Star Time (58 page)

Paul Bell, FBS's head of Advertising and Promotion, spoke next. A frenetic young man of thirty, he and Greg had spent long hours devising the network's plans to market the new fall lineup to the public.

"Our promotional campaign is built around the phrase 'star time, good time,'" he began. "The idea is that FBS is bringing great stars and good times into your home. The subliminal pitch is: No matter how miserable your life might be, there's always one place where you'll be happy and feel loved by these glorious people you admire.
Kind of like legal drugs.
The theme connects well with the younger, better-educated, more urban demographic we're aiming for with our sophisticated sitcoms and the character-oriented and lighter action-adventure dramas we're going with."

He showed them the on-air promos and sketched out the rest of the advertising and promotion, including the coupon game with a national fast-food chain that required players to watch the new series. "It won't bring good ratings to bad shows, but it should increase early sampling by viewers."

He concluded by explaining that they had talked the affiliate board going along with their strategy of holding off the campaign to promote the new shows until very near premiere date.  Greg added, "We felt promoting them months ahead of time was a waste."

That was when Ted Woodruff spoke up. The head of Sales was a longtime protégé of
Ev
Carver, who was sitting beside him. "I'm getting some flack on that from the ad agencies. They say we won't be making enough of an impact on the new shows they've bought into by going that late. They've got a lot of ad money riding on our lineup."

Greg seethed. Woodruff had been dragging his feet on every new sales idea for months. He usually fell back on the argument that Greg would be making a mistake to ignore his greater experience. But this was the first time he had done so in front of others. Greg suspected
Ev
had put him up to it.

Greg answered forcefully. "I think we all understand that the advertisers have a big stake in the success of our fall season. But we've got a bigger stake. This timing will give us the biggest bang for our promotional buck."

"Wouldn't ad agencies be the best judge of that? We've always done it that way, and they've never objected before. I think maybe—"

Greg thrust his finger hard at the Sales
V.P
., interrupting him.
“
Let me make this clear to you, Ted—to all of you—so there
’
s no mistaking it. I
’
m the boss. Either do what I say or get out of the way!
”
Woodruff turned white. His voice stumbled into apology. Greg was already addressing the others.

“
Once something
’
s decided, I expect complete commitment. Either this ship makes it through this storm because I steered it well or we all go down with it together.
”

The long, black limousine swung onto Eleventh Avenue and stopped at the corner of
Forty-ninth
Street.
Ev
Carver emerged from the rear door and strode into the aging Munson Diner.

Two laborers were hunched over coffee at the counter, discussing the previous night
’
s Yankees game. A black couple sipped coffee desultorily at a booth on the right. In the rear sat a bald-headed man with gnarled brow ridges cantilevered above cagey eyes. He was an ex-military-intelligence officer whose firm was sometimes hired by FBS
’
s Security people to check into the background of prospective employees.
Ev
had hired him for a private job and told him to bill FBS in the usual way.

Ev
dropped into the chair across from him.
“
Who
’
s the bitch fucking, Hank?
”

“
It
’
s all on the film.
”

“
You got her with someone!
”

“
I
’
ll tell you this, she sure isn
’
t a nun.
”

“
I
’
ll stomp that cunt
Hedy
into little pieces.
”

Ev
had provided the investigator with a security passkey permitting access to
Hedy
’
s
locked office when she was in an all-staff meeting. The man had quickly made wax impressions of the keys in her handbag. One of the keys let him into her apartment

Ev
had provided the address

where he placed a tiny camera high up in a closet, the view for its high-speed film provided by a tiny hole drilled through the wall above the molding, its silent shutter activated once every ten seconds while there was movement in the bedroom.

“
Here
’
s the best of the prints,
”
he told
Ev
, and slid a manila envelope across the table. He had made two sets of each photo. The negatives were back in his darkroom.

Ev
bent up the metal clasp and opened the envelope. Enlargements revealed a naked man and woman making love in various positions on the bed.

“
That isn
’
t her!
”
Ev
exclaimed with disappointment.
“
Hedy
’
s
a brunette.
”

“
You said it was the TV reporter. I recognized her right away. That
’
s her.
”

Ev
looked more closely at her face.
And then at the man
’
s.
He was stunned. No mistaking those two: Chris
Paskins
was going at it with Greg
Lyall
in
Hedy
’
s
apartment.

“
Holy shit!
”
he joyfully exclaimed.
“
Holy mother of shit!
”

“
Sorry I couldn
’
t get you what you wanted,
”
the other man apologized.

