day Lex Luthor.” Lance released the doors and let them shut.
Simon Kent smiled. “Fool.” He said and sighed. “Hmmm…I think I’ll make some calls and start the bidding war for redecorating my new office.” When the elevator doors open he skipped out to his own floor.
“Back again?” The hostess recognized them.
“I’d have been back sooner, but I cain’t drive yet.” Ronnie smiled.
“Table for two?” She asked.
“Three, please.” Ian said. “A friend should be joining us shortly.”
The young girl looked at Ian. “I’m sorry Mr. Justyn, are you waiting for Mr. Torkelson?”
“Yes. Yes we are.”
“He’s already waiting for you.” She picked up two menus and two rolls of silverware. “Follow me please. We have you discreetly in the back.”
“Thank you.”
Ronnie followed the young lady, chipperly chatting most of the way. Ian followed behind, lead to a darker end of the restaurant. Ian forgot this was Hollywood, even superstars liked to bring their kids to family burger joints. Of course they would have a section out of the way, a little harder to get to and with dimmer lighting.
When he saw them coming, Jeff Torkelson stood and smiled. “I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.”
“Sorry, the traffic was a little heavier than normal.” Ian shook his hand. “Jeff, this is my son Ronnie.”
Jeff smiled and put out his hand. Ronnie took it and simply said , “Hi.”
Jeff pulled out a chair and Ian helped Ronnie sit. “Ronnie, Mr. Torkelson is going to be starring in a new series this fall.”
“We hope”. Jeff said.
“You look familiar.” Ronnie smiled. “I only used to get two channels, now we got so many I’ll never be able to watch ‘em all.”
“Most of them aren’t worth watching.” Jeff pulled up a chair to one side of him.
Ian tried hard to hide the pride as Ronnie began asking a series of very intelligent questions for a ten-year-old farm boy. Jeff kept looking at Ian, sitting on the other side of his son, with his own impressed look.
“Are you sure, you’re not just a very short executive?” Jeff finally asked.
“Not today.” Ronnie allowed the waitress to put the chocolate shake in front of him that Ian had ordered. “Maybe when I finish grammar school though. I think I’d be fun.”
“Grammar school, huh?” Jeff smiled. “Any idea what you really want to be?”
“Well…” Ronnie thought while sipping his shake. “I think I’d like to be like my Papa.”
“And exactly what is that?” He asked.
Ronnie looked at Torkelson like he should have known. “He makes people’s dreams come true.” The boy grinned from ear to ear.
“That he does.” Jeff grinned at Ian. “That he does.”
Ian put his arm around the back of Ronnie’s chair. “Puppy, Mr. Torkelson and I are going to talk a little shop while we eat. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.” Ronnie looked at his father. “Do ya need my help? I’m in a pretty important demo…they aim lots a commercials at me.”
Jeff laughed. “That they do.” He sipped his own shake. “Tell you what. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“What’s the problem Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie pushed his glass to the side and folded his hands together on the tabletop.
“Well, Younger Justyn…” Jeff started with, making Ronnie grin from ear to ear. “We had a premise for my new show, but it’s not working. Do you understand what I mean by premise?”
Ronnie nodded. “What the show is about.” He turned to Ian. “Right?”
“Right.”
Ronnie cleared his throat and turned back to Jeff. “So the show’s suckin’ big time and you need to figure out how to fix it before September.”
“Exactly.”
Ronnie cocked his head and put his finger to his chin. “Do ya have anything in the...can?”
Even Ian was impressed with that one. “Not yet son. We have some scripts, one good, one okay and the rest really bad.”
“Really, really bad.” Jeff added.
“Well, my Grampaw says that you have to buy the seeds before ya plant the garden. Seems to me what you needs to do is make sure ya got all the right tools, plow the ground up real good and make sure everything’s ready. My guess is ya tossed a handful a seeds from boxes with pretty pictures and didn’t realize that most wildflowers is just weeds.”
There was a cackle from someone sitting behind them. “I think I understood that.” Jeff said.
“He’s been hanging around Tippy Shores a lot.” Ian said. “Ronnie, put that in English for us.”
Ronnie rolled his eyes. “You rushed into something and didn’t think it through. Since ya didn’t loose nothing but a little time and some paper, just yank up the weeds and re-seed the field.”
“Ah!” Jeff nodded. “Younger Mr. Justyn, you want to walk your father and I through this process. Just so we don’t make any mistakes this time.”
“Okay. What cha got that’s good?”
“Well, me, of course?” Jeff said.
“Blow your own horn much?” Ronnie said to another cackle from behind them. Ronnie smiled, “Just teasin’ sir. If ya weren’t good my Papa wouldn’t give you the time of day. What else you bringin’ to the table?”
“The writer’s are good.” Jeff said.
“Great actually.” Ian piped in. “Probably the best comedy writing team around.”
“Then why is the show so bad, Papa?” Ronnie asked.
“Once and a while, when it comes to a series, the original idea is funny and easy to write for, but…” Ian thought a second to properly explain to his son, and maybe even to himself. “But the hard part is coming up with an idea and characters that make it easy to write consistently good episodes.”
“Writers, actors and producers have to come up with twenty two to twenty four really good episodes a year.” Jeff added. “And then do that every year as long as they keep making the show.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Ronnie sipped his milk shake. “So your idea was good, but it’s not…uhm…good enough for more than one or two really funny shows.”
