A ruling passion : a novel (47 page)

"I get the N for Nick," said Les Braden, his vice-president for news, at their first meeting. "But who's E?"

"Entertainment and News," said Nick with a grin. "Straight and simple. I decided I don't need to splash my name in front of the public to feel good about myself."

Les chuckled. "I like that; a man who doesn't have to tell the world how important he is. Is that all? Entertainment and news?"

"What else is there?"

"Oh, the heavy stuff. Documentaries about athlete's foot and trench building in World War One; that sort of thing."

Nick laughed. "We'll have documentaries that are so well done they're entertaining. I don't think athlete's foot would qualif)^, unless

you can think of a way to tie it in with swimming and diving competitions."

"Not my job; I do news. I'll talk to Monica about it; she's so good she'll probably work it out. What do you think of Tracy Moore as anchor of the six and ten news?"

"I like her. She's tough and warm; a good combination. But we need a man too. Or do we? They always seem to come in pairs, like make-believe marriages. It's as if someone decided viewers need to think the world is full of happy couples grinning at each other and making litde jokes; otherwise the news won't be palatable."

"Sounds like the way television executives think," said Les. "Connie Chung does weekend newscasts alone, and she's damn good. I think we could get away with Tracy on her own; we'll have plenty of male reporters."

"It's jSne with me. Sign her up."

The planning went on all through September, during the day at the offices of E&N, in the evenings at Nick's house. At the same time, Nick was reading everything he could find on each part of the business; he was calling on dozens of people for information and advice, and he was traveling, to meet with cable operators. "Another dog and pony show," he told Chad. "I'm still trotting out what I've got to offer, hoping somebody buys."

Most of them bought his ideas and agreed to stay with E8cN, at least for a year after he began programming in October. As they agreed, one by one, the planning sessions with Les and Monica became more cheerful: they had a beginning.

"I have an idea," Nick said one morning early in October. It was three weeks before they would switch from Sybille's programming to their own.

Les sat back and stretched his legs. They were sitting in Nick's office, once Sybille's, almost bare since Sybille had removed her furniture. The two men sat on folding chairs beside unpacked boxes of books they were using as coffee tables; nearby were six more chairs, and across the room, in front of windows looking into other office windows, was Nick's desk and drafting table, shipped from California. That left him no desk for his office at home. One of these days he planned to go shopping; so far he had not taken the time.

"What idea?" Les asked. He poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Nick. The two men had become friends almost the moment they met. On the surface, they could not have been more different. Les

was twenty years older, a self-proclaimed failure as a radio announcer who had lost two jobs when his stations were sold and a third when he quit after being ordered to report early election returns and projections in favor of certain candidates before the polls closed. He was happily married to his high-school sweetheart and struggling to send two children through college. Compared to Nick's brilliant success, he seemed to have little. But the two of them shared ideas about television, about news, and about the world they lived in; they were at ease with each other, and worked together in the same harmony Nick had known with Ted Mcllvain at Omega.

"What would you think of a program called The Other Side of the News'?" Nick asked. "Subtitled: What Didn't They Say? What Didn't They Show?'"

Les considered it. "I like it. We show a speech, the President for example, a senator, somebody at the UN—"

"Or someone in business. Not just politics."

"And then we have somebody else give the speech, parts of it anyway, with what was left out."

"Or what was bent out of shape."

"Lies," Les said. "People lie and politicians lie better."

"We're going to think of every way of saying 'lie' without saying it." Nick grinned. "Or we don't say anything; we use a scene—some action that shows, without any words, or as few as possible, what was missing or false about the statement we just heard. We can do the same with television, and newspapers, by the way. If a reporter distorts a story, I'd want to show that too. No sacred cows."

"Good tide," Les murmured. He was making notes. "So who's going to produce this show? Everyone is already overloaded."

"We'll have to hire someone. If you have any names, I'll follow them up."

"I might, in my office. I'll go look. Any other ideas?"

"Yes, but they're for Monica."

