The Love Machine (4 page)

Ethel laughed. “Morgan White is related to the Austins. Nothing can hurt
him
. Your boyfriend is the one who’s in trouble.”

Susie colored slightly. It was true she dated Dan, but their relationship was confined to an occasional dinner at “21” or the opening of a Broadway show. Secretly she hoped something would come of it, but so far all he had done was give her a light kiss on the brow when he left her at her door. But she knew she was assumed to be “his girl.” They had even been coupled together in a Broadway column. She loved the prestige it gave her among the other secretaries.

Ethel shrugged. “Well, I’m just tipping you off. You’d better gird yourself for a tough evening with the Great Danton. If he gets the sack, it’ll be awfully drunk out.”

Susie knew Dan had a reputation as a heavy drinker, but he never took more than two martinis with her, and she had never seen anything ruffle his calm. She looked at Ethel and smiled. “I don’t think you have to worry about Dan. If he did lose this job, I’m sure he’d have plenty of offers.”

“You weren’t here when Colin Chase quote, retired, unquote. When they asked him about his plans, he said, ‘when you’re captain of a dirigible and the dirigible blows up, that’s it. After all, how many other dirigibles are there to go to?’” Ethel waited for this line to make an impact, then added, “It can get very lonely and cold sitting out there at Lakehurst, waiting for another dirigible to come along.”

Susie smiled. “I don’t think Dan will go to Lakehurst.”

“Honey,
every
place is Lakehurst when you have no dirigible. Colin Chase still sits in ‘21’ or the Colony every day, having three-hour lunches, stalling until it’s time to go to Louis and Armand’s for cocktails.”

Susie studied her hair in the mirror. Ethel gave up. “Okay, play it cool if you like, but I’ll bet you a lunch that Dan will go. He’s in real trouble.”

Susie stood alone in the Powder Room. She was concerned for Dan. But she was even more concerned for herself. If a new man came in, he’d bring his own secretary. She couldn’t go back to the “bullpen”! She’d have to job-hunt… .

Oh Lord, she had spent a whole week’s salary buying a dress to wear with Dan at the Emmy Awards dinner next month. She was feeling panic now. She
had
seen the ratings. Everything was down. Network News was hardest hit, but Ethel was right-Morgan White was related to the Austins. Danton would be the fall guy. True, he had looked calm enough this morning when she placed the message on his desk, but you could never tell when Dan was worried. His Madison Avenue training and his ubiquitous catlike smile made him seem in total command.

In fact Dan
was
worried. He sensed disaster the moment he saw the ratings. And when Susie put the phone message before him he felt the blood drain from his stomach. He loved the job. It
was stimulating and exciting. And as he reveled in his power, his fear of failure grew. You couldn’t take chances when you put your job on the line. Presidents of other networks could take chances. They didn’t work for a maniac like Gregory Austin, who fancied himself a combination of Bernard Baruch and David Merrick. What was he trying to prove? You couldn’t be any bigger than Gregory, unless you were Robert Sarnoff or William Paley.

At ten twenty-seven he left his office and walked to the elevator. He looked down the hall at the impressive walnut door with the gold lettering:
MORGAN WHITE
. Everything seemed serene in there. Sure, Morgan was safe. Gregory Austin had chosen Dan-ton Miller, Jr., as the sacrificial lamb.

He nodded briskly to the elevator boy as the car took him swiftly to the penthouse floor. He smiled evenly at Gregory Austin’s secretary as she announced him. She returned his smile and motioned him to go inside. He envied her, serene and secure in her paneled and broadloomed cubicle.

He entered the spacious reception room, where Gregory usually came out to greet VIPs—big sponsors or presidents of advertising agencies who were making multimillion-dollar buys of IBC air time. Beyond it was the conference room and Gregory’s luxurious inner office.

If Gregory wanted to fire him, he’d probably be standing here, waiting to get it over with quickly. But Gregory wasn’t here, so maybe it was a good sign. But what if Gregory wanted to make him wait and sweat? It could be a bad sign.