“That’s right.”
“So come up with another idea you can get more good shows out of.” Ronnie sat back in his chair and smiled. “Problem solved.”
“Sort of.” Ian said. “The problem is we have a contract, that looked like a good idea at the time, but has everybody at a disadvantage because of some things that were put in that have kind of painted us in a corner.”
“Like a bill from Congress?” Ronnie asked. Whoever it was behind them, howled this time. Ronnie turned around to see who it was, but turned back.
“Pretty much.” Ian said. “It’s a good contract, but if we adhere to it we turn out a really bad show that loses the company lots of money, and damages the reputations of Mr. Torkelson and some other really good people.”
“Do think you so, too, Mr. Torkelson?” Ronnie asked.
“Yes.”
Ronnie shrugged. “Tear up the contract and start over.”
“What?” Ian said.
“Hey, I’m just a kid wondering where his hamburger is, but a contract is an agreement between two people to make sure everything done a certain way right?”
“Well…yes.” Ian said.
“If both people think it was bad, can’t you both agree to tear it up or make another contract that says the first one sucks and we agree to do this instead?”
Lights went off in both Jeff and Ian’s heads. Ian looked at his son. “Kid, you want a job?”
“I got one.” Ronnie sucked on his straw, obviously at the bottom of his shake. “An’ I’m only getting ten bucks a week for it. Let me get a new agent an’ I’ll get back to ya.”
Once again, there was a cackle of laughter behind them. All three turned to see who it was.
Not finding the culprit, Ian said to Jeff. “Bottom line, do you want to do a series for HRT?”
“Absolutely.”
“Forget anything Simon Kent said.” Ian took a long spoon a stirred a metal cup with more milk shake in it and refilled Ronnie’s glass. “Are you insistent that the series be a spin off?”
“I think it probably could be done, but I’ll go with a better one if you insist it start in September.”
Ian nodded his head. “Here’s my problem, Jeff, and maybe my solution. Kent in all his well meaning glory has already leaked to the press, and done interviews that a new series starring you will be in our Fall line up.”
“Understood.”
“However, and my staff and I have been over every inch of cyberspace to make sure, not once did Kent say or allude to the fact that the show was a spin off, only a project starring Jeff Torkelson. I think delaying anything past that would look bad for both of us. The press will have a field day. They’ll automatically tag whatever show we come up with as a loser, effectively killing it before it has a chance.”
“Okay, back to square one.” Jeff frowned, refilling his own glass.
“What I can do, if all goes well, is buy us a little more time. Here’s the plot. No one knows it yet, but I’ve managed to get my own uber hot property, a three week limited series that I’ll do my best to get run Premiere Week.”
Jeff laughed. “That had better be some hot project.”
Ian smiled and wriggled his eyebrows. “Pretty much guaranteed. I’m still pinching myself.”
“Let me guess…” Jeff smirked. “You scooped the entire entertainment industry and got the rights to ‘Blood Kisses’.”
Ian’s face fell. Jeff shot up straight in his chair. “You got effing ‘Blood Kisses’?”
“Shh!” Ian leaned in. “Keep your voice down. How did you know? There are only about have a dozen people who know that.”
“I was joking.” Jeff said. “You got Amanda Jackson to give you rights? Holy crap, Ian Justyn, will you marry me?”
“Ew…” Ian said to another cackle behind them. “I got more than that, Jeff. I got all three books.”
“All three?”
Ian nodded. “Amanda is writing and directing, plus “Blood Kisses” is going to be my new daytime drama.”
“Holy sh…” Jeff looked at Ronnie, who was busy looking at the people seated behind them. “sshhh…ooot. Holy shoot, Ian, you’re right that will definitely buy us three more weeks.”
“Four if they approve the concert special.” Ian said. “Susan Andrews and Jimmy Sage are both recording new albums and will be launching a tour together in the fall. They’ve both agreed to kick the tour off with a live concert on HRT as part of an updated variety series format Wella and I have come up with.”
“You are either the luckiest SOB in the universe or the next Norman Lear.” Torkelson sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Forgive me, but holy shit, you’re just getting warmed up.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Jeff, but Lear had “All That Glitters” after a string of hits. Let’s make sure you aren’t my first tank.”
“Any ideas?”
“Let’s eat on it, and see what we come up with. The only thing I’ve got is, forgive me, act your age.”
“Huh?” Jeff sat up in his chair again.
“My feeling is when setting up the spin off character they went back to the original Robbie, instead of what he matured to. That took away all his warmth and charm. When you where twenty something it was adorable, now that you’re thirty something all I could think of was, give it up dude and get a real job.”
“I see your point.”
“And I’ve seen much of your other work. You are a wonderful character actor in a matinee idols body.”
“Thank you.”
“You can play something that’s a lot more of a stretch, much more than pretty and adorably dumb. People will watch just because it’s you, but your talent and hopefully some good writing will keep them coming back for more.”
“Papa?” Ronnie patted Ian shoulder. “Forgive me for interrupting, but that woman back there. She looks like Tessie.”
Ian smiled and looked in the direction. “I think you’re right, Ronnie.”
“Whose Tessie?”
Ronnie’s mouth dropped open. “You work in television and you don’t know who Tessie is?”
