by Lisa Jackson
Ryan snapped open his briefcase after finishing his drink and declining another. He pulled out a sheaf of neatly typed papers and handed them to Sterling. “You’re not going to like what I found,” he warned.
“Let me be the judge of that. The way we’ve been handling production of videos has been a thorn in my side for the last two years. We need more control.” He studied the pages thoughtfully. Ryan Woods had done his homework and proved in dollars and cents exactly why in-house production was imperative.
He leaned back in his chair and pushed the reports onto his desk. “All right, you’ve convinced me. We’ll hire a crew, the best we can find, and give them a suite of offices on the third floor.” He noticed the look of hesitancy in Ryan’s eyes. “Is there a problem with that?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not really. I suppose it will make things easier—for everyone.”
“What are you getting at?”
Ryan reluctantly handed Kyle one final report. “You asked me to check into the pirating problem we had a few months ago…”
“You’re not telling me that it still exists?” Kyle asked, astounded. Had he neglected his business that badly?
“See for yourself.” Ryan nodded toward the report.
Kyle’s dark eyes scanned the black print and his frown deepened into a scowl of anger. His gaze was even when it was raised to meet the pale blue eyes of Ryan Woods. “You’re certain of all this?” Kyle asked, skeptically running his fingers over the pages.
“I’d stake my reputation on it.”
“You just have.” Kyle rubbed his thumb over the edges of his straight white teeth and his eyes narrowed in thought. “Damn!” he cursed, mainly at himself.
“What is it?” Woods inquired. He’d known Kyle for eight years and had seen the dangerous look of anger in the recording company’s executive more than once in the past.
“It’s just hard to swallow, that’s all. We’ve been dealing with Festival Productions for over three years. Everything we’ve gotten from them has been the best—top quality recordings.” He shook his head as if trying to dislodge a wayward thought. “Why would Maren McClure try and rob me blind?”
“She only owns the company. It doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s involved. Anyway, the problem will be solved once you stop dealing with Festival, and as far as I can tell only three of the tapes have been copied and sold on the black market.”
Lydia knocked on the door, refreshed the drinks and provided a tray of sandwiches. Kyle managed a quick smile for her and then turned his attention back to the problem at hand.
“All right, Ryan, so you think we should just ignore the problem and maybe it will just go away?”
Ryan smiled and set his partially eaten sandwich aside. “Unfortunately, it’s not going to be that simple.”
“That much I already know.”
“Then you realize that you have some long-term contracts with Festival?”
Kyle tented his fingers under his chin and nodded. Ryan finished his sandwich, withdrew a cigar from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. Thoughtfully he studied the tip of his cigar before lighting it and puffing a blue cloud of smoke that circled lazily to the raised ceiling. Theatrics were part of the game, the rules of which he had learned while studying law at Yale. “As I see it, you have several options.”
Kyle raised his eyebrows, encouraging the other man to continue. “You can buy out the contracts and quit using Festival completely, or you can confront the owner with your suspicions and hope that she’ll back out of the contracts because of fear of bad publicity and a possible lawsuit.”
“Too easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t do either one.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, I don’t have the time. I’ve just signed several big names to Sterling Records, paid top money for them, and I can’t take the chance that the video cuts of their top hits will be stolen or reprinted. I’d not only lose the artists, they’d sue me for every cent I’ve got based on any grounds their agents or their lawyers might dream up.”
Ryan puffed on the cigar and shrugged. “So have the tapes produced by someone else until you get your crew together. There must be a hundred production companies that can make a four or five minute minifilm. Those videos aren’t much more than advertisements for a song…easier, really. There’s no dialogue involved.”
Kyle downed the rest of his drink and his clear gray eyes looked suddenly stormy. “That’s where you’re wrong. The videotape of a current song is the single most important piece of artistry put together. In some cases it’s more valuable than the recording. It sells the song. A good video can beef up a mediocre record, and unfortunately, the reverse is true. Even the most marketable hits don’t make it without the right video packaging. It really is an art, and Festival Productions has an uncanny way of molding music to story and coming up with an incredible finished product. They’re slick. Three years ago no one had even heard of Festival Productions. Today I’ve got rock stars demanding to work with that company, to the point that it’s written into their contracts. I’ve had entire recording deals balanced in Festival’s gifted hands.”
Woods was skeptical. “What makes Festival so much better than the rest?”
“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? It’s their artistry, their interpretation of the song, their ability to give the audience a brilliant, unforgettable visual story to identify with the song.”
“I can’t believe they are that good.”
Kyle nodded curtly. “Have you ever heard of the rock group Mirage?”
Ryan drew on his cigar and squinted. “Vaguely,” he admitted in a stream of smoke. “I’m not up on all this new-wave nonsense.”
Kyle waved off his ignorance with a quick rotation of his wrist. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, two years ago, no one had heard of them, not in the U.S. They were just one in a thousand obscure English rock groups that had never caught on, not here. They released a single and it bombed. Never broke Billboard’s top one hundred.”
“So?”
