Star Time (39 page)

Ken Chandler was furious at Chris. A guest at the White House, she had violated the President's hospitality and, using the photo of him shaking hands with Lopez, had made him look complicit in Iran’s dirty dealing. Didn't she think enough of Ken's position at least to consult him before she went with the story? On a matter so sensitive, why hadn’t she alerted the FBI instead of using it to promote her broadcast? She was
destroying his relationship with the President and his party, as well as any chance the nation’s law-enforcement agencies might have had to discover who else might have been involved in the plot.

The angriest phone call Greg received was from Barnett Roderick, who had just received a phone call from the President. The nation's chief executive had expressed his dismay at the FBS story and at the potential implication that he had been blind to a nuclear threat. Concerned that if
he ever sought an ambassadorship, the position would now be denied him, Barnett was doubly furious that FBS News had acted "so unpatriotically."

Barnett ordered Greg to fire Chris and the executive producer for
acting "irresponsibly." Greg replied that he himself had authorized the story after the White House refused to explain why the story should not run. He did not reveal that the White House had been phoned half an hour before airtime.

"Damn it!" Barnett growled. "Who the hell do you think you are to insist that the President give you an answer?"

"That's
supposed
to be the press's job."

"The President can make a lot of trouble for us. You've got a short memory. Nixon and Agnew threatened the TV
newspeople
with all sorts of reprisals. We tiptoed for months."

"Nixon and Agnew had good reason to fear the truth."

The answer increased Barnett’s anger. "Your job is to make money, not headlines. Offending the government and your viewers is not smart business."

"Greg
Lyall
and I will be flying out for programming meetings,"
Ev
Carver informed Raoul
Clampton
over the phone.

Ev
sat propped against his headboard, fully dressed, phone receiver to his ear,
stockinged
feet extended before him. Night now in New York, office hours still prevailed on the West Coast, where it was three hours earlier. Raoul
Clampton
was still in his office.

"You have the dates we'll be out there,"
Ev
continued "We’ll expect a full-scale rundown on problems in the current schedule and what you have in the hopper for pilot shows."

"Any idea what
Lyall's
thinking?"
Ev
could hear the apprehension in Raoul's voice.

That fear was the reason
Ev
trusted the programming executive not to get out of line. He knew Raoul was really asking, "What kinds of programs does he want?" and "Am I safe?"

"He and I are both thinking that if you don't give us higher-rated shows next fall, we take you out and shoot you."

Always nervous dealing with
Ev
Carver, Raoul knew he never quite sounded in control of matters and that ruthlessness truly did underlie Carver's cruel humor.

"It's tough when you're not the number one network," Raoul complained. "Suppliers don't bring the best projects to us because we don't have hit shows we can schedule before theirs to deliver a big audience."

"I heard that bullshit last year, Raoul. This year we want ratings."

"A lot of great concepts here," Raoul said quickly. "We're testing them down to the last detail. We're pretty hopeful."

"You sound more anxious than hopeful."

Ev's
doorbell rang.

"Come in!" he called out. "The front
door's
open."

A moment later
Hedy
Anderson entered
Ev's
bedroom.
He patted the bed. She sat down beside him.
Ev
turned back to his phone call.

"
Lyall
and I want you to set up a big party when we're there: spectacular, the best caterer, whatever it takes. Invite the stars and creative people behind our present shows."

"Could you get Chris
Paskins
out here for it? The community here is impressed we hired her. They think it demonstrates we're committed to doing what it takes to rebuild."

"
Newspeople
always impress them. They think of them as intellectuals. The truth is they’re fucking newsreaders. Maybe I can convince
Lyall
to send the whole broadcast there. Do some sort of arc on California and the West. That way we could have other top correspondents at the party . . ."

Hedy
looked inquisitively at him.

". . .
like
Hedy
Anderson," he said into the phone, and winked at her.
Ev
slid the tab of his fly zipper down and gestured for her to play with his cock.
Hedy
hid her grimace as she pulled the long, flaccid hose free and began to manipulate it.

Ev
turned his attention back to the phone conversation. "But the point of this shindig, the whole reason we're putting on this show, is because we want you to invite the top creative people in Hollywood—producers, writers, stars, you know who I mean. We want to convince them that FBS is a great place for their shows, to sell them on bringing their new shows to FBS."

"Do you think
Lyall
would like me to have women there?"

"If you mean whores you claim are starlets, no. This is pure business."

"
Ev
," Raoul brought up, "we might have some trouble getting Annette Valletta. Mickey Blinder says she's being difficult about doing
Luba
after this year. You got my memo. Is
Lyall
concerned about it?"

"He will be when he finds out. Resolve it before we get out there."

"She's asking a lot."

Ev
was growing exasperated. "Who the hell else do we have in the top fifteen?"

Ev's
penis had hardened. He motioned for
Hedy
to suck him off. She suppressed the ripple of nausea in her stomach. The bastard had not even said hello.