“Okay…” Jeff smiled. “Who is this woman that I should know?”
“Only the best TV star EVER!” Ronnie gushed. “Papa and I watch her show every day!”
Ian, who’d been busy looking at the woman, turned back to the conversation. “Tess Sinclair.”
Torkelson understood. “Oh, that Tessie.” He looked down at the boy. “You are right, again, Ronnie. She is the best TV star ever. Do you know that the reason I want to stay in television is because my dream, the one you’re Papa is going to make come true, is to one day be half as good as Tessie.”
“Only half?” Ronnie asked.
“Well, I’ll settle for half, but aiming for it all.” Jeff rubbed Ronnie’s head.
Ian found himself staring at the woman seated behind them. “You know, Ronnie, I think that is Tessie.”
“Are you sure?” Ronnie said.
Jeff found himself looking. “I think you’re right.”
“She can hear you know. She’s old, not deaf.” Tess’s voice boomed without turning around. “However she appreciates your kind words.”
Ian blushed. “Sorry, Ms Sinclair. We didn’t mean to disturb your meal.”
“That’s fine Mr. Justyn. Just an old lady now cheating on her diet, and surprised and pleased that someone still remembers her.” She said.
“Oh, Ms Sinclair!” Ronnie protested. “How could anyone forget you! You are the best!”
She turned around in her chair, half a chocolate shake in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “You are absolutely adorable little man. I think I’m your biggest fan.”
Ronnie popped up and started to race right over to her. Ian gently stopped him. “Son, Ms. Sinclair is eating. Remember those conversations we had about respect?”
Ronnie remembered. “Oh yeah.” He turned back to Tess. “I apologize. You just want to enjoy you’re hamburger. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh, sonny, it’s okay. I’m just sitting here, and I’m all alone.” She said. “I’m assuming we’re waiting for the cow to get a degree in political science before they kill it and serve us our hamburgers.
“Alone?” He said.
“Just me and my milkshake. Now come over here and give your biggest fan a big hug.” She said holding out her arms, allowing Ronnie to give her a big one.
“Thank you so much.” Ronnie kissed her cheek.
It was obvious the woman was touched. She turned to Ian. “You have a very special boy there, Mr. Justyn.”
“Thank you. You have made him very, very happy.” Ian touched her shoulder. “Me, too.”
“And he’s made an old lady very happy.” She patted his hand and turned back around.
“Ms. Sinclair…” Ian said. “Would you like to join us?”
She waved her hands. “Oh no…you are having a good time without me. Thank you though.”
“Oh please…” Ronnie asked. “Please come and eat with us Miss Tessie.”
“You don’t mind?” She asked Ian.
“We’d be honored.”
Tessie smiled. “I’d love to.” She stood up; Jeff popped up and held the chair beside him open as she gracefully joined them. “You gentlemen are so kind.”
“Ms. Sinclair, you’ve met my son, Ronnie.” Ian nodded to Jeff as they all took their seats. “And this is my friend, Jeff…”
“No need.” Tess reached out her hand. “Torkelson, you’ve done some fine work. I’ve been impressed since moment one.”
Torkelson gushed, while Ian caught the eyes of a waitress and motioned her over. “I’m flattered Ms. Sinclair.”
“Would you tell our waitress, I think her name’s Camilla, that Ms. Sinclair will be joining us?”
“Of course, Mr. Justyn.” She said politely. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Food would be nice.” Tess smiled.
“Of course.” She said and dashed off.
“I’m supposedly doing the whole healthy thing now.” She said. “Twice a month I have to give all that tofu and wheat grass a good coating of greasy red meat and chocolate just to stave off the conniption fits.”
Camilla appeared apologetically and put a second shake in front everyone and began to offer their burgers.
The four chatted like old friends catching up as they ate. Tessie insisted on picking up the tab and bought everyone the biggest gooiest sundaes on the menu. She prattled on and on about the good old days. The three men hung on every word.
“Of course, after fifteen years I was getting a little long in tooth so I packed it in and didn’t look back.” She said. “Marcus Bickle, he was running the network for David Turner back then, suggested a format change to keep me interested, but it was ridiculous. I’d have been playing the only virgin widow in the known universe. What an idiot…” she scooped vanilla, strawberry and chocolate goo into her mouth.
“But you’ve been approached since, haven’t you?’ Ian asked.
“Oh sure, but no one has any guts these days. Shoot, Ian, you seem to be the only one around these days.”
“Coming from you, I consider that a high compliment.”
“You stick out like a sour thumb, young man. I’d work for you in a heart beat.” She sniggered. “Wanna give an old has been a job?”
“Tessie, if I thought you were serious I’d throw you across this table and give you my own special sauce.” Ian confessed.
“Honey, no need to go that far. Besides, I was a dyke before it was cool.” Tessie’s eyes got big. “Oops, forgot about the boy.”
“That’s okay, Miss Tessie.” Ronnie wrestled to feed himself an overstuffed spoon. “We studied dikes in school. Did you come to America straight from Holland?”
Tess put her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap and looked Ronnie straight in the eye. “Yes I did, in a covered wagon.”
“That’s cool.”
