Star Time (41 page)

Although Greg had heard good things about Raoul
Clampton
, his own impression had always been of a nervous man, always moving,
a
weathervane that swiveled with the corporate mood. Greg made clear to him that he didn't want to waste time right now on the
dayparts
that were currently holding their own, like Saturday morning's mix of cartoon and live children's shows and late night's new talk show with a smart, young comedian who was building against Nightline, Leno, and Letterman.

Raoul expressed satisfaction with FBS’s early morning program, until Greg told him to start looking for new hosts and a new producer to inject vitality into two very boring hours. “No one’s going to tune away from
GMA
and
Today
for it.”

"Absolutely right," Raoul agreed. "Ron
Skelley’s
free. My people have been considering him as executive producer."

Noticing Greg's glare, the programming chief quickly added, "But I told them that was a terrible idea."

Daytime did not need much tinkering: FBS was doing better there than any other
daypart
. Several syndicated talk shows and one owned by the network led into late afternoon—known as early fringe—and then to prime access. Except for the half hour of network news, prime access was reserved to the local stations, which fought their own regional rating wars with gossip shows and game shows like "Wheel of Fortune" and "Jeopardy." The three-hour block from 8 to 11
p.m.
was prime time, attracting the greatest number of viewers and the greatest number of dollars. Only on Friday night was FBS competitive, when
Luba
drew a large early audience and helped pull along the shows that followed.

Raoul nervously explained the arrangement he had made with Annette Valletta and Monumental to obtain a renewal for
Luba
.

Greg stopped him. "I understand why you gave Annette a series commitment to get another year of
Luba
.
But why the commitment to Monumental for a new show?"

"Otherwise Monumental wouldn't have gotten Annette to renew."

"That seems odd. I understood she intends to do her next series without them."

Greg turned to
Ev
, who nodded in agreement. Raoul
Clampton
would have to sink or swim on his own. If he sank,
Ev
did not want to be seen trying to toss him a life preserver.

Raoul tried to embroider his explanation. "They would have canceled
Luba
on us."

Greg cut off the discussion. "Doesn't make sense to me, but you've already committed us, so we're wasting time raising objections. From now on no new deals get made without my approval."

Raoul stepped up to his magnetic scheduling board to present the changes he proposed in the current prime-time lineup. Across the top were the days of the week. Down the sides were the
evening hours from eight to eleven. Rectangular plaques listing an FBS show could be moved around the board into different time periods and compared to the competition at that time. Greg noted there were no plaques for standby series waiting in the wings to fill in for shows that might be pulled.

Ev
explained that to conserve cash when the network was generating losses, he had vetoed the practice of putting potential replacement series into production ahead of time. FBS was now limited to moving around its existing shows into slots where they might draw more viewers.

Greg was troubled by several moves that Raoul proposed. The ones for Saturday night made no sense to him.

"Why do you want to put
Hot Time
, which should be attracting a heavy teenage and early-twenties audience, into nine o'clock Saturday night?"

"To counterprogram against the other networks’ older demographics," Raoul explained. "We're sinking fast where we are now."

" Who's
going to watch it?
Hot Time's
audience will be out of the house on Saturday night."

“We figured they’d record for later viewing,” Raoul fumbled, and looked to
Ev
for support. The latter said nothing. Raoul turned to his subordinate in charge of scheduling, who appeared to be carrying out an urgent inspection of the table's grain.

"Well, none of these suggestions are final," Raoul assured Greg. "We wanted this meeting to get your ideas."

Greg was not an experienced scheduler, but as far as he could see a lot of scheduling was common sense. You started the evening with a strong family show and then, after the kids were in bed, tried to appeal to an older, but compatible audience, maintaining an "audience flow" that carried your viewers from one show to the next to the end of prime time. You tried to play comedies as a block because the same audience usually stayed with them. But if a rival had, say, a strong comedy in a time slot, you "counterprogrammed" with a different program type intended for a different audience segment, say an action or suspense show. If a rival's show primarily attracted males, you might put one on that primarily drew females. If it was sure to attract the desirable 18 to 49 years-of-age demographic, you went for an older audience.

Greg moved several of the red rectangles on which were written the names of current FBS shows. "I think this might give us a better shot at second place in those time periods. What do you think?"

Raoul suggested reversing two shows that Greg had moved, and
Ev
found a better night for
Hot Time
. The consensus was that they had done the best with what they had. The changes would go into effect in several weeks.

The meeting then shifted to the subject of the shows under development as concepts, outlines, and scripts for the coming television year. Ten to a dozen of those would be produced as pilots. A few of the latter might go on in midseason. Most, though, could not be readied until September.

Raoul kept an eye on Greg as each of his programming executives described their prospective new shows in detail and the talent associated with them. He had been hoping for enthusiasm or, at the very least, agreement on the choices. Greg said nothing as he listened through the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon.

