The Love Machine (42 page)

Authors: Jacqueline Susann

Tags: #Fiction, #Literary

“Robin, I’d like to try you on hypnosis.”

“Are you crazy? Look, Doc, I was in the war and got shot up a bit. I can think of a hell of a lot of things I went through that could have loosened some screws, but I came through in one piece. I came here to get one specific question answered. You come up zero. Okay. Be a sport and admit it. Don’t try to make good by digging back into my childhood to see if a nurse belted me when I was two or three for messing up my toys. Maybe she did and maybe she had black hair and green eyes and big tits—okay?”

“You know where to find me if you decide to try it my way,” Dr. Gold said.

Robin grinned. “Thanks, but I think it’s easier and less expensive to duck if I run into a green-eyed brunette.” He closed the door and walked into the night. Dr. Gold stared at the notes he had made, and put them in a folder. He would not destroy them: Robin Stone would return.

Robin glanced at the February Nielsens. The news department was finally giving the other networks real competition. This week it was second in its time period.
In Depth
was still in the top twenty-five. He had given Andy a shot at it last week and it had
gone well. He studied the presentation of the saucer project—the research staff had come up with some exciting new angles. It would make a hell of a show.

He met with Danton Miller the following day and explained his intention of easing out of
In Depth
and letting Andy take over permanently the following season. Oddly enough, Dan raised no objections.

“Giving up acting?” he said with a smile. “Your adoring public won’t like that.”

“I intend to do a news special once a month,” Robin explained. “Take some subject that no one will touch. Dig into it, lay it bare. This could be the first.” He handed Dan the saucer presentation. Dan read it carefully.

“Sounds like a Sunday afternoon project—it might grab the kids,” Dan said. “But it’s not a nighttime show.”

“I think it is. Why not try one shot in May or June in prime time, when the big shows are having reruns? That should be an honest test.”

“If you like, I’ll slate it for a Sunday afternoon, April or May. But not at night.”

“I don’t want Sunday afternoon,” Robin said. “You know damn well it would get no rating. The baseball games would kill it. I’m looking for sponsor interest for the fall.”

Dan smiled. “If you want to line up a staff and put this science-fiction crap on tape, that’s up to you. But it has no place in my network planning.”

Robin reached over and picked up the phone. Dan’s secretary came on. “Would you call Mr. Gregory Austin. Tell him Robin Stone and Danton Miller would like to see him at his earliest convenience.”

Dan’s face drained of color. He recovered quickly and forced a smile. “That was a bad move,” he said easily. “You just went over my head.”

“But not behind your back.” For a moment their eyes locked in silence. When the phone rang it seemed unnaturally loud. Dan reached for it. The secretary announced that Mr. Austin could see them immediately.

Robin stood up. “Coming, chum?”

Dan’s eyes narrowed. “Seems like I have no choice.” Then he smiled. “I’m curious to see Gregory’s reaction to your Buck Rogers drama. He’ll realize I’ve vetoed it—and Gregory doesn’t like having his time wasted to act as referee. That’s why I’m president of Network Television. My decision on matters like this is final. But I think I’ll let you dig your own grave.”

Dan sat back as Robin outlined the saucer project to Gregory. When he had finished, Gregory turned to Dan. “I gather you’re against it.”

Dan smiled and held his fingers together pyramid style. “Robin would like to do a show like this next season. One a month—in prime time.”

Gregory looked at Robin questioningly. “A saucer show every month?”

Robin laughed. “No, I want to do an hour of television comparable to a
Life
magazine spread on a subject that’s in the news. Saucers, politics—anything that’s timely or newsworthy. Instead of doing a personality—like our half hour on
In Depth
—we do a subject, for an hour. An important movie could be filming—we’d go on location, talk with the stars, the director, the author. We could go into the private life of a television personality—take Christie Lane. The public keeps asking what he’s really like—”

The mention of Christie Lane brought a sudden look of concern to Gregory’s eyes. He turned to Dan. “That reminds me, we only have Christie signed for another season. Has anyone done anything about getting him signed to a new long-term contract?”

“We’ve started the negotiations,” Dan said. “He wants to start reruns the end of April so he can pick up all that Vegas money. He’s also booked some fairs. He gets ten thousand a night for them. He’s still doing the shows live, but we’ve been taping them for the rerun bank. And next season he wants to go to tape—he’s secure enough now. There’s no problem there. But Cliff Dome says we’re miles apart in money—in what he’s asking and what we want to give. We’ve agreed to give him a big raise, but he wants to form his own company—split ownership of the show with us. And he wants ownership of his tapes after the first rerun to sell to the independents. Plus many other fringe benefits. It’s not going to be easy—both NBC and CBS are hot on his tail.”

The secretary crept in and announced that Mrs. Austin was calling. Gregory rose. “I’ll take it in the other room.” Both men watched him disappear into the inner office. Dan was the first to break the silence. He leaned across and tapped Robin on the knee. His voice was low. “Listen to me: I hope you’ve learned a lesson. You’ve had a chance to look behind the scenes of network planning. There’s more to it than being an Ivy League reporter. You’ve bored Gregory with your piddling science-fiction show. You’ve taken up my time and his. You are president of News. I am president of Network Television. I work alone—I’m not looking for a partner.”

Robin laughed. “This sounds like a Madison Avenue version of a Chicago gang war: You have the South Side and I take the North Side.”

“I have
both
sides. You have News, period. And you don’t mix into programming. I’m not a newsboy playing part-time actor, part-time executive. This is my life—not a hobby. And no one cuts into it.”

