“I’m glad I checked with my service. From what you tell me it doesn’t sound like heart.”
“I think it’s plain old-fashioned indigestion. I hate to call you out, but he’s never had it like this.”
She waited outside the room while the doctor examined him. When he called her in, Gregory was sitting in a chair, fully dressed, quite calm.
“I gave him a shot of Demerol to ease the pain,” Dr. Spineck said. “I think it’s the gall bladder.”
“That’s not serious.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“We’ll have to take some tests,” he answered. “But you’re right. It’s not serious. Just unpleasant.”
They drove to the hospital in the doctor’s car. Gregory was installed in a corner room. Nurses were summoned. Blood tests were taken. Judith was shunted to the lounge where she sat and chain-smoked. After half an hour. Dr. Spineck appeared. “It isn’t going to be as simple as we thought. A stone is lodged in the duct and he needs an operation immediately. I’ve summoned Dr. Lesgarn. He’ll be here any second.”
At one o’clock Gregory was wheeled out of the room. The floor nurse brought Judith some coffee. She sat in Gregory’s room and waited. She must have dozed off, because Dr. Spineck touched her cheek gently. She sat up and stared in startled surprise at her surroundings. In a flash she reoriented herself and glanced at her watch—it was four in the morning. Her eyes shot to the bed where Gregory should be. In alarm she looked at Dr. Spineck. He smiled. “Gregory’s all right. He’s in the postoperative room. He’ll be there for hours. I’ve arranged for nurses around the clock.”
“He’ll be all right?” she asked.
He nodded. “He must have had gallstones for quite some time. It was a rougher operation than we counted on. He can’t jump out of bed and be back at the office in two weeks—he’s got to take the rest of the winter off and recuperate.”
“He’ll never do it,” she said.
“He has to, Judith. He’s not that young any more. None of us are. This operation has been a shock to his system. I doubt whether he’ll feel up to any work for a few months.”
“How soon will he come down?”
“Not before ten or eleven in the morning. I’ll drive you home.”
It was almost dawn when she got into bed. Poor Gregory—he’d hate having to take things easy. She’d have to stay in Palm Beach all winter and … She suddenly hated herself. How dared she think of Robin? Tears came to her eyes. “Oh, Gregory, I do love you,” she whispered into the pillow. “I love you very much. Please get well.” And she vowed that from now on she would never even think of Robin Stone, but even as she made the promise, she knew she would not keep it. She was filled with self-loathing because, as she lay alone in the dark room, she found herself wondering who Robin Stone was in bed with… .
Robin was in a narrow bed in a small room at the Harvard Club, alone.
He smiled for the first time that night. At least Maggie had seen fit to warn the doorman after she set the fire. He knew it was Maggie when he saw her suitcase on the floor and the charred matches from the Pavillon on the bed. He was beginning to find the situation amusing. He laughed aloud at the thought of her walking in and catching Diana copping his joint! And the worst thing had been that nothing was happening with him. In a way, thank God for the fire—he never would have been able to get it up for that crazy dame. She didn’t even know how to go down on a guy—her teeth had been like razors. Yes, the fire had come just in time. Diana had been sobered by it too, and was delighted to be dropped at her hotel. But why had he brought her home in the first place? She had signed the contract at Jilly’s. And if he felt he had to pay her off, he could have gone to her hotel. Archie would say that he wanted to be caught, wanted to get Maggie off his back. Well, it was all for the best, and all it had cost him was a bedroom. It had also cost him Maggie Stewart. A slight frown formed between his eyes, then he forced a smile. “No, Conrad, you lost Maggie. Not I. You’re dead, you little bastard, dead.”
On an impulse he lifted the telephone and asked for Western Union. Where did she live? Well, he’d send it to Century Pictures. She’d get it.
The telegram was delivered to Maggie at the Melton Towers after it had kicked around the mailroom at the studio for three days. She read it, and then bought a small frame and hung it on her bathroom wall. It said:
I TAKE IT ALL BACK. YOU WILL BE A STAR. YOU’RE A NUT! ROBIN.
