The Inheritors (37 page)

“If I can’t take care of myself, then I don’t deserve the job,” he said.

“Good enough. What else?”

He then proceeded to tear apart three of my favorite programs. “They’re old and tired. They’ve been on the air three to five years and they’ve had it. I’d like to dump them all right now, but I haven’t enough replacements, so I’ll phase them out one at a time, beginning with ‘Hollywood Stardust.’”

“Hollywood Stardust” was our person-to-person show, only we went into the stars’ homes and did it there. It was great when we started four years ago, but it had gone way down. There just weren’t that many real stars around. “What are you putting in its place?” I asked.

“A teen-age rock show,” he said. “Rock groups, dancing, light effects, lots of girls in minis, lots of crotch shots, big noise.”

“That’s primetime you’re talking about,” I said. “Not American Bandstand time.”

“That’s right. But if ABC can find a primetime show in Lawrence Welk, then we ought to be able to get to the kids. What do you think?”

“What difference does it make?” Then I grinned at him. “Like I said, you make the decisions.”

“Okay,” he said. “Now what about the Benjamin deal?”

“You’ll find a copy of the proposal on your desk when you get into the office. You look it over and then we’ll talk.”

He got to his feet. “I’ll get back to my hotel and clean up, then head for the office.”

I walked to the door with him. “See you this afternoon. Good luck.”

I stood there until he got on the elevator, then went back into the apartment and poured myself another cup of coffee. Suddenly I felt old. It wasn’t that long ago I had stood where Jack stood now. All the enthusiasm, the hopes, the plans. I couldn’t get excited about them anymore. Everything had become cut and dried. For the first time I began to appreciate Spencer’s role in the company. Somebody had to tear the ship apart once in a while in order to rebuild it.

“Has he gone?” Her voice came from the bedroom door.

I turned. She had it open a fraction of an inch and was peering through the crack. “Yes,” I said.

“Good.” The door opened wide and she came into the living room. She had a towel wrapped around her sarong-style and her skin was still wet from the shower. “I was beginning to think he would never leave.”

“Want some coffee?” I asked.

“Do you have any pineapple juice?”

I nodded. “In the refrigerator.”

She went behind the bar for a can of pineapple juice. She punctured it and poured some into a glass filled with ice. She took a bottle of vodka and filled the glass to the top. She stirred it quickly and tasted it. “That’s good.” She held the glass out to me. “Try some?”

I shook my head.

She shrugged and lifted the glass. “Bang, bang.” She drank as she walked back to me. “What time is it?”

“About ten o’clock.”

“Shit! I had an audition this morning and forgot it.” She sat down and reached for the telephone. “Mind if I call my service?”

“Go ahead. I’ll shave meanwhile.”

When I came out of the bathroom she was back in bed. There was a fresh glass of pineapple juice on the table next to her. “My agent’s pissed off because I missed the audition.”

“Was it a good job?”

“A commercial. I wouldn’t have gotten it anyway. They were looking for a Sandra Dee type. And that’s one thing I’m not.”

I couldn’t fault that.

She looked at me. “You going right in to work?”

I shook my head. “Not until after lunch.”

“Good,” she said. She rolled over on her stomach. “Do you think I have a beautiful ass?”

I looked down at her. There was only one answer. “Yes.”

“Then why are you standing there? Come over here and kiss it.”

I walked over to the bed and bent over her. She jumped when I slapped her and rolled over. There was a strange look in her eyes. “What did you do that for?”

I said nothing.

She smiled slowly and rolled back on her stomach. “Do it again,” she said. “I like it.”

***

Spencer was waiting in my office when I returned from the conference room after introducing Jack to the department heads. He took one look at my face. “You could use a drink,” he said.

We walked over to the bar and he fixed two drinks. “Cheers,” he said.

We drank.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like I gave away my first baby,” I said.

He nodded. “Now you know how I felt.”

CHAPTER SIX

“They want six million dollars for the package,” Jack said. “I’m going to pass.”

“Okay.”

He looked across my desk. “Benjamin’s not going to like it. He felt sure you were going to go for it.”

