The Love Machine (5 page)

Dan smiled. “Suggest, but not
act
.”

“Let’s not fool with semantics. Morgan will come running to
me. I’ll pretend it’s a surprise, but I’ll say that your job gives you the power to hire new personnel.”

“Suppose Morgan doesn’t quit?”

“He will,” Gregory said. “I’m betting on it.”

Then Gregory tossed aside his unlit cigarette and Dan stood up. The interview had ended. His life had been spared. He left the office with a new sense of security. His job was not in peril, and wouldn’t be for some time. Gregory wanted him to be hatchet man on Morgan. He was dizzy at the thought of the new prestige this would give him in the business. Everyone knew Morgan’s relationship with Gregory Austin. And now he, Dan-ton Miller, Jr., would make the announcement that he had appointed Robin Stone as Head of Network News. They would actually believe that he was big enough to fire Morgan White and that Gregory Austin would sit back and accept it! The word would be out all over town: “Danton Miller, Jr., has autonomous power.”

His hand shook as he wrote and rewrote the memo to Morgan White. After rephrasing it several times, he dictated it to Susie. He wondered how fast she’d get the news around the building. He sat back and reached for a cigarette, then, recalling his pledge, he tossed it unlit into the wastebasket.

He stood up and stared from his window. The sun was shining, the sky was almost a Wedgwood blue. Spring was coming and he’d be alive to greet it.

He turned around calmly as Morgan White burst into his office.

“What is all this about?” Morgan demanded.

“Sit down, Morgan… .” Dan reached for his cigarette case, hesitated, then snapped it open. Hell, if there was a God, He knew a man
had
to have a cigarette at a moment like this!

FOUR

T
HE DAY AFTER
the big announcement was made, business went on as usual at IBC. Robin Stone’s picture appeared
The New York Times
with a brief statement announcing his appointment as President of News replacing Morgan White, who had resigned. There was a sense of suspended apprehension in the news department as everyone waited for Robin Stone to appear. Robin had always been a loner, so there was one speculation that took all precedence—“What was Robin Stone really like?” The only person who had come near to socializing with him was Bill Kettner, a cameraman. On two occasions he had gone to a bar with Robin after the eleven o’clock news. On both occasions it was to watch a night ball game. Robin Stone liked baseball. He could also polish off three vodka martinis as if they were orange juice. This was the sum total of information that had been dredged together.

A few of the girls had seen him at P.J.’s, always with a pretty girl. Sometimes Jerry Moss was with them. Jerry Moss seemed to be his only male friend. They met every day at the Lancer Bar for a drink.

“Where in hell is the Lancer Bar?”

Jim Bolt said he thought it was on West Forty-eighth Street.

Sam Jackson was sure it was on First Avenue.

They looked it up in the phone book.

It was on East Fifty-fourth Street.

No one had ever been there.

On Wednesday afternoon, half the news department went to the Lancer Bar.

Robin Stone never showed.

On Thursday one of the researchers went there because he had liked the Lancer Bar.

Robin Stone was there.

With Jerry Moss and the most beautiful girl in the world.

There was nothing to do but wait for Robin Stone to make a move. It came late Friday afternoon. A message was placed on the desks of all news personnel:

THERE WILL BE A MEETING IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM ON THE EIGHTEENTH FLOOR, MONDAY AT TEN THIRTY.

R
OBIN
S
TONE

They began filing into the conference room at ten twenty. At ten twenty-five Ethel Evans entered. Jim Bolt glanced at her curiously. She had no business being here. But he was too concerned with his own problems to give her much thought. A new president meant a big shake-up. Yet he had to hand it to Ethel-barging in like this. He admired her guts and her easy confidence.

But Ethel wasn’t as confident as she appeared. She noticed that most of the staff automatically took seats as if they had been assigned to them. It was a long room, the long table was the only furniture. Some extra chairs were against the wall. The door they had all come in by led to the outside hall. She stared at another door. A door that was ominously closed. Soon every seat was taken except the empty seat at the head of the table. Ethel hesitated, then she took a chair from against the wall, dragged it to the table and wedged it in between a researcher and a sports-caster.