“So the lead singer, a kid by the name of J. D. Price, was smart enough to figure that with all-day cable video music, videotapes would be the next growth phase for rock and roll. He took all the group’s money, invested in an expensive video for that same song that bombed, released the tape and presto—” Kyle’s fist pounded on the corner of the desk “—Mirage was an overnight success.” He paused for dramatic effect, but Ryan could feel what was coming. “Do you want to take a guess at the name of the firm that produced that videotape?”
Woods smiled as he stubbed out his cigar. “All right, you’ve convinced me. Festival Productions can walk on water as far as hard rock is concerned. Now, let me convince you of something. Regardless of the pirating scheme, you’re better off producing your own videos. If Festival is so talented, hire the talent away from this Maren McClure.”
Kyle considered the idea. “If I can,” he thought aloud. “From what I understand, she’s the one with the talent.” His lips pursed together. “It irritates the hell out of me to think that someone would steal those tapes. It just doesn’t make any sense. Festival needs me as badly as I need it.”
“People will stoop to almost anything for a quick buck. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that.” Ryan had intended to say more but quickly decided to hold his tongue. He hadn’t meant for his remark to have been so personal and the look in Kyle’s eyes was deadly. He tried to apologize. “Don’t get me wrong.”
Kyle ignored his friend’s attempt at amends. They’d known each other far too long to take offense at careless remarks. Besides which, Ryan was right. Kyle had been burned before, and badly. Rose had capitalized on the publicity surrounding their divorce to pad her career. He didn’t intend to make the same error twice. No one was going to profit from his mistakes! He had ignored his company, but he was determined to change that, right now. The slow smile that spread across his featu
res didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re right, Ryan.” He settled back into the chair and reached for a ham and cheese sandwich while watching his friend. “Why don’t you tell me exactly how you think I should handle this situation.”
Ryan was pleased. At least he’d gotten through to Kyle. He considered that a major accomplishment, because in the last few months, Kyle hadn’t shown much concern for his business—probably because of his kid’s accident. “I think you should buy this McClure woman out. If Festival’s got the reputation you claim, you buy out the company lock, stock and barrel. Then clean house—find out if anyone there really is duplicating the tapes and get rid of him…or her.”
“What if she doesn’t want to sell?”
“Everyone has a price.”
Kyle didn’t seem convinced. “All right, I’ve told you all I know about Festival, why don’t you tell me what you’ve dug up. If I know you, you’ve poked around a bit.”
Ryan grinned uneasily and scanned his notes. “The most interesting thing is that Festival is run by a woman, but you already know that. Have you ever worked with her?”
Kyle nodded. He looked calm but vengeful. His expression made Ryan uncomfortable. “I’ve met her a few times…parties, social gatherings, but she’s kept her distance. Most of the day-to-day office work is done between our secretaries.”
“She’s something novel in the recording industry—a woman making a go of it in a predominantly man’s world.” Kyle agreed with Ryan’s assessment. When he’d met Maren, Kyle had been surprised by her cool dignity and grace. He’s noticed that she was more than beautiful; she had a sophisticated manner that intrigued him. He’d been interested, but wary.
“There aren’t many female executives in this business…” Kyle commented absently.
“From what I understand, Maren McClure is not just any woman. This lady is a mixture of beauty, brains and artistic talent. The kind that makes men like me very uncomfortable.”
“Why?” Kyle asked sternly.
The question was unexpected. “Because she’s different, I guess. She can’t be pigeonholed.”
Kyle’s laughter held no mirth. “And that’s how you like your women—stereotyped?”
“I didn’t say I liked them that way, I said it made me feel more comfortable.”
“And you think she might sell the company?”
“It’s a good guess. She’s always in need of money.”
Kyle’s eyes darkened. “How do you know that?”
“I talked with one of her employees. According to this guy, she runs that office on a shoestring.”
“I wonder why?”
Ryan shrugged. “Who knows?”
“I guess I’ll have to talk to Ms. McClure and see if she’s interested….” A wicked smile of satisfaction stole silently over the features of Kyle Sterling’s famous face. He didn’t understand it, but the thought of meeting with Maren McClure was pleasant…very pleasant.
CHAPTER TWO
MAREN CLOSED HER EYES and removed the clasp restraining her hair. As it fell around her shoulders she pushed her fingers through the thick auburn curls, hoping to release the tension of the afternoon. Slowly she leaned her head against the padded back of the overstuffed couch that adorned her office. Out of habit she rewound the tape for the fifth time and tried to concentrate on the mood of the song. It was difficult. Though the tempo was a light reggae, the lyrics were downbeat, a real bluesy type of song; one of those country western crossovers that always seemed to give Maren fits.
The phone rang and interrupted her thoughts. She snapped off the tape player, walked across the room and leaned over the desk to answer the call from her secretary. “Yes?”
“Kyle Sterling is on line one. Can you take the call? He says it’s important,” Jan explained.
Maren’s elegant black brows pinched together. “I always have time for the head of Sterling Records,” Maren replied. “Thanks.” She sat on the edge of the desk, removed her earring and pushed the flashing button on the phone. Using her most professional voice, she spoke. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sterling. This is Maren McClure. How can I help you?” If she was nervous, it wasn’t audible in the even tone of her voice.
