A novo l abouL LosLor Cor bo

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 Waldenbooks
Orlg. publ. At

The explosive and involving stoi SALE PRICE

sonal and professional crisis in t

television's first man

TALK
SHOW
A novel by
NOEL B. GERSON
Lester Corbett an American entertain-
is

ment As the host of Inquiry, he

institution.
guides and rules and runs the single most
popular television show in the United
States.He is indisputably the master of his
world, and he is paid a master's price in
cash and power and public love.
Lester Corbett's private life is his own,
and hard-earned. But even here he likes to
spread the wealth— through a compulsive
and almost superhuman sexuality that in-
volves him with his constant mistress
(Inquiry's chief writer), with other young
women who work on the show, even with
some of his female guests. His own wife
suffers— he would prefer nottouch her—
to
but the rest of the women around him wel-
come his use of them, for he is Lester
Corbett and very much in control.

His control begins to slip when, on the

air, before millions of startled viewers, he

says something unexpected about a distin-

(continued on back flap)

Jacket design by lawrence ratzkin

WILLIAM MORROW & CO., INC.

 Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2013

http://archive.org/details/talkshowOOgers
NOEL B. GERSON

William
m
Morrow & Company, Inc.

New York : 1971

 For
Bev and Sike

Copyright © 1971 by Noel B. Gerson. All rights reserved.

No book may be reproduced or utilized in any
part of this
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the Publisher. Inquiries should be addressed to William
Morrow and Company, Inc., 105 Madison Ave., New York,
N.Y. 10016. Printed in the United States of America by
American Book-Stratford Press Inc., N.Y., N.Y. Library of
Congress Catalog Card Number 76-142403
LESTER CORBIT IS A NATIONAL INSTITUTION!
GOD HELP YOU IF YOU FORGET IT!
 he sign was pinned to the bulletin board in the bull-
pen, the large, cluttered office in which the five writers of the
Lester Corbett Inquiry program spent most of their waking
hours. The notice continued a self-directed irony, and with
good cause. Inquiry, which made good the Universal Broad-
casting System's boast that it was the most popular talk show
on television, was supposedly an ad-lib program, which made
writers superfluous.
But the occupants of the bullpen were long accustomed to
paradox. For one thing, they weren't even called writers; the
organizational charts listed them, innocuously, as "informa-
tion researchers." Even more galling to them was the realiza-
tion that they alone, of the program's full-time staff of
seventy, had their anonymity assured by their occupation of a
drab, shabbily furnished office, the only one in the otherwise
resplendent UBS suite set aside for Corbett employees.
There were compensations, of course. Chief among them
were the large paychecks the writers drew every Friday. Stan
Friedlander, the show's producer, had seen to that, and was
supported by Les Corbett himself. Corbett rarely interfered in
such matters.
 8 Talk Show
Jeri Maynard, the head of the bullpen, had private com-
pensations of her own: as a few staff members knew and the
rest suspected, she had been sleeping with Lester Corbett for
the past eighteen months. But Jen's job didn't depend on her
personal relationship with the Great Man. Friedlander and
Dick Hubbel, the director, knew she supplied the spark that
had given the show new animation and depth in the past two
and a half years.
Jen's colleagues paid her an even greater tribute, and agreed
with Eli Lansing, one of her assistants, that she was the
genius responsible for making the program the single most
popular television show in the United States. It was true, of
course, that Corbett had been a household name throughout
the country for eight years before Jeri had joined the staff, but
he had soared to new heights since she had taken command of
the bullpen.
Unfortunately, hardly anyone else realized how important
the writers were to a seemingly spontaneous interview and
chatter program. Corbett came on the air immediately follow-
ing the 11:00 p.m. news, and the program continued until at
least 1:00 a.m. UBShad thrown away its closing schedules,
and the show often lasted an hour longer, until an unprece-
dented two in the morning. The open-end formula, as the
UBS sales department happily confirmed, paid off, and the
show had a waiting list of potential sponsors. So Stan Fried-
lander regularly gave Jeri new raises in pay.
She lived up to her title and her
of research director. She
assistants preinterviewed, in person, only one out of four of
the guests who appeared on the program. The others, most of
them show business personalities, authors, beautiful and not-
so-beautiful people, political personages and men-and-women-
in-the-news, were seen for the first time when they appeared
at the studio an hour or so before going on the air.
But Jeri was ready for them. She saw the actors' films and
plays, read the authors' books, studied the speeches and
records of the politicians. Then, in a few seemingly simple
Noel B. Gerson 9

questions, she had an uncanny knack for reducing to its

essence the information she wanted to extract from the
guests. The "real" Pulitzer Prize or Tony Award winner
emerged, and so did the "real" senator when Lester Corbett
interrogated them on the air.

Naturally, the viewing public thought that Corbett con-

cocted his own questions, but the writers didn't mind. They
were being paid to make him look good, and only staff mem-
bers realized that three-by-five cards, with the questions writ-
ten in large letters on them, were concealed beneath a bowl of
flowers placed in front of the host's chair. The flowers, a low-
lying spread, had been Jeri's idea, too.

The show was telecast five nights per week, and Jeri always
showed up at the office in midmorning, impervious to the fact
that she would put in a fourteen-hour day. But she rarely
seemed rushed; Mondays through Fridays, she didn't look like
the chief writer for a talk show, and could have been one of
the celebrities Lester Corbett interviewed.
It was exactly 10:30 a.m. on the far wall clock when Jeri

sauntered into the bullpen, spectacular in multicolored Pucci

tunic and pants, high-heeled pumps and enormous shoulder-
bag. The silk outfit brought out every line of her slender
figure, and Eli buried himself in the transcript of a press con-
ference just held by the Secretary of Health, Education and
Welfare, who was scheduled for an appearance on Inquiry the
following night.
"Hi," he muttered.
"Good morning." Jeri dropped her bag onto her desk and
sank into her steel-and-leather chair. "I'm beat."
"Late night?" There were no shadows beneath her mascara-
fringed blue eyes, he saw, and wondered how many actresses
and models envied her long, natural lashes.
"I was at the hairdressers' at eight this morning," Jeri said,
exaggerating the huskiness of her voice.
She had a shaggy, man's cut, and Eli was confused. "With
hair that short, why do you go to a beauty parlor?"
 10 Talk Show
Jeri took pity on him as she spread a soft, pale color over
her lips. "You don't think this platinum is a natural shade, do
you? I suffer for the sake of looking jazzy, believe me. The
only women who are born with hair this light are albinos and
chicks like that Swedish deep-sea diver we had on the air last
night. She looked glamorous, but you couldn't understand a
word she said, and I thought Les would throw a fit, on
camera/'
"Really? I watched from home, and I thought he was
bland." Eli refrained from adding, "Like always."
"I thought he was going to Dick Hubbel for not cutting
kill

the interview short." Only when Jeri donned her heavy, horn-
rimmed glasses did she look her thirty-two years. "Got the
assignment sheet?"
Eli passed it to her without standing. "The Argentine who
writes the scatological poetry is strictly your meat."
"Right. I've been reading his work for years. Oh-oh. You
can't send Mary to the St. Regis to meet that refugee from a
Roman film set. Take that one yourself."
Eli groaned. "Have mercy, Jeri. I outgrew that kind of crap
years ago."
"He'll flash those capped teeth of his at Mary, and he'll lay
her— ten on it— before she gets out of his suite. You
to one
know she swoons over every ham she's ever seen on the Late
Show."
"Maybe we'd be doing both of them a favor."
"Not on UBS time," Jeri said firmly, and wrote in the
margin. "All right, I'll send someone else. By the way, I'm
canceling the Thursday appearance of that new novelist. On
my own authority, and I'll notify Stan Friedlander."
"Stan won't like it. This author's boyfriend is the publisher
who may do Corbett's new biography."
"Can't be helped." Jeriwas incisive. "I met the little swish
at a party last night, and he'd fly off the air under his own
power."
Noel B. Gerson 1

"We've had plenty of queens on the program."

"Sure," she said. "Viewers don't mind anymore— even in
the Bible Belt— if a queen comes on the air in drag, provided
he has a achievement as a writer or a composer
solid record of
or whatever. But is an unknown who positively
this character
screams, gestures and all. Lester would crack up, and we'd get
a couple of hundred sacks of fan mail. So Stan will have to go
along."
"He never goes along." Friedlander, in a custom-made
shirt, stood in the door.
"I'll tell you about it, honey," Jeri said, flashing him a smile
that Eli promptly envied.
"Like now? Over coffee in my office, with or without
cream?"
She picked up her shoulder bag. "Mind the store, Eli.

Okay? And don't forget to switch those assignments for

today."
Jeri followed Friedlander down the corridor to the corner
office, room complete with heavy carpeting overlaid with an
a
Oriental rug, elegant drapes and genuine eighteenth-century
furniture. Obviously the office of the producer of television's,
most successful program.
Friedlander pushed down an intercom switch. "Coffee for
Jeri and Sanka for me," he said, then turned to the young
woman who was making herself comfortable on the tapestry-
upholstered love seat. "Where's Corbett?"
"Am I my lover's keeper?" she retorted.
"I'm serious."
glanced up at the clock. "At this precise moment, the
Jeri
golden voice and sterling personality is probably eating his
poached eggs and Gelusil in the breakfast room of the not
quite ancestral manse in Westport."
"Very funny." Friedlander rubbed his balding head. "I've
just spoken to Grace, and he didn't show up at home last
night."
 12 Talk Show
Grace was Les's second and current wife, to whom he had
been married for fifteen years. "Problems?" Jeri asked.
"Oodles of them/' he said. "The cousin of our St. Louis
insurance sponsor is in town, and is dying to meet Les, who
can take him and his family upstairs to the Sky Club for a
quick, painless drink—"
"You ought to know Lester simply won't do it. He loathes
that kind of thing."
"The sponsor is paying a fifteen percent increase for the
same time. Twenty-six-week contract. So Les will do it."
Friedlander was firm. "Also, publicity is upset. He promised
he'd let them know no later than ten this morning when Life
can go out to his house to make pictures for the new spread.
They're waiting, and not even Lester Corbett keeps Life
magazine waiting."
"I've got news for you," she said, and smiled. "When his
time is up, Lester will still manage to be three hours late for
his date with Ye Olde Grim Reaper."
"On top of everything else, Joyce is trying to reach him
from Ohio. She's called twice this morning."
Joyce Corbett Elbers was Lester's first wife, from whom he
had been divorced almost twenty years. "What does she
want?"
"She didn't say, but I gather it's urgent." There was no
need for Friedlander to spell out the fact that he, UBS and
Inquiry's sponsors preferred to soft-pedal any mentions of
Lester Corbett's previous marriage.
"She probably wants another handout, and is going to
claim she needs it for Junior." Jeri became indignant, and her
enormous eyes darkened. "Every time she hits Lester for
money, she does it in the name of their son. Who probably
never sees a penny of it."
"You've got to be kidding." Friedlander was mildly dis-
believing.
"Honest. She knows that if there's one soft spot in Lester's
armor, it's their boy."
Noel B. Gerson 13

"I can't believe he's sentimental about anything."

"He melts at the mention of young Lester's name."
"Come to think of it, I've never heard him talk about the
kid."
"Hardly/' Jeri said. "He isn't going to let you— or anybody
else— see he's vulnerable."
"Why should his son be his soft spot?"
She shrugged. "Guilt because somebody else has brought
him up. A sense of failure, maybe— the only failure he's ever
known. Even a genuine affection for the boy, if you can accept
the idea of Lester having really deep feelings about anyone.
Which I can."
Friedlander was silent for a moment. "I'll buy that. All of
us have our secret hell, and what makes Les Corbett different
from the rest of us is his vocation. The master-of-all-he-
surveys is forced to conceal his private emotions for the sake
of maintaining his public image."
"I get so sick of the image bit." Jeri was bitter.

"I wish somebody showed me that kind of loyalty. You

busy for lunch?"
"How's Elbe?"
"Robust. All of my kids are in splendid health, and so is
my idiot son-in-law, whose appetite cleans out our friendly
local supermarket daily. And my granddaughter, who just
celebrated her first birthday, is adorable. Now, answer my
question. Lunch."
"Congratulations on your granddaughter's birthday, Stan.
Nobody told me."
Friedlander sighed. "I wish I knew what you see in Les
Corbett."
"This isn't his day for the barber, but you could call him
there, anyway," Jeri said.

"I have."
"In another hour and a half, you could try the Oak Room
at the St. Regis, The Players Club or that horrid little Arme-
 14 Talk Show
nian place in the East Village that he thinks he discovered.
And if you can't locate him in any of those places—"
"I know/' Friedlander said. 'Til report back to you, and
you'll track him down. I just hope he remembers there's a
command performance with the network front office crowd
this afternoon at four. We're going to expand Inquiry's net-
work by another five stations, and Les should be at the
meeting."
"Why? He hasn't the vaguest notion of marketing areas
and station coverage."
"That's something you know and know, baby, but I'm
I

trying to keep it a secret from the network, the sponsors and

the individual stations. They don't realize that Les is still the
boy announcer-actor who'd give a year of his life to play a lead
in a soap opera or do a Broadway play."
"But not give up a penny of that gorgeous seven hundred
and fifty G's a year. He can still count."
Friedlander studied the slim, supple figure of the young
woman who sat opposite his desk. "It isn't his money that
hooks you. You make enough yourself to be independent.
And with your brains, not to mention that face and figure,
which are good enough to give you the lead on a show of your
own, I'm damned if I know what you can possibly see in Les
Corbett!"
Jeri leaned against the back of the love seat, absently
tousling her short, blond hair. "I wish I knew, Stan!"
He sat forward in his overstuffed swivel chair. "He honest-
to-God didn't spend the night with you?"
"The last I saw of him was right after we got off the air, and
he was frothing at the mouth because that Swedish mermaid
had bombed so badly."
"Then he could be anywhere."
Jeri was lost in thought for a moment. "It wouldn't surprise
me if he shacked up with the mermaid. It would be his way of
getting even with her." She spoke calmly, without jealousy or
rancor.
Noel B. Gerson 15

Friedlander brightened. "You got her phone number?"

"It's in our files. Eli Lansing has it."
"You've given me the morning's first lead. Jeri, I don't
know what Inquiry would do without you."

Dick Hubbel rubbed his bare forearms and turned up the

then looked around the dark control
collar of his sports shirt,
room, where different pictures, some in color, some in black
and white, were in action on a number of viewing screens.
"Tell master control to do something about the goddam air

conditioning," he told the engineer seated at a panel beside

him. "It's freezing in here."

An assistant standing behind them moved forward. "Do

you want more coffee, Mr. Hubbel?"
"No, and I can't finish color-camera adjustments until I
know what color shirt, necktie and jacket Les is going to wear
tonight! Why must we go through this same megillah every
stinking day of our lives? Get somebody from costume down
here. Now! We'll go way over our budget if I have to hold the
camera crew here for the rest of the morning." He pointed
irritably through the glass that separated them from the barn-
like studio, where the two-man crews of three color cameras
were loitering.
Another assistant picked up a telephone, dialed, and spoke
urgently.
"Does anybody know when Les's new desk and chair are
being delivered?" Hubbel looked at the trio clustered behind
him.
No one replied.
"Then find out." His patience was exaggerated. "Even de-
partment have delivery dates, and I don't want to be
stores
treated to another sample of Corbett temperament if he has
to go on the air with the old furniture tonight. But if you're
helpless, all of you, I'll follow through myself."
One of the assistants hurried out to his own office to trace
the missing desk and chair.
 16 Talk Show
He almost collided with Dale Henry, the costume and
makeup coordinator, who was coming in. An exceptionally
attractive black wearing the inevitable studio tunic and
girl

flaring pants, she looked more like a performer than a staff

member. Not a hair of her long pageboy was out of place, her
artificial lashes were long and thick, and her carefully applied
makeup was the best possible advertisement of her profession.
But she was too angry to remember that her appearance
required cool languor to be effective, and she gestured with a
ring-covered hand as she entered. "Dick, I can't perform
miracles! I've practically lived on the phone since yesterday
afternoon, talking to the wardrobe people at the Metropolitan
Opera, and I've got somebody up at Lincoln Center right
now, waiting for them to release the gown that Madame
Terrazi is wearing on the show tonight. I can't possibly get it
here for color tests until they release it to us."
Hubbel looked her up and down. "That outfit would look
better with a belt."
His counterattack jarred Dale, and she was at a momentary
loss for words.
"Frankly," he continued, "I don't care if Madame Terrazi
goes naked in front of the cameras. I'm trying to get Les's
shirt, tie and jacket for tonight set for color tests."
The girl groaned as she sank into an assistant director's
swivel chair adjacent to Hubbel's. "Oh, God. Not again. I
nailed him last night as we wentthe air, and he prom-
off
ised—a faithful, no-evasion pledge— that he'd get back to you
first thing this morning."
"He hasn't."
Her femininity became Dale's best defense, and her eyes
were enormous. "I suppose you've tried at home?" him
"Naturally. His wife knows from nothing, nohow. As usual.
She can't even tell me where he is."
"Shacked up with some cutie in one of their guest rooms, I
imagine." There was a hint of bitterness in the girl's voice.
Hubbel patted her on the thigh, allowing his hand to linger
Noel B. Gerson 17

there for an instant. "Don't let it blow you, honey. Either Les
cooperates with us, or he wears clothes out of your reserve
wardrobe. Dreaming up that reserve was your greatest stroke
of genius in the three years you Ve been on this show, Dale."
"Five. Anniversary this week/'
"Huh. I didn't realize it had been that long. I'll tell you
what, honey. Rustle over to your wardrobe and pick out the
Great Man's outfit for tonight. I'm tired of chasing him all
over town, and you must be, too."
"I'm so sick of it I'm ready to walk out."
"You don't want to do that, Dale. Don't forget that on
Inquiry we're one big, happy family."
you mean."
"Delirious,
"Once the cameras are locked in, I'll buy you a three-
martini lunch. To celebrate your fifth anniversary in the
madhouse. Okay?"
"It's a deal," Dale said. "All I have to do is think of Les
Corbett, and I feel an irresistible urge to get stoned."

Grace Corbett tugged the sash of her robe more tightly

around her thin body, poured herself another cup of coffee
and sat down with it at the kitchen table. Then she lighted
her fifth cigarette of the morning, brushed a strand of graying
hair away from her face and made a supreme effort not to
cry.

Instead she glanced through the gossip columns in the

Daily News, but saw no names that interested her. The world
was full of starlets, promising and youthful
young actors
members in good standing of the beautiful-people set. There
were no ties that meant a thing to a woman whose forty-sixth
birthday had just passed almost unnoticed. Oh, Lester had
given her a new watch with a diamond band, and it had set
him back two or three thousand, but the gift had been as
perfunctory as his manner of handing it to her had been
casual.
The least he could have done would have been to take her
 18 Talk Show
out for a nice dinner at one of the quiet places where, even if
he had been recognized, other guests wouldn't have pestered
him. But he always made such a big thing about being seen in
public, and this time he had stalked out of the living room in
a fury when she'd made an innocent remark.
All she had said was, "You'd be a lot unhappier if nobody
knew who you were. You were impossible back in Chicago
when you called yourself an actor, only nobody else knew
it."