Jeff sprayed chocolate sauce across the table laughing, covering Ian’s shirt. “Shoot…” He reached for a napkin to wipe it off, knocking over a half finished shake that landed on a spoon. The spoon somersaulted in the air and landed in Ian’s sundae, tossing a wad of ice cream and a cherry that plopped on Ian’s neck and ran down the inside of his shirt.
“Oooh baby!” Ian said reaching down in his shirt and grabbing a handful of goop from his chest. As he tossed it on the table, he heard a little pop and a metal tinkle as the wad hit the tabletop. “Now that’s cool!”
The table laughed and did it’s best to clean up the mess, Camilla now never far from the table, joining in to help.
“Too bad we didn’t have that on tape.” Tess said, helping the waitress gather used napkins. “We couldn’t recreate that if we tried.”
“You willing to give it a shot?” Ian eyed her.
“You offering me a deal, Sticky Man?” Tessie eyed him back.
“No.” Ian said, wiping his fingers. “I’m flat out offering you a series, a five year guarantee.”
“You produce, I don’t do a pilot, and I have script and cast approval.”
“I’ll exec, we don’t have time for a pilot, and blow the cast and script approval out your ass.” Ian drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “You get equal billing and I’ll match Jeff Torkelson’s contract.”
Tessie sat back in her chair. “Tough guy, huh? Torkelson’s got a fat deal, but I overhear the show’s a piece of crap.”
“You’re overhearing must be bad. We canned that a few minutes ago. I have another idea. Jeff are you in?”
“Me and the legend of comedy? Are you kidding me?” Jeff gushed.
“Put up or shut up.” Tess said.
“Say yes, give me give five minutes and be ready to start in two weeks.” Ian said.
Tessie looked at her watch. “Time’s cheap, Justyn. You got four minutes and 51 seconds.”
Ian flipped open his phone and hit a few buttons. “Ronnie, do you have your cell phone on you?”
“Yes, but I’m only allowed to use it for emergencies.” He reminded him.
“This is an emergency buddy.” Ian dipped his finger in his sundae and wrote a number on the table. “Call this number. Ask for Mr. Jenson Michael. When he’s on the line, hand me the phone.” He said and Ronnie reached in his backpack and pulled out a little red phone.
Ian’s call connected. “Mr. Turner? Ian, not a lot of time, I think I’ve solved the Jeff Torkelson problem…I’ve got a question, a legal one. If Jeff is in agreement can we tear up his contract with no hassle or arrange a codicle?…I’ve got a something better in mind…Same amount of money split into two contracts, but double the back end with percentage raises based on share points.” Ian looked at Jeff and Tess for approval.
Tess nodded and Jeff gave him a thumbs up.
“It was a dream contract.” Jeff whispered to her. “Half is still a hefty raise. I’d rather have a good show than lots of money.”
“Good for you boy.” Tess smiled. “We’re gonna get along just fine.”
“A new show, ready in time for fall…” Ian held up his finger and crossed them. “Co-starring Jeff and Tess Sinclair.” Ian had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“Think that’s a good sign?” Jeff asked Tess.
“Me and Dave go way back. My guess is it’s a good sign.” Tess nodded.
“Right, anything, just get it done…Thank you, Mr. Turner. I’ll be ready to announce on Wednesday.”
“Papa…?” Ronnie handed Ian the other phone.
“Jenson? Thank you for holding.” Ian said. “Can you wait just a second longer, I’m balancing plates. Thanks.”
Ian handed his phone to Ronnie. “Puppy, call Miss Wella and try and tell her what’s going on. See if she can meet us at home, Blake too, if she can get hold of him.”
“Got it.”
“Jeff, call your writers, tell them to meet us in my office at the crack of dawn.” Ian said as Jeff hauled out his phone and started dialing.
“What can I do?” Tess asked.
“Look pretty.”
“Type cast again.” She said, and sat back watching the proactive testosterone in the room.
“Okay, Jenson, I’m back.” Ian said into his phone. “What was the name of that series you gave me a couple of scripts for and an episode breakdown for two seasons?” Ian mouthed the word ‘Pen’. Tess produced one from her purse and handed Ian a stack of napkins. “The comedy…single camera…”
“Ooh, I like that.” Tess said to no one listening.
“Uh huh…” Jeff said to his phone. “First thing in the morning…a whole new concept…”
“Do you have an aversion to taking a role as creator and writing consultant if I’ve got the perfect cast and want to go ahead and green light it for fall…yes, for fall and full year commitment…Jenson…Jenson?” Ian looked into his cell phone and over to Tess. “I think he passed out.”
“Newbie?”
Ian nodded his head. “Already has a spot and a 22 ep commitment for another show.” Ian looked at Ronnie, who nodded and imitated Jeff’s thumbs up. “Tell Blake to bring his magic book…Jenson, are you there?”
“Already asked for it, Papa. She gonna see about some of the other staff, too.” Ronnie said. “We need soda, potato chips and ice cream.”
“You got it, Puppy.” Ian said only half listening.
“Be my agent, kid.” Tessie said, slurping on her shake.
“Thank God, I thought you’d died, and I’d have had to kill you.” Ian said back into Ronnie’s phone. “I’ve already got it cast, just have to get approval from them…Jeff Torkelson and Tess Sinclair…Jenson…Jenson…uhm…Jenson?”