Judith sat at Gregory’s bedside every day. For the first time she realized he dyed his hair. It had never occurred to her that the red hair streaked with gray was not completely natural. But after a week in the hospital she noticed it was more white than red and on the back of his neck it was completely white. His unshaven face had a white stubble, and suddenly he looked like a tired old man. But she knew he was feeling better when he began taking an interest in the world around him. By the end of the second week he was checking the Nielsens. He also sent for his barber and told Judith to “go shopping or something.” When she returned at five, his hair had its usual red tone, the hospital gown had been replaced with his own silk pajamas, he was reading Time magazine, and he looked every inch the chairman of IBC. But he had lost a great deal of weight and for the first time he looked his age. She shuddered and wondered how she would look if she had gone through a similar siege. André had been touching up her hair for fifteen years. Good Lord, she might be completely gray. And without makeup—!
Gregory put down the magazine, picked up the telephone and asked for IBC.
“Please, darling, both Dr. Lesgarn and Dr. Spineck say no work. In fact when you get out of here, they insist you take a long rest.”
“I intend to,” he said. “We’re going to Palm Beach for the entire winter. It’ll be the first vacation I’ve taken in years.” He reached out and took her hand. “Judith, I’m so damn grateful that it was just gall bladder. I’d been having these awful pains for some time, but usually I could shake them. I don’t mind telling you, I was afraid to get a checkup. I was positive it was cancer. If I’d had the strength, I’d have shouted for joy when they said it was only gall bladder. And this winter I’ll enjoy playing golf and being with you. That’s why I’ve got to get on the phone and set things in order.”
His first call was to Cliff Dome, head of the legal department. “Cliff, I want you here within the next half hour. Now switch me to Robin Stone.”
At five thirty Robin Stone and Cliff Dome arrived. Judith was sitting in the easy chair. “Would you like me to go out to the lounge while you talk?” she asked.
“No, stay, Judith,” Gregory said. “This is an important decision. I want you to hear it. Robin, how would you like to be president of IBC?”
Robin didn’t answer. It was Cliff Dome who reacted.
“President of IBC?” Cliff repeated. “What is Danton Miller?”
Gregory shrugged. “Dan is president of Network Television.”
“And what exactly is president of IBC?” Cliff asked.
“A new title I’ve just made up. It merely means a division of power while I’m away.”
“But do you think Dan will sit still if Robin is placed up there with him?” Cliff asked.
“Yes, because Dan still has the same power. He’s always had to report to me, only this time he’ll do it through Robin. And Robin can check everything with me.”
Cliff nodded. Then for the first time they both looked at Robin.
Robin stood up. “Sorry, but I pass.”
“Are you insane?” Gregory sputtered.
“I’d be insane to take such a job. As I see it, I’d have two months of infighting with Dan, yet actually I’d be nothing more than a glorified watchdog and messenger boy. Then you return from Palm Beach with a nice tan and I go back to being president of News, with a brace of enemies and one of Dan’s ulcers.”
“Who said you go back to News?” Gregory asked.
“I assume the job is temporary. Any created title always is.”
Gregory rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps it was in its original inception, but the more I think of it, the more sense it makes to keep it as a permanent setup.”
“But essentially I’m a newsman,” Robin said.
“Balls!” Gregory shouted. “You’ve jazzed that Happening show into a real piece of entertainment. Without realizing it, Robin, you have unconsciously gone away from News. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were also after power.”
Robin’s smile was easy, but his eyes were like steel. “Perhaps I am.”