On the rare occasions when she forced herself to search her

soul, Grace had to admit she was jealous of the one person
withwhom she could not compete, the one person on earth
whom Lester loved totally and uncritically. His son.
What made the situation impossible was that he didn't
really know the boy, who had been reared by his mother and
stepfather, and who spent no more than a few embarrassed,
painful dinner hours with his father every year. Duty Dinners,
Grace had called them one night, and Lester, completely
losing his temper, had slapped her across the mouth.
She wasn't trying to compete with his "lost" son, of course.
But what galled her was his own inability to realize that he
had spent the better part of two decades grieving for the boy.
In fact, he had no idea he yearned for the companionship of
young Lester, and would become wildly angry if anyone told
him that his ultimate goal in life was that of winning the
respect and admiration of the son he scarcely knew.
Someday, if he didn't change his habits, she would tip off
one of the columnists, who would be delighted to run a line
about "the Achilles' heel of telvision's prime heel." That
would fix the self-centered bastard.
A sudden feeling of guilt caused Grace to push the news-
paper aside. Lester always screamed when he caught her read-
ing the gossip columns, and she had to admit he had a valid
point when he told her, "If you want to meet some of those
people, come down to the studio occasionally. Or go out with
Noel B. Gerson 19

me after the show. If celebrities are such a big thing, start

meeting a few of them, instead of spending all your time with
your stupid neighbors."
In the first place, the neighbors weren't stupid. Two of the
women in the block even though she
were her dearest friends,
knew they secretly envied Lester's fame and huge income.
What was far more urgent, however, and what he just
couldn't understand was that she wasn't cut out for places
like Sardi's and 21 and all the other glamour spots that he
frequented.
Perhaps he had been right, when they had last argued. She
was a suburban housewife who had no qualifications for mix-
ing with theatrical stars and other famous people. If she met
Governor Abe Winston of Ohio, his principal guest of to-
night, who was supposedly his party's almost unanimous choice
for the presidential nomination, she'd freeze and wouldn't be
able to say a word to him.
It wasn't her fault that celebrities made her ill at ease, and

it wasn't good enough to say she shouldn't have married an

actor if she felt that way. Lester had been an obscure actor
when she had married him eighteen years ago, and neither of
them had dreamed he would become the host of the number
one interview and talk show in America. Life had played a
vicious trick on a woman who had wanted only financial
security and anonymity.
She had the security, all right. In fact, Lester made so much
money, and his contract with Universal Broadcasting was so
complicated that she couldn't figure out his income anymore.
It was enough that he gave her as much as she wanted, and
actually complained that she didn't spend enough.
It was because of her vanished anonymity that she didn't

throw money around, but she couldn't expect Lester to

understand the excruciating subtlety of her suffering. The
Bendel or Bonwit Teller stared at her so
salesclerks at Saks or
hard whenever she had to show her charge account card, and
 20 Talk Show
she knew what they were thinking: "Lester Corbett is married
to that scrawny frump?"
She couldn't very well tell them, "Living with Corbett has
worn me out, and it's no wonder I'm faded. If you want the
truth, ladies, the fault is his. One hundred percent."
That wouldn't be the strict truth, of course, and perhaps
their life together would have been different if there had been
children. She was willing to admit the possibility, and would
even concede it wasn't exclusively Lester's doing that they
were childless. His attitude had been responsible for a great
deal of the trouble, of course. Thanks to his half-relationship
with Lester, Junior.
How it irked her that he idolized the boy! Ayoung punk
who rarely bothered to write to him, never came to New York
to see him and did the old man a favor when Lester went out
to Ohio to visit him. The favor being a simple one, that of
treating him civilly.
Oh, Joyce had been at fault, too, putting obstacles in
Lester's path during their son's formative years, making it
difficult for him to visit his son, refusing to let him take the
child away for even a day or two at a time. It was small
wonder that father and son were strangers. So she couldn't
blame Lester for wanting to be spared the pain of undergoing
another, similar experience.
On the other hand, Grace knew she too had been respon-
sible for their lack of children. Mama had always made such a
big production about Grace's own
birth, and had insisted, re-
on explaining that she had
telling the story in graphic detail,
almost died. So Grace had been afraid of childbirth, and it
had been a relief to agree when Lester had proposed that they
have none.
Certainly the presence of a few youngsters in the house
wouldn't have guaranteed his fidelity. Nothing would have
accomplished that miracle. His demands had been insatiable,
as she well remembered, and in that department, at least, he
hadn't changed. He rarely came to her anymore, which was a
Noel B. Gerson 21

blessing, and she had inured herself to his innumerable affairs.

To the best of Grace's knowledge his script girl, or whatever
they called her, was his principal mistress of the moment, and
she was more than welcome to Lester Corbett in bed.
What he didn't have to do, and she would not forgive him
for it, was to deliberately humiliate his wife. Everybody con-
nected wth the program had been telephoning this morning,
and she felt like such an ass when she couldn't tell them
where he might be. If he wanted to stay out all night, that
was his business, and as far as she was concerned, good rid-
dance, but if he expected her to act as a domestic secretary,
the least he could do would be to let her know where to refer
his telephone calls.
The had become cold again, and as Grace poured it
coffee
into the sink she saw that she was now on her seventh ciga-
rette. The doctor had told her she'd never gain weight unless

she cut down, but she was sick of his lectures on willpower.
She dared him or anybody else to be married to Lester
Corbett and not smoke too much.
The telephone rang again, and Grace wanted to scream,
but managed to compose herself as she went to the instru-
ment on the kitchen wall. "Yes?"
"Long distance calling Mr. Lester Corbett," the operator
said in her tinny voice.
Only telephone operators, Grace thought, put up the front
of not being impressed when they called here. "Who wants to
reach him?"
"Mrs. Elbers of Cleveland, Ohio."
"Tell Mrs. Elbers I've left a message for Mr. Corbett, but
he still hasn't come in."
A deeper woman's voice interrupted. "If that's Mrs. Cor-
bett, I'll talk to her."
"Yes, ma'am." The operator left the line.
"Grace, this is Joyce Elbers."
They had met briefly, fourteen years ago, on the one occa-
sion of her accompanying Lester when he had spent a day
 22 Talk Show
with his son. What a miserable experience that had been for
everyone concerned. Joyce had raised hell, saying she had
never agreed to let another woman spend a day with the child.
But Lester had insisted, citing the letter of their divorce
agreement. And the boy, aware of the friction between his
parents,had wept, then sulked, and had refused to speak to
Grace. That, in turn, had made Lester even angrier, and the
day had been a monumental failure, a nightmare that had
undoubtedly hurt the boy as much as it had scarred all three
adults.
But one behaved with civility, and showed a measure of
poise,no matter how much one loathed one's predecessor,
and Grace forced herself to smile into the telephone. "I have
both of your messages, Joyce, but Lester isn't here. The
minute he comes in I'll tell him you're trying to reach him."
Grace's pride wouldn't permit her to ask the reason for the
call,which had come out of the blue.
"Well,I've been trying to reach him through the studio,
too, and they claim they don't know where he is."
"I'm sure they don't," Grace said.
"He loves the spotlight too much to vanish." There was
venom in Joyce's voice.
Grace knew how his first wife felt. "Oh, he'll show up in
the next hour or two."
"I suppose he's tomcatting."
Grace refused to dignify the barb by commenting. But her
curiosity overcame her, and she couldn't resist asking, "Has
this something to do with young Lester?"
There was a long silence before Joyce said, "I'll appreciate
it if you'll tell him it's vitally important that he get in touch

with me immediately. Tell him it's for his own sake, not
mine. If I know Lester Corbett, that'll get him on the phone
in an almighty hurry."

"Our commercial time on Inquiry costs us more than one

thousand dollars per second." Arthur Sampson, head of the
Noel B. Gerson 23

advertising agency bearing his name, looked around the con-

ference table that barely rilled one corner of his large office.
"Sixty-five thousand a minute/' one of his vice-presidents
said.
"Enough/' Sampson continued, ignoring the interruption,
"to give us the privilege of entering a beef, even if we have no
right. I got back this morning from visits to our Los Angeles,
Denver and Chicago offices to find that Corbett is interview-
ing Abe Winston tonight. Now, I have no objection to
Governor Winston. He's done some good things out in Ohio,
and I may vote for him. There's even a good chance, after the
convention, that we'll get the party's account for the election.
But we have a problem."
The executive vice-president buried his head in his hands.
"To put it mildly."
"The chairman of our razor-blade account," Sampson said,
"is a man who has very emphatic opinions. He dislikes Abra-
ham Winston as a governor, as a potential President of the
United States and as a human being. He categorically objects
to the fact that a program he's sponsoring is going to be used
as a springboard to help launch the candidacy of Abe
Winston.
"So you can imagine how I felt when I picked up this
morning's Times at O'Hare, and read that Winston is going
to be a guest on Inquiry tonight. When I reached the office I
found my fears were justified. Our good friend— whose ac-
count is worth over fifty million a year— had put in several
phone calls for me. Well, I called him back, and he chewed
my ass out. What could I tell him?"
The vice-president in charge of creative services forced a
wan smile. "You might explain to him that he's merely a
participating sponsor, and that neither the network nor the
program itself will tolerate any editorial interference."
"Mort, use your head!" Sampson flared. "We know that

J. Walter Thompson has put in a big pitch for the account,

 24 Talk Show
and so has BBD and O. We've got to produce results, not
double-talk."
The executive vice-president raised his head. "I've been
baby-sitting that account personally for the past six months,
and I called Stan Friedlander this morning. After he handed
me the usual freedom-of-speech guck, he admitted there's
nothing he can do. Governor Winston happens to be Lester
Corbett's idol of themoment, and Les personally invited him
to appear on the program. Period."
"Semicolon!" The temper that had made Sampson the
subject of two books and several magazine articles exploded
with predictable certainty. "Not period. We've got to find Les
Corbett and tell him to undo what he's done!"
The creative vice-president was the only man present who
dared to challenge his superior's wrath. "The governor and his
party checked into the Waldorf Towers this noon. His ap-
pearance has been publicized all over the country, and a
cancellation at this late hour would cause all sorts of complica-
tions. Including the charge that an advertiser is trying to
dictate editorial content of the country's most popular chatter
program. A charge that would be accurate. On top of every-
thing else, Les Corbett wouldn't buy it."

Sampson chose to hear only the last portion of his subordi-

nate's statement. "How many sponsors pay him sixty-five
grand a minute?"
"Nine," the executive vice-president replied, "and there are
shoehorn their way in."
a half-dozen others waiting to
Arthur Sampson became scornful; he arched an eyebrow,
breathed deeply and allowed his thin, ascetic face to become
pinched. "If you gentlemen are cowards, which you are, I

shall attend to Corbett myself. You've been taken in by his

press agent's copy, obviously,and you forget that only a few
years agohe was on our payroll as a soap opera bit player."
"It was more years than you remember, Artie." The cre-
ative vice-president always needled quietly.
Noel B. Gerson 25

Several of his colleagues glanced at him, then looked away

again, telling themselves it was true he had received an offer

from another agency guaranteeing him a piece of the action as

well as a raise of twenty thousand per year.
Arthur Sampson rose to his most majestic heights. ''Get
Lester Corbett on the wire for me. Now. I'll talk to him from
here, and you'll see how to handle that kind of a punk."
The executive vice-president shook his head wearily. "We
may be idiots, Artie, but we aren't congenital idiots. We've
spent the entire morning trying to track Les down. Here. In
Fairfield County. At the apartments of all the broads on his
list, and that's enough to have kept two of us busy. can't We
find him."
"That," Sampson declared, "is impossible. Lester Corbett
doesn't disappear into thin air."
"His wife doesn't know where he is. Friedlander doesn't
know. Dick Hubbel doesn't know. I spoke myself to the
august president of UBS, and not even Bishop Cranmer
himself knows where to find the guy. We
have calls in for Les
all over town, Artie, and the instant we find him, we'll put

him through to you."

"Within the next quarter of an hour," Sampson said.
"Whenever," the executive vice-president replied. "Not
that it will matter. Corbett takes pride in his alleged integrity,
and he'll not only tell you what to do, but where to do it. Up
a tree."

The door buzzer awakened Mar-

insistent ringing of the
garite Boe, and she pushed masses of her platinum hair out of
her face as she raised herself to one elbow. Then, after cursing
softly in Swedish, Norwegian and Danish, she slipped into her
mini-robe of semitransparent silk and went barefooted to the
door. She pushed aside the small metal plate, peered through
it and grunted before opening the door.

Randy Warren, his long hair carefully set, his coordinated

 26 Talk Show
outfit of slacks, shirt and casual jacket pressed within the
hour, halted in the entrance, then kicked the door shut. "You
look/' he said, "as though you've spent the last three days in
your cute like underwater go-go girl costume.
"Go to hell." She glanced at her smudged makeup in the
mirror, and shrugged. "From two this morning until an hour
ago I was wrestling with America's gift to lovers, and I'd
rather explore the ocean floor. Any ocean floor. And your net-
work has phoned me twice trying to find him. Damn you UBS
people!"
Randy lowered himself into the only easy chair in the one-
room apartment, taking care to keep the crease in his trousers
intact. "To me it's just a job. How was he? Good?"
"You would have found him sensational/' Margarite said.
"Send him around, and I'll be waiting."
"He just likes girls. What a glutton." She debated whether
to heat a pot of coffee, and decided the effort was too great.
"Be a dear, and fix me a drink."
Randy sighed, went to the tiny bar in the corner of the
room and splashed a generous quantity of vodka into a tall
glass.

"Tomato juice and ice are in the refrigerator," she said,

letting the robe rise highon her thighs as she perched on the
foot of therumpled bed.
"I've been your maid for the past ten days, ever since you
got in from Stockholm," Randy said, speaking with asperity,
"so I know." He ground fresh pepper into the drink before
handing it to her, lighted a perfumed cigarette and gave that
to her, too.
"This tobacco stinks," Margarite said.
Randy snatched the cigarette from her, inhaled and pre-
tended to be in ecstasy. "An ambrosia of nicotines." Suddenly
his expression hardened. "Well?"
Margarite sipped the drink, then took a small cigar from a
box, lighted it and became lost for a moment behind a cloud
of smoke. "Lester Corbett/' she said, "is an octopus."
Noel B. Gerson 27

"A well-known fact."

"You can be such a bitch/' she said. "I wish you'd have a
drink."
"Never in mixed company, and never when I'm doing
business/' Randy drawled. "Must I dig the facts out of you,
angel?"
"What more do you wish me to tell? More times than I

cared to count, we made love!"

"Then you satisfied him," he persisted.
"He didn't give me a medal or invite me to appear again on
hisprogram!" she retorted.
"Don't be so damned coy. Do you have another date with
him?"
"He mentioned tomorrow night, after the program."
"But he hasn't said anything about the weekend?"
"Not yet, which is good. Early on Monday morning I put
on an exhibition of deep-sea diving, and after a whole week-
end with that Corbett, I believe I would float." She laughed
at her own joke, and was indifferent when her robe slipped,
exposing a small but well-formed breast.
Randy ignored her nudity. "The weekend," he said, "is ter-

ribly important."
Margarite shrugged and concentrated on her drink.
"What must I say to convince you? Lester Corbett's annual
income is bigger than the Swedish government's budget."
"I live now in Stockholm, but I am Norwegian," she said,
relishing the cigar.
"All right, two years' worth of the Norwegian budget!"
"Sometimes I think all this is a dream."
"See here," Randy said, "I'm in earnest. You know my
source of information. Jeri Maynard's hairdresser, who hap-
pens to be my closest friend. He's positive Corbett is growing
tired of Maynard, which means he's in the market. If he
latches on to you, you'll never have to wear that clammy
diving suit again. You'll be rolling in thousand-dollar bills."
 28 Talk Show
''I do the work, while you direct from the sidelines'/' she
jeered.
"I'm not only responsible for getting you the opening with
Corbett, but I can get you what you want. After you pro-
duce!"
The girl drained her drink. "How do I know you'll keep
your word to me?"
"You You have your eye on a chick I can rustle up
don't.
for you, and I say I can deliver. If I fail, you have three
choices. Keep whatever you get out of Corbett. Go back to
Sweden. Or stay at the bottom of the sea in your adorable
little diving outfit."
Margarite looked at her bedside clock. "In one hour," she
said, "I am expected to meet the press in the showroom of
that sporting goods manufacturer."
Randy became irritable. "I wish you'd mentioned it when I
came in. Are you wearing anything you'll have to slip over
your head? No? Then move to that stool."
She obeyed, handing him her empty glass.
"No more," he said. "You can't drink on an empty stomach
before you make a public appearance." Picking up two
brushes, he started to work on her hair. "What a rat's nest!
How did your hair ever get so tangled and snarled?"
Margarite submitted without protest to his expert work-
manship. "Lester Corbett," she said, and laughed without
humor.

There was no sound at the rear of the ground-floor bar of

The Players Club but the clicking of billiard balls. The four
men at the bridge table picked up their cards, and the dealer,
in tailor-made British tweeds, studied his hand carefully, occa-
sionally running a hand through his slightly wavy, brown hair.
His features were regular, and he looked younger than forty-
eight, but made no attempt to conceal his years. His age, like
most and career, were publicized
facets of his life in a never-
ending stream of magazine profiles.
Noel B. Gerson 29

He flashed his famous smile and said, 'Two spades."

"Telephone, Mr. Corbett!" the bartender called.
"I'm still not here/' Lester Corbett replied, and listened to
the bids of the others. "Did you say four hearts, partner? Six
spades!"
"It's Mrs. Corbett," the bartender told him.
He knew there would be talk if he refused to speak to his
wife. "Tell her to hold on. Gentlemen, I'm sorry for the inter-
ruption, but this is my day. Another lay-down hand, and I

make another little slam." He spread his cards on the table

and walked the length of the room to the telephone.
No one paid any attention to him, and he felt grateful. The
club was the only place he knew where his privacy was re-
spected.
"Yes, Grace?"
"I've spent hours trying to find you, Lester!" Grace
sounded frantic, as she usually did on the phone. "Stan Fried-
lander has been trying to reach you. And Arthur Sampson.
And Dick Hubbel. And-"
"All in due course," Lester Corbett said. "They'll just have
to be patient."
"—and Joyce Elbers—
"Joyce town?" He raised an eyebrow.
is in
"No, been calling from Cleveland. Four times in all,
she's
and she says she's got to speak to you right away."
"I can't imagine what she wants."
"If you have a pencil handy," Grace said, "I'll give you her
number."
Lester Corbett took a monogram med gold pencil from an
inner jacket pocket made for the express purpose of holding a
pen and pencil set, and scribbled the number. "All I can think
of," he said, "is that she's in a jam of some sort and wants
some money. Thanks, baby."
"Lester." Grace hesitated for a moment. "Will you be com-
ing home tonight?"
"Of course," he said lightly. "Why on earth wouldn't I?"
 30 Talk Show
Hanging up, he returned to the bridge table and apologized.
"I'm afraid I'll have to delay the next hand for a few minutes
I make a call."
longer while
"We've had it for today, Les," one of the others said.
"We're adding up the score, I'm sorry to say. I've never seen
anybody with your kind of luck."
Lester Corbett silently agreed as he walked to the tele-
phone booth at the inner end of the long room. For years his
luck had been phenomenal, and instead of being a small-time
actor who picked up occasional television roles and an off-
Broadway play every season or two, he had become a house-
hold name in fifty states, Canada and Mexico. He was the
hottest property on the air, but wouldn't admit to anyone, not
if he were shot for it, that he attributed his unique rise in the

world to pure, unadulterated luck.

He was no better looking than most actors, his voice wasn't
extraordinary, and as Newsweek had said in an analysis of his
personality, he was even lacking in distinctive charisma. Luck
and nothing else had made him one of the best known, best
paid and most powerful men in the United States.
What made his situation so crazy was that his ambitions
had been genuine and honorable. He had wanted to become
another Alfred Lunt, another Olivier. The creative interpreta-
tion of a difficult role was a challenge that few men could
meet and fewer still could overcome. He could still remember
line readings that had thrilled him at an age when other boys
had thrilled to the exploits of Babe Ruth or Red Grange.
It had taken years of hard work and failure to realize he
simply didn't have that extra, indefinable quality that made a
great actor. So, instead, he was wealthier and more famous
than just about any actor on earth. Through no fault of his
own.
That was what rankled. His face, he was told, was perfect
for television cameras. His personality, insignificant on a
stage, overwhelmed people who watched the tube in the
Noel B. Gerson 31

privacy of their own homes. And his voice, when it was pro-

jected by electronic gadgets, sounded like a combination of

Sir Henry and John Barrymore.
Irving
So it was small wonder that, deep inside himself, he felt
ashamed of his vocation. No matter how self-assured and
polished a front he presented, he secretly believed he was
nothing but a fluke success, an accident who had no right to
take even crumbs of pride in his so-called accomplishments.
This kind of thinking always depressed him, so he cut
himself short. Returning to the present, he charged the call to
his office at UBS, and tapped an English, hand-sewn moccasin
on the stone floor while he waited for the operator to get his
first wife's number in Cleveland. He could hear her phone

ringing, and was annoyed when there was no answer.