At ten thirty Randolph Lester, Morgan’s vice-president of News, entered the room. Ethel noticed that he looked fairly confident. Maybe Robin had given him some hint that his job was not in jeopardy. Randolph was wearing a black suit and black tie. The IBC image that Danton Miller had inspired. He smiled
at them paternally. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I know you’ve all shared IBC’s excitement at the appointment of Mr. Stone to the presidency of News. Some of you have worked with him. Some of you will be meeting him for the first time. Both Mr. Gregory Austin and Mr. Danton Miller are proud to place all future news programming in Mr. Stone’s hands. There will be some changes made—in fact, there will be
many
changes made. But I’m sure everyone will understand they reflect in no way on anyone’s personal talent or accomplishment. The changes will be to extend our news coverage. To make for higher achievement.”

“Why doesn’t he just say higher ratings?” whispered someone near Ethel.

Someone else muttered, “See you in the unemployment-insurance line.”

Randolph Lester continued, “IBC’s policy has always been—” He stopped as the door opened and Robin Stone swung into the room.

There was a small spatter of applause, but something in Robin’s eyes made it die before it began. Then he grinned and they all felt like ridiculous children who had done something foolish but were forgiven.

Robin Stone glanced down the table quickly, his eyes resting on no one. It was as if he was summing up the number of people, the room, the setting. Then he flashed an easy grin. Ethel noticed that everyone’s resistance seemed to liquefy. The charisma of that grin was like a voltage of paralyzing electricity. To Ethel he was suddenly more desirable than any movie star. God, to break through that steel façade … to make this man tremble in her arms … to control him … even for a second! From her distance at the end of the table she could stare at him without catching his attention. She noticed suddenly that he smiled only with his mouth. His eyes were cold.

“I’ve studied the news operation,” he said quietly. “Each and every one of you is good. But IBC is dragging in the ratings. We’ve got to add some juice to the operations. I’m a newsman—remember that. First, last and always. This is my first shot as an executive. But I will also function as a newsman. In the Air
Force, when they finally stuck a couple of bars on my shoulder, I still flew a plane as a fighter pilot.”

Ethel watched him intently as he spoke. He was handsome, cold-looking but handsome. He had to be almost six three, and not an inch of flesh to spare. She
had
to diet. He was grinning again. He could win the war with that smile alone.

“I intend to stay with the action here. This summer I want to build a top team to cover the conventions,” Robin continued. “By then Andy Parino, from our Miami station, will be established on the network—he’ll also be part of our convention team. I want to
add
to the combination—not eliminate.” He turned to Randolph Lester. “But first of all, suppose we go round the table and you introduce everyone to me.”

The two men walked around the table and Robin shook hands with each person. His friendly grin was intact, but his eyes were remote and his greeting impersonal. It was almost as if he had never seen any of them before.

When Lester’s eyes rested on Ethel, he seemed surprised, hesitated a second, then quickly passed by her. The entire procedure went so quickly that Ethel was unaware of the deliberate slight. She watched them return to the head to the table. But Robin didn’t sit down. His eyes scanned the table and rested on Ethel.

He pointed to her. “I don’t believe we were introduced.”

She stood up. “I’m Ethel Evans.”

“What is your function?”

She felt her face grow warm. “I’m with the public relations office …”

“Then what are you doing here?” He was still smiling and his voice was gentle, but the eyes chilled her.

“Well … I thought … I mean, someone has to be assigned to News. To publicize any new ventures. I figured you’d need someone.” She sat down quickly.

“When I want someone, I’ll notify the publicity department,” he said with the same half-smile. “Now suppose you return to wherever you came from.” Every eye watched her as she walked out of the room.

Outside in the hall, Ethel leaned against the door. She felt physically sick. She wanted to run away from that conference
room—she could hear him talking inside—but she stood there. She couldn’t move … she was in a state of shock.

