Who He? - (15)

Borden's phone buzzed. He picked it up, murmured for a minute, put it down and apologized.
    "You can't run a variety show like a girl's weeny roast," Bacon continued. "Sooner or later some eager beaver is going to get a fork in her eye and drop the marshmallows into the fire."
    Borden's phone buzzed. He picked it up, murmured for a minute, put it down and apologized.
    "Now I'm the last man to blow the whistle on another man's act," Bacon went on. "But we were in the fire last Sunday and if Jake hadn't cut the heart of the plate from left field, they'd still be running the bases. What we need is organization and direction. The show's got to be handled like a military operation, and Sachs isn't the man to set up the cadre."
    "It isn't a question of talent," Borden said tactfully. "Nobody's attacking Sachs on the genius level. But Ned feels the show needs a man more experienced in--"
    Borden's phone buzzed. He picked it up, murmured for a minute, put it down and apologized.
    "More experienced in the aspects of handling talent rather than providing talent," he went on. He charmed Bacon with a tactful smile. "Editor's note: This in no way implies that you can't or won't provide talent when required."
    Bacon swaggered up to Grabinett and stood over him. "Here it is, wrapped for delivery. Sachs had his turn at bat. He couldn't get on base. Now it's time for the clutch hitter to come up. Are you with me or are you going to throw the game?"
    Grabinett squirmed in his chair. "God damn it! This is my Almighty show. I'm satisfied with Sachs."
    "Your show?" Bacon laughed. "I'll read the fine print for you. Jake and I worked this up together. It was a smart panel show with demonstrated questions that had sell. You had Tom Bleutcher in your pocket and no show for him. Of all the crap Bleutcher saw, he liked our package best. But the network wouldn't sell the time unless they could put Mason to work in a musical. So we all joined the team and pooled the bats and gloves. Bleutcher let you shove a variety show down his throat. You let the network hang Mason onto your budget. And we let you chisel fifty percent of the package out of us. But what the hell did you contribute, talentwise, that makes you the Captain?"
    "I'm satisfied with Sachs!" Grabinett shouted.
    "The rest of us aren't, so Sachs goes."
    "And I'm not the only Almighty one satisfied with Sachs, so he stays."
    "I've got my boys with me. Who've you got?"
    "I got Lennox."
    "Enlighten him, Jake," Bacon drawled.
    Lennox took a deep breath. "Ned, I'm sorry. I have to vote with Mel."
    Bacon's face froze.
    "I know what your problem is, Ned, and you know I sympathize. But I've got problems too. I've got to go along with Mel."
    "You yellow scab! You're selling me out? What was the price? Don't I even get a chance to bid against his thirty pieces of silver?"
    "If I'd known in time I'd have warned you."
    "You didn't have the guts, you cheap--"
    "I know you're burning and I don't blame you, but I want to tell you something. I'm having a rough time myself this week and I'll take just so much from you and no more. You're not the only man in this office with a boom over his head. Remember that."
    Bacon turned on Grabinett. "All right, shyster, you got to one juror in the box, but the fix isn't in yet. I've got another ace to play." He gave Lennox a sour smile. "Your card, Benedict."
    "Don't play it," Lennox growled. "It's a deuce."
    "I can have Sachs thrown off the show for unethical conduct," Bacon persisted. "That corn-ball tried the casting couch routine with an actress named--"
    "Shut up, Ned," Lennox cut in. "It isn't going to do you any good. I won't back the story and neither will she if I tell her not to. Leave her name out of it."
    "Damn you!" Bacon yelled. "What are you doing to me? Cutting my heart out with a dull knife?"
    "He's protecting the Almighty show, that's what he's doing!" Grabinett blurted. "Why don't you let me keep it on the air? What do you want from me? I provided the client. Ain't that enough? Maybe I got no talent, but you don't see me dragging scandal into the studio. Dirty letters and dirty cracks about my director. For Christ's sake, let's all make a buck and live in peace."
    "I'm going to direct my own show," Bacon answered. "And I'm starting the first of the year whether you or my former partner like it or not. You want to make a buck, do you? Then make it on another sucker's brains; because if I don't direct my own show, I want it back. I'm taking it off the air. I'm picking up my marbles and going home."
    "Talk sense, Ned!" Lennox cried.