Although he did not allow it to show on his face, Greg had grown depressed. Not a single series in development excited him. FBS needed hits, one or two shows that would break through and really catch the nation's fancy, such as
The Big Bang Theory
had and
30 Rock
and, in an earlier era, shows like
Seinfeld
and
M.A.S.H
. and
All in the Family
. Those were rare, but if you found one, you could build an entire night's lineup around it and overwhelm the competition for years. They all had something in common, he noted; each was distinctive, new, and original. But Raoul and the others seemed to be saying that after exhaustive testing no new projects out there exhibited that kind of appeal. Or at least none is offered to FBS.

"A couple of our standby series could start shooting quickly," Raoul offered. "Monumental has already got scripts coming in on a show I think we ought to use for their commitment and move up to midseason
this
year. It's called
We're
Outta Space
."

Raoul was relieved to be able to demonstrate a valid reason for the commitment he had given Mickey Blinder. He outlined the concept of the show.

"Set up a meeting for tomorrow morning at his office," Greg said. "He's a big supplier. I ought to meet him and at least talk about it." He closed the thick presentation folder and, slipping it under his arm, stood up to leave. "But I have to admit the concept doesn't excite me."

Greg had an office in the building, but he headed for the KFBS newsroom.
This Is FBS News Tonight
was being broadcast there to the East Coast, where it was three hours later

and recorded for later
showing in the West. The ostensible reason for the trip to L.A. was to kick off the first of a series about the country's major geographical regions. But the scheduling had been moved up a couple of weeks so the network's top correspondents could add to the glamour of the party being hurriedly organized to reach out to the people in television FBS was seeking to solicit new shows from.

Greg found an empty chair on the far side of the newsroom, where he soon fell into thought. A hand tapped him on the shoulder.

"KFBS News has the room now—or don't you remember?"

Greg looked up. Chris was sitting on the corner of the desk in front of him. He glanced at the clock. The network broadcast had just ended.

"It feels strange to be back here," she admitted. "Even stranger because you're here, too."

"As if no time has passed.
We're the same two people. Yet everything has changed."

"We're both married for one thing."

He nodded. He could not tell whether she intended her remark as a reminder. She could not tell whether his expression hinted at ruefulness or simply acknowledgement.

"We've gotten a lot of what we wanted in life," she declared with a firm sense of contentment.

"Not always the way we had hoped for, but I guess overall that's true."

"Greg, I have a favor to ask. I want you to meet with a friend of mine. She used to work here—first for me in news while she was finishing college and then in the Entertainment Division until she was fired a few days ago."

"Look, I'm sorry she was let go, but things are tight around here. I'm not going to second-guess her boss."

"She's not looking for her job back. I don't think she'd ever work for him again. It's just that some things that happened in the department trouble her. I think you ought to be aware of them."

"I don't trust unsolicited altruism. People always have a hidden motive; usually it's revenge."

"In this case I think it might be . . . let’s call it concern. She's afraid the head of the department may try to blame things on her that were his doing."

"A very paranoid lady, your friend."

"She doesn't think so."

Greg was confused. "He might blame what
kinds
of things?"

"She said something about Monumental Productions being given an extra two-hundred-thousand dollars a show and a firm commitment to do a new series next year."

Chris observed sudden attention in Greg’s expression.

"What department did your friend work in?" he asked.

"Programming."

"Doing what?"

"She was in charge of new comedy series, but she's done a little bit of everything there."

"I think I'd like very much to talk with her."

"We're getting together for dinner in a little while. Maybe you could join us for a drink."

Chris told herself that she was pleased for Marian's sake that he could make it.

When Greg arrived for the meeting at Monumental the next morning, he was accompanied by an unexpected companion, Marian Marcus.

The man at the head of the conference table extended his hand, a wide smile on his face. "Glad to meet you at last, Greg.
Heard a lot about you.
I'm Mickey Blinder."

Raoul
Clampton
jumped in as the two men were shaking hands. "You might not know this, Greg, but I fired this woman last week."

"I rehired her," Greg replied. “I'd like to know more about the deal you made with Mickey here for two-hundred-thousand dollars more an episode—retroactively—and a blind thirteen-week commitment for next year."

"If you're suggesting something wasn't above board, Greg," Mickey rejoined, "then I feel a little insulted here."

"Let's start with the extra two hundred thousand a show. What did we get for it?" Greg took a seat and gestured to Marian to take the chair beside him.

"Well," Mickey replied, "Annette was really against doing another year of
Luba
. We had to sweeten her salary."

"I spoke to her agent this morning. She's getting a hundred thousand more a show.
But next year, not this year.
I still want to know why you're getting two hundred thousand this year."

"You have to understand, we couldn't afford to keep doing the series with the losses we were taking."

"The show's a gold mine. Our financial people tell me every episode you shoot is worth in syndication ten to twenty times what it cost to produce."

Raoul crossed his legs and sat back with what appeared to be composure, but his foot was jiggling wildly. "I guess you could say it was an option to make sure we got
Monumental's
next
series with Annette. We aren't exactly the first choice when studios and producers are peddling their new product."