The Love Machine (8 page)

“Okay,” Dan growled. “So you land yourself the candidates—that’s two shows. What else do you plan to do? As I see it, so far it’s just a platform for political candidates.”

Robin’s smile was easy. “I plan to go to London and do an interview with some of the top British stars—like Paul Scofield, Laurence Olivier. Then do one with an American star of equal stature and compare the different attitudes. In May, Princess Margaret will wed Tony Armstrong-Jones. I have a friend with UPI who’s a close friend of Tony’s. I’ll shoot for an interview with him. I’m planning on leaving next week for San Quentin
to try and tape an interview with Caryl Chessman. His latest execution date is scheduled for May second.”

“He’ll be granted another stay,” Dan snapped.

“I don’t think so,” Robin answered. “And there’s such a mounting feeling against capital punishment that it’s important to do a show on the subject.”

“I think it’s a little too controversial,” Dan argued. “I think all the subjects you’ve picked are too far out. The public won’t go for this egghead crap!”

Robin grinned, but Dan noticed the coldness in his eyes. “I think you underestimate the public.”

Dan smothered his anger. He went for the cigarette case again. By the time he lit one he was able to get the right note of condescension in his voice. “I think these ideas of yours are gallant and crusading. But while you’re off knocking down windmills, I have to fight sponsors, juggle programs and worry about ratings. Before you take off on this safari, I think we should feel out some sponsors—after all, a network is team play. You can’t grab the ball and run off like a steamroller and expect me to hold the line without knowing the signals. I like your spirit, your enthusiasm, but have you seen the schedule of NBC, CBS and ABC? We need variety shows to compete with them.”

Robin’s voice cut in like an icicle. “I’m not going to pump sunshine up your ass. I’m here to create excitement for the News end of IBC. Maybe your job is to sit around and see what hits on other networks—then try and come out with carbon copies of their hit shows. Okay, that’s your route. Not
mine!
”

Gregory Austin’s eyes were shining. He jumped up and clapped Robin on the shoulder. “I talked like that when I was your age. I had the same enthusiasm when I said I was going to start the fourth network. I broke rules, I hustled, I didn’t listen to the doubters. Go ahead, Robin! I’ll send word to Business Administration to okay all expenses. You bring back those shows. Dan and I will work things out from this end.”

Robin grinned and started for the door. “I’ll start things rolling right away. I’ll be in touch with you, Mr. Austin, from all points.” Then he left the room.

Dan was still sitting at the table. He stumbled awkwardly to
his feet. Gregory Austin was staring after the closed door with unmasked admiration.

“He’s quite a man,” Gregory said.

“If
things work out,” Dan answered.

“They will! And even if they don’t, at least he’s in there pitching. Know something, Dan? I think I’ve just bought myself the greatest piece of manpower in the industry.”

Dan left the office. He went back to his desk. The outline for the Chris Lane show was on his desk. Suddenly the whole idea seemed limp. The steely arrogance of Robin Stone deflated him. But he picked it up and put in a call for Sig and Howie. He set a meeting for four o’clock. God damn it—he had to make the Christie Lane show work. The
In Depth
show would fall flat on its ass, he was confident of that. But Gregory liked action. Okay, he’d give him a show too. Maybe it wouldn’t have Tony Armstrong-Jones or a Kennedy, and maybe the
Times
would murder it, but he’d deliver a hot commercial show and a rating. And in the end, when the stockholders met, ratings were all that counted. Prestige didn’t pay dividends. Only ratings paid dividends.

He kept Sig and Howie in his office until seven o’clock. When he let them go, he demanded that they bring him more than an outline—he wanted a rough draft of a script and format within ten days.

When the writers left, Dan suddenly decided to go out and get drunk. He sure as hell rated it. He walked over to “21” and stood against the bar. The regulars were there. He nodded and ordered a double Scotch. Something was bothering him, beyond and above the set-to with Robin. He searched his mind. It wasn’t Gregory’s admiration for the man, Gregory blew hot and cold with equal force. A few weeks of low ratings and he’d be very disenchanted with Robin Stone … no, something that had happened in that dining room had unsettled him. Yet he couldn’t put his finger on it. He retraced all the conversation, but he couldn’t
find the cause. He ordered another double Scotch. Then he relived the luncheon again—every word, even Gregory’s life story. He felt that if he only remembered, he would have the key and know where to fight and what to fight against. The battle with Robin was out in the open. Time would prove him the winner and he would emerge stronger than ever. It was as if he had stumbled across a key to a bigger danger and lost it.

He thought about Ethel. Maybe he’d really tie one on and let her come to his apartment and do the cold-cream job. With Ethel, you didn’t have to bother about satisfying her—in fact he got the feeling that she liked it better when she didn’t even have to undress. He almost began to feel good. But the nagging feeling persisted of something wrong in his universe—something to do with Robin Stone. Again, he went over the luncheon from the top, all the way to Robin’s exit: “I’ll start things going right away.” Dan slammed the glass down with such force it broke against the bar. A polite waiter immediately wiped it up. The bartender poured another double and handed it to him. Dan took it. Christ, that was it! Robin’s exit line: “I’ll be in touch with you, Mr. Austin, from all points.”

In touch with
you
, Mr. Austin!

Robin Stone was supposed to report to
him
, Danton Miller. And Danton Miller should report to Mr. Austin. The son of a bitch was sidestepping him, going over his head—right to Gregory himself. And Gregory had allowed it. Well that settled it—he’d
have
to make The Christie Lane show a smash. Now he had to come up with a winner.

He walked outside to the phone booth and called Ethel Evans.

“Want to meet me at my apartment?” he asked.

“I’m no call girl.”

“Meaning what?”

“I haven’t eaten.”

“Okay, meet me at P.J.’s.”