“I have no desire to shoot for any of your marbles. But I am president of News and I have a show that I think should go on. You have to give me the time. If you say no, then I have to—”

“You have to pass! Get it? Pass! The next time I say I don’t want a show—you pass. There are to be no more calls to Gregory Austin!”

Robin’s grin was easy. “Well then, Mr. President, just don’t pass too quickly.”

Gregory Austin returned. “Sorry, gentlemen. I never let personal calls interfere with business, but then Mrs. Austin is my most important business.” His face softened as his thoughts reverted to his wife. Then he cleared his throat, and his expression took on the matters at hand. “I was telling Mrs. Austin your idea about the saucer special. She was intrigued. I never realized that there is a romanticism to space that appeals to women. Go ahead with the saucer project, Dan. Slate it in May in place of one of Christie’s reruns. If it gets a rating, then we’ll talk about a monthly series.” He looked at Dan. “I’ll work with Cliff Dome on the Christie Lane renewal. Anything else on the agenda?”

Dan stood up. “I guess that’s about it.”

Gregory waited until both men reached the door—then almost as an afterthought he said, “Oh, Robin, would you wait one moment. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Dan left and Robin eased himself into a chair. Gregory stared after the closed door and smiled. “Dan’s a good man. An ambitious man. Hell, we all are. That’s why he’s good. I like the idea of you thinking of other projects. Only from here on, if they’re outside the news department, come to me first—and I’ll pass them on to Dan as my idea. It will keep peace in our little family.”

Robin smiled. “I’m still new at network protocol.” He made no move to leave, because he sensed this wasn’t the real reason Gregory had detained him.

“Robin”—Gregory’s manner was suddenly oddly shy—”I know this seems like trivia, and it has nothing to do with the line of duty—but what happened to you on January first?”

Robin’s brow creased. January first. … So far as he could recollect, Sergio had driven him to the airport.

Gregory lit a cigarette. “Gained ten pounds,” he said sheepishly, “so I’m back smoking—just until I knock off the weight.” Then he said, “Our eggnog party.”

Robin’s expression was blank.

Gregory studied the ash on his cigarette. “You’ve been invited two years in a row. Not only haven’t you shown, but you’ve never even sent a note of regret.”

“Good God! How rude of me! I was in Rome this year, and the year before I think I was—” He frowned, trying to recall. “I was in Europe then, yes, I remember, I returned on New Year’s Day. And there was all that mail. I’m ashamed to tell you what I did with it—on both occasions. I stared at it, and then dumped it all into the wastebasket. After all, no one expects you to answer Christmas cards, and I figured the bills would come again the following month. I guess Mrs. Austin’s invitation was among them. I’ll write to her immediately.”

Gregory smiled. “I assumed it was a misunderstanding. But you know how women are. Mrs. Austin was wondering if it was a personal slight.”

“That’s the last thing I would want her to think. The hell with a note—may I call her?”

“Of course.” Gregory scribbled down the number.

Robin returned to his office and placed the call to Mrs. Austin.

“Now, Robin Stone,” she said, “you didn’t have to call. I know this is Gregory’s doing.”

“It is—and I’m grateful that he told me. I’ve been out of the country on both occasions of your New Year’s Day parties.”

She laughed when he told her of the way he had disposed of his mail. “I think that’s a marvelous idea,” she said. “I wish I had the nerve to do it. I’d miss so many dull events.”

“Mrs. Austin, I promise you—next year I shall go through every Christmas card, searching for your invitation.”

“Oh come now, Robin.” She paused. “Forgive my informality, but we do watch your show. I feel as if I know you.”

“Mrs. Austin, I promise, no matter where I am, on January first, nineteen sixty-four, we have a definite date.”

Her laugh filtered through the phone. “I certainly hope we’re not going to have to wait that long to meet.”

“I hope not. But I want you to know, I like eggnog. I really do.”

“I’m sure Gregory has told you he hates it. Oh, Robin”—he heard the rustle of paper—”I’m having a small dinner party March first. We’ve just returned from Palm Beach—the weather has been so unreliable there that we’ve decided to stay in New York. Would you like to come?”

How had he gotten into this? But he had those two goddam New Year’s Days to make up. “I’d be delighted, Mrs. Austin.”

“Oh, my sister will be in town. The dinner is really in her honor. The prince couldn’t get away. Shall I make you her dinner partner, or is there someone you would care to bring?”

“I’d like to bring a young lady,” he said quickly.

Without pausing, she said, “That will be fine. Eight thirty, March first, black tie.”

He hung up and stared at the phone. Well, so the princess was here solo. He was not about to step into the role of the “personable extra man”! If he passed inspection as her dinner partner there would be other invitations. This way he had nipped it at the start. But now he had to dig up a girl. Well, he had ten days … he’d think of someone.

He forgot about Mrs. Austin in the week that followed. He
spent two days in Washington for the saucer project. He had selected a director and a producer and had set March fifteenth as the tentative taping date. Everything was in order. Everything except the one call he had to make. Maggie Stewart. He didn’t
have
to call her, but her story on the sighting in Florida had sparked the entire idea. Andy was set to do a segment and he
had
promised Maggie that she’d participate in the show. He put in the call. When she came on the line he wasted no time on amenities. He explained the setup and asked if she was interested.

She was equally impersonal. “Of course I’d be interested in doing the show. When do you want me there?”

“As soon as possible!”

“Today is the twenty-fifth. How is March first? That will give the station time to get someone to fill in for me.”

“March first is fine.” He turned to his appointment pad and saw the notation: “Dinner party at the Austins’.” “Maggie, I know you don’t owe me anything, but you could do me one hell of a favor.”