During a visit to FBS's Chicago station,
Ev
had plucked
Hedy
from near-obscurity as one of its street reporters. She had given him a wild night and two weeks later, was in New York with a network contract. But she knew that standing up to him could end her career just as fast as he had boosted it.

Dutifully, she lowered her head and enclosed him with her mouth. She hoped to bring him off quickly, before he began thrusting into her and she choked on the length.

"Right, Annette's important to us," Raoul agreed in a placating tone; he, too, knew the risk of not acquiescing to
Ev
. "If Monumental does get us another year of
Luba
, we'll have to guarantee they get a new series on next year's schedule and, a year later, Annette gets on a new show of her own."

Ev
asked incredulously, "We have to do them a favor for keeping their goddamn show on the air?"

"Hey, Mickey Blinder remembered your birthday is coming up,” Raoul said quickly. "He's thinking you might like a sports car. What do you think of the new Porsche?"

Ev
grabbed
Hedy's
hair to stop her oscillation.

"Are you crazy?" he shouted into the phone. "I tell you I'm coming out there with the CEO who's been firing guys right and left, and you want to know if some supplier can slip me a new
car?
Hey, Mr. Shit-for-Brains, I might not like
Lyall
, but I'm not going to expose my ass to his gun sight."

"Look, I didn't mean it like that,
Ev
. It's just a gift."

Ev
was enjoying the sensation
Hedy
was provoking and wanted to concentrate on it. "You know the dates we'll be out there. Make the arrangements."

Hanging up, he released
Hedy's
hair and clasped his hands behind his neck against the headboard. He liked the way she gave head

kind of dragging her lower teeth lightly along the underside

and he chuckled at the aptness of her name. There was a lot to be said for
Hedy
.
Big and good-looking.
Presentable in company.
Good reporter, too. Kept her eyes and ears open for information he could use, like that stuff about how Greg
Lyall
was at the center of the White House story. She owed
Ev
a lot and was smart enough not to step out of line; she knew her place.

Hedy
glanced up at him. He smiled at her and patted her cheek. He thought he'd give her a little help and began thrusting deeply against her throat.

"Was I wrong to go with the story?" Chris asked, voicing her private apprehension to Gerry
Torborg
. "Maybe I didn't have enough facts yet.
Or maybe it was wrong even to run a story that might embarrass the President on a national security matter."

Chris had fallen into the habit of discussing her feelings about stories that might have deeper implications and, occasionally, Greg’s changes to the broadcast with Gerry
Torborg
. A news producer at the network for twenty years, he began to serve as kind of moral umpire for substantiating her
judgement
. She made sure that he survived the staff cuts, and steered stories his way that examined controversial issues.

Torborg
responded to her doubts. "You had the facts to go with the story and to raise the issues you did. They were good issues, and necessary."

"Then why am I getting attacked?"

"Being the truth teller can be painful until the dust settles and the importance of what was uncovered becomes evident."

Chris bit her lip. "Or maybe it never does."

Gerry nodded.

Greg noticed during
Bankingate
, as a few newspapers dubbed it, that Chris began to deal unemotionally with him. He wished he could deal as impassively with her. He made sure Hugo was present or on the phone line during all their conversations.

"Surprise!"

The guests bunched from wall to foyer wall grinned at Greg, who had just returned from work and let himself into the apartment.

Diane rushed into his arms. She was laughing at his confusion.

"You won't remember in a million years what this anniversary is."

He shook his head.

She kissed him. "You and I met exactly nine years ago tonight." She kissed him again, laughing. "You do remember that?"

"At the Beverly Hills Hotel.
You thought I was your chauffeur."

"How times have changed," one of the men called out.

"I was a little in love with you by the end of that night," Diane reminded him. “I’ve never asked how you felt."

"It took me a little longer."

"You could have lied a little for the sake of our guests and my romantic soul."

"I was always a little backward," Greg joked.

"There wasn't somebody else, was there Greg?" Diane's friend Libby teased.

Diane guided him toward the guests. He draped an arm around her.

She said, "I know nine isn't a round number, but I wanted to give you a party. Were you really surprised?"

He nodded.

"Pleased?"

He nodded again. "Giving this party is really a lovely idea. Thank you."

Diane leaned her head onto his shoulder for an instant before turning to face him, both hands about his waist.  She spoke too softly for others to hear. "I know I've been very busy lately.
And you even busier.
But I wanted you to know that you've been a wonderful husband and make me very happy."

She waited for him to say something similar. He bent down and kissed her.

"Happy anniversary."

Greg made a conscious effort not to think of Chris when they were making love that night.
Twice.
That had not happened in many years. But even when he was exhausted and on the edge of sleep, he still felt unsatisfied. He also felt like a heel.

The next morning he told his assistant to have a huge floral bouquet sent to Christine
Paskins
. Not white roses. The card should read "For courage under fire" and should be signed "A still-admiring Greg
Lyall
." He assured himself the sentiment was as proper as any network CEO would have sent an anchor who had endured such an ordeal.