“
This
’
ll do fine.
”
Ev
stood up, slipping the photos back into the envelope.
“
Add a thousand dollars to your bill, Hank.
A bonus.
You did just fine.
”

Ev
was already out the door before the bald-headed man recalled the audio recorder residing in his pocket. Microphones concealed in several places in the apartment had broadcast whatever was said to the hidden recording device. He thought about running after
Ev
Carver with it and then decided to listen to it first. If anything turned up on it, the guy might be willing to jump the bonus.

He asked the waitress for another coffee, popped in the ear buds, and sat back to listen. After a while it came to him that this woman reporter and that son of a bitch she was screwing in the photos were trying to destroy America
’
s nuclear capability.

Greg was seated on the sofa reading a report as
Ev
entered his office unannounced. Closing the door,
Ev
pulled the photos from the manila envelope and dropped them onto the coffee table.

Greg felt as if a concrete block had dropped onto his chest; he could not breathe.
“
How did you get these?
”

“
A little birdie flew up to me with them.
”
Ev
’
s
voice was gleeful.
“
You
’
re a dead man,
Lyall
.
Dead as dirt.
I want your resignation or my next stop is Barnett Roderick
’
s apartment.
”

“
Why didn
’
t you just give them to him? Why bring them to me?
”

“
Too much turmoil the other
way,
and it doesn
’
t guarantee that I take over. What I want is for you to make sure with the old man that I replace you. You obviously have him eating out of your hand. Tell him anything: that you can
’
t take the pressure, that you realize you
’
re not good enough and the company needs Carver.
Anything.
Just make sure I replace you. When I do, you get the second set of prints and the negatives. Clean, neat, and no one gets hurt.
”

Greg had no doubt the photos would destroy his career and Chris
’
s and her husband
’
s probably. Diane would be devastated.
Ev
Carver could not be bought off; all the man had ever wanted was to run FBS. If Greg refused to resign,
Ev
would have no scruples about pasting the photos all over the Internet, a guaranteed five million views the first 24 hours.

“
What you
’
re asking will take a few days to work out,
”
Greg stated.

“
I understand. Just see that it
’
s done.
”

Ev
had an extra card up his sleeve. If for some unforeseeable reason Greg did not resign in his favor, publishing the photos would doubtless weaken FBS so badly, on screen and off—certainly Chris
Paskins
’
s
ratings—that the stock would plummet and Basil Markham could swoop in and swiftly swallow the company. In that eventuality also,
Ev
would be named CEO.

He started to leave and then stopped for a final observation.
“
You almost pulled it off,
Lyall
. You built yourself the perfect deal, and then like a dumb asshole, you went and tripped over your own cock.
”

His laughter was cut off by the slam of the door behind him.

Greg had bought some time to ponder the matter, but he saw no alternative to going to Barnett and tendering his resignation in favor of
Ev
Carver. Too many people would be hurt otherwise. Everything he had ever wanted and worked for had just slipped through his fingers and into
Ev
’
s
.

He decided against telling Chris. No need to worry her. Once he resigned and got back the photos, her reputation would be safe.

This was the maid's night off. Chris was making herself spaghetti, heating up the tomato sauce in the microwave oven while the pasta boiled on the stove. It was past ten o'clock. Late-breaking news had required three separate feeds tonight, two for the East Coast, and one for the West.

She would be alone tonight. Ken was on a campaign swing across the state's western tier: Buffalo, Rochester, Utica/Rome, Syracuse, and towns in between. This coming weekend she had promised to be present while he gave several important speeches. She certainly
did
support him—he was a fine senator, she believed, and a fine man. Still married to him, she had a wife's obligation to appear. But she was also a noted newscaster. Appearing with him automatically enhanced his credibility with voters, even if her journalist's principles forbade her speaking on his behalf.

The timer rang. She drained the pasta and ladled hot tomato sauce onto it. Grated cheese, she remembered, and put the container on the table as well. She finally sat down to eat, rolled several spaghetti strands around a fork, and heard a key in the door.

Ken stepped into the dining room. Usually immaculate, his hair was mussed and his necktie askew.

"I didn't expect you home," she remarked. "Do you want some pasta? I made too much."

"No, I came home to talk to you."

"What about?"
She would not sit through another plea from him to reconcile. She started rolling a second forkful of spaghetti.

"I just had a private meeting with Phil Grant."

Chris put down her fork. Phillip Grant was the secretary of Defense.

"He says," Ken continued, "that you intend to run a story that will jeopardize America's reputation all around the world and probably destroy the good relations we now have with the Russians."

"Ken
,
he's breaking our missile treaties by secretly building a new nuclear-missile base.
Maybe even more than one.
He's worried because he's been found out."