“I don’t know why. I never spoke to him about the deal.”

“He says you made him a commitment when he was at the studio. That you still had an obligation to take them.” He lit a cigarette. “He’s up the wall, desperate for the money.”

“That’s his problem.”

“Ritchie tells me that the lawyers have gone over the dissolution agreement and that if we don’t arrive at a compromise, they’ll sue.”

“They won’t sue,” I said.

“What makes you so sure?” he asked.

“Sam’s not about to admit that he’s tight. He can bring the walls down around him if his creditors find out how bad the situation really is.” I got to my feet.

“Some of the pictures aren’t that bad,” he said.

I got annoyed. “You’re president of the network. Buy them or don’t. Whatever you like. But you make up your mind. That’s your job.”

He thought that one over. “Okay,” he said. He started for the door.

“Jack,” I called after him.

He stopped and looked back at me. “I’m not angry with Sam,” I said. “I like him. But I’m not going to be pushed around or threatened.”

“I understand,” he said and went out the door.

The intercom buzzed. I pressed down the switch. “Miss Darling on four.”

I picked up the telephone. “Hello, Darling Girl.”

“What are you doing for lunch?” she asked. “I’m horny as hell.”

“Sorry, I have a date.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Pleasure.”

“I’ll kill you if you’re going out with another girl,” she said vehemently.

“My aunt is coming down from the Cape.”

“Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “And I suppose you’re taking her to the Four Seasons?”

“That’s right,” I laughed. “How did you guess?”

“I hate you,” she said and hung up.

***

I sat there at the poolside table, drinking my third Scotch. Aunt Prue was late. I should have guessed. She never could resist Saks Fifth Avenue when she came to town.

I finished the drink and signaled the maître d’. A fourth Scotch appeared as if by magic. At this rate, by the time Aunt Prue got here I would be bombed out of my mind. I looked toward the long entrance hallway. It was empty. I felt a hand touch my shoulder then looked around.

“I hope she stands you up!” Darling Girl said in a fierce whisper.

Before I could reply, she followed the maître d’ to a table and sat down facing my way. She ordered a drink. I grinned and she stuck her tongue out at me.

“Do you know that young lady?” Aunt Prue asked.

I jumped to my feet. I hadn’t even seen her arrive. “Sort of,” I said. I kissed her cheek.

The waiter held her chair and she sat down. “Extra dry martini, straight up and very cold,” she ordered and turned to peer at Darling Girl. She turned back to me. “She’s very pretty. But her hair is dyed and she’s had a nose job.”

I stared at her. “How can you tell?”

“The hair is easy,” she sniffed disdainfully. “And nobody on earth was born with a nose that perfect.”

I smiled. Aunt Prue had to be close to seventy and she didn’t miss a thing. “I got smashed waiting for you,” I said.

“I dropped by Saks.” The waiter brought her drink and she picked it up and held it toward me. We clinked glasses. “Much love,” she said.

“Much love,” I answered.

She tasted her drink. “Very good.” She took another sip and put it down. “Everything all right with you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

“There was something in the paper about Sinclair TV having a new president. I thought maybe you got fired.”

I laughed. “That’s not the way it is. I had too much to do, so I put on another man.”

“A company can’t have two presidents,” she said with irrefutable logic. “Even I know that. Now you better tell me the truth, young man, because if you’re not there any longer, I am going to sell my stock.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I explained it to her. After a while she understood.

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad that you did it. You have been working too hard.”

“Not really.”

“You’re too thin.”

This I heard before. “I lost four pounds just waiting for you to arrive.”

She sipped her martini. “You ought to get married again,” she said. “What are you waiting for? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“I’m waiting for the right girl,” I said. “Someone like you.”

“That’s a copout,” she said disdainfully.

“Aunt Prue, where did you learn to speak like that?” I asked in surprise.

“We’re not exactly isolated up there on the Cape. We have television too.”

“Okay.” I signaled for the menu. “Let’s order.”

The waiter came to the table. He put a folded piece of paper down next to me. “From the young lady,” he whispered, with a sidewise gesture of his head.