Taking a cue from Ian, Jeff said into his phone. “If we approve there’s already two scripts and a two year breakdown…new guy, already working full time on a new show for fall…He’ll be billed as creator and writing consult…Me, too…”
“Is that guy on the phone still breathing?” Tess asked.
“Jenson…if you can hear me moan or slap the phone on a table or something…” Ian pulled the phone away from his ears again. He rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, buddy, I need you to keep breathing. When you calm down, call me back…”
Ronnie got Ian’s attention by waving his hands in the air. “Meet us at the house.”
“Jenson, when you can sit back up, meet us at the house…uh, bye.”
“Ronnie?” Ian looked at the boy.
“Miss Wella and Mr. Blake will meet us at the house about 9:30.”
“Good boy. Jeff?”
“All ago. We’ll all be in your office at the crack of dawn.”
Great. “Tess?”
“Still beautiful.” She turned to Ronnie. “Ya know kid, you’re almost at good at this as your Dad.”
“Two weeks ago I was gatherin’ eggs and playin’ kickball.” Ronnie slip his phone in his backpack and sighed. “I’m just a natural.”
Ian smiled. “Okay, here’s what I got, a great idea from a hot new writer I’ve got under contract. He calls it ‘The World On A String’, but you can change that if you don’t like it.”
“Who cares about the title?” Tess was all business. “What’s the premise?”
“Tess you’re a legendary actress, successful at every endevour, except her personal life.”
“I breathe that.” Tess said.
“Jeff, you are a thirty something widower with a handful of kids, lost his job, living out of a camper who desperate, decides to look up the mother he’s never met and ask for help.”
“This is a comedy?” Jeff asked.
“An hour long dramedy, but you can cut it to a half hour format if you decide. I’m just giving you the breakdown. How you throw it against the wall we’ll all decide once we get everything and everyone in one room.”
“I don’t get it.” Tess said. “How do the two even get together? They have nothing in common.”
“They have one thing.” Ian smiled. “The superstar is the widower’s mother. It’s a story about two people with nothing but blood in common trying to connect in Hollywood.”
Jeff smiled. “In the land of the superficial and the disconnected.”
“Bullseye. Unless the two of you want to come to the house for the working pajama party…” Ian said.
“I sleep in the raw.” Tess smirked.
“Somebody right that down.” Ian quipped. “I’ll fax the scripts and breakdown when I get home tonight. I remember the very first scene clearly. Tess Sinclair, lounging in all her spectacular glory. An assistant comes to her and says ‘Someone is here that insists on seeing you.’ Tess says send them in. It’s Jeff with the three kids. Jeff says “Hello, mother.” Tess turns to her assistant and asks “I have kids”. He looks through a book and says “October 22, 1976.” Tess says, “Did I win something for it?” And one of the kids says, “Yeah, but it wasn’t mother of the year…granny.” And then we roll opening credits.”
“I like it.” Tess thought.
“The first scene sets up a simple premise and defines all the characters.” Jeff smiled. “Gives a lot of great direction for character and situation to go in.”
“You’ll love this guys writing. I’m sure your team with be able to take and turn it into platinum. Believe me, it’s already gold.” Ian beamed. “We’ll bust the veneer of every everyone and everything in town. Show the pathos of two people trying to reconnect in a town where that is the only thing that’s not an art form.”
“You are amazing.” Jeff smiled.
“It’s what they pay me for.” Ian said.
“And Younger Justyn, what do you think of all this?” Tess asked him.
“I think you should do a show about Papa and Granny.” Ronnie smiled. “They’re funny.”
“Granny?” Jeff asked.
“Tippy Shores, she’s my neighbor.” Ian said.
Tess sat up. “Tippy Shores lets you call her Granny?”
“Yes’m.” Ronnie blinked.
“And she let you live?”
“Yes’m”.
Tess looked at Jeff and smiled. Jeff looked at Tess. “This is going to work. I’m in, Ian, I am so in!”
“Oh hell, kid.” Tess grinned. “You had me at wildflowers is just weeds.”
Ian sighed. “I need a cigarette.”
“Me, too.” She agreed. Suddenly the intensity disappeared and the four laughed and had a great time, contracts and storylines the last thing on their minds. The waitress brought the check and they all walked to the door to go their separate ways.
As Ronnie hugged Tess and Jeff, the waitress stopped Ian. “Mr. Justyn, this must be yours. It was lying in a pool of chocolate sauce.” She held up a sticky locket.
Ian smiled. “Oh yes, thank you. I must have yanked it off when I had ice cream tossed down my shirt.” He took it from her. “I hope we didn’t make too much of a mess.” He slipped her a hundred dollar bill.
“Not at all, Mr. Justyn.” She smiled. “Come again, real soon.” She sauntered off with a great tip in her bounce.
“That’s beautiful.” Tess said. “May I see it?”
“Sure.” He handed it to her. “It’s just an old locket. I think it belonged to my mother, but I’m not really sure where it came from.”
Tess cocked her head. “But it has your name on it.”
“No it doesn’t.” He said.
Tess held it up and Ian looked closely. He had seen the scratches before, but assumed they had been gouged there years before when his uncle had kicked it across the wood floor.
The shiny coating had an extra layer now, a sticky brown layer. The waitress must have wiped it with a wet rag. Clear as day; the scratches were now filled in with chocolate sauce.
