Authors: Joseph Amiel
She unlocked the door to a bungalow set amid tropical flora and entered.
"Put them over there," she ordered, and pointed to a table on the side of the living room. Again before Greg could introduce himself, she disappeared into one of the bedrooms.
He deposited the packages and turned on the television set to watch his news broadcast. A few minutes later, when she emerged from the bedroom in a different dress, she appeared miffed to find him seated at the set.
"I'd have appreciated being asked before you decided to watch television," she remarked brusquely.
"I didn't see the need."
She stopped to look at him for the first time. "Have you worked at FBS long?"
"About a year and a half."
"They should have taught you better manners by now."
Her arrogance grated on him, but he spoke softly. "Look, Ms. Roderick, I didn't volunteer for this assignment."
"What's the phone number at KFBS?" she snapped, and reached for the telephone.
Greg told her.
She began dialing. "I'm going to lodge a complaint with your superior and have him send out someone else right away."
He was dumbfounded by her presumption. "You really believe that we all have nothing better to do than drive you around?"
Her stare was incredulous.
He motioned toward the television screen. "I should be supervising that broadcast right now. Anyone else hauled out here to replace me would also have to drop work to accommodate you."
She started to speak, but began to laugh so hard she could not.
He was growing angry. "Your idea of humor and mine are very different."
Her head was nodding, but she was still laughing too hard to speak. He stared at her, waiting. Finally, she regained control of herself.
"All right," he wanted to know. "Exactly what was so funny?"
She dabbed the tears of laughter from her mascara. "They said someone from the station was being sent to pick me up at six-thirty, so I naturally thought you were a driver."
Greg laughed, too.
"Look, I'm sorry," she added, her laughing face far from contrite, "I must have sounded like a bitch."
"Let's start again. My name's Greg
Lyall
. I'm executive producer of that news broadcast."
"And you drew the short straw and have to take the boss's daughter to dinner. Would you rather I went by taxi and told them I asked you not to bother?"
"No, I'd enjoy taking you to dinner." And meeting your father, he silently finished.
As he opened the door out of the bungalow, she halted for a moment to take a good look at him. "You're young to be executive producer."
Greg placed a faint frown on his face. "I was a few decades younger when I took the job."
Sally Foster arrived at the Ivy a couple of minutes late, only to find none of the others had yet arrived. This dinner was important to her. She would go crazy if she had to stay another year in
Heritage Hall
. Although the series was still popular, it put her career on hold; she was one among half-a-dozen actors sharing the show's limelight.
The role had been the godsend she had prayed for when she was struggling for a break after her arrival from Alabama. She had been surviving on bit TV roles, the occasional modeling assignment that required her sultry looks, and, when she was really in a hole to pay the rent, some light hooking through an escort service. She felt no nostalgia for those years of struggle; her strongest memories were of always scrambling for money and always trying to move past the latest demoralizing rejection for a
part. That was five years ago. Now she was a star with money a plenty. But no decent theatrical film roles had
come
her way and only one forgettable TV movie. A TV series of her own would be a big move upward; it would put her on a different level in town: millions a year in salary and a piece of the show. And the movie scripts would be on a different level, too.
A writer-producer on
Heritage Hall
was pitching a new series to FBS that was built around her character on that show. Everyone knew that Barnett Roderick made the final decision as to what shows went on the air. For weeks
Ev
Carver had hinted that he would soon be having dinner with Roderick. She had screwed Carver's brains out, enduring his occasional cruelty, in order to coax him into taking her. She was hoping to convince Roderick that she had the personality to carry a show of her own. If he seemed interested in something more from her to clinch it, she would have to figure out how to arrange that without
Ev's
catching on.
Ev
Carver was a very shrewd man.
Sitting at the large table alone, everyone watching her, knowing who she was, Sally felt like a beggar until Barnett Roderick arrived a few minutes later and took the seat beside her. She gave him a dazzling smile, warming herself with the thought that those glances were now green with envy. He immediately complimented her work in
Heritage
Hall
and asked about her plans for the future. That gave her the opportunity to mention the show FBS was considering for her. She was careful to sound interested, but not eager.
"It could be an exciting show, but I'm very happy in
Heritage Hall
,” she said.
"We're very happy with your contribution to it," he replied with courtly courtesy.
Sally held off from pushing any further, allowing
Ev
, who had been only a few steps behind his boss, to begin talking business to him. She turned her attention to Barnett's companion, a West Coast newspaper publisher's widow in her fifties named
Babs
McAuliffe who, according to
Ev
, was prominent in her own right, inhabiting the same elite business circle as Roderick. She was slim and attractive. Her eyes were no higher at the corners and her chin line clean; nothing appeared pulled back. It's a good job, Sally conceded, and wondered if men could spot surgery as easily
as women or cared. One did not disregard a woman like that, Sally understood, nor did one flirt with her companion.
Greg arrived with Diane only a minute or two behind the others, which gave him a brief opportunity to study Barnett Roderick as they were being led to the table. The CEO was perhaps six foot one and still straight-backed and good-looking. His hair was dark with striations of gray at the temples and full for a man in his sixties. He carried himself with an authority that seemed as comfortable on him as his dark silk suit.