“I’d like to meet with you, Ms. McClure.”
Maren frowned to herself. His request was out of the ordinary, and from what she knew about Mr. Sterling, he usually didn’t do the legwork himself. He preferred the privacy he could well afford. The one time he had been in the office concerning one of his artists had been brief and to the point. From that one experience Maren realized that Kyle Sterling was a determined man who didn’t waste his time. “Is there any particular reason or problem?” she asked, remembering the as yet unfulfilled contracts on several of Sterling’s top artists. Maybe that was why he was calling. He wanted to cancel. Maren nervously tapped her fingers on the desk.
Kyle didn’t hesitate. He knew that discretion was in his favor. “Nothing serious, Ms. McClure,” he assured her. Maren’s jaw tensed and the headache that had been threatening all afternoon began to pound in the back of her head. “When would be a convenient time for you? Sometime this afternoon?”
Maren quickly scanned her appointment book. It was filled for the rest of the week. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling. Today is impossible and I’m afraid the rest of the week is hectic as well. If you can give me a few minutes, I’ll try to make some calls and rearrange my schedule so we could meet on Monday of next week.” Kyle Sterling was one of the most important names in the recording industry and a valuable client to Festival Productions. Whatever it was he wanted to discuss, it was certain to be a matter of priority. The head of one of the fastest-rising recording companies in L.A. didn’t call to pass the time of day.
“Are you free this evening?” he asked, taking Maren completely by surprise.
She didn’t immediately respond. She dealt with pushy people every day, and she didn’t really like it. Kyle Sterling was definitely pushy—but he had to be, didn’t he? One didn’t rise to the heights he had reached by being Mr. Nice Guy. “I don’t have any plans,” she admitted.
“Then let’s discuss business over dinner at Rinaldi’s. I’ll pick you up at the office…around seven. We can go to the restaurant from there.” It almost sounded like a command and involuntarily Maren’s lips tightened. She’d been in this business five years and still hadn’t gotten used to the way big shots threw their weight around. Trying to ignore Sterling’s demanding tone, she once again checked her calendar.
“Could you make it seven-thirty? I have a late appointment that might run over.”
“Fine.”
Maren didn’t replace the receiver until she had heard the sound of Kyle Sterling ringing off. She reflected on the telephone conversation. It was strange. She’d been working with recording companies for nearly five years and she could count the number of times on a single hand that Kyle Sterling had called her for what sounded like an imperative meeting. Usually any business was concluded over the phone by one of his underlings. She wanted to think that her luck was finally changing, and that the reason for the call was an offer of exclusive business, but she couldn’t. Instead she was overcome by a disturbing sense of restlessness.
What could he want? She gazed out the window, past the flowering cherry trees to the hazy Hollywood hills in the distance. The soft blue slopes rose quietly out of the suburbs of Los Angeles, seeming to guard the sprawling city.
Still sitting on the desk, she rang for her secretary. Jan’s voice responded quickly. In the background Maren could hear the rapid clatter of typewriter keys as Jan didn’t bother to break stride in her work. The woman was amazing.
“Could you bring in all of the unsigned contracts we have with Sterling Records?”
“In a flash,” the pert secretary responded.
True to her word, Jan appeared in Maren’s doorway within a few minutes’ time. Her purse was slung over one of her slim shoulders and she was balancing a thick stack of papers in her hands. “You’
re sure you want all of these?” she asked dubiously as she placed the heavy pile of legal documents in the middle of Maren’s desk.
Maren’s blue eyes widened in amazement. “None of these have been signed?” she inquired as she shook her head and began to shuffle through the stack.
“None.”
“But aren’t some of these already on the production schedule?” She picked up one of the documents. “Here, this contract with Mirage, I’m sure I told Ted we’d be ready to shoot in a couple of weeks…” She spotted another contract. “And what about Joey Righteous? That kid wanted to get his tape out before he started his tour of Japan, which, I think, is slated for sometime in late June.”
“And it’s already April.”
“Precisely! What the devil’s been going on, Jan?”
“I wish I knew,” the thin secretary admitted. “For the last two and a half weeks, I haven’t been able to get any signed contracts or information out of Sterling Records. I’ve called Angie Douglass—she’s in charge of the contract department—at least twice a day since last Friday, and I haven’t been able to get a straight answer out of her.” Jan dropped into a side chair near the desk as Maren studied the terms of a particular contract.
“Hasn’t she given you a reason?”
Jan nodded her blond head. “Oh, sure she has. The usual. You know, ‘Mr. Sterling is out of town for the week,’ or, ‘the artist is balking over a certain clause in the agreement,’ or some other lame excuse.” Jan’s mouth turned into a disgusted grimace and she fished in her purse for a cigarette. She looked tired and drawn, probably from too much work.
Maren pursed her lips together as she thought. “Then I take it you don’t believe that Ms. Douglass is telling you the truth?”
“Not all of it.” Jan lit her cigarette, tilted her head back and blew a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “She’s always been very efficient, and now, out of the blue, she can’t seem to get her act together.”