Ronnie peered up and read. “I…A…N…that’s your name alright.”
Tippy let herself in Ian’s front door the next morning with her key. “Morning, Baby Doll! I got your paper!”
“Granny!” Ronnie jumped into her arms wearing flannel pants and a tee emblazoned with “Southern Fried”. He planted a big kiss on her.
“My, my we are full of energy this morning.” She put the handful down and look with shock at the living room; blankets, rousing bodies with bed head all over the place. “What’s going on, Sugar Plum? It looks like ‘Gone With the Wind’ threw up in here.”
“Oh, we been workin’.”
“Did the office flood or something?” She took a step into the room as she began to recognize faces. “Morning, Ella.”
Ella mumbled and smacked her mouth. “How much onion dip did I eat last night?” She looked at her shirt. “Please tell me it was onion dip.”
Sean stood beside her folding a blanket. “It was onion dip. You want to borrow a comb or should I ask Ian where his weed eater is?”
Ella put her hand to her hair and dashed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her as Wella stepped out. “Hi, Tippy. What brings you over?” She smiled.
“Colton had an early call this morning, and we noticed all the cars. I thought I’d come over and see if Ian needed a hand, at whatever you’re doing.”
“All nighter.” She said. “Have you seen Blake? He said he had some eye cream I could borrow.”
“No.”
“Oh, Granny.” Ronnie was hopping. “It was so much fun. We created a new TV program.”
“Have you been up all night?” She asked him.
“No, Papa made me go to bed at eleven. It was way past my bedtime, but they was lettin’ me help out. It was so much fun!”
“Sounds like it. Where is your Papa?”
“He said something about breakfast.” Wella said. “I assume he’s in the kitchen pouring cereal in lots of bowls.”
Tippy smiled. “Oh you are a stranger in this land.”
“Ronnie!” Ian bellowed from the kitchen. “Get this thing out of here or I’m serving it on toast!”
Ronnie stopped bouncing. “Gotta go.” He raced to the kitchen in a flash. Before they could blink, Ronnie appeared at the door with the cat in his hands. “Papa says breakfast is ready.”
Tippy smiled. “Just in time.” She took Wella by the arm. “Com’mon Wella. If we’re lucky he made fried green tomatoes.”
“Ian cooks?” She said walking to the kitchen door with her.
“He is definitely the marrying kind.”
Tippy held the door open for her, then propped it open while Wella took in the sight of a breakfast bar that made Shoney’s look like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.
Wella turned to Tippy. “Does Saxon Allen know this?” She pointed to the steaming food.
On cue, Saxon Allen came into the dining room with a stack of plates. “Morning.”
“Girl what the hell is wrong with you?” Wella said to her.
“Excuse me?”
“Go in that kitchen, throw that man on the floor, grab him by the hair and drag him to the nearest church.”
“Uhm…” Saxon didn’t know what to say.
“Girlfriend, just gimme a plate and get out of my way.” Wella snatched a plate and started piling on the scrambled eggs and bacon. “You white people…” She mumbled. “Hey! Where’s the fried green tomatoes? I was promised…”
Ian appeared with a plate in his hands. “Looking for these?”
Wella smiled. “Morning, Ian.” She speared two and kissed his cheek.
“Morning, Wella.” He bent over slightly to put the plate down on the sideboard. Wella smacked him on the crown of the head.
“Ow!” Ian straightened up. “What was that for?”
“Hoping to knock some sense into you.” She said looking back and forth between Ian and Saxon. “Never mind. I’m not wasting my breath, too much food to eat.” Wella pulled out a chair and sat down.
“She’s kinda cranky in the mornings.” Ian looked at Saxon.
“Honey.” Tippy grinned breaking open a buttermilk biscuit and arranging it on her plate and looked at Saxon. “Did you spend the night, too?”
“Couldn’t help it.” Saxon said. “Ronnie called at ten o’clock and said it was an emergency to come right over and bring potato chips. I got caught up in the festivities.”
Tippy only half looked where she ladled her gravy. “Where’d ya sleep?”
“In the floor.” Wella slapped half a piece of bacon on her plate. “Beside me.”
Tippy scowled and smacked Saxon on the crown of the head as she bent to pick up a biscuit.
“Ow!” Saxon touched her head. “What was that for?”
“I’m with Wella.” Tippy took a seat beside her. “You kids are just plain stupid.” Wella shoved a fork full of tomato in her mouth with one hand and held the other in the air. Tippy high fived it, as she scooted herself in.
“My cinnamon rolls!” Ian disappeared into the kitchen.
“Please tell me they are from a can.” Wella looked at Tippy.
“Not even the icing.”
Wella rolled her eyes. “Screw the blonde stick. That man’s gonna find himself snuggled up next to a chunky black woman with athlete’s foot.”
Jeff Torkelson came strolling in the dining room and took a deep breath. “Saxon, you made breakfast?”
Tippy and Wella sniggered, while Saxon rolled her eyes. “Jeff, I burn pans boiling water.”
“Who made…?”
Ian came out of the kitchen with a pan of pastries. “Anyone want a cinnamon roll? I just took ‘em out of the oven?”
Tippy leaned over and grabbed them, sitting them in front of her and Wella. Ian turned to Jeff. “There’s more in the oven. Coffee or tea?”
