All to Play For (18 page)

“What d’you mean?” responded Nik sharply.

“The price they’re offering’s too low.”

“It’s their standard rate.”

“There’s no profit margin, you dickhead.”

“But we keep the rights!”

“Shows like this aren’t going to sell anywhere else, how many times do I have to tell you! The repeat fees’ll be sod all! There’s only one way it could possibly be worth our while.”

“What’s that?” asked Nik, now annoyed. He exchanged a glance with Geordie, who had been gobsmacked into silence, but not for much longer.

“Keep Geordie in his old role. He can’t be co-producer as well.” Rex presented his implacable stare, which they knew signalled the end of any discussion. Geordie slipped down off the desk, livid with rage.

“No way man, no fucking way! That’s my show, it’s mine. I’ve worked for you for six years, for peanuts, absolute peanuts! You’d never have got this far without me, I’m the best asset you’ve got. And I’m not going to be exploited any more. My agent says you walk all over me, and I just go, ‘Ooh Rex is my friend, I’ve got to be loyal to him.’ Well not any more. I won’t take a penny less on that show. If you’re not prepared to pay me what I’m worth, I’m off, me. There’s plenty of other companies out there, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Rex calmly. Haris looked at the carpet, pursing his lips. Nik remained fixed to the desk, all attention. Geordie strode to the window and stared out of it, steam rising from his head. Rex sighed in a dignified manner.

“Then there’s no show,” he said simply. “We need to concentrate on mainstream entertainment. This fringey nonsense is a load of crap.”

Nik watched his friend struggling to control himself. “It means a great deal to Geordie. He needs to develop. It’s a great opportunity to cross into new territory. Expand. Diversify. Surely it’s worth doing for that alone?”

“You’re not considering the risks, Nik. Do you know what this is really about? Artistic ego. Okay, so artists have egos. They need stroking. But they don’t need fawning over to the extent that they make complete bloody fools of themselves! This show ain’t funny, is it?”

“We think it will be – and so do Channel Four!”

“Exactly. I’ve never seen a funny show on Channel Four. They’re all mouth and vulgarity, that’s all. Turn Geordie Boy into one of them ‘alternative’ comedians and that’ll be the end of him. He’ll lose the audience we’ve been building up all these years. It’s crazy to throw that away, unless you’re going to make enough money out of it to develop a whole new market. But you ain’t going to make a sou. You can only lose. It’s a dead end. I knew that when you started with this idea, but I thought, let them find out for themselves. Best way to learn.”

Geordie stared, open-mouthed, then left the room in a hurry. Rex looked at Haris, who raised his eyebrows and nodded sympathetically, then returned to his own office.

“I’m sorry, Nik. You liked this one, didn’t you? You’ll thank me one day. It had disaster written all over it.” He looked at his protégé understandingly, waiting for him to look up, smile ruefully, and agree that Rex knew best. It took longer than usual, but eventually Nik did look up.

“It’s not that, Rex. I mean, I did like it, but I knew it was tricky. I wanted to do it because Geordie’s so keen. He doesn’t want to be stuck on ITV his whole career, he wants intellectual credibility.”

Rex snorted. “Don’t, you’ll give me indigestion!”

“He might not get over this, Rex. We might lose him.”

“He’s contracted. He can’t leave.”

“He’s got a new agent, remember. And this one’s good.”

Rex stood up and put a heavy hand on Nik’s shoulder. “Well then, you’ll just have to turn on the charm and talk him round, won’t you?”

Nik found Geordie on the roof, in the little landscaped garden area which consisted of a series of potted plants and a couple of trellises. Geordie was leaning on the wrought iron railings, gazing at the sky. Nik walked up and embraced him from behind. He stroked Geordie’s hair and cheek, turned him round and kissed his lips. Geordie let go of his tension and hugged Nik tight. Nik patted his back slowly for a few minutes.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said eventually. “Want to hear it?”

Geordie sighed, and continued clinging to Nik. “I’m afraid you’ll let me down too,” he said, in a small voice, his eyes closed.

“Don’t be daft,” answered Nik gently. “Have I ever let you down before?”

Geordie shook his head.

“Well then. You know how I feel about you.”

“Do I?” Geordie let go of him and stood up straight. His eyes longed for reassurance. “How come this is still a secret then? Why don’t you come out?”

“You know why.”

“I know your excuses.”