Trust Joyce to make a hash of his bridge game.
The pool game had broken up, too, and there were few
members of the Players left in the building. Lester had no
intention of attending a meeting with Stan Friedlander, and
he wouldn't answer Arthur Sampson's obvious call, either.
Undoubtedly his client, Donald Murtaugh, wanted to play
politics again. If Arthur stopped to think for fifteen consecu-
tive seconds, he'd know that the guest appearance of someone
with the stature of Governor Abe Winston simply couldn't be
canceled on the day of the telecast. A move like that would
cause far more harm than good.
Lester felt genuinely sorry he hadn't notified Dale Henry of
his shirt, necktie and jacket colors, but if he called her now,
everybody else at the studio would try to grab him. Even Jeri,
who would give him hell for not checking in sooner.
Leaving the club, Lester strolled west along Gramercy Park,
his sunglasses helping to protect him from the stares of gaping
strangers. He yawned, then grinned; it was small wonder he
felt a little tired this That Boe underwater kitten
afternoon.
was as athletic a female he had encountered in a long time.
as
But she was after something, and although he didn't yet know
 32 Talk Show
what it was, he made a mental note to treat her with a
measure of caution. Not in bed, naturally, but in what he said
to her, before and after.
It was he was planning to spend the night
just as well that
at home tonight. When
he stayed away two nights in a row,
Grace's bellyaching was more than any man could tolerate.
And he was becoming convinced she would never do anything
to put a little more zest into her life, no matter how fre-
quently he hammered at her. Poor Grace— she was already
half-dead, but refused to face reality.
Glancing at his watch, Lester realized he could either go up
to his UBS office, a prospect he loathed, or he would have to
kill several hours. Hailing a taxi, he settled into the back seat,

simultaneously annoyed and pleased because the driver hadn't

recognized him. "Take me down to Fifth Avenue and Ninth
Street," he said. "There's a movie playing there that I want to
see."
Not until the taxi had gone several blocks did it occur to
him that Joyce might have been trying to reach him because
of some problem connected with their son. They had nothing
even slightly in common except Lester, Junior.
The thought of his son relaxed him, and he sat back against
the taxi seat, smiling to himself. It wouldn't be long now
before the boy would be of age and a college graduate. Then,
without his mother and stepfather smothering him, trying to
influence every move he made, the boy would enter a real
relationship with his father.
They'd get together again in the near future, and Lester
would try to persuade him, subtly, to go into television. Or
advertising. Or some other related field, where his father's
reputation would get him off to a flying start.
I'll do anything in the world for that kid, he thought, and

he's the only one. We've been hampered in the past, but it'll
soon be a new day, a great day for both of us.
 y 6:00 p.m., five and a quarter hours before air
time, Jeri Maynard had moved and an hour
into high gear,
later her basic work program was finished. Ex-
for the night's
cept for a few last-minute refinements that would be made
when the night's guests arrived, Lester Corbett's questions
had been refined and reduced to printing on cue cards, ready
for his inspection.
The evening's routines were unvarying. Jeri met Lester in
and usually went over the cue cards
his office suite at seven,
with him while they ate dinner. And sometimes, when one or
more of the visitors promised to be difficult, Dick Hubbel
dropped in, too, for a quick bite or a drink, to discuss the
problem. Only on rare occasions was Stan Friedlander on
hand, and the Universal Broadcasting System president,
Edgar Cranmer, nicknamed "the Bishop," never put in an
appearance.
But tonight was different. The network's chief of opera-
tions paced the length of Stan Friedlander's office, Dick
Hubbel half-crouched, half-sprawled in an easy chair, and
Stan himself kept peering out of the open door, looking for
Jeri.

33
 34 Talk Show
When she approached, the cue cards in one hand, held
together with a rubber band, he immediately hailed her. "Are
you sure," he demanded, "that you can handle this, Jeri?"

'Tm absolutely positive," she replied, "that if Lester sees

the three of you huddled in here, he's going to guess that
something isn't kosher. Please leave everything to me."
"But suppose somebody grabs him on the way in," Stan
persisted.
"I have a man posted at each of the three entrances to the
building," Jeri said. "The minute Lester shows up, he'll be
buttonholed. Supposedly by accident. All three of the boys
have explicit instructions. They're to keep him walking to the
and not
elevators, anybody stop him. No matter who.
let
We're holding an elevator, and it'll bring him straight up
here. His escort will keep jabbering and keep fending off
anyone who wants to talk to him— until he reaches his own
office. Then I'll take over, and you have my word— in blood-

that not a living soul will get through to him. Not in person.
Not on the phone. Not even if they lower themselves from
the roof and try to crawl in through the window."
"You're going to break the news to him?" Hubbel wanted
to know.
Jeri's self-confidence ebbed. "I'm going to try."
"I still think," Cranmer said, "we ought to have a standby
ready to go on the air in his place."

"We've been through this a dozen times, Edgar," Fried-

lander said. "There is no substitute for Lester Corbett, and
with Governor Winston as a guest tonight, he's got to go
on."
"Suppose he collapses." The president of UBS made no
attempt to conceal his nervousness.
"Then Jeri will have to prop him up again. If anyone can
prod and cajole a performance out of him, she can do it."

Dale Henry sat back in the number one beauty parlor chair
in the makeup room and glanced in the mirror. The curlers
Noel B. Gerson 35

were in place at the ends of her hair, and she was satisfied.
"No more than ten minutes, angel. I drank too much this
noon, and I want to eat a substantial dinner before I have to
start making up tonight's mob."
Randy Warren slipped his huge topaz ring onto his index
finger as he perched on a high stool beside her. "Why all the
booze?"
The black girl shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the
time."
He grinned at her. "I've always had a secret idea you were
one of those mad creatures of impulse— or something. And
this proves it."
"Not on the life of your next brawny baby, angel. I always
know what I'm doing. And why."
"Do you?" His tone was light. "Someone who admires you
very much is inclined to my theory."
"Okay," she said. "I'll ask what you want. Who is he?"
"A friend."
"I didn't know you knew any men who are interested in
females."
"Who said that my friend is a man?"
Dale studied his reflection in the mirror, then turned to
him. "One of these days I'm going to fire you, Randy. I don't
like being watched too closely by anyone."
His expression became smug. "I guarantee that you and my
friend will hit it off. And all of us have the same goal. You
know— snuffing out that feeble fire called Lester Corbett."
A massive head appeared in the open door, and was fol-

lowed by an equally bulky, well-tailored body. "Hello, hello,

you beautiful people," Max Marx boomed in his deep bari-
tone. Inquiry's auxiliary master of ceremonies, who did some
of the program's commercials, was known principally as the
warm-up man who put the studio audience in the right mood.
Dale inclined her head stiffly.
Randy, however, bestowed his warmest smile on the new-
comer.
 36 Talk Show
"Mark me down for number one on makeup tonight,
Dale/' Max said. "And Randy, I'm counting on you to put
the waves in my hair."
"I wouldn't letanyone else do it," Randy said.
Max reached out and half-patted, half-stroked his cheek.
"That's my little sweetheart," he said, and left the room.
Dale's dark eyes were wise. "I have never been able to think
it of Max."

"The most talented people," Randy said, "are always gay."

"Is Maxie your candidate to replace the Great Man?" She
was both amused and serious.
"Who else?"
"I've never liked him, but I've never hated him as much as
I do Corbett." Max would be so inappropriate as a replace-
ment for Lester that she wanted to laugh.
Randy stood and began to remove the curlers from her hair,
deftly brushing each lock into a pageboy style. "You'll be
amazed when you learn how much my friend can help."
"Don't rush me," Dale said, becoming irritable. "We
haven't killed off Lester Corbett yet."

Dick Hubbel flipped on the control-room intercom. "I

don't want anybody to touch the lighting again," he said.
"Master grips, where the hell are you?"
"Up here, boss." An on a ladder waved
electrician high
from the far side of the glass partition.
"Well, come down and stay down. You got rid of the shine
on the new desk, and that's all we can manage tonight."
Hubbel turned to one of his assistants. "Make a note. I want
props to go over the whole desk tomorrow morning with a
dull wax that'll bake in. It's too late to try the effect tonight."
"Corbett will scream," the assistant said. "What attracted
him to the desk was the high shine."
"He's always beefing about something." Hubbel shrugged.
"And we can't spend two hours every day adjusting the lights
Noel B. Gerson 37

on the damn thing." He

studied one of the screens, on which
a large card in greens and browns was displayed. "Lock in
Camera One/' he said, flipping an intercom switch. "If Cor-
bett shows up in time, we'll make a live test on him, but we're
safe, even if he doesn't. Camera Three, dolly in another foot

before you lock. No, a little more. Hold. Set your patterns.
That's it. Now-lock!"
"Perfect! " the assistant said.
Hubbel ignored him. "Camera Two, stay fluid for the next
couple of hours. We'll skin-test Governor Winston, and key
the other guests to him." He turned to the silent engineer
beside him. "You look hungry, Joe. Let's break."
The engineer immediately twisted a half-dozen dials on the
console in front of him, turning off the sound equipment but
not changing any of the pictures that had been so difficult to

clarify.

Hubbel rose and stretched. "Where the hell is my necktie?

I feel like eating a big steak Sky Club. For a whole
up at the
hour and a half I'm going to forget that Inquiry and Lester
Corbett even exist."

Grace Corbett tucked her blouse into her skirt, then

slipped into the jacket of her new silk suit. The cut seemed to
emphasize her painfully thin figure, the two-tone grays of the
print brought out the gray in her hair, and the skirt succeeded
in cutting off her legs, her best feature, at precisely the most
unattractive place.
"I stink," she said aloud, and wondered she had why
bought the suit. In all had been in
probability because she
such a hurry to leave Bergdorf Goodman, where she had felt
intimidated.
But, if she intended to catch the next Penn-Central train
into the city, there was no time to change, which was just as
well, because she didn't know what else to wear. Lester had
become infuriated, on the few occasions when she had gone in
 38 Talk Show
to see the show, because she had looked so drab. No matter
how loudly he screamed, however, she couldn't follow his
advice: "Corbett's wife is as much on display as Corbett! So
you've got to look spectacular, Gracie, and knock them into
the aisles!" She just wasn't the type.
Tonight it didn't matter how she looked. Tonight was
completely different. She was joining Lester because he might
want and need There were times in a man's life when
her. his
wife's place was at his side, and this was such a time.

Eli Lansing sat in the handsomely appointed living room of

the Waldorf Towers suite and waited. That, he told himself,
was the fate of hack writers when dealing with celebrities.
Straightening his necktie, he wondered, not for the first time,
where politicians got the money to live so high on the hog.
Governor Abraham Winston wasn't independently
wealthy, Eli knew from his research, and the state of Ohio
didn't pay him a salary large enough to permit luxuries like all
these rooms, which undoubtedly cost hundreds per day. It was
possible, of course, that Inquiry was footing the bills for the
governor's expenses, but he doubted it. Neither the program
nor UBS had ever made a practice of shelling out for guests; it
simply wasn't necessary.
On the other hand, Governor Winston was a very special
guest, so perhaps the rules had been set aside in his case. He
had refused on any
consistently, for several years, to appear
regularly scheduled television program, and Les Corbett had
achieved a programming triumph by persuading him to go on
the air tonight.

Not that the governor would suffer, and he was making no

sacrifices. By coming before the Inquiry cameras he was guar-
anteed exposure to the largest nighttime audience in the busi-
ness. And not even a politician who stood an excellent chance
of becoming the next President of the United States could
laugh that off.
Noel B. Gerson 39

Maybe Jeri would know whether Stan Friedlander was

coughing up for the suite. Jeri knew just about everything,
and Eli decided to ask her after he returned to the studio.
Even though she held a privileged, unique position, she never
resented his nosiness, and always gave him straight answers.
Just thinking about her, Eli knew, he glowed, and he told
himself, as he did many times daily, that she was far too good
for Les Corbett.
A young man in a sack suit and a seldom seen in New York
white shirt came into the room carrying a handful of cue
cards."I'm the governor's assistant press secretary/' he said.
"Governor Winston asks that you be sure to thank Mr.
Corbett for his thoughtfulness in sending over the interview
in advance."
Eli wanted knew nothing of the matter.
to reply that Les
"It's he said, "not to spring surprises on
Inquiry's policy,"
guests of Governor Winston's stature. We
do believe in spon-
taneity, of course, and the governor is free to respond as he
pleases."
"Naturally," the aide said.
"I explained to the gentleman who took the cards in to the
governor," Eli went on, "that the wording of the questions
isn't necessarily precise. Les often changes them on the air.
We try to put them into his language, but he often does his
own ad-lib editing as he goes along." And sometimes shoves
his foot into his mouth, Eli wanted to add, which is one of
the program's strongest drawing cards.
The assistant press secretary perched on the arm of a Louis
VX chair. "We're wondering if there aren't one or two minor
questions that can be eliminated," he said, leafing through
the cards. "Governor Winston intends to discuss his prin-
ciples concerning both domestic and foreign policy in full. All
that part is fine. But—here's one. 'Are you planning an inten-
campaign, Governor?' Well, now. As you may
sive television
know, Governor Winston has always been a little leery of TV.
 40 Talk Show
He's never felt completely at home in front of the cameras, so
that's something of a trick question."
"It's being asked all over the country/' Eli said, becoming
defensive.
"We know. Between us," the aide said, "it's something
we're still hashing out. The staff is split, and the governor is
being subjected to conflicting pressures, so we'll appreciate it

if Mr. Corbett doesn't bring up the subject."

Eli became stubborn. "It's just the kind of question that

Les Corbett's audience expects him to ask. His trademark is
opening doors that the hosts of other talk shows leave closed."
The assistant press secretary stiffened, too. "We don't want
Governor Winston to be embarrassed."
"There's no reason he should be. He might answer that it's
premature to talk about his campaign, since he hasn't won the
nomination yet. Something like that."
The aide growled. "The governor's staff," he said, "is capa-
ble of helping him word his replies! I needn't remind you that
Governor Winston is a statesman, not an entertainer, and we
expect him to be treated accordingly."
"I'll pass along your objection," Eli said, "but I can't make
any promises. For all I know, Les may come up with all sorts
of angles on his own. Every guest who appears on Inquiry has
to realize that Les Corbett is his own master— and when he
gets in front of the cameras, he's strictly on his own."

Lester Corbett stood in the entrance to his office suite, and

glared at Jeri Maynard, who was pretending to shuffle through
a stack of telephone messages at his desk. "What's the idea of
the collies nipping at my heels? And the private elevator? Did
somebody think I was tight and couldn't get up here under
my own power?"
Jeri looked at him blankly. "You got a private elevator ride?
Run up the flags."
His antagonism melting, he closed the door. "I'll take it up
Noel B. Gerson 41

with Stan. Baby, you look good enough to eat." He started

toward her.
Jeri met him halfway, and flinging her arms around his
neck, pressed close to him as he kissed her. His greatest appeal
to her, although he didn't know it, was his vulnerability. Per-
haps it was that same ingenuous, little-boy quality that made
him attractive to so many millions of women in his viewing
audience, and it happened to be genuine.
The bastard in him that the Inquiry staff resented was the
shell that every big name entertainer grew in order to shield
himself, but it was only surface deep. Beneath it was a man

who, in spite of his reputation and income, had no real confi-

dence in his talent or his achievements. Lester was still the
young, insecure actor struggling for recognition; that was what
made him so strident, that was what caused him to make
passes at every attractive girl he saw.
A happy marriage to the right person— and she didn't
necessarily think of herself in that capacity— might have
made him a different man. Certainly he would have been far
different if he hadn't suffered the deprivation of his son's
company for so many years.
But it was useless to speculate on what might have been,
and tonight, of all times, he needed to be protected.
Lester's hands began to explore her.
"Not before the show, darling," Jeri said, and moved away
from him.
"Then you shouldn't wear pants that are so enticing." He
started to follow her.
She held up the sheaf of messages as a barrier. "Everybody
in the Western Hemisphere has been trying to reach you
today."
"Don't I know it. Including my ex-wife."
Jeri caught her breath.
"She wasn't home when I returned her supposedly urgent
call. I'll try her after we go through the cards."
 42 Talk Show
Jeri exhaled slowly.
Lester went to his desk, and began to flip through the cue
cards already stacked there.
"You picked a grand day to play hooky/' Jeri said. "Stan is

wild because you didn't show up for the meeting on the

affiliates. And Arthur Sampson is having heart attacks."
"Sure. He wants me to cancel Governor Winston. Show
me I'll show you a
the head of an advertising agency, and
freak." Suddenly he grinned. "Hey, an idea to liven up the
chatter with the broad from the opera. If she's stacked the
way she looks in her photos, I could ask her if she takes special
exercises or uses a massage cream to increase the size of—"
"No, Lester! Absolutely not! You come up with that one
three or four times a year, and I must repeat what I've always
You not only shaft
said. your guest, but you embarrass every
woman in your audience. All for the sake of a schoolboy gag."
He pouted, and glanced more rapidly through the cards.
"You want to punish me because I goofed off today."
"What you do is your business."
"And you're browned off, personally, because I liked Mar-
garite Boe's looks."
Jeri's blue eyes widened, but her manner remained calm. "I

had assumed that you went off with her, but if you prefer
mermaids to people, you're entitled."
"If you don't shred me," Lester said, "I'm going to feel
twice as bad."
"Since I'm not a psychiatrist, it isn't my place to ease your
guilts. If she's your idea of fun, go to it. Two out of three falls
wins the match."
"Sometimes I think you have a camera hidden in strategic
places." He was simultaneously abashed and pleased. "How
did you know she's a wrestler?"
"One look at her, and it figures."
Lester came to her, suddenly contrite. "I don't mean you
any harm when I get raunchy, baby. Honest."
Noel B. Gerson 43

The touch hand on her shoulder was more than Jeri

of his
could bear at the moment. "It isn't my place to forgive you,
but I do," she said, moving to the far side of the room.
"Okay?"
"You're up-tight tonight," Lester said, and made the obser-
vation sound like an accusation.
"So are you." She was handling the situation in the wrong
way, and hated herself.
Lester, who had no idea what might be troubling her, was
the one who pointed the way toward a restoration of tranquil-
ity. "If we hang around here, we're going to have one of our

knock-down, drag-out scraps. Let's go up to the Sky Club for

some Beef Wellington. There's time."
"Not tonight."
"You mean you've changed your mind about the couch?"
"I mean," Jeri said, "that you have a stack of very compli-
cated cue cards to study."
"I'll go through them at the dinner table."
"You'll sit down at your desk, them now.
and you'll study
If we go have a couple of drinks, and this is a
upstairs, you'll
no-liquor night. The media department was telling me this
afternoon that Governor Winston's appearance is going to
double your audience."
"Even a clown," Lester said, striking a pose of injured dig-
nity, "is entitled to a couple of drinks before dinner. Never on
this program— nor on any other show I've ever done—have
I been under the influence in front of the cameras. And you
know it."
"I've already ordered dinner sent in."
"Donate it to the poor."
Jeri was becoming frantic; under no circumstances could
she allow him to leave his office. "I have a headache."
Lester knew women's headaches, and surrendered. "Think
of all the fuss we'd have saved if you'd said so in the first

place!"
 44 Talk Show
She picked up his telephone and flipped a switch. "You can
send dinner in to us now/' she said. "Lester, please go
through the cards. The Winston spot is delicate, and you may
want to rehearse some of your lines. I've given you the bland
approach, which is the only way you can be offensive— with-
out offending the governor and thirty million of his more
ardent followers."
"You're a genius/' He settled into his chair and reached for
the cards.
"The Winston spot is on the yellow cards, so you can pick
them out in a hurry."
He turned to them, reached for a pair of horn-rimmed
glasses,and became absorbed.
A waiter from the Sky Club arrived with a rolling table, and
moved one side up to Lester's swivel chair.
Jeri signed the check and added the tip expected of Lester
Corbett. Watching him in silence, pitying him, she began to
eat her shrimp cocktail.
Lester ate, too, but was scarcely aware of his food. Now and
again he paused to give a card additional scrutiny, then tried
the line in a variety of ways, experimenting in a voice that was
barely audible.
"Your steak will get cold," Jeri said, uncovering his plate.
"You don't want to spoil me. I've forgotten the taste of hot
food."
"Two hundered million Americans will change places with
you if you give them half a chance." She didn't know how
much longer she could maintain a front.
Finally Lester put aside the cards and ate rapidly, ner-

vously.
"Slow down," Jeri told him, "or you'll belch on the air."