I looked down at the note. “
Dinner tonight? If you’re not too angry. M.
”

I scribbled my answer on her note and gave it to the waiter. He went back to her table.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler if you invited her to join us?” Aunt Prue said.

“If I wanted her to join us, she would have been at the table when you arrived.”

“I’ll have another martini,” Aunt Prue said testily. “You don’t have to snap at me like that.”

“Okay. I’ll ask her.” I began to get up, but when I looked over, she had already gone.

“Now see what you’ve done,” Aunt Prue said. Suddenly she was on her side. “You’ve probably ruined the poor child’s lunch and driven her away.”

I stared at her.

“Stephen,” she said. “You haven’t changed since you were a child. You’re just as rude as ever.”

I leaned back with a sigh and ordered another Scotch. “Make it a double this time,” I said. There was no other way to go.

“Is she in love with you?” Aunt Prue asked.

“Who?”

“The girl you drove out of here.”

“You think every girl I talk to is in love with me,” I said. “Besides I didn’t drive her out.”

“I know your reputation, Stephen,” she said. “We also read the newspapers up there.”

I was getting annoyed. “I know. You also have electricity, gas, and telephones.”

Aunt Prue looked at me. “You do like the girl!” There was a note of discovery in her voice.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to,” she said positively. “I can tell.”

I hid behind my whiskey glass.

“Stephen.”

“Yes, Aunt Prue?”

“If you do like her, really like her, don’t hold back.” Her voice was very soft. “Don’t be afraid.”

***

It was almost eleven o’clock when Jack finally left my office. He had not wasted the afternoon. He came in with a format for the rock show that seemed to have great promise.

“I spent all afternoon on the phone with Angel,” he said. “That boy knows the music scene. I told him to start coordination on the coast. The best American groups are out there, L.A. and San Francisco. I’m sending him to Nashville next week to look over the scene there.”

“Okay,” I said.

“That’s about it.” He began to fold up his papers. “I’ll try to put on a contact man to stay in touch with the record companies and the music publishers so we can be on top of what’s happening.”

“You’ll need a very hip producer too,” I said.

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I haven’t come up with a man yet.”

“I might have one for you. Bob Andrews.”

Jack was surprised. “He’s not a producer. He’s a disc jockey.”

“The number-one disc jockey in the country,” I said. “The kids love him. He was the first to play Elvis, the first to play the Beatles. And he has one great added value. He’s under contract exclusively to us.”

He was even more than that. Because of him we had the number-one radio station in New York. Before he had come to work for us, we had the biggest loser of all time.

“I like it,” Jack said.

“I’ll have him call you in the morning.”

“What if he isn’t interested?” Jack asked. “He’s number one where he is, maybe he wouldn’t want to change.”

“He’ll be interested,” I said. “For two years he’s been after me to go into the record business or buy a record company. If we’re going to put music in primetime, maybe the whole thing makes sense now.”

“We should have gone into it years ago,” Jack said. “Do you know how much RCA is making on Elvis, how much Capitol is making on the Beatles?”

“I know.”

“That’s about it.” He shoved the papers into his attaché case and got to his feet. “I’m beat. I’m going back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

The telephone began almost as soon as he had gone. I let it ring a few times, until I realized that Fogarty had already gone home, and picked it up.

A blast of noise, voices, and music hit my ears.

“Steve?” Her voice was hushed and quiet.

“Yes, Darling Girl?”

“I’m stoned.”

“So what else is new?” I asked.

“No. I really mean it. I’m all the way out,” she said. “I’ve been tripping all night.”

I didn’t answer and for a moment there was silence. I could hear her breathing over the background noise. “Steve,” she said. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Steve. Why didn’t you take me to dinner tonight?”

“I had work to do,” I said.

“I would have waited for you,” she said.

“You seem to be doing all right.”

“I missed you,” she said. “I was lonely. I was sitting home alone. Smoking pot and crying. I had to get out.”

“Sounds like a great party,” I said.

“Will you come and get me, Steve? I want to be with you.”