“Geordie. Come on.” Nik held Geordie’s face in his hands. “I’m not gay, I’m bisexual. I don’t want to be categorised.”

“You mean you want people to think you’re straight.”

Nik shrugged helplessly. “I can’t change the world, can I? I’ve got to live in it as it is. I’m a businessman. Look darling, you’re fabulous, I adore you. I’m going to make you a star. Isn’t that enough? What do you want to do, marry me?” He chuckled at this absurdity, and smiled lovingly. Geordie melted.

“Howay then, bonny lad. Tell us this great idea.”

“We’ll develop a show for the BBC, which they can’t resist. I’ll sell it to them, and keep the rights. You’ll be a star with credibility
and
a mainstream audience, and everyone’ll be happy. Simple.”

Geordie held out for five whole seconds before he capitulated. “Whatever you say, man. I believe in you.” He lacked the resolve to keep pushing his own interests; he would much rather put his faith in Nik, whether he trusted him or not.

“I believe in you too.” Nik kissed him again. “Don’t try to leave Magenta, will you? I couldn’t bear it. I know Rex can be a pain in the arse. And I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit cold, lately. It’s my dad you know.” Geordie bowed his head. “The re-trial begins next month. The waiting’s doing me in. Half of me wants to be there with him, the other half says no, keep your distance, it’ll do untold damage to your career. Anyhow, the last thing
he
needs is the papers latching onto me, and chasing me and you all over London for a picture; it could prejudice his case. I just wish it was all over, decided once and for all, and then we could all get on with our lives.”

Nik buried his head against Geordie’s shoulder and allowed the hint of a sob to colour his sigh. Geordie cuddled him. “I’m sorry, pet.” he murmured, “I’ve been insensitive.”

“It’s alright,” Nik muffled. “Forget it.” He pulled himself together and smiled bravely. “Let’s go and work on our new show, shall we? Over a pint?”

“Sure, honeybuns,” said Geordie, smiling sadly.

“Just don’t call me that in the Bricklayer’s Arms, okay?”

Later that day Nik chanced across a panel game format in his in-tray which he hadn’t binned, and he thought there might be something in it they could use. It was from a writer called Jill Watkins. Her covering letter was apologetic in tone; it said that she was really a dramatist, but she’d had this idea, and thought it might suit Magenta.

“Look at this,” Nik said to Geordie. “It’s a panel game for soap stars. You get a team each from two soaps and they have to play acting games and answer questions on the shows. Good idea, ain’t it? Viewers would love it.”

Geordie nodded as he read it through. “Hard to book the actors, though.”

“Only if you contract them individually, not if we do a deal. Suppose we stick to two series, say a BBC soap and an Aussie soap, and get an umbrella deal on both sides?”

“Brilliant. What about me?”

“You’re the host, stupid!”

“Is there going to be anything left for me to do? I work best with punters, you know that.”

“We’ll have punters on the teams too. Two actors, one punter.”

Geordie smiled. “Sounds good. But what if this Jill Watkins doesn’t want to do it that way?”

“What’s she got to do with it?”

“I thought it was her idea?”

“Nah, it’ll be completely different. She won’t even recognise it.” Geordie looked troubled. “Oh god, alright, I’ll give her some money for it. I’ll buy her out. Watch me.”

Nik phoned the agent’s number on the top of Jill’s treatment, and briskly explained that there was an element in Jill’s proposal he liked and that he was willing to offer a hundred pounds to buy her out, as a goodwill gesture. He didn’t think the idea had a future otherwise. The agent called back after twenty minutes to say that Jill had agreed.

“Lovely,” said Nik. “That means we can’t get sued when we’ve got a runaway hit on our hands. Now for the Aussies.”

Nik knew his opposite number in Outback Productions’ London office, and met her for lunch a few days later. She was a pleasant, put-upon woman who carried a little too much weight, in Nik’s opinion, but there was no side to her and she didn’t play power games. Nik found this disarming, and had to hold on tight to his own self-control, or he might not have got the advantageous deal he wanted. Her name was Grace Tullock, which amused him as her staff called her Grice. He had to force himself not to do the same.

“We think this is a great idea,” she told him enthusiastically. “It’ll be terrific publicity for the show, and the actors – they’ll really get on the map here.”

“The only problem is shipping them over to Britain. It’ll be expensive.”