"Why don't you ever order me anything except steak and

salad with cheese dressing?"
"When I do, you complain."
Noel B. Gerson 45
He finished his meal in silence. "Once
again/' he said,
imitating the deep, pompous Max
Marx, "the Great
voice of
Man encouraged his potential ulcer, and swore that when he
bids his last farewell to Inquiry, he's going to adopt the dining
habits of the affluent. Caviar. Pate. Broiled hummingbirds'
tongues."
Jeri poured their coffee. "Before you call Mrs. Elbers in
Cleveland," she said, her heart pounding, "there's something
you've got to know."
Her unexpected remark silenced him, and he looked at her
curiously.
"For an hour or two before you showed up," she said, "I
prayed you wouldn't hear a newscast or pick up a late edition
of an evening paper."
Lester sat very still, continuing to look at her.
Jeri forced herself to meet his gaze. "Your son," she said, "is
dead."
His eyes became glazed, but otherwise his expression re-
mained unchanged. "Accident?"
His seeming calm stunned her. "No. He's been on speed for
a long time, apparently, and he took too much."
"I'm not up on all the jargon." He spoke softly. "What
speed? Which speed?"
"Dexedrine, in his case. One of the more popular ampheta-
mines, used as a stimulant for the central nervous system.
Commonly used by a great many young people."
"Lester was an addict?" A stranger wouldn't have guessed
he was under strain.
"Dexedrine isn't considered addictive, but large numbers of
young people use it in place of heroin and other drugs."
He was silent for a moment. "Was he a suicide?"
"Certainly not. According to the latest bulletin I heard on
the air, just before you showed up, the Cleveland police were
investigating, but it appears to have been another of those
accidental overdoses."
 46 Talk Show
He liked his coffee cool, but gulped the better part of his
cup without realizing it was scalding.
"Is there anything else I ought to know before I call his

mother?"
She shook her head, stood and started toward the door.
"Don't go!" There was sudden terror in his voice. "Stay
here with me."
Jeri returned to her chair.
Lester picked up the telephone. "Get me Mrs. Joyce Elbers
in Cleveland. Mrs. William Elbers. I have the number here.
Some place."
Jeri picked the message slip out of the stack and gave it to
him.
He repeated the number to the operator.
She lighted a cigarette, wishing herself elsewhere, yet
pleased because he wanted her near.
"Joyce, this is Lester," he said. "I just now heard. Yes, . . .

I knew you were trying to reach me, and I called you about

three. ... I had no way of knowing you were at the hos-

pital."
Jeri felt positive that Joyce Elbers was putting him on the
defensive, and had to control the urge to snatch the telephone
from his hand.
Lester listened for a long time, occasionally murmuring, "I
see." Finally he roused himself. "Is an autopsy absolutely
necessary? mean, I know I have no voice in this, but— As
I

you will, Joyce. Yes, I understand. No flowers. I'll talk to you

tomorrow." He let the telephone fall back into its cradle.
Jeri went to a small, concealed bar, hidden behind a book-
case, and poured him a small drink of brandy.
He waved it away. "The mother of Ira Lester Corbett,
Junior," he said, "has ordered an autopsy to determine if there
were other drugs in the system of the young man, aged twenty-
one. His mother is sure he didn't kill himself. He seemed very
happy with her, with his stepfather and with his life at Ohio
Noel B. Gerson 47
State, where he was in his junior year. She went out of her
way to tell me that suicide couldn't have been caused by a
lack of relationship with his natural father. He completely
accepted his stepfather of the past fifteen years as a satisfac-

tory father substitute. Does the press have any further ques-
tions?"
Jeri was silent.

"You're the expert!" he said, his voice savage. "You dream

up the best questions in America! Ask them!"
"Where did he get the drugs?"
"His mother has no idea. There were no amphetamines in
the house, and there were no prescription labels on either of
the pill bottles. Where? At home, in his own room, in his own
bed."
The girl's voice broke. "I'm so horribly sorry, Lester."
"I've got to tell Grace."
"She knows. I spoke to her a half-hour before you came
in."
Lester looked at her, his face still empty. "You've had a
busy day, baby." He picked up the telephone. "Get me Mrs.
Corbett. Quickly." He waited for what seemed like a long
time, then put down the instrument, his eyes puzzled. "She
Odd." He shrugged.
doesn't answer.
Jeri made a supreme effort to sound crisp. "Publicity
wanted you to hold a press conference. I told them you
wouldn't consider it."

"Correct." Suddenly he reached for her, drew her close and

buried his face in her breast.
She stood, holding his head close, and stroked him.
"I have a message for Stan," he said, his voice muffled.
"And Bishop Cranmer. And the general managers of all the
affiliates. And the advertising agencies. And Dick Hubbel.

And fourteen thousand, two hundred and sixty-seven assorted

hangers-on. Tell them that Ira Lester Corbett, Senior, the one-
man industry, wouldn't think of canceling his program to-
 48 Talk Show
night and losing everybody millions of their unearned dollars.
!"
Tell them Inquiry will go on the air— as usual

The guests began to arrive at 9:00, and were escorted to the

makeup and dressing rooms bv uniformed pages. There the
writing staff, tonight under the supervision of Eli Lansing,
awaited them with last-minute questions that might or might
not be added to the cue cards. The interrogation was as casual
as itwas painless, and some of the guests failed to realize they
were being given a preprogram quiz.
Dale Henry and the members of her staff applied light
makeup to the faces of the guests, confining themselves to a
dusting of flesh-tonedmakeup on the men, with the women
receiving a somewhat more thorough treatment. Without
exception the guests were surprised when makeup was also
applied to the backs of their hands.
"People either smoke or paw their faces when they talk,"
Dale told them, "and the contrast in skin colors is too great
when we don't make up your hands. You see?"
Shortly before 9:30 Dick Hubbel locked in the last of his
color cameras and made a final inspection of the mammoth,
barnlike studio, one small corner of which was used as the
supposed office-living room where Inquiry was televised. By
this time scores of ticket holders, who had written for their
seats, were beginning to line up in the corridor outside.
Max Marx always used the main elevators, and strolled to
the studio past the waiting audience. He was recognized, as
usual, and waved cheerfully as he made his way inside.
At 9:35 Governor Abraham Winston of Ohio and eight
members of his entourage arrived via the elevators reserved
for studio executives, star performers and distinguished guests.
Stan Friedlander and Bishop Cranmer were on hand to greet
the governor, a gesture accorded very few who appeared on
Inquiry,and led Winston to Stan's private office, to which
Dale Henry was summoned for purposes of applying
makeup.
Noel B. Gerson 49

Dick Hubbel came in to exchange a few words, and one of

his assistants gently separated the governor from his en-
tourage, taking the members of the party to a glass-enclosed
observation booth and soothing them with endless cups of
coffee from a huge machine located on the stage near the
set.

The door of Lester Corbett's suite remained closed.

At 9:45 someone knocked, and Jeri said, "Stan wants a
word with you, Lester."
"Sure." A haggard Lester looked up. "Hi, Stan. Save the
sympathy."
Jeri excused herself and hurried into the adjacent office to
make a last check with the governor, a task she had reserved
for herself rather than entrust it to other members of the
bullpen.
"Are you okay, chum?" Stan asked.
Lester flashed the most famous smile in America. "Never
Well, hardly ever. Don't worry about me."
better, pal.
"Governor Winston wants you to know he understands
why you don't feel like a visit before the program."
"He gets my vote," Lester said.
"Arthur Sampson has been breathing down my neck, and is

parked down the hall, wanting to see you," Stan said.

"Sampson is positively the last man in the country with

whom exchange words tonight, the son of a bitch." Lester

I'll

sat upright and became vehement. "By now he knows we're not
canceling the governor, I hope!"
"Oh, yes. I believe his newest brainstorm is to beg you to
avoid politics in the interview."
"An application of one of those razor blades he peddles— to
the right part of his anatomy— would do Artie a lot of good."
"I'm just telling you, pal."
"Okay, you've told me. Anything else?"
"Yes. Be sure you greet the new affiliates on the air. They're
listed on a red cue card." Stan thought it best not to mention
his star's willful absence from the afternoon's meeting.
 50 Talk Show
"111 remember."
"And Hubbel asked me to warn you— the poet you're
interviewing uses four-letter words in all of his ordinary con-
versation. Be ready to cut him off."
Had Lester felt less weary he would have been amused.
"Tell Hub he ought to know by now that the cussers usually
get so scared in front of the cameras they clam up. The poet
willbe no problem."
"Probably not, but it's best to be prepared." Stan made a
mental note to instruct Dale to apply heavier than usual make-
up beneath Lester's eyes. "There'll be a big press contingent
here. About fifteen or twenty reporters, and two or three
photographers."
"Let's get the picture-taking out of the way before the
show. Somewhere on the set out of sight of the studio audi-
ence, okay?"
"Sure. I dare say the governor will want that, too."
"Where are you parking the reporters?"
"In booth three, along with the governor's staff. A couple
of them wanted to be out in the studio, with the general
audience, but publicity talked them out of it."

"Good, I prefer the press segregated, where I can keep my

eye on them. Thanks, Stan."
"You're welcome, chum." The producer drifted toward the
door. "See you coast-to-coast."
"And Hawaii by satellite! And Alaska! All in ever-livin',
ever-lovin' color!"
Lester was a trouper, Stan Friedlander thought as he re-

turned to his own office; there was no need to worry about

him.
Promptly at 10:00 Dale Henry arrived at the star's suite,
carrying the shirt, necktie, pocket handkerchief and jacket he
would wear on the air. She had been warned not to mention
his son's death, and she spoke brusquely when she found him
waiting in the barber chair installed in his dressing room.
"Take off your clothes," she said.
Noel B. Gerson 51

Lester grinned at her. "That's the best invitation I've had

today." He obediently removed his jacket and shirt, then re-

sumed his seat.

She draped a large plastic sheet over him, then began to

apply three shades of pancake from his private supply, paying
special attention to the shadows beneath his eyes. She worked
smoothly, expertly, concentrating on her task.

"You look very luscious tonight, baby," Lester said. "Had

any meat lately?"
solid white
"Even when you've been kicked," she said, "you're ob-
noxious. Shut up and open your mouth."
"What'll you put in it?"

"If you don't do as I tell you," she said, reluctantly admiring

his courage, "I'll paint Cupid's bow lips on you."
"That fag assistant of yours would chase me all over the
studio," Lester said, then obediently parted his lips so she
could apply makeup to them.
"It would serve you right," Dale said.
"Seriously," he told her, "you ought to get rid of him. He's
a troublemaker."
"Randy is all right. And please shut up. Angel."
"Just remember I told you." He remained silent while she
emphasized his eyebrows, put a faint touch of color on his
mouth and, after carefully combing his hair, applied a spray.
"Now you're gorgeous," she said, and helped him don the
shirt.

"I'm honestly sorry I didn't report colors to you this morn-

ing, Dale," he said. "I'll do better tomorrow."
"Bring in some more clothes from that unlimited wardrobe
of yours, and I won't pester you again."
one of the few joys you and I have
"Pestering each other is

in this mundane world," he said, and when she tried to edge

past him in the narrow dressing room, he performed his
nightly ritual, passing a hand across her breasts. "Atta girl,"
he said. "You know I hate bras."
 52 Talk Show
Dale suffered the indignity with a smile, which froze when
she reached the door, and she hurried out.
Lester knew from her reaction that something was amiss r
and, carrying the jacket, necktie and handkerchief, he halted,
too, when he reached the entrance to his office.
Grace stood near his desk, her knuckles white as she
grasped the handle of her handbag.
"I called you earlier," Lester said. "Now I know why you
didn't answer."
"I thought you might want me here tonight," she said in a
low voice, humiliated by what she had overheard.
still

"I appreciate it very much, dear. Thank you." He spoke

with care, measuring his words in the tone he used when
conducting a difficult interview on the air.
"If I hadn't thought you needed me, I wouldn't have
come." She realized she sounded stupid, and was repeating
herself, but was at a loss for words.
Lester held a chair for her.
On sudden impulse Grace turned to him, intending to
embrace him.
He took a step backward. "I've just been made up for the
show," he said.
She muttered an apology and sank into the chair.
He took his time knotting the necktie and arranging the
matching handkerchief in his breast pocket.
"All the newspapers were calling before I left," she said.
"I'm sure. I spoke to Joyce a while ago."
"I called her back after I heard." Grace had promised
herself she wouldn't weep, but couldn't hold back the tears.
"Oh, Lester— I feel so dreadful for you. And for Joyce, al-
though I have no reason to feel anything but contempt for
her."
Her husband silently handed her a box of tissues.
"I keep remembering the way little Lester looked. That day
we took him for a drive in Lincoln Park."
Noel B. Gerson 53

"Yeah," he said, a rasp in his throat.

"And the way he pretended he didn't want the ice cream
we bought him—"
"Goddammit, Grace, shut up!"
She saw the hatred in his eyes, heard it and
in his voice,
knew that, even after all these years, she still had no under-
standing of the man she had married.
All at once he wilted. "I don't mean to be a louse. It's just

that I feel— so lost."

Her heart went out to him, and she nodded, but could not
express herself.
"He was just starting out in the world. And he could have
had everything. I could have given him the best start any boy
ever had!"
Grace found her voice. "Don't torture yourself."
"He was my boy. The only one, ever." He walked to a
window and stared blankly into space.
She wanted to go to him, but was afraid he would spurn
her.
Jeri entered the room without knocking, then halted. "Ex-
cuse me," she said, and tried to leave.
"Don't go away," Lester told her. "You and Grace know
each other." Apparently it didn't bother him to see his wife
and his mistress in the same room.
Grace's natural dignity asserted itself. "Yes, we've met, and
I'm very grateful to you for breaking the news to me this
evening, Miss Maynard."
Jeri was equal to the occasion, too. "It was the least I could
do, Mrs. Corbett."
Unfortunately, Lester told himself, they were both thor-
oughbreds, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably, then
glanced at the clock on the wall. "Did you drive in, Grace?"
"You know I hate to drive at night."
"Well, my car is in the garage downstairs, so we can drive
home together."
 54 Talk Show
Jeri knew he was telling her he would not be spending any
time, much less the night, with her.
He turned to her, his attitude that of an executive dealing
u
with a trusted subordinate. ]m 7
I wonder if you'd do us a
favor. Maybe you'd take Grace to Stan's booth, and she can
watch the program from there."
"Of course." The girl started toward the door, intending to
give him the opportunity for a private word with his wife.
Lester immediately made it plain that he had no such
desire. "Go along with Miss Maynard," he said, speaking as
one might to a not overly bright child.
Grace allowed herself to be led through corridors to a flight
of stairs, and eventually to a glass-enclosed viewing booth. It
was bad enough that Lester had dismissed her, but her sense
of inferiority overwhelmed her whenever she looked at the
chic, attractive young woman who was his mistress.

At 10:20 an electrician turned the powerful air-conditioning

units in the studio to their maximum capacity, and ten
minutes later the studio doors were opened. The ticket hold-
ers, most of whom had written months in advance, were
conducted to their seats by uniformed ushers.
Meanwhile several pretty girls, members of the unit known
as the guest-relations department, had gone to the makeup
and dressing rooms, and conducted those who would appear
on the night's program to an offstage area near the set. In
spite of the vast sums spent on every other phase of Inquiry,
the reception facilities here were sketchy. A coffee dispenser
sat on a large table, paper cups and plastic spoons, a sugar
bowl and several cardboard containers of cream beside it, and
at the far end were plates of cookies and a pile of glassine-
wrapped sandwiches. Lined up against a bare wall were a
number of bridge chairs, but no one elected to sit, and as
there were no ash trays in view, those who smoked spewed
ashes and butts on the bare floor.
The guests were typical of an Inquiry program. They in-
Noel B. Gerson 55

eluded a film star who had United States

just returned to the
after making motion picture in England, a
a highly publicized
Metropolitan Opera mezzo-soprano who was singing the lead-
ing role in a controversial new opera, a young male rock music
star who brought his guitar with him, the author of a recent
bestseller on environment control, and a housewife from a
small Oklahoma town who had discovered oil in her backyard
and had become wealthy overnight. The poet who used the
"language of the people" had not yet appeared. They chatted
uneasily with each other, although the hostesses tried to
create something of a cocktail-party atmosphere.
Standing apart were two other guests, a husband-and-wife
team of biologists who had published a spectacular report on
the sex habits, desires and inadequacies of American women.
Contrary to the opinion of the other guests, the pair were shy
rather than remote, and were overwhelmed by the knowledge
that they were going to be interviewed by Lester Corbett.
At 10:40 the orchestra moved into the pit below the stage,
twenty-four strong, and took their places. They had been
rehearsing for the past two hours under the direction of their
leader, Harrison Talbert, who mounted the podium at 10:43.
The only man present wearing a dinner jacket, he immedi-
ately led the orchestra in a two-minute rendition of Inquiry's
theme song, a prettyand innocuous tune he had written some
years earlier, and that, with appropriate words, had become
popular on UBS disc-jockey radio programs.
Precisely at 10:45 an electrician snapped on the batteries of
blinding lights located above and on every side of the open
Inquiry and the temperature on stage began to rise.
set,

Max Marx, casually attired in a flamboyant sports jacket

and ascot, came on stage and walked to a microphone facing
the studio audience. "Hello, hello, you beautiful people!" he
boomed.
The audience responded to his familiar line with laughter
and prolonged applause.
"Thanks for that wonderful greeting, folks," Max said.
 56 Talk Show
"I'm sorry the boss isn't in his booth yet, because I'd like him
toknow how popular I am. Tell you what. When he arrives, I
wish you'd give me another round of applause like that. It
may help me get a raise in my salary.Okay? Let's practice, if
that's okay with you. When I lift my left hand to my ear—
this way—you beat your palms. Okay, let's try it."
The studio rocked to the roar of deafening applause,
whistles and cheers.
A bored propman, who heard the same demonstration and
the same words every night, Mondays through Fridays,
brought a low-lying bowl of just-arranged artificial flowers
onto the set, and another placed Lester Corbett's stack of cue
cards in front of it.

At and went to a small set at the

10: 50 Lester left his office,
rear of the stage which was hidden from the view of the
audience by the rear flat of the main set. He timed his arrival
perfectly; at the same moment Stan Friedlander and Bishop
Cranmer reached the little set from the other side, flanking
the leonine, white-haired Abraham Winston, about whom the
Cleveland Plain Dealer had once written, "He's the most
photogenic public figure this state has developed since War-
ren G. Harding, and we hope that is where the similarity
ends."
The two principals immediately moved toward each other,
both smiling and poised, both supremely conscious of how
they looked and what they said.
"Governor, this is a great honor." Lester sounded like the
slightly awed small-town boy from Illinois he had once been.
"Lester, I'm delighted to be here, and I can't tell you how
pleased I am that you asked me."
In the background the voice of Max Marx continued to
boom over the microphone as he told jokes and anecdotes
from his standard stock to the responsive studio audience.
The UBS press director, Lester's personal publicity man
and the head of Governor Winston's public relations staff led
Noel B. Gerson 57

an unexpectedly large group of six photographers onto the

crowded little set, and strobe lights began to flash as the host
of Inquiry and his special guest posed for pictures while
making an attempt to carry on a light conversation.
The photographers worked until 11:00, at which time the
UBS press director called a halt. "You can take more shots
from the viewing booth or out front during the interview,
fellas, but that's it for now."