    "Shut up!" Bacon looked at him with loathing. "If you ever talk to me again I'll cut your guts out. You knew what this meant to me. You know the spot I'm in. 'The People Against--' is cancelled. The old man is through. They've retired his number. This is the one hold I've got on the future and you're stamping on my fingers. For why? What've you got to lose giving me a break?"
    Borden's phone buzzed. He picked it up, murmured for a minute, put it down and said: "The show's cancelled."
    They all turned incredulously.
    "That was Roy Audibon. The network isn't renewing our Sunday night time. I think we'd better table this hassle and get over there right away."
    *       *       *       *       *
    Tookey Ween was in one of the red leather library chairs and Audibon stood before the illuminated nebula when the three men entered the office. Before the door was closed, a five-way battle was joined, and the melee continued for fifteen minutes. The only way to describe that brawl is to name the records from the network sound library that a soundman would have to use to duplicate it. Spinning two turntables, he would blend 261B--APPLAUSE: 5th CUT; BOOS AND SLIGHT HISSES, with 259A--RIOT CROWD EFFECTS: FRENCH CROWD, LARGE GROUP OF MEN, INCITED TO RIOT BY FRENCH COMMANDS. He might also hammer on the studio walls to get the desk-pounding effect.
    Through all the fury, Audibon remained adamant. The network was not renewing the time. After a quarter of an hour had elapsed, he looked at his watch and took control of the situation.
    "We're discussing a half hour show," he said sharply. "I can't allocate more than the show's time to the discussion time. I have another appointment coming up. Now ... if you've been listening to me with your inner ear, you know the network's position. The nine to nine-thirty Sunday night slot is rated at ten points better than 'Who He?' is doing."
    "Roy...." Borden began.
    Audibon held up his hand. "We're not an entertainment business. We're an institution. We have prestige to maintain. We have our honor to polish. One of my responsibilities is to see to it that every one of our shows reaches and maintains its ultimate rating. Entertainment isn't our goal...." Audibon reached up and rapped the nebula with his knuckles. "This is our goal."
    "Damn it, Roy," Borden exploded. "Level with me. You and I know what's behind this decision. It's the old network-agency feud. You people can't forget that you sold out your radio time to the agencies and lost control of your own business. You're so damned scared of that happening with television that you're cancelling our show ... not because the rating isn't high enough, but because the network doesn't own the package. You want nothing but network packages filling network time."
    Audibon smiled.
    "It's a seller's market today," Borden shouted. "You've got a dozen clients begging for every slot across the board. You can play snotty and get away with it. But the market'll turn. If costs don't kick you out of the saddle, then boredom will. And when that happens you'll come begging to us. You'll come begging and we'll spit in your eye."
    "Incidentally," Audibon murmured. "I'm having this discussion recorded ... for legal purposes." He pointed to a small microphone on the upper shelves of the breakfront.
    "It's a sick show," Ween rumbled suddenly. He got up. "For the record I want my property out of that show and out of that spot. It's a sick show on account of him!" He pointed to Lennox dramatically. "He's the one who's made all the trouble. Him and his poison pen letters. He's been writing the whole show with a poison pen ... and now he's put my property in danger of physical violence. If anything happens to Mig on Sunday, I'll sue!"
    Ween waddled to the door and yanked it open. He glared at Lennox. "Protect your property, will you? You got nothing to protect. Nothing. Now go shove yourself up it." He exited and slammed the door.
    Borden looked at Lennox. "Are you behind this?" he asked icily. "That Knott business you pestered me with yesterday. Is that what he means?"
    "He's getting threats for something Almighty dirty he pulled off," Grabinett shouted.
    "I'm sorry to say that's one of the important reasons for cancelling," Audibon said smoothly. "The rating was only one factor; but when Tooky told me about the difficulties that Jake's been creating ... embarrassing the star, embarrassing the show.... We decided that we couldn't let him embarrass the network."
    Borden arose, gave Lennox one deadly cut-throat stare and marched out, followed by Bacon who was too furious even to look at Lennox. Grabinett sputtered and blinked for a moment, helpless before Audibon's smile and Jake's impassivity.
    "It was that sock in the jaw last night, wasn't it, Roy?" Lennox asked quietly. "You're fighting like Tooky, aren't you?"
    Audibon gazed at the water color and said nothing.
    "Tooky ran off at the mouth because I wouldn't let him chisel a piece out of a hit tune. That was his knife in my back. You're cancelling because you were a louse last night and I called you on it. It isn't the seller's market or the rating or the galaxy or my personal mess. It isn't anything but revenge because I pasted you in the jaw. This is your knife in my back."