Roderick paid little attention to Greg until, during a lull in the conversation, he turned to him and said, "You seem to have come into the news department during a fortunate time."
Greg did not know whether Roderick meant that the point-plus rise in news ratings during the past year had resulted from luck or that Greg was lucky to be hired at a time when the pendulum was swinging back of its own accord or perhaps fortunate because
Ev
Carver had taken actions that had raised the ratings. All the possible meanings belittled Greg.
"I'd like to believe, Mr.
Roderick, that
I was instrumental in creating any good fortune our news broadcasts have had."
As if he had not heard the reply, Barnett turned back to
Ev
to continue their prior conversation.
Rather than being annoyed, Greg was impressed and somewhat amused by the older man's style. He never raised his voice or sounded less than gracious, yet his statements bore the force of a command and imparted a sense that not only would opposition bring a rebuke for disobedience but also a feeling of reproach for having behaved rudely. It’s his ball, Greg thought, and he’s just allowing the rest of us to play with it.
Greg glanced at Carver. Although more respectful than in his own lair, the station manager seemed not in the least submissive. He knows his worth, Greg gathered, and he wants Roderick to know it, too. Getting to watch these pros strut their stuff made the evening worthwhile.
Diane caught her father's eye. "Greg's news program is very good, Dad," she said. "I was watching it when he picked me up." She flicked a barely imperceptible smile at Greg, who guessed the remark was meant as repayment for her earlier rudeness.
"I hired
Overmeyer
-Hotchkiss to advise us,"
Ev
told Roderick.
Greg was pleased when Roderick asked him, "They help?"
Not wanting to be caught between the two men, Greg allowed, "A few things to think about." He could not be sure whether the slight elevation of Barnett's eyebrow indicated amusement or skepticism.
When the entrées arrived, Barnett ceased to discuss FBS business and turned to include
Babs
in the conversation. Sally was used to the usual Hollywood gossip at dinner: who had just made what deal or bought which house for how much or visited whose bed. The network head and the newspaper publisher began to discuss acquaintances and political figures
who
were all rich or powerful, as far as Sally could guess. The used mostly first
names,
and she recognized few of them. She kept her smile at the ready in case Barnett Roderick glanced at her, but she knew better than to speak.
Dinner ended early. Outside, waiting for their cars, Barnett told the others that he and
Babs
were meeting friends.
"I hope I'll see you again soon. I really enjoyed it," Sally said to him too quickly after he had spoken, she realized.
"Keep an open mind about a new series," he replied. And then as if the idea had just occurred to him, he added, "Why don't I look into it when I get back to New York?"
Sally beamed at him all the radiance she could generate. "Coming from you, a new series would be hard to resist."
Barnett nodded at her. No more than that, she noted, but no less either, and turned to his daughter. "Do you two have any plans?"
"Greg promised to take me to a disco," Diane told him.
Greg smiled obligingly. He sensed the warning from
Ev's
eyes sear him. Worse, he observed what appeared to be a glint of distrust in Barnett's.
Diane noticed it, too, and added brightly, "It's my idea. I'm after his body."
Greg felt himself gagging. A smile slowly curled Diane mouth.
"There must be some really terrific place we can go," she said as she slipped into the passenger seat of Greg's car.
"You're going back to your hotel," he declared.
She laughed. "You're angry over what I said back there."
"My very short career flashed before my eyes. It might be a joke to you, but it's damned important to me."
"Nothing will happen."
"I wouldn't put a bet right now on my job's extending past first thing tomorrow morning."
She laughed. "Daddy knows if I
were
being serious, I would never have said a word—for God's sake, he's my father. Now, what's the hot club?"
Greg edged the car into traffic, a forbidding firmness to his mouth. "I'm dropping you off at your hotel."
"No, you're
not!"
she replied in a tone that conveyed some of her father’s authority
"Office hours are over."
Her voice softened. "I really do want to go out somewhere with you.
It's
better I don't show up at the hotel if Dad and
Babs
have gone back there.
Not just the embarrassment, although there's that."
She turned in her seat to face him as he drove. "Do you know
Babs
at all?"
He shook his head. The question seemed preposterous to him.
"Well, she's just lost fifteen pounds and had a face-lift.
Both signs of a woman on the hunt for big game.
My father would make a perfect next husband. He's attractive, prominent, and wouldn't need her money or be marrying up."
"And you don't like the idea."
Her tone hardened. "That's really none of your business."
"You were trying to give me a good reason not to bring you back to the hotel."
"If you must know,” she finally conceded, “I've always had trouble with the women who were serious about him, especially when I was younger. They start out trying to make friends with me because they think that will win him over. They end up trying to undermine me because they think he'll love them more if he loves me less."
"Does it work?"
"No, but it causes trouble."
"Did your mother do that, too?"
"He was crazy about my mother," she said tersely. She clearly wanted to end this line of discussion. "Nice car. You really keep it in great shape."
Greg was glad to change the subject as well. "Thanks for mentioning my news broadcast at dinner."
"Carver didn't seem thrilled when I did. There's something scary about him."