"Entertainment. Like what?"

"The Bookstall.' Review of new books."

"Nobody'll watch it."

"Nobody?"

"Ahandftil."

"Then we'll do it for a handftil. There are two shows reviewing movies on the networks; I want one for books."

"Good," said Les promptly. "I don't mind a handftil if you don't.

Monica can probably produce it herself. Anything else?"

"A few dozen; we'll talk about them later. Do you have anything new?"

"A notebookful; you'll get them all eventually. You and Chad want to come to dinner tonight?"

"Sure. If you don't mind listening to Chad talk about his new school."

"Still? He's been doing that since September."

"He hasn't stopped. I hope he doesn't; I've never seen him so happy."

"How about you?" Les asked. "Are you happy?"

Nick laughed. "Coming from a married man, that means, have I met someone. No; not yet. But I'm having a good time, and you know it, Les; this is as much fun as Omega ever was. I'll meet women—how couldn't I, in this town? I'm outnumbered about five to one. And I'll probably manage to get married one of these days. But I'm not going to be in a hurry; if s not important, as long as I'm having fun along the way." He stopped. The words echoed from a distant memory. Someone else had said that. Why should I be in a hurry when Fm havin£[ so much fun alon^ the way?

Valerie, sitting on the grass at Stanford, sunlight glinting on her tawny hair, laughing at him for being so serious. The scene came back so vividly Nick could hear her laughter, feel the warmth of the sun, recall even the names of the books she had bought at the bookstore a few minutes earlier, when they had just met.

"Nick? You with me?"

"Sorry," Nick said. "I just remembered something."

"Must be quite a woman, whoever she is." Les clipped his pencil into his shirt pocket and went to the door. "I'll look for producers. And I'll write up my ideas for The Other Side of the News.'"

"Ask Monica to come in, will you? And the three of us will meet tomorrow,"

"Right. Hell of a deal to see things moving, isn't it?"

The third week in October, the same week Sybille called Nick from her new home near Leesburg to tell him she'd been at a fox hunt and had met an interesting man, EScN signed off at midnight and came on the air six hours later with a completely new schedule. It had none of the excitement of that trade show in California, when Nick knew, the minute Omega's new computers began to sell, that they were on their way; with television, they had to wait for mail and telephone calls firom viewers, and to see if the number of subscribers rose, or fell. Still,

as they watched the first day unfold, the steady march of programs they had bought, and the news they were producing, there was an air of excitement in the E8cN studios that Nick would not have exchanged for anything in the world.

After that, through the fall and winter, as Nick drove back and forth across the Key Bridge between Georgetown and Fairfax to be with Chad as much as possible, he and Les and Monica and the executive staff they had gathered worked the crazy hours of people who are absolutely convinced they can overcome any obstacle. They made plans and schedules, and projections of audiences and advertisers, and steadily expanded the programming and the reputation of E&N. Through heavy advertising, and then by word of mouth, the audience started to grow. By July, a little over a year after Nick and Chad had moved to Washington, the network was broadcasting eighteen hours a day to twenty million households. "Piddling," Les said, making light of his excitement. "But it's a hell of a deal to see things moving."

E8cN produced some of its own programs, but bought most of them. Monica chose American and foreign films, but the greatest part of the programming was chosen by an Acquisitions Committee that Nick had formed. The committee screened the thousands of tapes sent by production companies, and selected the best, to fill over a thousand hours of programming a year.

Most of the programs were aired three times: once in the daytime, once during evening prime time on the East Coast, and again during prime time in the West. A program guide was printed, and a separate version of it, for schools, listed books and movies that could be used with some of the programs for classroom discussion. Reporters were hired and news bureaus opened, at first in just a few cities around the country; later, in major cities around the world. And, in August, one of the programs in "The Other Side of the News" series won an Emmy Award in the news category. "A hell of a deal," said Les jubilantly, and the next day Sybille called Nick to congratulate him.