    "You Almighty sabotoor!" Grabinett cried. "The deal is off. You hear me? It's off."
    "The show's off, Mel."
    "And I'm taking it out of your hide. If it's the last thing I do, I'm taking it out of your hide, you Christ Almighty Vandal!"
    Grabinett flung out of the office without bothering to slam the door. Audibon sauntered over, closed it gently, then smiled at Lennox.
    "So here you are, Jake."
    "I'll be on my way. Perish the thought that I should hold up your next appointment."
    "You're my next appointment. Sit down. Enjoy." Audibon drifted to the breakfront, opened the lower drawers and revealed a silver-lined bar. "Drink?"
    "Thanks. Brandy, please."
    "Soda?"
    "Straight."
    Audibon filled two large shot-glasses and carried them to Lennox. As he extended one glass, his control slipped, and in a blaze of fury he slashed two ounces of dark brandy into Jake's face. Lennox laughed and stood up.
    "That's all I want, Roy. Thanks for the confession."
    "Look at you," Audibon said in a voice that shook. "Take a panoramic of yourself. Where are you? You've got no show. You've got no partner. Your agency's ready to blacklist you. This network's blacklisting you. You're got no friends. You've got no business. You've got nothing. Nothing!"
    "But I've got something you haven't got, Roy."
    "Never."
    Lennox tapped the water color. "I've got the original of this."
    "Never!"
    Lennox smiled.
    "So you're chasing," Audibon snorted. "Go ahead and chase. You'll never catch up. Not while she remembers me...."
    "Who's chasing?"
    "Then you're bluffing, you--"
    "Who's bluffing?"
    Audibon went white, then red. He turned, walked to the desk and put down the shot-glasses so violently that they clattered.
    "I'm waiting for your offer," Lennox said pleasantly.
    "Get out," Audibon said in a low voice.
    "Tooky offered to trade. Blinky offered to trade. Why not you? Let's hear how contemptible you can get."
    Audibon swung around. "I'll see you in hell first!" He came at Lennox so fast that Lennox only had time enough to grasp his arms above the elbow. They strained at each other for half a minute.
    "I'll see you dead and rotting first," Audibon panted. "I'll run you out of the business. I'll run you off The Rock. If she stays with you, I'll run her off too. I'll see both of you dead first."
    "Do you love her?"
    "I'll kill her!"
    Lennox looked deep into Audibon's drawn face. "I'm seeing you for the first time," he said. "And for the first time I'm beginning to like you."
    Audibon broke out of Jake's grasp and staggered back against the desk. His hand fumbled behind him, and an instant later the office door opened and his secretary entered.
    "Yes, Mr. Audibon?"
    "Lennox is leaving."
    "It's funny what The Rock does," Lennox said. "We ought to be friends." He turned and left.
    "Get me Miss Valentine at Houseways, Inc." Audibon told his secretary. She closed the door behind her. He went to the bar and had a shot. Then he opened his wallet and took out the slip of paper Macro had thrown into his waste basket. The phone buzzed.
    "Gabby? Roy. I want to see you tonight. It's important. No, I can't tell you on the phone. I said it was important. Yes. When? All right, I'll pick you up."
    He dropped the phone, went to the bar and had another shot. Then he wandered to the water color and examined the picture while his fingers mechanically smoothed Macro's slip of paper. Suddenly the dazzling smile reappeared on his lips.
    "Never," he said. "Never."
    CHAPTER XI
    Audibon took Gabby's hand and pressed it gallantly. Then he led her across the sidewalk to the waiting cab. He helped her in, followed, and gave the network address to the driver.
    "I'm sorry," he explained. "My baby's in rehearsal tonight. 'Operation Universe.' I've got to look into the studio. You don't mind?"
    Gabby was examining his bruised face with concern. "That happened last night, Roy?"
    "Yes."
    "That's awful.... Awful."
    "You ought to see my ribs," he laughed. "I'll let you autograph them."
    "You mean you're in a cast."
    "No, just tape."
    "Let me see."
    "Sightseeing on odd Mondays only."
    "Let me see, Roy," Gabby repeated firmly. She reached out, unbuttoned Audibon's shirt and opened it. His entire left side was bound with white adhesive tape from spine to chest. She was so shocked and upset that Audibon's hopes began to kindle. He let her rebutton the shirt and adjust his tie.