Gregory smiled. “I don’t make snap judgments. I’ve done my homework on you.” He reached for a sheaf of papers on his night table. “You doubt me? Okay: you’re from Boston. You’re going to come into money of your own someday. Your father was one of the biggest lawyers there. Your mother lives in Rome. She’s not well—I’m sorry about that. You have a sister in San Francisco whose husband is wealthy in his own right. Now a man with this kind of background likes to do a job well. He has built-in security, so he does not hunger for power. You take me, Robin—I grew up on Tenth Avenue, one of the kids I played with went to the chair. I know it sounds like a Bogart movie, but it happened that way. Some of the kids on my block also made it big as lawyers, politicians, and doctors. Because the kids on that street had to have power. If they went into crime, they didn’t fool around with robbery. They became killers. And if they went into business they became killers. I’m a killer. Dan’s a killer. You aren’t. I wouldn’t trust you with running the financial end of a network for five minutes. You always went way over budget with In Depth. You built it into a prestige show. Now that Andy Parino is on it and Cliff, here, keeps an eye on things, the show’s making money for the first time.”
“It’s also not as good,” Robin said. “I was planning to have a meeting with Andy next Monday. We’re doing too many shows based in New York. We need some European flavor.”
“You’ll have no such meeting,” Gregory snapped. “That’s what I mean about you and finances. The show has decent enough ratings. We can milk another season out of it. Fortunately we’re getting a big enough price on the Happening show to make some money—even with you running it.” Gregory smiled to take the bite out of his words. “But I didn’t ask you here to lecture you on the economics of television. Dan knows them well enough. Cliff knows them even better. And one thing about Dan, he’ll never recommend a show that won’t make a profit.”
“What about quality?” Robin asked.
“The public doesn’t want quality. We have a few quality shows that we keep on. And they’re losers. You know what the public wants. Shit—that ’s what it wants. The high ratings of the old movies prove it. I won’t go that route yet. As long as I can, I’ll try to create new shows for prime time. But we can still be commercial. And that’s what Dan is. Now, if we combine your taste with Dan’s commercialism—we’ve got a winning ticket.”
Robin built his fingers into a pyramid. He studied them. Then he looked up. “Who moves to president of News?”
“I’ll let you make that suggestion.”
“Andy Parino.”
“I don’t think he has the ability,” Gregory said.
“I’ll keep an eye on him. He’ll report directly to me.”
Gregory nodded. “Okay, I’ll go along.”
“What about a contract?” Robin said.
“Dan has no contract.”
“I want one.”
“For how long?”
“One year.” Robin did not miss the fleeting expression of relief on Gregory’s face. “Gregory, this may not work out. But I want you to know something. I am not going to be just your telephone pal. I’m going to be president of IBC. I’m going to come up with ideas, throw them at you, fight for them if I think they’re right. I need the assurance of one year. No one can tell anything in six weeks. But after a year, well, either it works or I walk away from the title and go back to News.”
Gregory nodded. “That’s fair enough. What do you think of sixty thousand a year plus expenses?”
“I think it’s ridiculous.”
“Dan started at fifty.”
“What is Dan making now?”
“Seventy-five, plus expenses and stock options.”
Robin nodded. “That sounds better.”
Gregory was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. “I like your guts. I also like the idea that you want to carry the ball. Okay, Cliff will draw up the contract.” Then he held out his hand to Robin. “Good luck to the president of IBC.”
Robin smiled. “And may the chairman of the board have an excellent vacation.” Then he looked at Judith with a hint of intimacy in his smile. “Take good care of him, Mrs. Austin.”
The news ripped through Madison Avenue like a tornado.
Dan Miller was in a state of shock but he pretended that Robin’s new title had been his idea. He faced the press with his usual smile and made a statement. “He’s a good man, and I need someone to pitch in while Gregory is away.”
But he spent hours staring at the skyline from his window, wondering what everyone in the business thought. He took tranquilizers and avoided “21” and restaurants where he might run into agency men. He holed in at night, and when he read that Robin was taping the Diana Williams Happening, he prayed that Diana would do one of her famous walkouts—then Robin would be stuck with egg on his tape.
But as January passed, Dan’s fears began to diminish. The cancelations had been decided several months back. The new shows had been selected by Gregory in November: a few seemed to be making it, a few were bigger bombs than their predecessors. And now it was time to start viewing pilots for the fall season.
By February he had completely regained his confidence. Then he heard about Robin’s new offices. A suite on the penthouse floor! Dan went storming into Cliff Dome’s office.