Lester excused himself and went off to the wings to greet

his other guests. Jeri, the head of guest relations— fancy title
for a glorified usher— who was another pretty girl in tunic and
pants and a secretary all hovered nearby. On the off chance
that something unusual or memorable might be revealed
during these moments of informal chatting, Jeri was ready to
write additional questions, which the secretary would type
and insert in the appropriate place in the stack of cue cards.
Karen Block, the flaming redhead who was the head of
guest relations, unobtrusively murmured the name of each
celebrity, whom Lester greeted with the sincere cordiality that
was his trademark.
Governor Winston followed Inquiry's host into the wings,
and the other guests were presented to him, too. His infor-
mality delighted them, and he chatted easily and fluently,
paying particular attention to the glamorous film star, whose
third husband had been a member of the United States
Senate.
At 11:05 the members of the camera crews took their
places,and the audience stirred in anticipation. The two-man
crew of Camera Four, which was used only for long shots and
was kept in reserve in case one of the other cameras failed to
function, seemed absorbed in something being said over their
headsets. Only they knew that they were listening to a radio
broadcast over the local UBS station of the New York Mets'
night baseball game, and that they would not tune it out until
the last possible second before air time.
 58 Talk Show
At 11:07 Stan Friedlander and Bishop Cranmer went to
the producer's booth, where both took pains to greet Grace
Corbett rather effusively.
Grace, who was still smarting from her husband's dismissal,
felt miserable. The attractive guest-relations girls peered up at
the booth from time to time, and she felt certain they were
looking at her, wondering how Lester Corbett could have
such a drab wife, and whispering about her.
At 11:10 the voice of Dick Hubbel crackled over intercoms
heard everywhere, including the viewing booths and the
studio audience. "Five minutes!"
An assistant director came out into the wings to remind
Lester of the specific significance of the red, blue and yellow
cue cards.
Lester needed no reminder, but listened attentively. He
knew, as did all pros, that no one could be too careful on the
air.

At 11:11 Max Marx concluded his audience warm-up, and

left the set to thunderous applause. Randy Warren was wait-
ing for him in the wings with fresh pancake makeup, and
wiped the perspiration from his face. "It's hotter than the
hinges of hell out there tonight," Max said. "Somebody had
better tell grips to turn up the air-conditioning."
Since he made the identical complaint every night and the
cooling system was already working at capacity, no one paid
any attention to him.
At 11:11:30 Dick Hubbel started flipping switches on his
console. "Testing audio for headsets. Camera One."
"I hear you, boss," the crew chief said.
Cameras Two, Three and Four made the same report.
Harrison Talbert, the orchestra conductor, muttered some-
thing unintelligible.
Max Marx took his neck mike from an engineer, who ad-
justed it for him. Under union rules, no one else was allowed
to touch the instrument.
Noel B. Gerson 59

Another engineer performed a similar service for Lester

Corbett
Dale Henry immediately appeared, patted Lester's necktie
into place over the microphone and pulled his pocket hand-
kerchief a tiny fraction of an inch. She inspected his face,
added a small dab of pancake to the left side of his nose and
nodded soberly. At this juncture, just before air time, no one
joked.
Governor Winston came up beside Lester. "I wanted a
private word with you," he said quietly. "Please accept my
condolences on the loss of your son."
Lester stiffened for an instant, then inclined his head
slightly, the only sign he had heard.

Jeri, who stood on Lester's other side, wanted to strike

Abraham Winston across the face. What a time to remind

Lester! Reaching surreptitiously, she took her lover's hand and
squeezed it.

He turned to her for a moment, and his smile was blood-

less.

The expression in his eyes worried Jeri, but it vanished as

quickly asit had appeared.

At 11:12 the musicians, who had gone off for a quick

smoke, returned to the pit.

"Places, please," Talbert told them.

At 11:12:30 the film star was given a neck microphone, and
the other guests laughed when she said, "I can't hide the
mike, my friend. Not when I'm wearing this low cut a dress!"
Dale Henry materialized beside the actress and gave her
makeup a few swift, finishing touches.
An assistant director at one end of the control room told
Dick Hubbel, "The opening commercial runs fifty-seven sec-
onds, not fifty-nine."
Hubbel made a notation on a sheet attached to a clipboard.
"Corbett looks mighty up-tight to me," he said to no one in
particular.
 60 Talk Show
The visual engineer seated on his left made the only reply.
"Yeah," he said, and his voice sounded ominous. "This is one
night I feel sorry for the poor bastard."
In the producer's observation booth, Stan Friedlander and
Bishop Cranmer continued their fruitless argument, Stan
insisting that no mention be made on the air regarding Les-
ter's tragedy, while Cranmer thought an announcement
should be made at the program's end, expressing the sympa-
thies of the network and its affiliates, the sponsors and the
staff of the program.
Grace listened to the discussion, but made no contribution
to it.

At last Stan turned to her. "What do you think, Mrs. Cor-

bett?"
"Well, I don't really know," she said uncertainly, "but I'm
sure Lester wouldn't like it."

"Soam I," Stan said.

"What you don't realize," Cranmer said, "is that there

might be a public reaction— an unfavorable reaction— if Les-
ter behaves normally. As he will. With an appropriate an-
nouncement, we'll draw a favorable reaction. After all, the
public is conditioned to the theme that the show must go on.
I'm sorry, Stan, but I'll have to overrule you. And I'll take full
responsibility." He picked up the telephone beside him,
dialed a house number and spoke quietly, at some length.
At 11:13 the television sets, known as monitors, that were
located at strategic points backstage, in the observation
booths and at both sides of the stage for the benefit of the
studio audience, were switched on. There was a small on-stage
monitor, too, for Lester Corbett's convenience, but there were
none which the guests could see themselves while being
in
televised. Dick Hubbel had removed them several years previ-
ously after it had been found that guests unaccustomed to the
medium spent too much time staring in fascination at their
own images on the screen.
Noel B. Gerson 61

At 11:13:30 Hubbel snapped on the master intercom.

"Ninety seconds!" he announced.
Lester Corbett gently cleared his throat, then accepted a
glass of water from Jeri and took a small swallow.

Jeri handed the glass to a page boy, and, unable to delay

any longer, went off to the producer's booth. Stan, she
thought, was either an unthinking beast or a sadistic monster,
and either way he ought to be shot. He'd had no business
asking her to join him when Grace Corbett was watching the
program from the booth. Stan, of all people, knew Jen's re-
lationship with Lester, was supremely aware of how much he
depended on her, and was cognizant of the complications in
her own feelings.
It would be torture to sit near the mouselike woman who
bore Lester's name and, legally, shared his life. Not that she
envied Grace, the poor wretch, and on the half-dozen occa-
sionswhen Lester had suggested marraige she had made it clear
to him that she had no desire to become Grace's successor. At
the same time, however, she couldn't help feeling like a sly
usurper when she was thrust into the other woman's com-
pany, particularly on an occasion like this.

Not until she had climbed the half-flight of stairs to the

booth did it occur to Jeri that she hadn't gone through her
preprogram ritual of brushing real or imagined lint from
Lester's lapel. The gesture meant nothing to her, it was true,
but he was still an actor at heart, and therefore was supersti-
tious. He regarded the lint brushing as a sign that all would go
smoothly, and she could only hope that his tragedy, combined
with the tensions caused by Governor Winston's appearance,
would cause him to forget the ritual.
She took her seat in the booth, and Bishop Cranmer started
to tell her about the announcement that would be made at
the end of the program. Looking out through the glass, Jeri
saw Lester peering up at her from the wings.
Slowly, a fixed smile on his face, he went through the
motions of brushing off his lapels.
 62 Talk Show
'The copy will be ready in a few minutes/' the network
president said. "I'd like you to smooth it out, Jeri, and give it

any touches you may think it needs."

The girl nodded, while going through the motions of lapel
brushing for Lester's benefit. She saw Grace Corbett looking
at her, and had no idea what the woman might be thinking,
but, for Lester's sake, continued to go through the motions.
"One minute!" Dick Hubbel said over the intercom.
There was a sudden flurry when an assistant director dis-
covered a broom leaning against a chair on the set. A prop
man ran out onto the stage and retrieved it.

The audience rewarded him by laughing.

At 1 1 14: 30 Hubbel said, "Stand by!"
:

Absolute silence reigned backstage, conversation halted in

the control room and in the observation booths, and the
studio audience cut short its laughter.
No one paid any attention to the closing commercial and
the credit lines at the end of the news program.
At 11:14:55 the UBS camera appeared on the screen, and
the network announcer said, "This is the Universal Broad-
casting System."
"And this," the local announcer followed him declared, "is

your network's flagship station, WUBS, New York."

Talbert raised his baton.
"Ready, Camera One," Hubbel said, and lowered his right
hand in a sharp gesture.
Talbert brought the orchestra to life when a red light
flashed in front of him, and the sounds of the program's
theme song were heard from coast to coast, in Hawaii, Alaska
and three stations in Mexico.
The One camera's red light appeared simultaneously, and
the cameraman focused on Max Marx, who began a slow
stroll on-stage from the wings, his demeanor that of a man

embarking on a serious mission.

"Dolly back slowly, One," Hubbel said. "Slowly. Follow
Noel B. Gerson 63

him! Now, stop and hold!" he declared when Marx's face

filled the screen.
'This/' Max Marx said portentously, "is Inquiry. Your
roving reportorial magazine of the air."
"Ready, Two!" Hubbel ordered.
"Starring your genial host," Marx continued, "Lester Cor-
bett."
"Cut to Two and dolly," Hubbel said.
Camera Two picked up Lester, who strolled on-stage from
the wings on the opposite side.
Marx touched the lobe of his left ear, unseen by the
viewing public, and the studio audience responded with deaf-
ening applause.
Ordinarily Lester smiled into the camera, but tonight his
face remained somber, befitting his extraordinary situation.
"Dolly back," Hubbel ordered. "Now, stop and hold!"
Lester continued to walk toward Camera Two until the
assistant director stationed beside the instrument raised a
hand to halt him. His face filling the sceen, Lester spoke in
the earnest, simple manner that had endeared him to the
largest talk-show audience in the history of television. "I'm
said. "Welcome to old friends,
your host, Lester Corbett," he
greetings tonew acquaintances, and good evening, ladies and
gentlemen. Good evening to you, too, Max Marx."
"Cut to One," Hubbel said.
Camera One had moved back from a close-up position, and
showed Lester shaking hands with Max. Both were cordial,
although neither had acknowledged the other's presence
backstage.
"What's on tonight's agenda, Max?" Lester asked. "Let me
be more grammatical. Who are our guests this evening?"
Max identified the men and women who would be inter-
viewed, and, in keeping with the program's policies, no su-
perlatives were used in the descriptions.
To the delight of the studio audience, every word Max
 64 Talk Show
spoke appeared, line byline, on a teleprompter attached to
Camera One, the words printed eight inches high.
As he neared the end of the list, Hubbel directed, "Ready,
Two. Cut to Two."
Again Lester's face filled the screen. "Last— and anything
but least— will be a chat with our special guest of the evening.
I should say, our special guest of the year." He looked directly

into the camera, scorning the use of the teleprompter beside

it. "The Honorable Abraham Winston, governor of Ohio, a
statesman who is very much in the news. The governor and I

have been chatting backstage while newspaper photographers

were taking our pictures, and I believe I can promise you an
interview of exceptional interest. From me to you, don't miss
it."

"But first," Max said, "here's a message you'll want to

hear."
"Cut to film," Hubbel said.
Everyone relaxed for sixty seconds while a filmed com-
mercial appeared on the screen.
"He looks very tense," Bishop Cranmer said.
"But he's carrying through beautifully," Stan Friedlander
said. "Don't you agree, Mrs. Corbett?"

Grace nodded.
Jeri believed otherwise, but kept her opinion to herself.
Lester's tensions had soared ever since Governor Winston had
mentioned his son's death, and she figuratively held her
breath, afraid he might break down or say something in-
appropriate on the air.
When the commercial ended, Max introduced the first
guest of the evening, the film actress. Lester walked across the
set to greet her, and Hubbel ordered Camera Three to focus
on her famous figure.
Lester immediately proved his worth to Inquiry. Although
there had been no rehearsal and he had received no special
instructions, he instinctively kept the actress standing instead
of leading her to the usual seat opposite his desk.
Noel B. Gerson 65

'The little bastard is a genius, God bless him," Hubbel

said. "Look at the way he's keeping her standing. Hold,

Three! Lock in!"

For more than a minute, while Lester gracefully ad-libbed
with the star, the home audience enjoyed an unrestricted view
of one of the world's most renowned, unrestricted figures.
At last Lester took her to her seat, moved behind the desk
and glanced at his first cue card. The interview, as planned,
was under way.
Camera One focused on both principals, and Hubbel had
time to light a cigarette.
"Between you, me and eighty million other people," Lester
"what do you do to maintain your figure?"
said,

"I keep thin," she replied, "because everybody who inter-

viewsme asks me so much crap about it."
"Oh, God," Hubbel moaned. "It's going to be one of those
nights."
Stan Friedlander immediately reached for the telephone.
"Chief switchboard operator," he said. "Emergency. Mary,
this Stan. Uh-huh. You heard. Within the next minute every
line on the board is going to be clogged. Have the girls issue
the standard apology, and tell them to keep it brief. want We
to reopen the lines as soon as possible."
A few moments later the UBS press chief came in from the
adjoining booth. "I'll get a statement ready right away," he
said. "The reporters who came to see the governor are having

a field day, but they'll forget the incident if the governor says
anything with meat on its bones. To whom shall I attribute
this statement?"
"I'll take the rap," Cranmer said, and grimaced.
Many in the studio audience had gasped when the actress
had used the forbidden four-letter word, but their reaction
had not been heard on the air, program policy having pro-
vided that audience microphones be turned off except at
specified times.
The only person in the entire studio who remained calm, in
 66 Talk Show
control of the situation as well as of himself, was Lester
Corbett. He could see that the actress, realizing her error,had
become flustered, so he talked for more than a full minute
about his own protein diet of the previous year, describing it

in some detail in order to give her time to regain her com-

posure. Then, resuming the interview, he continued
smoothly, as though nothing untoward had happened.
"He's tremendous," Hubbel announced to the others in the
control room. "What a pro! By now half the people watching
at home really aren't sure they heard the dumb broad use that
word."
The interview swept to its logical conclusion, the actress
succeeded in making a brilliant recovery, and there was a
break for another commercial. By that time the telephone
calls of protest that had swamped the switchboard were be-
ginning to lessen.
'Tilmake the report to the FCC myself," Stan Friedlander
said. "And 111 emphasize that Lester deserves a medal for the
way he's handled this."
A member of the continuity department came into the
producer's booth with the announcement to be read at the
end of the program. Jeri took it from him, then edited it
heavily, eliminating whole phrases and rewriting the state-
ment in a bold hand.
The program continued, and again Lester Corbett dis-

played inspired showmanship. Departing from the prepared

he cajoled the mezzo-soprano from the Metropolitan
outlines,
Opera and the rock star into singing a duet, an act neither
would have performed had it been planned in advance. Har-
rison Talbert leaped into the breach, the musicians followed
his lead, and the orchestra succeeded in providing more than
creditable accompaniment.
Lester topped the act by proposing still another song, and
joined in the singing himself. No one would have called him a
singer, but he performed with such zest that he held his own,
Noel B. Gerson 67
and the studio audience continued to applaud after the next
commercial appeared on the screen.
"Our boy is really fired up tonight!" Hubbel said. "And
with an augmented audience because of Governor Winston,
the other networks might as well fold up and go home. We'll
drive them straight off the ratings charts!"
Lester changed his pace in his sober, reasoned discussion
with the author of the book on environment control. He
demonstrated a considerable knowledge of the subject, and
ended the interview with an impassioned speech of his own to
his viewers.
"We can sit here all night talking about dirty air, dirty
water and dirty land," he said. "But only you and I, together,
can do something about it. Everybody is against pollution,
you know, but too few people are doing something about it.
Well, there's an election coming up this autumn, ladies and
gentlemen.
"So something you can do, something very effective.
there's
Listen to what your candidates for the U.S. Senate and House
of Representatives propose on the subject. If they're vague,
don't vote for them. Cast your votes for the candidates who
present cogent, specific plans for pollution control."
Dick Hubbel picked up a telephone and called the pro-
ducer's booth. "Stan," he said, "we're already running eleven
minutes late. And I've just been notified that nutty poet has
finally shown up. I don't know if he got lost, or what. Any-

way, they're rushing him through makeup, and we won't get

off the air until one thirty if we use him."

The way Lester is rolling tonight," Stan Friedlander said,

"we'll stay on the air until we run out of fuel."
"Okay, but if we put the poet into the original schedule,
it'll be awfully late before Governor Winston goes on. And

the affiliates will start getting more phone calls. I'm sure
they've had enough of that jazz tonight."
"Spot the governor next to closing," Stan directed. "That'll
 68 Talk Show
keep him more or less at the planned time. Then shove the
poet into the closing slot. Serves him right for showing up
late."
The housewife from Oklahoma was so overcome she stut-
tered, stammered and became dumb on the air. But Lester
demonstrated by coaxing her into telling a
his great versatility
straightforward account of the finding of oil on her property.

Then, little by little, he persuaded her to relate the changes in

her life since she had become wealthy, and once again he
departed from the cue cards. What developed was the story
of a woman to whom wealth had not brought appreciable
happiness, and it was certain that the viewers, like the studio
audience, felt sorry for the housewife.
Stan Friedlander twisted around in his chair to speak to
Jeri. "He's absolutely fantastic tonight!"
"Unbelievable!" she exclaimed.
Grace Corbett had no idea what they were talking about,
and told herself show business people always exaggerated.
Lester was conducting his usual, polished interviews, as nearly
as she could judge, and she saw nothing out of the ordinary in
his effort. Except, of course, that he was under a strain be-
cause of young Lester's death.
At midnight Max Marx took over the program, and read
seven minutes of the latest news prepared by the news and
special events department, his recital being interrupted by the
showing of short, pungent film clips made throughout the day
and evening.
"I hope," Stan Friedlander said suddenly, reaching for the
telephone, "that the news boys had the good sense not to
mention the death of summary."
Lester, Junior in their
The others in the producer's booth were on edge until he
received the appropriate assurances from the news room.
Meanwhile Lester took advantage of the break by going
into the wings, where Dale Henry repaired his makeup,
combed his hair and sprayed it. Jeri hurried down from the
Noel B. Gerson 69
booth, and one of the guest-relations girls, who had prepared a

special concoction of tea and honey, handed it to her. Jeri, in

turn, gave the glass to Lester, and he sipped the drink slowly.
Watching from the booth, Grace resented Jeri's intrusion,
and couldn't understand why the girl who had made the drink
couldn't have been the one to give it to Lester. She wouldn't
mention the subject to him, however; it was one of those
minor matters that sometimes sent him into one of his worst
rages.
What she failed to understand was that, during the respite,

Jeri took advantage of the break to remind Lester of key

points in the interviews still to come. It was too much to
expect anyone to keep abreast of such details in a program as
long as Inquiry.
'The Maxwells," she said, "are both doctors. He's an M.D.
and she's a Ph.D."
Lester nodded. "I hope my voice doesn't give out. I sang
with a little too much gusto."
"I'll see to it that you have more tea and honey at your
desk. And when the governor goes on, he'll do most of the
talking. Now, no kidding with Mrs. Dr. Maxwell. She has no
sense of humor about her work. If you've got to get in a
couple of wisecracks, stick to what I've written and direct the
jokes to Mr. Dr. Maxwell. She'll open up if you stress the
purely scientific aspects of their survey."
"Check," Lester said, and drained his glass.
Jeritook it from him, told the guest-relations girl to prepare
another, and then asked in a low voice, "How are you holding
up, honey?"
"How does it seem to you on the other end of the one-eyed
tube?"
"This has to be one of the best shows you've ever done!
Except for Arthur Sampson and his buddies in the corner
booth, everybody is wild about it. You ought to hear Cran-
mer. He's ecstatic!"
 70 Talk Show
A false sense of humility was not one of Lester Corbett's
shortcomings. "He ought to be. And wait until he sees the
rest of the show!"
Jeri tried to "What do you mean?"
conceal her anxiety.
Lester favored her with the same bloodless smile that had
disturbed her just before the program had started. "Maybe,"
he said, "the old con man has a couple of aces up his
sleeve."
She had no opportunity to learn what he meant, because an
came up to him, and she was forced to
assistant director
return to the booth.
"Les," Hubbel's assistant said, "in that last slot you some-
times leaned about six inches too far to your left."
"It's because of the new desk. It's bigger than the old one,
and that throws me."
"We know. Anyway, Dick said to warn you."
Lester glanced at the clock. "Be a good guy, Phil, and chalk
the boundaries for me, will you? There's plenty of time, and
that way we're certain."
The assistant director told himself, as he moved onto the
set, that Lester Corbett was as much of a perfectionist as
anyone he had ever encountered in the business. Maybe he
was temperamental, as so many members of the staff claimed,
but he never failed to come through, and one of the principal
reasons was his meticulous attention to detail.
At 12:05 Hubbel gave instructions to those who wore head-
sets. "Two minutes, thirty," he said. "Places!"