    "Artistic, isn't it?" he said. "They're poets of the intercostals up at Gracie Hospital."
    "I want to pay," Gabby said.
    "Pay? What?"
    "The hospital bill."
    "Why?"
    "It was partly my fault. Maybe it was all my fault."
    "No," Audibon said. "Not your fault. Never."
    "I think I should make it up to you somehow."
    "Do you?" Audibon's hopes rose even higher. "We'll discuss it."
    The cab dropped them at the network and they took the elevator up to the big studio. It was an enormous room, half the size of an armory, blazing with flesh-colored lights hanging in thick clusters fifty feet overhead. On the studio floor were set up a country schoolroom with a blackboard on which the solar system was chalked, a miniature space-station, the interior of a rocket ship, half an observatory including a six-inch telescope, half a laboratory with an electronic microscope. The telescope and microscope were practical.
    Before a fifty-foot moonscape cyclorama, a symphony orchestra was rehearsing "The Music Of The Spheres" from Gustave Holst's "The Planets." Alongside the orchestra, a technician was sprinkling glitter on the show title HOW TO KNOW THE UNIVERSE. There were six cameras on the floor. Six hundred yards of cable coiled around the sets.
    The door from the dressing rooms opened and Galileo entered the studio. He was followed by Albert Einstein in violent dispute with Jules Verne. They were joined by Sir Isaac Newton and a striking red-headed girl who looked incongruous in a Victorian dress and pince nez. Six children from the Professional Children's School clustered around a piano on which a man in a spacesuit and fishbowl helmet played softly.
    "THIS IS YOUR UNIVERSE!" a voice blasted on a loud-speaker. There were muffled commands from the control talk-back and the voice tried it again with different inflections: "THIS IS YOUR UNIVERSE!"
    Audibon rejoined Gabby after a lightning tour of the studio and took her to a dark corner behind stacked flats, inhabited by a soda fountain and a potbellied stove. It was illuminated by the twelve-inch screen of a small monitor which cut dizzily from camera to camera, picking up a fag director, a fag assistant, a fag floor-manager, a fag camera director, a fag makeup artist, and finally following the red-headed girl's interesting bottom as she strolled around the studio.
    "THIS IS YOUR UNIVERSE, EXPANDING WITH THE SPEED OF LIGHT INTO NEW INFINITIES!"
    "Hello, pet," Audibon said softly.
    "Hello, Roy."
    "I'm sorry about last night too."
    "I'm glad you're sorry. I hope it's for the right reasons."
    "I'm sorry I wasn't with you."
    "That's not the right reason." Gabby lifted a finger to lecture. Audibon caught it and held it.
    "You're a schoolmarm, pet," he said, motioning to the monitor which now showed the schoolroom. "You belong on that set." He kissed the finger gallantly. Gabby reclaimed it.
    "I was looking at that water color you did out at Fire Island. You know I've got it hung in my shop?"
    "I wish you didn't," Gabby said slowly. "It isn't a happy picture."
    "We were happy when you painted it."
    "No. Not inside, Roy. That's why it turned out so badly." She looked away.
    "It's a happy picture. We were happy." Audibon smiled. "Do you remember ... I had an idea for a show? Following the summer around the world. I didn't want that summer to end. I wanted it to go on and on ... with you getting darker and darker, and that old shirt of mine you wore getting tattier and bleached.... What made us imagine it ended?"
    "You're frightening me, Roy."
    "Why, pet?"
    "I'm afraid to say."
    "Maybe you're afraid to remember. No. Listen to me. Looking at that water color and remembering how you looked high up on that dune, I did a take. The summer never ended. There's been a little winter-type weather, but it's only a station break. I don't think our summer will ever end."
    "What do you want, Roy?" Gabby asked quietly.
    "I'm propositioning you," Audibon smiled. He took her arms and pulled her close. "I'm asking you to make a dishonest woman of yourself and have a fling with me. It's summer in North Africa. I'm spending February in Egypt. Fly over with me, pet. Let's spend the month together. I'll bring an old shirt. You bring your brushes. We'll live in sin and improve our minds."
    "And afterwards?"
    "Why worry about afterwards? Maybe it'll be cold weather when we get back; on the other hand, maybe not. Let's enjoy our summer again and see how long it lasts this time."