“Uh, Coffee…black.” Jeff held up his hand. “Who made the coffee?”
“I did.” Blake looked up from his corner of the table, mouth full of pancakes.
Jeff smiled and took the cup Ian offered. “No offense.”
“None taken. Don’t see how you can drink the stuff anyway.” Ian looked around the room. “Every body awake or at least faking it?”
“I haven’t seen Tessie or Jenson.” Daryn said going back for more biscuits and gravy. “Can we work at your house for breakfast every morning?”
“Tess is in the kitchen on the phone and Jenson’s in the bathroom barfing.” Ian said.
“Again.”
“Remind me to have a bucket handy when he wins the Emmy or at least make sure my seat’s not anywhere near him.” Someone said.
“Are you kidding?” Someone else piped in. “On nomination day he’ll have a coronary.”
Ian looked at his feet. “Ronnie where’s the rodent?”
He looked up from his eggs. “In the backyard playing with Ralphie.”
“Has Ralphie had breakfast?” Ian leaned over to look through the door into the yard.
“You feed the neighbor’s dog?” Saxon asked him.
“He’s hoping the dog will eat the cat.” Tippy said barely taking a breath.
Ian leaned back from the door after noticing the cat and the dog chasing a ball together. “Stupid animals.”
Ronnie grinned and picked up some toast. “They’re friends.” He looked around. “Hey, Papa, do we have any more apple jelly?”
“No. We’ll make some more next week.” Ian opened up a cabinet under the sideboard. “We got grape and blueberry.”
“Blueberry.”
“I’ll take the grape.” Sean said. “Unless you got apple butter hidden somewhere.”
Ian put three jars on the table.
“He makes his own jelly?” Wella looked at Tippy, who just sighed and nodded her head.
“Sad, isn’t it?”
“Tippy? Got a question for you.” Ian said.
“Shoot, Baby Doll.”
“Did you have my locket engraved when you sent it to the jewelers?”
“Why of course not. I wouldn’t even let him buff the scratches out. I just had him polish it and put on a new clasp.” She looked at an empty plate. “Are those other cinnamon rolls ready yet?”
“Saxon, would you mind getting those out of the oven for me?” Ian asked. “It’s the box underneath the round thingys that get hot.”
“Smart aleck. I know that.” Saxon uncrossed her arms. “Do I just push a button and they pop out or do I have to slide something open?”
“I’ll do it.” Daryn got up from the table and headed to the kitchen door.
“Icing’s in the fridge!” Ian yelled as the door closed behind her. He turned back to Tippy. “So you didn’t have my name engraved on it?”
“Of course not, Baby Doll.”
Ian took the locket out of his pocket and dangled it from the chain in front of her. “Then what’s this?”
Tippy put down her fork and wiped her hands while she chewed. “Chocolate.” She swallowed. “I think it’s chocolate.”
“Look at it.”
She reached out and took the locket in the palm of her hand. Ian gently let the chain gather in her palm as well. Tippy looked up at Ian. “I don’t know what to say, Baby Doll. I didn’t do that. I picked it up from the jeweler, inspected it, paid him then brought it straight to you and hung it around your neck.”
“How did it get there?” Ian asked.
“Baby Doll, I have no idea, about either the chocolate or your name.” She handed it back to him.
Blake reached out his hand. “Let me see it.”
Ian gave it to him. “That hasn’t left my neck since you brought it back. How did my name get on it?” He said to no one inparticular.
“Aw…” Blake had flipped open the locket. He and Ella were looking at the pictures. “Is that you?”
Ian blushed. “I assume so, and the other my mother.”
“Let me see.” Jeff said.
Blake handed it to Jeff. “Ian, the lettering is so light. Is it possible that the engraving was always there, and you didn’t realize it until you got kinky with the chocolate?”
“First of all I didn’t get kinky with the chocolate, but I guess that could be it. I knew there were some scratches on the back. I supposed we just couldn’t tell it was lettering until the episode with the sundaes last night.”
“You were getting kinky with chocolate.” Tippy piped up.
“No we weren’t.” Jeff cut right in. “I knocked over a shake at dinner and it steam rolled. Ian, do you have a magnifying glass?”
“Drawer behind you.” Ronnie said.
“When did you discover the name, Baby Doll? This morning in the shower?”
“Gross. I’m not putting chocolate sauce on my body!”
“How do you feel about whipped cream?” Wella smiled.
Ian looked at her and smirked. “Depends on whose eating it.”
“Will you marry me?” Wella pushed her plate aside.
“Wouldn’t you rather just use me, toss me aside and come back again when you need a real man?”
There were catcalls while Tippy and Wella high fived again.
Jeff looked up from studying the locket with a magnifying glass. “Have you ever tried caramel?”
Wella beamed. “Party at my house Saturday night.” She pointed at Jeff. “You is invited.”
“People.” Ronnie spoke up. “There are children in the room still trying to eat.”
“Sorry, Ronnie.” Wella bit her lip and put the napkin from her lap to her plate. “Ian I’ll help with the pots and pans.”
Ian looked at her like she was an idiot. “What barn were you raised in? You clean as you cook.”
Wella sat back down and looked at Saxon. “Girl, we got to chat.”
“Speaking of parties.” Ian announced. “The party will be here on Saturday.”
“Party?” Daryn came back in with a tray of iced rolls that quickly got snapped up. “What’d I miss?”