The assistant director in charge of Camera Two, which

focused only on the master of ceremonies, waved Lester onto
the set.

Dale made a swift inspection of his appearance, and con-

sented with a nod.
Self-assured, his stride confident, Lester walked to the desk
under the hot lights and resumed his seat, the master of his
electronic world.
Noel B. Gerson 71

At 12:06:30 Max Marx completed the news roundup, and a

filmed commercial went on the air.

"Stand by, please/' Hubbel said.

At 12:07:30 the Maxwells were introduced by Max and
walked onto the set, where Lester greeted them.
Only Jeri Maynard appreciated the import of the interview
that followed. Lester chose to ignore her advice, and gave a
dazzling display of wit and good taste as he joked with the
female member of the team about her work, how she had
accumulated her data, and the significance of her findings. To
Jeri's astonishment, the supposedly humorless woman replied
in kind, and the interview was lively, occasionally becoming
hilarious without straying beyond the bounds of good taste.
"What jollies !" Jeri said, and explained the situation to Stan
Friedlander and Bishop Cranmer. "Lester is in orbit around
the moon tonight," she said. "All I had to tell him was that
Mrs. Dr. Maxwell never cracks a smile, and just look at
them."
Mrs. Dr. Maxwell, at that precise moment, was whooping
with laughter so loudly that the audio engineer in the control
room had to turn down the gain on her microphone.
Itannoyed Grace Corbett when she saw Friedlander and
Cranmer marveling at Lester's supposed feat. "When he
wishes," she said, "he can always be very amusing, so it's no
wonder that Mrs. Maxwell is enjoying herself."
Pitying her anew, Jeri thought it wasn't worth the bother to
explain that Lester was performing a near-miracle, not a feat.
He possessed the rare gift of putting his guests at ease and
bringing out the best in them, sometimes even causing them
to forget that they were speaking in front of the ubiquitous
cameras.
Promptly at 12:29 the interview with the Maxwells came to
an end, and a filmed commercial came on the air for one
minute.
At 12:30, as scheduled in the nation's newspapers, the
 72 Talk Show
interview with the special guest began. Lester had done his
own timing, and a delighted Dick Hubbel leaned toward the
control-room glass to catch his eye, then pressed a forefinger
against the tip of his nose to indicate that the timing was
precise.
Lester flicked a glance into the control room, but devoted
his full-faced attention to Camera Two when the red light
glowed. "Ladies and gentlemen/' he said, "the Honorable
Abraham Winston, governor of Ohio."
The distinguished guest's air, as he walked onto the set,

immediately indicated that he was conscious of his standing,

and he indulged in none of the informality that marked most
appearances on the program. He shook hands vigorously with
the host, exchanged a few pleasantries as he took his seat, and
waited to be questioned on matters of national and interna-
tional importance.
Lester obliged by asking his views on the economy, on trade
and the balance of payments, and on the methods he pro-
posed for the cooling of the world crises that were creating
headlines everywhere.
The governor was prepared, and his replies were crisp and
statesmanlike.
But a feeling of uneasiness pervaded the producer's booth.
"Something is off, but I can't put my finger on it," Stan
Friedlander said. "Is Les following your outline, Jeri?"
"Yes, he's using my questions, but he's telescoping them.
He seems to be doing a summary rather than following up
each subject with the additional interiors I gave him. What I
mean is, he's asking all the basics, but he isn't going into
detail."
Cranmer buttoned and unbuttoned his jacket. "He's only
used fifteen minutes, Jeri. How much longer will he be able to
roll?"
"They'll wash it up in another minute or two," Jeri replied,
"unless he expands on some of the themes. The governor is

giving him every opening for more questions, but Lester just
Noel B. Gerson 73

isn't using them the way he should." She was apprehensive,

and reached for a cigarette.
Stan turned to light it for her, and he, too, was worried.
Lester was too seasoned a performer to race through the most
important interview of months without cause, and he had
demonstrated repeatedly that he was particularly sharp to-
night.
'That seems to conclude the first portion of our talk,
Governor/' Lester said. "Now, I'd like to speak directly to our
audience before we continue. Ladies and gentlemen, those of
you who have heard newscasts or read the evening papers
know that I suffered a personal sorrow today. My only son, Ira
Lester Corbett, Junior, twenty-one years of age, died today in
a Cleveland hospital."
Bishop Cranmer was on his feet in the producer's booth.
"What the hell is he up to?"

No one answered, because no one could.

"My son's death was not natural," Lester continued. "He
was killed. By drugs. Like so many parents in this country
today, I didn't know until today— when
it was too late— that

he used drugs. Until this afternoon I believed he was a happy,

well-adjusted young man who was enjoying his studies and his
lifeat Ohio State University.
"Through coincidence, Governor Winston was already
booked as a guest on Inquiry. So I want to take advantage of
his appearance in front of cameras tonight, on behalf of the
parents of all the youngsters who have taken drugs or are
taking them, who are tempted to take drugs or might be
curious about them."
Abraham Winston had no idea what was in the host's
mind, but decided to intervene. "There are few problems in
this nation that are more serious today," he said.
Lester turned to him. "Governor, my son was a resident of
the largest city in your state and a student at your state uni-
versity, so you have a stake in his tragedy."

The governor tried to speak.

 74 Talk Show
But Lester gave him no opportunity. "My son was killed by
an overdose of amphetamines. Could he have obtained these
drugs through legitimate sources?"
In the producer's booth, a horrified Stan Friedlander
gripped the arms of his chair. "I don't like this! I think Les
has flipped."
"He hasn't/' Jeri said. "Unfortunately, he knows exactly
what he's doing."
Governor Winston fielded the question competently. "I
don't yet know the circumstances of your son's death, Mr.
Corbett. But can make the categoric statement that legiti-
I

mate pharmacists dispense potent drugs only on prescription.

So be inclined to say that if your son took large quantities
I'd
of drugs, he obtained them in a manner that wasn't legiti-
mate."
"Do criminal drug pushers operate in Ohio, Governor?"
Lester showed signs of becoming belligerent.
Governor Winston didn't like his tone, but remained calm.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Corbett, they operate in every state. In
Ohio, as elsewhere, state and local authorities are cooperating
with federal officials to eliminate the operations of these
people and put the perpetrators of crimes in prison."
"Then you aren't doing enough!" Lester said, his voice
becoming savage.
There was a brief, shocked silence.
In the control room, Dick Hubbel said, "Camera One,
dolly in! That's it. Hold them in a double close-up. Lock in!
My God," he added, addressing the others working with him,
"what a show!"
Governor Winston made a rapid recovery. "No one will
have done enough until this curse is destroyed. But you'll find
that my state has one of the best enforcement records in the
United States."
"It's insufficient, as the death of my son proves," Lester
said.
Noel B. Gerson 75

"You have my sympathy in this trying period, Mr. Corbett,

and I hope you'll retain your perspective."
In the producer's booth, Bishop Cranmer was on his feet.
"We've got to take them off the air."
"You can't!" Stan told him. "There are too many millions
of people watching."
Grace Corbett paid no attention to the talk swirling around
her, and stared in fascination at her husband and his distin-
guished guest.
"My perspective is and
limited," Lester said, his voice rising
becoming tinny. "All I know is that a young man who had his
life before him is dead. A young man who would have become

an honorable, useful citizen will rot in a grave!"

He was becoming hysterical, Jeri Maynard thought; he was

driving himself into hysteria. But there was nothing she could
do to stop him.
"My perspective is that of every parent. Yes, I know my son
was twenty-one, so that made him of age. Technically. But he
was still a boy, regardless of whether he had just passed the
birthday that supposedly indicated he knew what he was
doing. Sure, he was weak. But so are millions of other young-
sters. It's we— the adults— who have failed. It's we who
should make and enforce laws that prevent such unnecessary
deaths."
"I quite agree," Governor Winston said, "and every elected
official— federal, state and local— is pledged to the attainment
of that goal."
"When will it be attained, Governor?" Lester was sneering
at him.
"Every effort is being made, Mr. Corbett." The governor
was disconcerted by the personal nature of the assault.
Bishop Cranmer dialed the control room. "Hubbel," he
said, "you've got to cut."
"That could do more harm than good, Mr. Cranmer," the
 76 Talk Show
director replied. "We've got to see them through to a natural
break."
Lester rose to his feet. "I admit my failure, Governor. Do
you admit yours?"
The governor stood, too. "As soon as I return to Ohio," he
said, "I shall order a full-scale investigation of your son's
death, Mr. Corbett."
"For all the good that will do." Slowly, very deliberately,
Lester raised his hand and pointed his forefinger at the
favored candidate for his party's nomination for the presi-
dency of the United States. "Governor Winston, I hold you
responsible for my son's death! I accuse you of murdering my

son!"
The head of the network had heard enough. "Hubbel," he
said, "cut to the closing commercial. Now! And get this
program off the air!"
 he repercussions were far-reaching. CORBETT
HOLDS GOV. WINSTON RESPONSIBLE IN SON'S
DRUG DEATH blazoned a headline in the late editions of
The New York Times, and scores of other newspapers
throughout the United States echoed the same theme.
"Lester Corbett is no ordinary entertainer" the Chicago
Tribune declared in an editorial. "He is a man of stature in the
broadcasting industry, a familiar household figure to millions,
so his accusation cannot be regarded lightly."
The charge created a sensation in Ohio, where opposition
members of the legislature promptly introduced a bill setting
up a commission to investigate the death of Lester Corbett,
Jr., and to determine the governor's culpability. Winston

reduced the of his foes by creating a commission of his

fire

own for the same purpose, but members of his staff were
willing to admit, privately, that he had suffered serious em-
barrassment.
His problems were reflected on the national scene, too. The
party's other three candidates for the presidential nomination,
who had been conducting desultory campaigns because of the

77
 78 Talk Show
near-certainty that Winston would beat them, quickly shifted
into high gear. One issued a statement condemning the laxity
of drug law enforcement in the states, and the other two
agreed to debate each other on the subject, invited Governor
Winston to participate with them and asked the radio and
television networks to cover the discussion.
The man who had created the furor slept until 10:00 a.m.,
when he wandered into the kitchen of his Westport house,
clad in pajamas, robe and slippers.
Grace Corbett was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping
coffee and reading one of the gossip columns in the Daily
News. She didn't see her husband walk in.
"Who's the woman running the vacuum cleaner upstairs?"
Lester demanded. "She woke me up."
"The new couple reported for work this morning," Grace
said, "and I'm so glad to have help again I wouldn't have
cared if they had danced a fandango on your bed. The tele-
phone has been going crazy for the past two hours. I switched
it off upstairs." She went to the stove to get him some

coffee.
"I'll bet." His smile was fleeting as he sank into a kitchen
chair.
"Stanley Friedlander has been trying to reach you, and so
has Mr. Cranmer." She consulted a scribbled list. "Arthur
Sampson, the advertising agency man, has called twice to
congratulate you, and wants you to know that the razor blade
account is delighted. Your agent is worried, and wants you to
call him before you call anybody else. Miss Maynard called,

too." There was a subtle change in Grace's voice. "I've

written down her message. The whole country is sizzling,' she
"
says. 'You've really done it this time.'
He sipped the steaming coffee and studied the print in the
wallpaper.
"Why did you do it, Lester?"
He shrugged. "Because I wanted to. I don't very often
Noel B. Gerson 79

allow myself to become emotional on the air, but this was one
time I felt like cutting loose. So I did."
"But Governor Winston has been your candidate. YouVe
been all for him, and from what I've heard on a radio
commentary this morning, you may have dealt his candidacy a
very serious blow."
Again Lester shrugged. "If Abe Winston can face up to my
challenge and produce the facts on drug control that will
satisfy the people, he'll have suffered no harm. If he falls on
his face, he'll deserve to lose the nomination."
"But," Grace persisted, "you've always stayed out of poli-
tics. You've said that a man in your position digs his grave
when he becomes a political partisan on the air."
Lester tightened the sash of his robe. "Circumstances alter
cases, Grace. You seem to forget that my son was killed by
taking a vast overdose of drugs that had been made available
to him in some mysterious— but
definitely illegal— way!"
She tugged unbuttoned cardigan sweater, steeling
at her
herself. "You don't have to put up a phony front with me,
Lester. There were three of us who knew you didn't give a
damn about your son. Now two of us are left, Joyce and I."
He picked up the Times and glanced through the front-
page article on the confrontation. "I don't expect you or
anyone else to know or understand what I felt for my son," he
said at last.
She was convinced he could talk himself into any state of
mind, and remained silent.
"But this is what counts," he went on, striking the news-
paper. "My personal feelings are my own business,and so is
the way I handle them. What matters is that other young
people who don't know any better and haven't yet acquired
mature stability may find it harder to get their hands on
drugs after a tragedy like mine has been publicized. I believe
I'm saving the lives of other youngsters, so it doesn't matter if

I trample on some toes, including Abe Winston's!"

 80 Talk Show
She realized he saw himself in a new role, and knew it was
useless to argue.

In old movies it always rained at funerals, and a heavy mist

shrouded the cemetery just beyond the Cleveland city limits.
Lester had gone straight to it from the airport, and had timed
his arrival so closely that he hadn't been forced to sit in the
taxi for more than a quarter of an hour. When the procession
swept through the gates, the headlights of the cars shining, he
told the driver to wait and climbed out.
Buttoning his topcoat, he ignored the splatter of rain on his
dark glasses, and, as he walked down the gravel path, was
surprised when he shivered.
Joyce, a heavy black veil obscuring her face, stood beside
the open grave, supported by her husband. It was impossible
to see her face, and Lester told himself it was just as well.
Elbers, a stocky, gray-haired man with a somber, lined face,
looked sorrowful, and that was a laugh. It wasn't his kid who
had died, so what did he have to grieve about? His own chil-
dren were a few feet away, shuffling their feet in restless
embarrassment, and Lester suddenly hated them, too, al-
though he realized he was being illogical.
Beyond them, also in mourning, were Joyce's sisters and
their husbands. Lester had never known them well, and
probably would have passed them on the street without
recognizing them. And that would have been okay, too. With
them were their own children, all grown, and he was some-
what surprised. He'd always known that young Lester had
cousins, of course, but on the rare occasions when they had
entered his mind, he remembered them as children.
There were fifty or sixty others present, adults and young
people, and he paid scant attention to them. They had been
part of his son's life, so he supposed he ought to be grateful to
them for coming, but he hadn't shared in that life and knew
nothing about them, so he resented them, too.
Noel B. Gerson 81

At least no one was paying any attention to the man who

stood alone at the back of the crowd, and for that much he
felt relieved. He'd met so many idiots in his life that if

somebody asked him for an autograph before leaving the

cemetery, he'd punch the unfeeling bastard in the face.
Straight ahead, resting on its weighted platform, stood the
flower-draped coffin, and Lester couldn't take his eyes off it.
Made of a cold, gray metal, it was just another box, and its
impersonal quality chilled him. That wasn't his son's last
resting place— and yet it was. Somehow it didn't jibe with the
boy he had known so slightly, and had loved so much, the boy
he remembered so vividly from their last meeting. . . .

They sat in a restaurant near the campus, the best in town,

and Lester grinned as he watched the boy— who looked so
much like a younger version of himself— devour a filet. "You
want another steak, son?"
Young Lester shook his head. "I'll do well if I finish this
one."
"It looks to me as though you don't get enough to eat."
"Not food But I do okay." The boy
like this every night.
was reserved.
"If I give you a bigger allowance, you could come here every
night."
Young Lester shook his head. "You give me plenty."
"That's why I make it." Lester felt uncomfortable, too, and
didn't know why.
"Mom wouldn't like it, either. She's made a big thing
about my not being spoiled."
To hell with Joyce, Lester thought, but refrained from
speaking his mind. Then he caught his son's eye for a mo-
ment, and both looked away again. Young Lester knew what
he was thinking, and probably hated his guts for it. After all,
he'd been brought up to be loyal to his mother. But there had
to be some common meeting ground with his father, so Lester
tried again.
 82 Talk Show
4

'Given any more thought to what you want to do after you

finish school?" he asked, sipping his beer.
The boy dug his fork into his baked potato. "Some."
"And?" Lester prompted.
"I don't know." Young Lester sounded defensive. "Maybe
I'll teach history.Or I might want to go into law. Or—like I
say, I'm not sure."
"If you'd like to try television or advertising or any of the
other communication fields, your old man might be able to

give you a boost." Lester tried not to sound boastful.

"You've told me before, Dad. I remember."
Lester felt rebuffed, but tried again. "I wouldn't want you
to feel that having the name of Lester Corbett would mean
you'd have to follow in my footsteps. Some youngsters feel
inhibited by their fathers, but there's no reason you
should."
The boy nodded. "I won't forget. And thanks."
Lester drained his beer, wondering why they found it so
difficult to communicate. Before they got together his mind
seethed with subjects he wanted to discuss, but he always
dried up when they came face to face, and his son seemed to
suffer from the same difficulty.
"How about some dessert?" was the best he could manage.
They gave their order, then sat again in silence, which the
boy finally broke. "Dad, there's something I want to tell you,
but I don't quite know how to say it."
"Try me."
"I just don't want you to dig it wrong."
Lester felt a knot forming in his stomach.
"We've talked, on and off, about my coming East to spend
this summer with you. But I can't."
It was painful to smile calmly.

"It isn't that I don't want to," Lester, Junior said. "But I
have a summer job coming up, and I can't afford to miss out
on it."
Noel B. Gerson 83

Lester knew it would be wrong to tell him that the few

dollarshe could earn weren't important, or that a far better-
paying job could be arranged for him in New York. "Where
are you going to work?" He hoped his disappointment didn't
show.
"In Cleveland." The boy spoke as though the words had to
be dragged out of him.
"I mean, doing what?"
Lester, Junior studied his water glass. "I'll be helping out,"
he said painfully, "in the Elbers office."
His face impassive, Lester told himself he had been out-
maneuvered by Joyce and her husband, and that he should
have anticipated such trickery. It served him right for not
keeping up his guard.
"I couldn't pass up the chance. I hope you don't mind too
much, Dad."
Lester shook his head and swallowed hard. "I understand."
He glanced at his watch, and guilt mingled with relief when
he saw he had to put up a front for no more than another
hour before his airplane left for New York. . . .

The clergyman spoke in a clear voice that carried across the

cemetery:
"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and
whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.
"I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at
the latter day upon the earth: and though this body he de-
stroyed, yet shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and
mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.
"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we
can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath
taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord"
Some of the women were weeping, and Lester vaguely
heard the voice of Joyce Elbers, but he felt too numb to
identify it consciously. As the service continued he listened
 84 Talk Show
intermittently to the clergyman, drifting away into a jumble
of disconnected thoughts, returning again and then plunging
back into the bleak void.
At last the service came to an end, and he moved away
quickly, hurrying to his waiting taxi before any of Joyce's rela-
tives could speak to him. The world had become empty,
robbed of all meaning, and if the inside as well as the outside
of his dark glasses had become wet, he neither knew it nor
cared.

The hotel restaurant was an oasis of elegant calm in a city

of millions who were intent on reaching their offices on time.
The oak paneling was warm, providing a balance for the
and the massive chandeliers, the
austerity of the high ceilings
uniformed waiters worked with quiet efficiency, and most of
the guests, men who sat alone, reading newspapers, or with
sleepy wives, were silent.
Max Marx and Randy Warren frequently stopped at the
hotel for breakfast on their way to the studio, and sat at their
usual corner table. They enjoyed starting the day in an at-
mosphere of white linen, sparkling glassware and shining
silver, and Max ate his Spanish omelette slowly. He glanced
with affectionate amusement at Randy, who had already
eaten his bacon and eggs. "You were hungry this morning."
"I guess. I didn't mean to gulp."
"Oh, I'm not criticizing you. I like it when you have a good
appetite. You've eaten very little lately."
"I hadn't noticed," Randy said, pouring their coffee.
"Well, it's true. Have you had something on your mind?"
"You."
Max raised an eyebrow. "How am I to take that?"
"I'm concerned about you," Randy said, "because the
studio brass just refuses to recognize your talents."
Max's smile was tolerent, but he sounded pleased. "You're
prejudiced in my favor."
Noel B. Gerson 85

"I can be objective about your work, Max, and I tell you
flatly that you should be the host of Inquiry."
"Come off it. I'm not in Corbett's league."
"You have qualities he's incapable of developing/' Randy
said fiercely, then calmed himself with a sip of coffee and a
cigarette. "He's a clod who completely lacks your sensitivity!"
"He does a far better job than I could do!"
"You're being too modest. I know you, Max."
"Well, I'll grant you that much." Max grinned, then so-
bered. "But I'm afraid you can't assess my work realistically.