"Ifs amazing, the way you grab hold," she said. "You didn't know the first thing about television when you bought EBN, and now you're winning awards."

"I read a few books," Nick said dryly.

"Well." Sybille took a breath, and Nick knew she was about to change the subject to herself. "You might be surprised at the things Fm doing; you haven't asked, but—"

"You haven't been around for quite a while."

There was a pause. "I know. I did call Chad; didn't he tell you?"

^Tes. Once in the last five weeks."

"And lie called me. Did he tell you that?"

"No," Nick said, surprised. "But he doesn't tell me everything he does; I'm glad he called. I hope he does it more often."

Sybille waited for him to ask what she had been doing that kept her away. "Well," she said again, "what kept me away was the cathedral I'm building for Lily Grace."

''Cathedral?''

"Nick, you don't understand what Lily can do to an audience. You've always underestimated her. And me; you've underestimated me. You didn't give me credit for being able to mold her into a valuable property. I told you you were wrong; remember? You were so wrong, Nick. I've done incredible things with her; I've taught her what to say, how to speak, what phrases to use, what to wear... she's more polished now, more believable. I've got her to the point where she can make people in the audience cry; you wouldn't believe the look in their eyes. Haven't you seen her lately? Don't you watch your competition?"

"Not all of it and not all the time. Who carries her?"

"Channel Twenty in Baltimore at seven on Sunday nights, and Channel Eighteen in Philadelphia at seven-thirty on Tuesday nights. You can get both of those. I wish you'd watch her, Nick."

"I'll try. I've been working most nights."

"Still? What about your social life? Nick, would you come out and see the cathedral? It's not far; just outside Culpeper. I'm building it with money people are sending in—isn't that fantastic?—all those people wanting Lily to have a place of her own to preach. Come this weekend, Nick; I really want to show it to you. Chad too; he'd like it. We can go back to my farm afterward and he can do some riding; last time he was there he was getting very good."

"I'm sorry; I don't have the time. But I'll drive Chad to your farm; I'd like him to do some riding, and he could spend the day with you."

"Nick, I want you to see the cathedral. It's something I'm doing. I saw your show, the one that got the award; I watch most of the series. The least you can do is take a few hours and see what I'm doing. You're not the only one who's being successftil, you know."

Nick heard the defensive anger in her voice. "All right," he said after a moment. "And Chad will get a couple of hours of riding."

"Of course. Saturday morning, ten-thirty, at my farm. We'll drive together from there."

She was waiting for them when they arrived on Saturday, and she sat in the front seat of Nick's car, with Chad in back, for the drive to

Culpeper. The brilliant fall foliage spread golden and russet swaths across the rolling fields; the weathered fences were dark silhouettes against the pale grass of the pastureland; a few clouds trailed long fingers across the dense blue sky. Driving in silence as Sybille pointed out the farms they passed, naming their owners and their pedigrees, Nick felt a deep sense of melancholy. The landscape was so beautiful he longed to share it with someone he loved: a woman whose heart would be touched, as his was, by the timeless serenity of these fields and woods, the embrace of the golden sun in the arching blue sky. I've missed so much, he thought as he drove on the almost-empty road. All these years—good ones, with work and Chad and friends—and once I thought that was enough. Or told myself that it was enough, I needed no more, in fact, I should be grateful for what I had. He smiled slighdy. The lies we tell ourselves, he thought.

"What?" Sybille asked, seeing his smile.

"Just a passing thought," he replied. "Tell us about your church."

"Cathedral, We'll be there in a few minutes. It will seat a thousand people and it's on two acres—room for lots of parking—and the money comes from everywhere—wherever Lily is on the air."

'*How many stations do you have.>"

"Twenty-two, but I'm getting more all the time. It snowballs, you know; the more viewers I have, the more other stations want to be in on it. And of course everyone likes the idea of the cathedral: if Lily can pull the audience she does now, from my studio, with an audience of a couple of hundred, imagine what she can do in a cathedral that seats a thousand!"

"How much money comes in?" Nick asked curiously.