He sat on one of the leather couches and stared morosely at the handsome early American furniture. He glanced at the neat creases in the trousers of his Dunhill suit. God—right now, he was Danton Miller, Jr., President of Network Television. Five minutes from now he might be unemployed.

He took out his cigarette case. The slow burn of his ulcer warned him, but he took out a cigarette and tapped it against the case. He should have taken a tranquilizer before he left his office. He should have stayed on the wagon last night. Hell, he should have done a
lot
of things! He studied the cigarette case. He had selected it with great care. Three hundred dollars. Black baby alligator, trimmed with eighteen-karat gold. He could have gotten
a solid gold one for the same price, but that wasn’t the image of understated elegance he had styled for himself—the black suit, the black tie, the white shirt. He had twelve black suits, fifty black ties, all the same. Each tie had a small number in the lining so he could rotate them each day. A black suit simplified life: fine for the office, but equally presentable if an important dinner date came up. The cigarette case was a great prop. If he was asked to make a snap decision, he could reach for the cigarette case, select a cigarette, tap it against the case—it gave him time to think, to stall. It was also a substitute for cuticle picking, nail biting and other manifestations of nerves.

His hands felt damp. He didn’t want to lose this job! This was power! There was no place to go after this, no place other than the Valhalla of ex-network presidents, the martini-laden four-hour daily lunch at “21.”

He stared out the window. A watery sun was trying to shine. Spring would soon be here. This couch would be here in spring. Gregory’s secretary would be here. But
he
would be gone. Suddenly he knew how a condemned man must feel as he walks to the electric chair and stares at the witnesses who must watch him die. He breathed deeply, as if savoring every last second of life; as if in a few seconds his life could be shot from under him. The large office, the trips to the Coast, the bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel, the broads. … He walked back to the couch. He didn’t consciously believe in God, yet he sent up a small prayer—a promise. If he got through today without getting canned, things would be different. He’d make those numbers rise. He’d do it if he had to steal shows from other networks. He’d make it a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. He’d cut down on the booze, on the broads. This was a pledge—and he’d keep it. Hadn’t he kept the rule he had set for himself against drinking at lunch? He had made that decision when he saw the disintegration of Lester Mark. Lester had headed a big advertising agency. Dan had watched him go from two to four to five martinis at lunch. Martinis bolster a man’s confidence and loosen his tongue. He had watched Lester go from president of an advertising agency to vice-president of a lesser agency, from vice-president to unemployment, from there to full-time alcoholic.

Dan was convinced that the lunchtime martini was one of the worst occupational hazards of television. For this reason, he was strict in his abstinence during the day. What he did after hours he always considered his own business. But in this past year he had been doing it too much. Maybe that was why he had latched on to Susie Morgan, breaking another of his rules. (Keep your social life apart from your business.) Susie was too young for him, so he made no passes and stayed reasonably sober when he took her out. Besides, he couldn’t really cope with a twenty-three-year-old: a girl that age has marriage spelled across her forehead. It was safer to get a hooker for sex or even jerk off. Girls like Susie were good for window dressing. He’d even give up the hookers if he held the job. He’d stay home several nights a week, just watch that goddam box, watch the competition, find out
why
IBC was lagging. Find out what the public really wanted. Oh, who the hell knew? Even the public didn’t know.

The heavy door swung open and Gregory Austin walked in. Dan jumped up. Gregory was holding the ratings. He handed Dan the paper and motioned him to sit down. Dan studied the ratings as if seeing them for the first time. From the corner of his eye he watched Gregory pace up and down the room. Where did the man get the energy? Dan was ten years younger, yet he didn’t walk with the same spring. Austin was not a tall man. Dan was five foot ten and he stood several inches higher than Gregory. Even Judith in her high heels sometimes appeared taller than Gregory. Yet there was a virility and a feeling of strength that emanated from him. His whole being crackled with excitement: the red hair, the freckles on the strong sun-tanned hands, his flat stomach, the quick movements, and the sudden disarming smile. The rumor was that he had led an active love life among the Hollywood starlets until he met Judith. After that, to Gregory, no other woman seemed to exist.