I'm effective and pleasant and efficient on my daytime show,

which is really my level as an entertainer. But on Inquiry I'm
nothing more than a backstop. Ido what's required of me,
and I do it well, but I don't have the— the intensity of
personality, you might call it— to take over the program on a
regular basis."
"You did marvelously when Corbett was out with the flu

last winter!"

"I was a competent filler for a couple of nights, and I was

grateful for the additional audience exposure. But I don't fool
myself, and you mustn't give in to delusions, either. I'm not
greedy, Randy, and although you flatter me, I don't want you
to be greedy on my behalf, either."
"If you refuse to help yourself, those who care about you
will have to look out for your interests!"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Randy's expression became smug. "I'm willing to bet you a
pair of those alligator shoes we saw in that Fifth Avenue
window the other day that you're going to become the host of
Inquiry."
"I can't take the bet. You don't earn enough, and I won't
let you spend that kind of money on me."

"But you're the one who'll be spending it," Randy said.

^'Disbelieve me, if you like, but you mark my words. In far less
 86 Talk Show
time than you imagine, you're going to be one of the biggest
stars on the air!"

Abraham Winston sat in the executive cabin of the private

jet carrying his party back to Ohio, and drummed on the arms
of his chair as he listened to reports of his subordinates.
"We've countered in every way we can, so far," the press
secretary said, "except that we've left the debate invitation
wide open. The reporters are sure to ask about it when we
land at Columbus, so we'll have to be ready. Our joint advice
is that you duck."
"I don't run away from fights," Winston said.
"We know that,but the very nature of the debate will
sir,

put you on the defensive, which is what we don't want. If you

can't attack— on your own grounds— don't get involved."
The governor looked out of the window at a layer of clouds
below the aircraft's wing. "In that case, I'll need a one-para-
graph answer. Something to the effect that the drug problem
requires action, which it gets from my administration, and
that a debate is a waste of time and words."
The press secretary nodded to his assistant, who hurried off
to prepare a draft of the statement.
"What's the tone of the responses coming in?" the gover-
nor wanted to know.
"When spoke to Columbus about fifteen minutes ago, sir,
I

they said the telegrams are running about fifty-fifty. won't We

have any clear picture until the mail starts rolling in. We
ought to have a projection in about forty-eight hours."
"Then we should counterattack, hard, between now and
then," Winston said. "And I'm not talking about the action
we're taking on young Corbett's death. I mean that we've got
to find some way to impugn the integrity of that son of a
bitch who put me in an untenable situation!"
"Governor, you've got to stand above personal recrimina-
tion. I've been telling you ever since last night, you'll do
Noel B. Gerson 87

yourself more damage if you descend to Lester Corbett's

level!"
"I haven't spent thirty-five years in politics without learning
a few rules of the game." Winston's voice was dry. "What I

mean is some dirt that throws doubt on Corbett's reliability/'

"I understand what you're driving at, sir, but I'm suggest-
ing—as urgently as I know how— that we've got to let others
dig up that dirt. You can kiss the nomination good-bye if you
start wrestling in mud with Corbett."
"I have no intention of lowering myself to his level,"
Governor Winston replied. "All I ask is that you alert the
whole staff. I want everybody to keep his eyes and ears open.
We'll send a few investigators to New York, and tell them to
snoop quietly and in the right places. A man in Corbett's
position is bound to have enemies, and they'll talk. Maybe I

can't get into the arena myself, but we can do a great deal of
undercover nudging, and it could be that Corbett will fall

through the ropes by himself."

Dale Henry was sitting at her desk in one corner of the

otherwise deserted makeup room when Randy Warren ap-
peared, and carefully closed the door behind him. "The
burner has been turned up to high," he said. "My spies tell
me the front-office meeting is still in session upstairs, and
Bishop Cranmer is so up-tight he may have a coronary."
Dale made no attempt to pull down the hem of her short
dress as she turned to him. "You're a genuine, A-i ghoul," she
"The whole network
said. is rocking this morning, but you're
happy about it!"
Randy absently moved a strand of her hair into place.
"How shortsighted can you be? If you listen carefully, you can
hear the mournful sounds of 'Taps' being played for the
great Lester Corbett."
Dale studied him. "You're flaky," she said, "if you honestly
 88 Talk Show
think Corbettis going to be fired and that your boyfriend will
be moved up to replace him."
Randy became waspish. ''All I know is that Max Marx fully
expects to get the job, andI have every confidence in him. Do

you know something I don't? Do you have a private pipeline

into Bishop Cranmer's office?"
"All I have is my own opinion/' Dale said, "and I think it
would do UBS more harm than good to replace Corbett. He
and Inquiry are synonymous, so I think they'd take the
program off the air, if they had to, rather than put in a new
chief gabber."
"You may be gorgeous and some men, but
irresistible to
you're a trifle on the stupid Randy drawled. "Of
side, dear,"
course they'd take Inquiry off the air. But they have commer-
cial contracts, you know, so they'll use the old format, a new

name—and Maxie."
"Any time they try to drop Corbett, he'll fight back," Dale
said with conviction. "I've never known him to give up— in
anything."
"You ought to know."
"Never mind the cheap cracks," she said, flaring. "You
know I hate his guts because he expects me to roll over for
him whenever he snaps his fingers—"
"Which you do."
"—but I've had it. I've been offered another job—never
mind where— and I'd like to spit in Lester Corbett's face
before walk out of here. Just once."
I

"You have your chance," Randy said.

"Spell it out for me. Like you say, I'm stupid."
"We know that Corbett will resist any attempt to push
him out," Randy"Even though he pulled a boo-boo last
said.
night, he can't be given the shaft that easily, no matter how
much the brass might want him out. And there are forces at
work the other way. A dear friend of mine who works in the
art department of a certain advertising agency says that a
Noel B. Gerson 89

certain razor blade manufacturer is so ecstatic over what

happened last night that he'll pick up any segments of Inquiry
that other sponsors might drop."
"In that event/' Dale said, "you can forget about bidding
farewell to our Lester. He's like death, taxes and pot. Here to
stay."
A sly grin spread slowly across Randy's feline face. "Un-
less," he said, "the Great Man decides to split. All by him-
self."
"It'll never happen."
"It could be made to happen, dear." He caught a glimpse
of himself in one of the oversized mirrors, and seeming to lose
interest in everything else, concentrated on smoothing a wave
in the front of his hair.
Dale debated whether to return to her work, but her
was too great. "I'd love to know how Lester Corbett
curiosity
could be persuaded to give up a job that provides him with
prestige, power, a fortune, everything."
"He's vulnerable at this moment, right? All the people who
think Governor Winston is a marvel are starting to scream for
Corbett's blood. So it's simple. Prey on his known weak-

nesses,back him into a corner and then give him a choice.

Either he gets out gracefully, on his own, or his balls are cut
off."

"And how accomplished?" Convinced that he was

is all this
just talking for the pleasure of hearing his own voice, Dale
remained skeptical.
Blacks, Randy thought, were a suspicious race. Perhaps they
had good cause to disbelieve anything said to them, but they
could make life difficult. "A friend of mine and I were hashing
over the whole thing this morning while we had coffee to-
gether."
"The Swedish mermaid."
"Who'd like to be your friend."
"I can imagine," Dale said. It had been obvious to her from
 90 Talk Show
the momentMargarite Boe had walked into makeup that the
girlwas a Lesbian, and was interested in her. Not that Dale
minded an occasional fling with another woman; in fact, it
could be fun. But she was tired of giving herself to whites of
either sex who were looking for new jolts, and was determined
to gain a few satisfactions of her own.
"We're working on something," Randy said, "and we think
it can be made to jell. But we'll need some help from you."
"Urn," Dale said.
"You just finished telling me you want to spit in Corbett's
face. Either you do or you don't. Margarite and I are having
lunch at a French place way over on the West Side-
little

where we won't see a soul anybody knows. Join us, and work
this thing out with us, if you have the guts. Or else forget the
whole business. This is payoff time, dear, so either put up or
shut up."

Dick Hubbel fingered the spool of tape, then placed it in its

metal container and deposited it in a safe located in one

corner of his cluttered office. "I've directed more than three

thousand shows in this nutty business," he said, "but last

night's was priceless. I'm betting even money that the Bishop
and Stan will put us out in the cold."
Jeri Maynard, trim in a Pucci pantsuit, took a cigarette
from the box on his desk and waited for Dick to light it. "I
saw Stan for no more than five minutes this morning," she
said, "but he didn't sound as though we're going off the
air."
"Don't bet on it," Hubbel said. "I put out a few lines this
morning, and I can move over to that new situation comedy
show at NBC
any time I saw the word. It doesn't pay quite as
much but the work is steady, and the show will
as Inquiry,
stay on the air for years. What's more, I can bring my own
staff with me. Which means you, Jeri. As story editor, plus the

privilege of picking up a couple of thousand extra every

month by writing one segment out of four yourself."
Noel B. Gerson 91

Jeri didn't believe in subterfuge. "Why me?"

"Because you're good. An editor-writer who can keep In-
quiry floating can do anything. Not that all this is definite yet,
but what's your reaction?"
"Thanks, Dick. Ill think about it. But I don't believe it'll
go that far. Stan gave me strict orders to keep tonight's inter-
views bland. With not a word about drugs or Governor
Winston. So it doesn't sound to me as though we'll be can-
celed."
"Unless the Great Man kicks up his heels again. What got
into him last night?"
"I don't know/' Jeri said. "Honest. You needn't look at me
that way. Lester's entire outburst was spontaneous and un-
rehearsed, as we say in the trade. You could have bowled me
over, and I wish somebody had. With a large bulldozer. He
surprised me as much as he did you."
Hubbel peered at her. "You had no advance warning that
he was going have a tantrum?"
to
"None whatever. I was elected to break the news to him

about his son, which I did, and it wasn't easy. But he took it
quietly.Too quietly, it occurred to me later last night."
"He must have been nuts about the kid."
"He was. Everyone connected with Lester Corbett thinks
of him as an automaton who grinds out perfect interviews five
nights every week, forty-eight weeks every year. Well, he's a
human being, just like the rest of us, and just once in eight or
nine years he couldn't stifle the volcano."
"I've been directing the show for years," Hubbel said,
making a deprecating gesture, "but I never blow my cool on
the air."
Jeri became fiercely protective. "You're on the other side of
the cameras, Dick! I'm not decrying what you do, any more
than I'm running myself down. But you and I could be
replaced, and Lester Corbett couldn't. He's the one indis-
pensable ingredient that makes Inquiry what it is!"
Hubbel raised a hand. "Shalom," he said. "I surrender. I'm
 92 Talk Show
not attacking Les, Jeri. I'm just trying to find out why he went
off like a time bomb!"
"Lester does his job so efficiently that even-body is aston-
ished when he goofs. I know nothing about the guilts he may
feel toward his son, Dick. That's out of mv realm. \\ "hat I do
know is more sensitive and taut than anyone
that he's far
connected with the show realizes. The strain has been getting
to him latelv. I'm sure of that much."
Hubbel thought it the better part of discretion not to
mention the obvious, that Les had been sleeping around far
more indiscriminately of late, and that a number of em-
ployees were aware of his quickie affairs.

"Anyway, I don't see what's so criminal about last night/'

Jeri it was an extraordinary show."
continued. '"You'll admit
"Unique. The only trouble with it is that the man he was
T
slugging may be the next President of the L nited States."
The girl winced. "Don't rub it m." she said, and started
toward the door.
"Give mv offer lots of thought before you turn it down,"
Hubbel said.
"Any strings attached to it?" She smiled at him.
His gaze was as steady as it was sober. "You know what I

think of vou, Jeri, and have for a long time."

She looked away.
"However." he said, his tone becoming light, "this isn't the
time or place for a proposition, much less a proposal."
"Thanks, Dick. You know what I'd have to say to either
right now. when Lester is on the griddle. I'm not worried
about the future of Inquiry, which is what makes me different
from all the rest of vou. My one concern is Lester Corbett
himself. I've seen other people buckle under the pressures of
those damn cameras of yours, and I'm scared to death he may
be falling apart at the seams."

Three places were set in the private dining room in Edgar

Cranmer's office suite, and the moment Lester Corbett ap-
Noel B. Gerson 93

peared, the network president conducted him with

there,
Stan Friedlander bringing up the rear. No cocktails were
and there were no wineglasses on the table.
served,
"We're going to be dry today, huh?" Lester was amused.
"You fellows have it figured that I was stoned last night."
"Not necessarily," Cranmer said, waving the others to
seats.
"Ill have you know," Lester told him, "I haven't had a real
snootful in more years than I can remember. I won't deny I
might be building up to what will go down in the annals as a
monumental drunk, but I haven't done it yet."
Cranmer waited until a white-uniformed waiter served them
shrimp you were sober, Les, more's the pity."
cocktails. "If
"I've been in television," Stan said, "since McCann-Erick-
son went on the air with the first shows for Swift and
Company. Way back in forty-eight. So I suppose you could
say I've survived an average of two crises per week. But I've
never known a situation like this."
"The switchboard is still swamped," Cranmer said, "West-
ern Union is sending telegrams over by special truck, and the
mail that's already starting to come in may inundate us."
"I believe in making Inquiry a show that grabs people,"
Lester said, and grinned.
Neither of the others smiled, and Cranmer squeezed lemon
juice on his shrimp before he replied. "We're walking a thin
tightrope right now," he said. "Several of our directors are
screaming, and our Washington bureau tells me that a num-
ber of and congressmen— Winston's backers, of
senators
course— are demanding a full-dress investigation of the net-
work, particularly our talk shows."
"I'm not afraid of them," Lester said. "Let them call me
onto the stand, and I'll give them some testimony that will
blister them."
"Yes," Cranmer said, "weknow you will, which is one of
we want to avoid an investigation. The
the principal reasons
networks have been under too many attacks from too many
 94 Talk Show
quarters in recent years. We've become fair game for every
politician who Our board wants us to soft-
has an ax to grind.
pedal for the present. And/' he added, his voice becoming
firm, "that's precisely what we're going to do."
Lester looked at him, then at Stan. 'Translate into English
that ordinary guys like me can understand."
"Inquiry," Stan told him, "is going to avoid controversy as
itwould the bubonic plague for the next few months. We're
putting our audience on a diet of intellectual pablum. We'll
have no flaming issues, no confrontations and no hair-pulling
contests. That way, if we're lucky, we'll ride out the storm."
Lester had no appetite, but made a pretense of eating his
shrimp cocktail. "If I get the message, you want no follow-
through on Abe Winston and drugs."
They nodded, and Cranmer managed a small smile. "Cor-
rect," he said.
"I'm sorry," Lester told him, "but I can't oblige you,
Bishop. I'm willing to be reasonable. I'll wait a few days, and
give Winston time to look into my son's death. But if he
comes up with a whitewash of his own authorities, I'll blast
him. And I'll keep after him until he shrivels up and blows
away."
"You've had a frightful experience, Les, and the whole
country sympathizes with you. We sympathize. It's your privi-

lege as a private citizen to take any action you see fit, within
private means and the law. But Inquiry is a public forum, and
you can't use it for personal purposes."
Lester's jaw set. "Inquiry," he said, "happens to be my
forum. Public?To be sure. All television is public. Personal,
also?You damn well bet it is. There's nothing more intimate
than a TV camera, and all of us know it. Inquiry is the success
it is because Lester Corbett, an individual, invades millions of
living rooms every night and makes himself at home there.
I'm no stranger to my audience. They think of me as their
friend, their teacher, their confidant. Inquiry and I are one
Noel B. Gerson 95

and the same, indivisible. So, if you think I'll keep quiet
about Abe Winston on the air, and weasel by calling a press
conference at home to charge him with inept drug handling,
you're mistaken. At the appropriate time I'll use Inquiry as
my soapbox!"
They were removed their shrimp
silent while the waiter
and brought them the lunch of busy executives
cocktail plates
who found too little time to exercise— minute steaks and
salads with cheese dressing.
"I'm sorry if you showdown, Les," Cranmer
try to force a
said when the waiter had gone. "We're not going to let you do
it!"

"Can you stop me?"

"Yes, we can and will," Stan said. "And if you don't take
our word for it, call your lawyer. I spent a rather intense half-
hour on the phone with him this morning. Read the small
print in your contract, and you'll discover that the Universal
Broadcasting System has the right to prohibit you from dis-
cussing any subject, on the air, that the network deems
contrary to the public interest."
"I know of nothing more vital to the public interest than
the drug issue!" Lester exclaimed.
"In our opinion," Cranmer said. "UBS deems it inappro-
priate for you raise the issue on Inquiry."
Lester glared at him. "That's censorship."
"Call it what you will," Cranmer replied.
"It's a denial of my fundamental rights—"
"Rubbish," Stan said. "Don't talk crap, Les. Your personal
freedoms aren't being abridged or abused in any way, and you
know it. We're speaking of a strictly business agreement."
Lester hunched forward in his chair like a prizefighter ready
to strike. "Okay, keep this talk on a business basis. I
let's

stopped in to see Arthur Sampson on my way over here this

morning
—
"We know," Cranmer said, interrupting him. "And Artie
 96 Talk Show
assured you that Donald Murtaugh will buy up all the time
canceled by any other sponsor for his Ace of Spades razor
blades. Unfortunately for Artie, his clientand you, the net-
work wouldn't accept such saturation sponsorship from a man
of Don Murtaugh's political persuasions. We'd be accused of
running a propaganda program for the benefit of a splinter
political group opposed to the candidacy of Abraham Win-
ston. The Federal Communications Commission would leap
at our throats, and quite rightly. No network could afford that
blatant a display of partisanship!"
"You've got all the answers," Lester said, his manner un-
yielding. ''But you know what you can do with your contract.
Tear it up, gentlemen. CBS will be delighted to write me a
new one on my own terms."
"We haven't come to that just yet," Stan said, the oil he
intended to pour on the obviously troubled waters evident in
his voice. "There was an item on the noon newscast to the
effect that Governor Winston's commission investigating the
death of Lester Corbett, Junior has already gone to work. I
have great confidence in Abe Winston, and I'm sure he'll
come up with all the right answers and punish the guilty and
the negligent. So let's give him a chance to operate before we
start brandishing clubs and making threats. Okay?"
'Til wait a few days," Lester said, "but no more."