“We might be able to schedule recordings to match up with publicity interviews. And maybe the second series could be recorded in Sydney?”

“Why not!”

“I think the broadcasters will go for it too. There isn’t anything else like it. Especially if we can do it with
EastEnders
. Do you think they’ll go for it?”

“I can only try. There’s one other thing I need to make clear.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s my copyright. We co-produce, but the rights stay with Magenta. Okay?”

“I guess so.” Grace was disappointed, but hers was not the only Australian soap.

Once Nik had sewn up the necessary elements to the show and felt certain the BBC would want it, he gave a great deal of thought to his approach, in view of Rex’s bad experience. He decided to avoid everyone Rex had met by going over their heads to the Channel Controller. It was a risk, like putting all your chips on one number, because if he said no, that would be the end of it. That’s the difference between Rex and me, Nik thought to himself, Rex always tries to hedge his bets. That’s why he’ll never get to the top, he’ll only get rich. I play for higher stakes.

He talked his way into an appointment with the Controller of BBC2. On the day, he chose his suit with care, selecting a designer label which suggested style, street cred and money, without the least vulgarity. He looked good in it. In fact, he decided, he looked good in practically anything. He had that kind of talent.

Chris Briggs’ PA was extremely tasty, but Nik knew better than to try and chat her up. Posh girls like Selina didn’t like obvious moves. Anyway, it was too soon. He behaved as if he hadn’t really noticed her, whilst being very polite. Chris was exactly what he expected: a boring Oxbridge type in a boring suit in a boring office. Why didn’t these BBC mandarins possess any interesting features? How were you supposed to tell them apart? As soon as they shook hands, Nik knew that Chris was in awe of him. Nik had everything Chris lacked. All Chris had going for him was his education.

“Pleased to meet you, Nik, come and sit down,” smiled Chris, showing him to a chair in front of his desk, and seating himself in his larger chair behind it. “I understand Magenta is going from strength to strength. You must be very pleased. You’ve made quite an impression.”

“Yeah, well, we ain’t complaining, you know,” replied Nik chattily. “Can’t seem to put a foot wrong lately, everything we touch turns to gold.”

“I hope it lasts. So, you’ve got something for us, have you?”

“I think so, Chris, but only you know what you want for your channel, and I wouldn’t dream of telling you your business. To be honest, it’s the first time I’ve been inside the BBC. Never thought it would happen when I was growing up in Canning Town!”

“That’s in the East End, isn’t it?”

“Yeah that’s right. I lived in Ronan Point. You’ve probably heard of it.”

“It certainly rings a bell.”

“Half of it collapsed one night, huge gas explosion.”

“That’s it! My God, how awful. Were you in it at the time?”

“I was, matter of fact. Survived, obviously, but it was very traumatic. Lost my mum and dad.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t upset yourself, it was years ago. We all just got on with it. That’s the East End spirit, ain’t it?”

Chris nodded; so he believed. What a remarkable young man, to do so well despite his inauspicious beginnings. He was clearly going to go far.

“Anyhow, as I was saying, I don’t know that much about the BBC, but I do know how to put together a show that’ll entertain people. That’s my speciality. And I have to admit, our shows have done extremely well, given the slot they’re in.

“Absolutely,” agreed Chris. “So tell me about
The Soap Ashes
.”

Nik outlined the show, pretending not to notice Chris’s eyes light up as he casually name-dropped the stars and the price. “I’ve already got the Aussies on board, they’re dead keen. They want to put the show out in prime time, and they’ll pay half the production costs. All you have to deliver is the cast of
EastEnders
.” An anxious look passed briefly across Chris’ face. “Naturally Magenta will produce the show, and we’ll keep the rights. If you can’t live with that, we’ll look elsewhere. But no-one else knows about this yet. I wanted to give
you
first refusal.”

Chris played it cool. He picked up a pen and scribbled on his blotter. “Sounds very interesting, Nik. I’m not absolutely sure if it’s right for BBC2, but I’ll think about it.”

“Sure. Shall we say, until the 28th?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose so. Just one thing. I’m not sure Geordie Boy is really a BBC performer, if you know what I mean.” He raised his eyebrows at Nik, who smiled and nodded.

“To be absolutely frank, Chris, I wondered if you would say that. I like the guy, of course I do, and I think he’s very good. I think he could do a fine job, in fact. But I know what you mean. This show could use – well – a bit more class.”