“Is that the only restaurant in town?”

“Honey”—he softened his voice—“it’s eight thirty. I can’t make it a late night. Next week, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Is that a promise?”

“I swear on my Nielsens.”

Ethel laughed. “Okay, I’ll change to slacks.”

“Why change?”

“Because whenever I see a girl walk into P.J.’s at nine, all caked up, it looks like she was disappointed. You know, had her hopes geared for Voisin or the Colony. But when she walks in wearing slacks, it looks like it’s her decision.”

“You’ve got everything figured out, haven’t you?”

“Yes—even you, great man.”

He laughed. He didn’t want to argue with her. “Okay, Ethel, see you in half an hour.”

He returned to the bar and finished his drink. He looked at his watch. It was bad enough to be seen with Ethel; he was not about to be seen waiting for her. He signaled for another double.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Susie Morgan. God, she looked so fresh and pretty.

“Dan, you know Tom Mathews?”

Dan found himself shaking hands with a sandy-haired giant. The name rang a bell. Yeah, he had just been appointed to the CBS legal department. Or was it NBC?

The giant almost broke his hand pumping it. Jesus, how young and hearty did he have to be!

“Dan, look!” Susie held out her hand. A microscopic diamond in a Tiffany setting was on the proper finger.

“Well, well, when did all this happen?”

“Tonight!” she said. “That is, I got the ring tonight. We’ve dated occasionally for a year and just started going steady the last three weeks. Isn’t it wonderful, Dan!”

“Just great. Lemme buy you both a drink.”

“No, we’re having dinner upstairs with Tom’s folks. But I heard you were in here and I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“When do I lose you?” Dan asked.

“You don’t. Unless you want to. We’re getting married in June, we’ll have our honeymoon during our vacation. We both have two weeks coming. And, Dan, I’d love to continue to work for you until the lucky day when baby comes.” She blushed and looked at the giant adoringly.

“You bet!” Dan nodded. “Let me know what you want for a wedding present.”

He watched them as they left the room. It wasn’t proper to be that happy. He had never been that happy in his life… .

But he had
power
. That was his kind of happiness. And he’d come up with a winner with the Christie Lane Show if it was the last thing he did. By then Robin Stone would have fallen on his ass with the
In Depth
show and there’d be a new president of News.

He looked at his watch. Holy God, ten o’clock. He signed his check and suddenly was aware that he was very drunk. He got into a cab and went home. So Ethel was waiting. So what? All he wanted to do was fall into bed. Let her wait. He didn’t need to offer that cunt any explanations. She was a bum—and he was a big man!

SEVEN

E
THEL WAS WAITING.
At ten thirty she called Dan. He answered after a few rings. “Who’sh this?”

“It’s me, you drunken son of a bitch! I’m sitting at P.J.’s waiting for you!”

The receiver clicked in her ear. She stared at it for a moment, then slammed it down in fury. Christ! How had she ever allowed herself to get involved with him? Danton wasn’t a movie star passing through on a one-night stand. And she didn’t take any crap even from a movie star if he got out of line. She walked back to her table, paid her bill, and gave the place a final survey. She noticed everyone staring at a beautiful girl who had just entered the room, followed by two men. God, she was incredible-looking. They took the front table near the door. The girl looked familiar. Of course—she was on the cover of this month’s
Vogue
. Ethel looked at the men. She had been so busy staring at the girl that she hadn’t noticed them. One was Robin Stone, the other was Jerry Moss. She had met Jerry at a few agency parties.

She walked over to their table. “Hi, Jerry,” she said with a smile.

He looked up and didn’t rise. “Oh, hello there!” he said offhandedly.

She smiled at Robin. “I’m Ethel Evans… . We’ve met before. I’m with the publicity department of IBC.”

Robin looked at her. He grinned slowly. “Sit down, Ethel, we can use another girl. This is Amanda.”

Ethel smiled at her. The girl didn’t return the smile. Her face was a mask but Ethel could feel the wave of resentment pour across the table. How can she be jealous of me? she thought. If I looked like that, I’d own the world.

Ethel took out a cigarette. Robin leaned across and lit it. She stared at him as the smoke curled toward his face. But he had switched his attention to his drink.

The silence at the table unnerved her. She felt Amanda’s discontent, Jerry’s uneasiness, and Robin’s absorption with his drink.

“I just finished an assignment,” Ethel said. Her voice sounded unnatural. She paused and almost whispered. “And then I stopped by to get a bite.”

“No explanations,” Robin said with the same easy grin. “You’re here, relax.” He caught the attention of the waiter. “What do you want, Ethel?”

She looked at his empty glass. She always made it a point to drink what the man drank. It started them off with at least one thing in common. “I’ll have a beer,” she said.

“Give the lady a beer,” Robin said. “And bring me my glass of ice water.”

The waiter brought the beer and a large glass of ice water. Robin took a long swallow. Amanda reached over and sipped it. She made a face and put it down vehemently. “Robin—” Her eyes were angry.

He grinned. “Don’t you like ice water, baby?”

“That’s straight vodka,” she said.

Ethel felt a surge of excitement as she watched them curiously.

Robin took another long swallow. “So it is. I guess Mike made a mistake.”

“You’ve got Mike trained,” she said coldly. “Robin”—she leaned closer—“you said we’d be together tonight.”

He threw his arm around her again. “We
are
together baby!”

“I mean …” Her voice was low and pleading.
“Together
. Not with Jerry and another girl. I don’t consider that being with you.”

He rumpled her hair. “I got Ethel for Jerry. Now we’re a foursome.”

Amanda’s face remained impassive. “Robin, I have an early booking for a color layout tomorrow. I should have stayed home and washed my hair and gone to bed early. But I came out to be with you. And now you’re drinking.”