“What do you think of the numbers?” Gregory said suddenly.

Dan made a wry face.

“Notice anything particular?”

Dan took out the cigarette case. He tapped a cigarette.

Gregory reached over and took one, but ignored Dan’s offer
of a light. “Been off them for a week,” he announced. “I just hold one in my mouth. It works. You should try it, Dan.”

Dan lit his own cigarette and exhaled slowly. He made another vow to the God who watched over network presidents. If he walked out of this room with his job intact, he would never smoke again.

Gregory leaned over. The strong hand with the red-gold hairs pointed to the news ratings.

“We’re in the cellar,” Dan said, as if making a sudden discovery.

“Notice something else?”

Dan’s ulcer stabbed him. His eyes kept riveting to the two variety shows that were in the bottom ten. Shows that he had recommended. But he forced himself to look at Gregory with a bland innocent stare.

Gregory Austin’s finger impatiently tapped the page. “Look at our
local
news. Not only does it hold its own, but some nights it even outrates CBS, ABC and NBC. Know why? A man named Robin Stone!”

“I’ve caught him many times, he’s excellent,” Dan lied. He had never seen the man or watched the eleven o’clock IBC news. Either he was loaded and fell asleep, or he turned to NBC and waited for the
Tonight
show.

“I’ve watched him every night for a month,” Gregory stated. “Mrs. Austin thinks he’s great. And it’s the
women
who determine what channel their husbands pick for news. The man may win in the choice of any other show, but when it comes to the news, it’s
her
choice. Because the news is the same on each network—it just depends on which newscaster you prefer to watch. That’s why I’ve taken Robin Stone off local news. I intend to put him on our seven o’clock network show with Jim Bolt.”

“Why keep Jim on at all?”

“He’s got a contract to play out. Besides, I don’t want Robin Stone stuck with just that spot. I have other plans for him. This man can be another Murrow, Cronkite, Huntley or Brinkley. We build him. And in turn he’ll build the seven o’clock spot. By the end of this summer, his face will be known nationally. He’ll be
our anchor man at the conventions. We’ve got to build our news department. The only way to do it is with a personality. And Robin Stone is our man.”

“Could be,” Dan said slowly. He wondered what was coming next. This should be Morgan White’s territory.

As if reading his thoughts, Gregory said, “Morgan White has to go.” He said it quietly, without emotion.

Dan remained silent. This was a startling turn of events and he wondered why Gregory was confiding in him. Gregory kept everyone at a distance.

“Who would replace Morgan?”

Gregory stared at him. “What in hell have I been telling you? Do I have to lay it out? I don’t want Robin Stone just as a performing newscaster. I want him to
head
the department.”

“I think it’s a marvelous idea.” Dan was so relieved at his own stay of execution he could afford to be expansive.

“But I can’t fire Morgan, he has to quit.”

Dan nodded, still afraid to offer any comment.

“Morgan has no talent. But he has plenty of pride. It runs in the family. His mother and Mrs. Austin’s mother were sisters. Great family—no business sense—but
great
pride. But that’s what I’m counting on. When you leave here, I want you to send a memo to Morgan, announcing that you have hired Robin Stone as Head of Network News.”

“Head of Network News?”

“There’s no such job or title. I’m just creating it temporarily. Morgan will wonder what the hell it is, too. He’ll come to you. You’ll say that you created this job for Robin Stone in order to bolster the ratings. That Robin Stone will have a free hand in changing things in the news department—and will report directly to you. Get it?”

Dan nodded slowly. “Morgan will claim I’m butting into his department.”

“Not butting in. As President of Network Television, you have the right to suggest changes in any department.”