Cliff tried to dismiss it. “Where can we put him? You tell me. Andy Parino has inherited Robin’s office. There just is no space. Gregory had a thousand feet of space closed off up there. He always intended to make it into a gym and sauna bath. Because of the shortage of space, he’s turned it into offices for Robin.”
“How does it make me look—Robin sharing the penthouse floor with Gregory!”
Cliff sighed. “Okay, tell me where to put him and I’ll be glad to oblige.”
“They should have put me there,” Dan snapped. “And given Robin my office.”
Cliff smiled. “Not very good thinking for a man who’s telling everyone Robin has been kicked upstairs. Put him in your office, Dan, and he’s replacing you. Then you’re kicked upstairs for real.”
Dan had no recourse but to remain grimly silent. The newspapers were going all out on Robin’s new assignment. In the beginning Robin had refused to comment. But he finally capitulated and gave a mass interview the day he took possession of his new suite of offices.
He stook behind the large desk as the questions were fired at him. His answers were polite but evasive. The press sensed his reluctance to talk, and feeling they were covering an important story, they zeroed in on him. As an ex-newspaperman, Robin felt an empathy for them. Their job was to get a story.
“Let’s talk about television itself, rather than my new title,” he said with a smile.
“What about television?” a young man asked.
“It’s an octopus. It’s no longer just a little box, it’s the Love Machine.”
“Why the Love Machine?” a reporter asked.
“Because it sells love. It creates love. Presidents are chosen by their appeal on that little box. It’s turned politicians into movie stars and movie stars into politicians. It can get you engaged if you use a certain mouthwash. It claims you’ll have women hanging on your coattails if you use a certain hair cream. It tells the kids to eat their cereal if they want to be like their baseball idol. But like all great lovers, the Love Machine is a fickle bastard. It has great magnetism—but it has no heart. In place of a heart beats a Nielsen rating. And
when the Nielsen falters, the program dies. It’s the pulse and heart of the twentieth century—the Love Machine.”
The newspapers all carried the story. Dan read it and glowered. Especially when columnists began to try to tag Robin as the Love Machine. “Perhaps Mr. Stone is comparing the box with himself,” wrote Ronnie Wolfe. “His way of giving unlimited time to a beautiful girl is well known. And like the machine he speaks of, Mr. Stone can also turn off with equal ease.”
Dan threw the paper across the room. Dammit, that was only adding to Robin’s image: call a man a heel with women and suddenly he gets charisma. He reached for another tranquilizer, gulped it down and wondered what the son of a bitch was doing in that plush new office. What new scheme did he have going? Rehearsals for the Diana Williams show had been postponed for two weeks. The newspapers reported that Byron Withers, the leading man, had bowed out, claiming his part had been cut down from the original concept, in deference to Diana. Byron Withers! Where did these has-beens get their nerve—thinking they could come to Broadway after three pictures and share equal billing with Diana Williams? Although he was rooting for Robin’s demise, Dan still respected Diana’s talent. He put down the newspaper and hoped it was a phony item and that it was Diana herself who was being difficult.
Robin also wondered if Diana was being difficult. Was she on the pills and booze? Ike Ryan swore she was fine and eager to begin rehearsals. “As soon as we find the right leading man,” Ike said. “He doesn’t even have to sing great—just look the part.”
He was just leaving for the viewing room when his secretary peeked in. “A Mr. Nelson is waiting outside to see you.”
For a moment Robin looked blank. As he stared at her, the secretary added, “It’s Dip Nelson, the movie actor.”
Robin’s smile was warm. “Of course, show him in.”
Dip strode in giving the secretary a radiant smile. She fluttered with excitement and stumbled out of the room. Robin laughed. “She’s a forty-year-old virgin, she’ll never be the same.”
Dip shrugged. “If that’s the case, I may even grab her by the ass when I leave—let the poor woman die happy.” He whistled as he took in the office. “Well, old buddy pal, this is quite a layout you got yourself.”
The Love Machine Page 41