    Gabby came around a corner abruptly. "What does this have to do with last night, Roy?"
    "Last night?" Audibon was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
    "This is the first time you've been romantic since we separated. Something special must have happened." Gabby examined him candidly. "It was last night, wasn't it?"
    "No, pet."
    "I was with Jordan Lennox and he hit you."
    Audibon's fists clenched. He recovered himself and abandoned the tenderness. "All right," he said crisply. "If you insist on being cerebral ... I'm worried about you. I hate the idea of you free-lancing around from job to job, never knowing where the next check is coming from. I want to offer a contract."
    Gabby looked at him steadily.
    "I want to offer security and success. Not materialistically, but Rennaissancewise. Don't waste time and talent on subsistence-type jobs to keep bread in the house. Do the creative work you're equipped to do ... and you know how stratospheric my opinion of your talent is. It needs an oxygen mask."
    "Thank you, Roy."
    "Stop slumming, pet. Come back to me. You and I are top-level talent. You've got to work where the work counts. Architectural design? The network's dreaming up a new office building in Cuba. Take a dive at it from the twenty-foot board. Stage design? Come into our set department and rub up our imagination."
    "You're very kind, Roy."
    "Not kind. Practical. New talent is our priority headache. We know it's around, but we can't tap it. The slobs outside the network think there's a cabal to keep new talent out. There isn't. We just can't mock up an efficient screening operation to locate it. But once we bark our shins on new talent, we burn incense and work overtime building it up. Let me build you up, pet. Don't waste yourself on the outside."
    "This is quite a change," Gabby murmured. "When last heard from, the picture you painted of me was a Gibson girl in mink doing public relations for you."
    "I've graduated since last year," Audibon smiled. "I took a post-graduate in Women's Rights. I'll even go along with your politics.... And think for a minute how much more you can do as the wife of the network veep."
    "You really are a wonderful salesman," Gabby said with admiration. She came around a corner again. "Why are you so angry with me, Roy?"
    "Me? Angry?"
    She nodded and blurted out the truth. "You're furious. That's why I'm frightened. I.... It's a secret I don't have to keep any more. You only called me 'pet' when you hated me. You're hating me now."
    "No."
    "You are." Gabby faced him squarely. "Don't you think I remember all your tricks? You smile. You flatter. You call me pet.... And then you pounce. I want to know why. Why are you hunting me now?"
    "I'm asking you to come back to me," Audibon said in a fury.
    "Why?"
    "To save your neck." Audibon whipped out his wallet, opened it and removed Macro's slip of paper. "This was left in my office by a man named Macro. Do you know him?"
    "I know all about John Macro." She looked at the slip of paper, holding it up to the greenish light of the monitor. "So he's got around to me at last. Did you send him?"
    "No. I talked him out of it. That's why he left this slip. I saved you, pet. I told Macro you were my wife and he dropped you. I'd like to keep on saving you ... as long as you're my wife."
    "So you are hunting me."
    "Listen!" Audibon grabbed her wrist and wrenched her toward him. "Macro can hound you out of work. I can run you off The Rock. How would you like that? Network veep sues for divorce. Communism and adultery. Think how the papers would play it up. Gabby Valentine, the party girl, recruiting new members in her bed. The latest volunteer ... script-writer Jordan Lennox. Oh yes, I know all about your roll in the hay with Lennox. We had a long talk about what a lovely piece you are."
    "Roy!"
    "Do you know what you've done to me?" He thrust her violently against the monitor and trapped her with his body. "Do you know why I was up at the Midnight Sun last night? Why I'm up there every week? I'm looking for substitutes. I'm tying to find a replacement for you. I've tried all kinds. They don't work. Nothing works."
    Gabby caught her breath.
    "You know that's always been my problem. Even when we were living together, I--You said you'd take nothing from me when you walked out, but you took my last chance. You took the one thing a man can't lose. Why shouldn't I hate you? Do you understand? Do I have to spell impotence for you?"
    "No," Gabby whispered.
    "I'm fighting for my self-respect. You're the only woman who can give it to me. For God's sake, come back!"
    "But why me? Why only me?"
    "I wish to God they could tell me. Maybe they will some day, but I'm desperate now. I'm begging. The nights I've thought of cutting my throat.... You've got to come back. On your terms. On any terms. You can't lose. I've put the whip in your hand."
    "No, Roy. No."