Then she heard Lester ask Robin whether he wanted Mondays set aside for the weekly meetings.

“There will be no weekly meetings,” Robin answered. “I call them as I see them. But I want one thing changed—”

There was a second of silence. She knew everyone was leaning forward intently. Then Robin’s voice: “Get rid of this table, I want a round one.”

“A round one?” This was Lester.

“Yep. A great big round one. I don’t like to sit or stand at the head of a table. I don’t want seats assigned. If we work as a team, we sit as a team. Get me a big round table.” There was a moment of silence, then everyone began to talk at once and she knew Robin had left the room. She heard them chattering with nervous relief. They’d begin to file out in a second! She dashed down the hall. She couldn’t wait for the elevator—she didn’t want to face them. She ran to the stairway and ducked into the Ladies’ Room on another floor. Thank God, it was empty. She gripped the sink until her knuckles were white. Tears of humiliation ran down her face. “You son of a bitch, I hate you!” She started to sob. “I hate you!” She wiped her eyes and stared into the mirror. A fresh flow of tears spilled over. “Oh God,” she begged, “why didn’t you make me beautiful?”

FIVE

A
FTER HER DISASTROUS EVICTION
from Robin’s meeting, Ethel holed away in her office for the rest of the day. She didn’t want to run into anyone in the halls—she was positive they were joking about her unceremonious departure.

She put the time to good use and typed out all the releases that had piled on her desk. At six thirty, the offices on the entire floor were empty. In her concentration on her work most of her humiliation had evaporated. Now she just felt drained—wrung out.

She took her mirror and tried to fix her makeup. She stared at herself disconsolately. Her face looked lousy. She put the cover on her typewriter and stood up. Her skirt was a mass of rolled wrinkles. It was too tight. Ethel sighed. Everything she ate went straight to her hips. She really had to go on a strict diet.

She took the elevator to the lobby. It was deserted but the coffee shop was still open. It was too late to go to Louis and Armand’s on the pretense of looking for someone and maybe having a few laughs at the bar. Everyone she knew would be gone by now. The dinner crowd would be coming in. She went into the coffee shop and ordered black coffee. Usually she took cream and two sugars. The diet was officially on! She watched the waitress pour it into a cup. The girl’s hands were red and cracked from washing dishes. She wondered about her. Didn’t she have dreams? Didn’t she hope to get somewhere? She had much more on the ball than Ethel, as far as looks went. She was slim and had a pretty face. Yet that girl was content to stand on her feet, slop up a wet counter, take crap from customers, smile at a dime
tip—and Ethel Evans was making a hundred and fifty dollars a week!

She got out her compact and retouched her lipstick. She was no beauty, but she got by. More than got by—but it would be nice to have a little something going in the looks department. Damn that separation in her teeth. And damn that lousy dentist who wanted three hundred dollars for a cap job. She had offered to sleep with him if he’d do it for free and he had thought she was joking. When she let him know she was serious, he pretended not to believe her. Then she realized he didn’t
want
her! Dr. Irving Stein, a lousy little dentist, didn’t want her! Ethel Evans who only fucked the big boys—who was known at IBC as the “celebrity-fucker”!

She walked out of the coffee shop and hesitated in the lobby. She didn’t want to go home. This was the night her roommate bleached her hair and the whole place would be a mess. But it was a good arrangement, sharing an apartment with Lillian, who worked at the Benson-Ryan agency. Their hours were alike and they dug the same scene. They had met at Fire Island. That had been a great summer. Six girls had anted up to share a cottage. They called it the House of the Six Swingers. They had a blackboard and kept score. Every time one of them banged a guy, the others had to put a dollar in the kitty. And at the end of the summer the girl who had banged the most men won the pot. Lillian had beaten Ethel out by more than a dozen men. But then Lillian wasn’t choosy. She was a good girl, a fun girl, but a slob. She’d even bang an assistant director. In Ethel’s book, an A.D. couldn’t qualify for anything but a few laughs at Louis and Ar-mand’s bar, if she was desperate.