“We pulled an all-nighter that, I must say, was a big success. I talked with David Turner this morning, and he’s agreed to give everyone Friday off. Saturday morning, bring your families, friends, whoever. We’ll eat and relax in the backyard. Bring swim suits.”
“You’re gonna cook?” Sean looked up hopefully.
“I’m gonna cook, breakfast and lunch.” Ian waited for the cheers. “Now, I thought we would do a little work. Pearce Warner will be here, and I though we’d do a round table on ‘America Alive!’ just the way we did with ‘World On A String’, and I thought our friends and relatives, since they are our target audience, would be perfect sounding boards. I promise not too much work, mostly fun.”
“Speaking of work.” Blake stood up. “Where’s Lee?”
“Over here.” Lee looked up from his cinnamon roll.
“You’ve got the equipment ready?” Blake asked.
“Waiting for us when we arrive.” Lee munched.
“Did we find a baby?” Someone else asked.
Jeff motioned Ian over to him with his finger. “Ian, buddy, got another mystery for you.”
“Shoot.” Ian came over with Saxon at his side.
“This isn’t your baby picture.”
“How can you be sure?” Saxon asked.
“See for yourself.” Jeff handed her the locket and the magnifying glass. Jeff looked at Ian. “The baby’s naked.”
Ian blushed. “Well, yes, but its such a tiny shot. Probably cut out of a bigger picture.
“He’s right, Ian.” Saxon handed him the glass. “This is definitely not you.”
“You can barely tell.” Jeff said.
“Oh my God.” Ian said quietly.
“What is it, Baby Doll?” Tippy looked over his shoulder. She squinted her eyes and then Ian allowed her a closer look. “That’s a baby girl.”
Simon Kent was all smiles when he walked in the building that morning. In less than two hours would be the final fall schedule meeting. He knew Justyn and his “team” must be pulling their hair out.
He chuckled to himself as he got off the elevator and stepped out onto Ian’s floor. He caught himself humming, but stopped in time. He was positive the dippy redhead behind the desk didn’t hear him.
“Good morning, dear.” He said.
“Good morning, Mr. Kent.” She smiled. “May I help you?”
“I thought I’d stop by and see if Justyn needed my help.” Simon smiled, hopefully concerned. “Big meeting this morning. Poor boy, must be beside himself.”
The red head cocked her head. “Uh…no. He’s not even in the office yet.”
“Oh?”
“He was taking his son somewhere to go fishing.”
“Fishing?” Kent smirked.
“Deep sea fishing, I think. Would you like me to give him a message?”
“No.” Kent took a step back. “No thank you, but he’ll be in soon?”
“In time for the meeting.”
“Strange.” He thought silently. “Taking a page from my book. Sit back let the peons pull out their hair then blame them.” He ticked off, also in his head.
“Just tell him, I’ll see him in the conference room.” Kent turned to leave. “We’re expected big things from him.” He tossed over his shoulder.
He could hardly wait to get in the elevator, before he said “Big disaster.” As soon as the doors closed he laughed heartily out loud and did a little dance.
The doors came open. Lance Crockett caught him jigging. “I see you heard the rumor, too.” He said as the doors shut.
Kent regained his dignity. “Oh, yes. Poor Justyn. I’m afraid his days are numbered. They called an emergency meeting of the board this morning.”
“What are you talking about?” Lance asked.
“I’ll be surprised if they don’t have him clearing out his desk while we are putting the final touches on the fall schedule. Too bad about the Torkelson show.”
“Kent, what have you been adding to your Metamucil?”
“Oh come one, Lance. You can’t stand the smug little prick any more than I can.”
“True.”
“Your just jealous that I’m the one who put the final nail in his coffin.” Kent stuck his nose up in the air.
“I don’t know anything about Justyn. The board officially fired Jack Tolan this morning, or made him use his built up leave time in leau of the rest of his contract.”
Simon looked at Crockett. “Tolan?”
“Don’t know why, but apparently it was big.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “My floor.”
As Lance stepped off the car, he noticed Simon Kent leaned against the wall with visions of sugar plums dancing through his head. “Oh Kent. If the running back and forth to legal, and David Turner with a bigger grin on his face than yours is any indication, that smug little prick neither one of us can stand just side stepped what ever meager cow pile you plopped in his way.”
“I doubt that, Crockett. There’s no way he can salvage the Torkelson fiasco.”
“Kent, you’re the one who forced the contract to begin with. Are you too stupid to smell the crap on your own fingers?”
“Torkelson wanted to work specifically with Justyn. I just stepped aside and let Justyn and the pretty boy scramble to fix something that obviously wasn’t broken.” Kent smiled, sure of himself. “ See you at the meeting.”
“Won’t be there.” Crockett held the doors open another second.
“Won’t be there?” Kent was aghast. “The head of promotions not at the fall schedule meeting? That’s ridiculous. Why?”
“I spit on Superman’s cape in full view of Metropolis. Now I have to keep my distance in order to save my job. Let that be your lesson for the day Lex Luthor.” Lance released the doors and let them shut.
Simon Kent smiled. “Fool.” He said and sighed. “Hmmm…I think I’ll make some calls and start the bidding war for redecorating my new office.” When the elevator doors open he skipped out to his own floor.
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