That night Inquiry

attracted one of the largest audiences in
its but the viewers were disappointed by the bland-
history,
ness of the program's fare. None of the guests were contro-
versial, and the interview material prepared by Jeri Maynard
carefully avoided anything that resembled an issue. Viewers
who beyond the surface agreed that Les Corbett
tried to see
rarely lost his cool. Certainly a stranger from another planet
wouldn't have known that the previous night's program had
rocked the entire United States.
Stan Friedlander and Dick Hubbel breathed separate and
Noel B. Gerson 97
collective sighs of relief and went off to their own homes.
Edgar Cranmer, who had watched the program from his Fifth
Avenue town house, poured himself a stiff nightcap and went
to bed. The lesser staff members scattered, some secretly
disappointed because of the lack of drama on the show.
Lester Corbett felt a sense of letdown, too; after the intense
excitements of the preceding twenty-four hours, tonight's
program had been anticlimactic. Although he wouldn't admit
it to anyone, he had been as surprised as everyone else by his

confrontation with Governor Winston. He could rationalize,

he supposed, and could guess that an overwhelming sense of
guilt had sneaked up on him, causing him to behave as he
had. But he still wasn't certain why he had launched the
vigorous attack on a man he had long admired.
One thing was certain: he was too restless to analyze his
own emotions, and knew only that he could not yield to
network pressure without losing at least a measure of the
freedom of action he prized. For better or worse, he would
have to stand firm, and would compromise only if Cranmer
and Stan came up with a formula that wouldn't cause him to
lose standing. The whole industry was watching him, and
when Inquiry went off the air, as it inevitably would someday,
he might want another program.
Seating himself in the barber chair in his private dressing
room, Lester leaned back against the headrest and closed his
eyes.
He didn't have long to wait for Dale Henry, who came in to
remove his makeup. "Loosen your tie and open your collar,"
she said. "I don't want to get cold cream all over your
clothes."
Lester obeyed. "Do me a couple of favors, baby. Hand me
the phone, and fix me a drink. Get one for yourself, too."
The girl went to the refrigerator for cubes, and mixed their
drinks.
Meanwhile he dialed his house in Westport. "Were you
 98 Talk Show
asleep, Grace? Uh-huh. How'd the show go? Look here, I
think I'llstay in town tonight. No, I haven't decided where.
Either 111 take a room at the Plaza or go down to the club.
I'm too tired for the ride home, but I'm not sleepy, either.
Talk to you tomorrow morning." He replaced the instrument
and held out
in the cradle, his hand for the drink.
Dale handed it to him.
He took a deep swallow, and almost choked on it. "What is

this— a whole glass of straight bourbon?"

"You looked asthough you needed it." She fastened a
small plastic sheet around his neck. "You get one more
swallow, and then close your eyes."
He raised the glass to his lips again, then leaned back in the
chair and allowed her to smear cold cream on his face. "Do
my tensions show that much?"
"They do to me. So you're going out on the town tonight."
"Maybe. I have no special plans."
Dale slipped a hand inside his shirt, and, with cold cream
on the tips of her fingers, toyed with his nipples.
'Too much," he said.
She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I could cook
up something special for you. Extra special. It'll be nice."
"What have you got in mind?" he asked, and grinned.
Dale wiped his chest with a towel so his shirt wouldn't
become soiled. "You've always said you've got more to offer
than any one woman can take. So I can fix you up with a
couple of us."
"Who besides yourself?"
"You know her. You had her the other night."
Lester's grin broadened. "The Swedish octopus!" The idea
of simultaneous love-making with a white girl and a black girl
appealed to him. Perhaps, after a strenuous, offbeat session,
he'd feel less up-tight. "It sounds like what I need," he said,
trying to appear nonchalant.
"That's what I figured. I promise you it'll be very special.
Brand-new."
Noel B. Gerson 99

"I doubt it. I've had it just about every way that's ever been
invented."
"You'll see." Dale began to wipe the makeup from his face.
"Margarite will meet us at an apartment downtown. In the
Village."
"Okay. You know where I park my car in the garage. See
you there in a few minutes."
"I think/' Dale said, "we'd do better to take a taxi down. It

isn't easy to find parking places."

Henodded, thinking of another reason. A great many
people recognized his Mercedes, and he had no desire to
advertise his whereabouts. "Suppose we meet at the back
entrance, then. On Sixth Avenue."
"Fine." Dale understood his caution. The rear door of the
building had to be unlocked by a guard at this time of night,
so everyone connected with Inquiry automatically used the
Fifth Avenue entrance when leaving the building. By using
the rear door, he was making certain they wouldn't see Jeri
Maynard when they left together.
The girl cleaned off her hands.
Lester looked at his watch. "Ten minutes," he said.
She refilled his glass, added a couple of ice cubes and left
his suite.
He dialed number, but she wasn't at her desk,
Jeri's office

so he but no one answered there, either.

tried the receptionist,
Apparently everyone, Jeri included, had gone. Lester was
inclined to be slightly miffed that Jeri had gone without
telling him, but, in all fairness to her, he hadn't said anything
about getting together after the program. So it was just as well
that there would be no complications, he reflected, and went
to work on his fresh drink.
Only a few people were still wandering around the UBS
studios when he left, and the night brigade of cleaningwomen
was taking over. The lobby was deserted, but Dale awaited
him at the Sixth Avenue entrance, and they found a cruising
taxi after a short wait. Dale told the driver the address, and
 100 Talk Show
took a cigarette from her shoulder bag as they started down
Fifth Avenue toward Greenwich Village.
Lester lighted it for her. "You must have read my mind
tonight/' he said. "Or some other part of me."
Dale snuggled close to him, and put a hand on his thigh.
"Well, hello/' she said.
"Hello/' said Lester, smiling at her, feeling as if he might
finally relax for the first time in what seemed many days.
"We're finally alone," Dale said.
Lester motioned with his eyes to the driver. "Not quite,"
he whispered. "But soon. Don't you worry. Soon."
Dale and Lester had been together in cabs before, and she
knew, and he knew she knew, that he never messed around in
them, always afraid, and with reason, that he would be
recognized by the driver and spoken of in some crude way if
he behaved crudely. Lester had many enemies in the business,
which delighted him, since the possession of enemies is a sign
of a man's stature. But this or any cab driver was a member of
his public, and his public must love and respect him. So he
had a rule: no screwing around in cabs and no screwing
around in restaurants, unless he were among people who
knew his appetites.
But Dale seemed mindless of the rule tonight.
She lay her head on his shoulder, and then, as she reached
up to nuzzle her lips in his neck, moved her hand up and
inside his thigh, until with the tips of her fingers she could
massage him.
She put her lips to his ear and said, "Grow."
''Later, damn it," Lester whispered, and took her wrist.
She turned her hand so that her palm was pressed against
him.
"Now," she said in a voice, which sounded
normal tone of
to Lester so loud in the quiet cab that he looked up into the
mirror to see if the driver were observing them. He had been,
though he turned his eyes away when he saw Lester's. Lester
Noel B. Gerson 101

was sure now that the cab driver must know who he was. He
felt trapped by Dale's impatience to get him aroused and his
own reluctance to perform in public.
And by his body's predictable reactions. For he was growing
long and hard within Dale's ever more insistent fingers.

"Don't. Please, baby." He tried once more, but his voice

was so low he wondered if she heard.
She seemed not to have, as she deftly moved her fingers
into the folds of his trousers, found his fly and opened it
without a hitch.
And while he did,
Involuntarily, Lester took a deep breath.
Dale exposed his penis and took it between both hands,
rubbing her palms together around it.
"Oh God!"
Lester hadn'tmeant to say a word. But, while both nervous
and angry, he was also very excited, and he noticed his
excitement had been communicated to the driver, who was
trying to see what was going on. Lester stared hard into the
mirror at the man's eyes, and the man looked back to the
traffic.

Lester wondered whether the driver, during his brief obser-

vation, had noticed the absence of Dale. She was now out of
the driver's line of vision, her head in Lester's lap, and her
long pink tongue had already made the most exquisite con-
tact.

Lester put both his hands into Dale's hair, whether to

restrain orencourage her he himself had no idea. All he knew
was that she was now all over him, and he was raising himself
in his seat to keep a rhythm with hers.
When he came, it was all he could do to keep from crying
out.
He lay back in the seat, aware only of Dale's dabbing him
with a tissue and of her giggling, which—he was glad of this,
at least— was muffled in his groin.
The taxi deposited them, finally, in front of an old brown-
 102 Talk Show
stone, and while Lester paid the driver. Dale preceded him
into the building. She had already rung the bell and was
opening the inner door. Lester held it for her, and had no
chance to look at the name of the tenant.
The apartment to which they climbed was a second floor
walk-through, and Margarite Boe, clad in a short wraparound
robe of white silk, awaited them at the door.
Lester embraced her, and slid one hand across her buttocks.
She was wearing nothing beneath the robe.
Dale led the way down three steps into the living room, and
as Lester inspected the place, Margarite handed him a strong
bourbon she had already prepared for him. He was feeling the
drinks Dale had made for him in his dressing room, but the
sense of recklessness, undiminished either by drink or orgasm,
still pervaded him, and he began to sip as he looked around.

The walls were done in black lacquer, the ceiling in red,

and drapes with a floral print in splashy red and black stood at
either side of a window bav. where at least a score of plants
rested on stands. A huge, low-slung divan in black velvet
dominated the chamber, and facing it stood two armless easy
chairs in red, with a low coffee table between them. The rug
that covered the better part of the floor was white, and was
very thick.
Abstract prints, some framed in red bamboo, some in black,
were hanging on the walls, and Lester barely glanced at them.
For a time he had collected abstract modern art, but didn't
understand it, so had abandoned the hobby. The carved
lamps that flanked the divan were modern, too, and it oc-
curred to him that they vaguely resembled male phallic sym-
bols.
"Whose apartment is this?" he asked, and laughed.
"A friend loaned it to us," Margarite said, her tone as vague
as her words.
He removed his jacket, which Dale took from him. "I'm
willing to bet it belongs to a faggot."
Noel B. Gerson 103

"What makes you think so?" Dale asked.

"I can always tell. No woman would go overboard this

much/'
"Are you an expert on homosexuals?" Margarite wanted to
know.
"Not exactly. I've devoted my life to a study of women."
He took another sip from his glass, then reached for her.
The blond moved beyond his grasp.
Lester pretended to be annoyed. "Coy little bitch, you are."
"You are in a hurry." Occasionally Margarite's Swedish
accent was pronounced, but only when she raised her voice.
Ordinarily she half-mumbled in the monotone that had made
her appearance on Inquiry something less than a total success.
"She's right," Dale said, curling up on a chair as soon as he
seated himself on the divan. "After all, we have all night."
"Do you think you can last that long?" he demanded.
The girls exchanged glances. "There are two of us and there
is only one of you," Margarite said, "so the odds against you

are not too good."

"Want to make a little wager? I'll still be coming on when
you two are crying for mercy." He chuckled at the thought.
"And I've already been through a pretty neat blow job."
"This is becoming interesting," Dale said, smirking. "What
would you like to bet? Money?"
"No, I don't want to take your cash," Lester said, draining
his glass, and became lost in thought.
Margarite immediately prepared him a refill.

"Aren't you two drinking?" Lester asked.

Dale's wave was casual. "Don't worry about us," she said.
"We'll catch up."
Her answer satisfied him, although he realized it was out of
the ordinary for both girls to abstain. The wager, however,
seemed far more important. "The losers of the bet," he said,
"willhave to do anything the winner wants. Even if it should
be something absolutely outrageous. Okay?"
 104 Talk Show
"That," Margarite assured him solemnly, with a glance at
Dale, "is a perfect bet!"
"There's just one thing I want clear all around." Dale was
more cautious. "You mentioned losers in the plural and
winner in the singular. Suppose it should be one loser, you,
and two winners, us."
"That," Lester said, "is the whole purpose of the bet. But I
never lose when it's a sure thing." He gulped the contents of
his glass, even though he knew he was drinking too rapidly,
then leaned forward to grasp Dale's arm, and pulled her to
him.
While they wrestled on the divan, Margarite quietly took
his glass to a portable bar at the far side of the room and
refilled it.

Lester pulled Dale to him, and, in spite of a struggle that

coated her cafe-au-lait skin with a film of perspiration, he
unzipped her dress and managed to remove it, leaving her in
panties and shoes.
She tried to escape, and almost succeeded, landing on her
feet and making an attempt to break away.
But he hauled her back and turned her over his knees. "You
need a little discipline," Lester said, his exertion causing him
to breathe hard. Holding her firmly, he paddled her backside
with his free hand, slapping her buttocks with considerable
force.
Margarite placed the fresh drink beside him, then watched
them, her pale eyes glistening.
Dale was in real distress. "Stop it, Les! That hurts!"
He replied by hauling down her panties and whacking her
bare bottom. "Admit that you've been a bad girl," he de-

manded.
The humiliation was too much for Dale, and she choked
back a sob. "Okay. I've been a bad girl." She stopped kicking,
and went limp.
Lester picked her up, rolling a nipple between finger and
thumb as he held her in his arms. "Where's the bedroom?"
Noel B. Gerson 105

Margarite opened a door, then followed, carrying his drink.

He dropped Dale on the bed, took a gulp of the drink as he
undressed, and then joined her, one hand moving up the
inside of her thigh as the other grasped a breast. "She's going
you are/' he told Margarite, who stood
to be ready long before
"Do you want her to win the contest?"
above them.
"What contest?" The blond kicked off her mules and
divested herself of the robe before dropping to the bed.
"I just thought of it." One hand between Dale's thighs,
Lester drew Margarite to him and began to nuzzle her breasts.
"Whoever is ready first gets first prize. Me."
Dale was gasping, and it was difficult for her to speak
distinctly. "What's second prize?"
"Also me." Lester's tongue played over the breasts of one
girl, and then he turned to the other.

Margarite tried to rise, but he hauled her back onto the bed
with his free hand.
"I just want to turn off the light," she said.
"I forbid it," Lester said. "Then I couldn't tell black from
white." He laughed loudly at his feeble joke, realized he was
drunk but didn't care.
Margarite locked her thighs around one of Lester's. "I do
not needmuch encouragement," she said.
Continuing to caress Dale, he shifted his position and
entered Margarite with a short, sharp thrust. "You get first

prize," he said, his ministrations to Dale becoming more

feverish. "But don't you worry, my black princess. In this
contest nobody loses!"
Margarite's legs snaked around his body, one beneath and
one above. "Must you talk so much?"
"End of conversation." Lester bent his head back to kiss
Dale's crotch while the rest of his body moved rhythmically,
each thrust becoming more violent.
Margarite moaned, and at almost the same instant Dale
sighed hoarsely as Lester slid his tongue deep within her.
For about a minute, the three of them writhed uncon-
 106 Talk Show
trollably. Dale lay stretched out on her back, so taut that her
ribs seemed ready to break through the skin. Lester's face was
buried upside-down between her legs, which she rapidly
opened and closed so that his tongue would be forced to move
with something of the feel of the real thing, which she was no
longer sure she preferred. Margarite, though on her side, felt
as if she could tolerate no more of Lester, were there any
more to tolerate. She was stuffed full of him. Her mouth was
wide open, as she knew it always was at this stage of screwing,
and from it came gasps that to Lester sounded like the high
brutal cries made by a dog that has just been hit by a car.
Lester paced himself to the rhythm of Margarite's frantic
yelps, and at the same time he let Dale make what use of his
tongue she would, though he felt she might pull his head
from his body if she didn't reach the top soon. He was aware
of a strong pressure in his chest and upper abdomen, as if
he were on the rack, half of him doing one woman's trick, the
other half trying to bring off a Scandinavian banshee whose
unintelligible screams now had turned to words she shrieked
at him: "Please please deep . . now I
. . . . . . . . . .

please oh
. . coming ... no ... no ... no .. push me
. . . . .

. . please
. deep .
."
. Then she did something to
. . .

him, she clenched some muscles, clenched them, relaxed

them, clenched them, and as Lester felt himself losing control
in her creamy manipulations, he arched his back, whipping his
stomach toward Margarite. This motion pushed his head into
Dale as though he wanted to lodge it forever between her
legs. Dale exploded, forcing Lester's tongue out of her at the

same time that she grasped his hair in both hands and pulled
his head up onto her stomach. Lester opened his eyes, closed
them immediately against the light, and gave in to Margarite,
who shuddered now as though freezing, went suddenly silent,
and came with a great insuck of breath, just as Lester sang
like a soprano as he shot with eight or ten rippling spasms
within her.
Noel B. Gerson 107

For five minutes no one moved or spoke, and then Dale

stirred. "My turn/' she said.
Margarite freed herself and moved out from beneath Les-
ter's leg.

"Give me a minute," he said, and reached out over Mar-

garite'sbody for his glass.
"Sweetie," Dale said, "either we do something now— right
this minute— or you lose the bet!"
Lester looked at her, bent down to kiss her knees and ran
his tongue up the length of her body. "If that's the way you
want it, I'm ready," he said, and mounted her.
Margarite materialized beside them and handed him still

another drink.
"I'm getting stoned," Lester said, taking the glass from her
and consuming almost half of the contents, "but nothing you
can do is going to stop me!"
Dale squirmed in ecstacy. "Do something!"
"Baby," he told her, "I'm going to screw you to the bed!"
His thrusts were even more savage than they had been with
the other girl, and the thoroughly aroused Dale replied in
kind. Meanwhile Lester managed to reach out, catch hold of
Margarite and haul her back onto the bed.
She was more interested in watching than in participating,
and tried to slide beyond his grasp.
But he gave her no chance, and his hands played up and
down her body as he screwed Dale, who responded with even
greater vigor than the other girl had shown, and her finger-
nails ripped Lester's back as she reached a climax.

His knees buckled, and he rolled clear. "Not bad," he

muttered, picking up his glass and emptying it. "Twice, with
two of you, in less than five minutes. And once"—he glared
at Dale— "in the cab."
They watched him in knowing silence as he dozed off.
The next half-hour remained hazy in Lester's mind. Even
 108 Talk Show
the next day, when he tried hard to remember everything that
had happened, he could recall only snatches.
He knew, vaguely, that he was in a bathroom, and that the
girls were smearing a white, creamy substance on his arms,

legs and body. Then they stood him in a stall shower, leaning
him against the tile wall, and turned on the water. He became
wide-awake long enough to see quantities of body hair dis-
appearing in a froth down the drain, and realized, briefly, that
they had used some sort of depilatory on his body.
He napped again, and half-dreamed he was sitting in his
own studio dressing room, and that Dale was making him up
for the night's Inquiry program. But, it developed, he was
reclining in a tub filled with water, and was drowning in a
scent that enveloped him.
'That stink," he muttered, "is like an old-fashioned New
Orleans bordello."
Dale's voice was soothing. "No bordello was ever like this.

But don't worry, sweetie. We'll take care of you."

He distinctly remembered that they dried and powdered
him, applying quantities of powder to his genitals and giggling
while they worked.
There was another time and then he heard Margarite
lapse,
say, "There, that is was not easy."
done, but it

Lester realized he was holding a fresh drink in his hand, but

he had to concentrate for a moment or two, wriggling his
fingers, before he knew it was his own hand. Long, tapering
fingernails, painted silver, had been affixed to his own, and
there were rings on three or four of his fingers, as well as
several jangling bracelets on his wrist.
He made an effort to orient himself when he saw that the
girls were dressing him in frilly, black panties, a matching,
padded bra and sheer, black pantyhose. "What's the gag?" he
demanded.
"Take it easy, sweetie," Dale said. "We'll soon be done."
Lester made an attempt to free himself, but his body would
Noel B. Gerson 109

not respond to his demands, and he felt unutterably weary.

"Who put a mickey in my drink?"
"No one/' Margarite assured him. "You've had nothing but
bourbon.
"And here's some coffee. " Dale handed him a large, steam-
ing mug. "We don't want you to miss the fun, sweetie."
Lester gulped the black coffee, occasionally placing the mug
on a table besidehim as they sat him down, stood him
upright and then sat him down again. Unless he was losing his
wits, he thought, they were clothing him in a semisheer
woman's blouse with a silver sheen, a maxiskirt with a silver
cast and a wide belt of silver leather. He knew he wasn't
dreaming when the belt bit into him and drew taut, making it
difficult for him to breathe freely.

"Hold yourself in," Margarite said, "and you'll make out all
right. All of us suffer for the sake of beauty."
While he tried to digest her remark, he saw Dale putting a
pair of old-fashioned, spike-heeled pumps on his feet.
"Upsy-daisy," she said, helping him stand and placing the
strap of a silver kidskin bag over his shoulder.
Margarite turned him around, and he gaped in astonish-
ment Not only was he
at his reflection in a full-length mirror.
clad completely in female attire, but was wearing a shoulder-
length woman's wig of streaked blond. And Dale had given
him a feminine makeup, complete to the last detail: he wore
eyeliner and shadow, a hint of rouge over a delicate base, a
gleaming lipstick with a pearl-like cast, and long, fringed
eyelashes that made it almost impossible for him to recognize
himself.
"Adorable," Dale said, speaking with conviction.
"Irresistible," Margarite said.

The powerful scent nauseated Lester. "That stink is going

to make me sick."
Dale fed him the rest of the coffee. "It's a very expensive
 110 Talk Show
perfume, and you're wearing it. What you need is some fresh
air."
Before he quite realized what was happening, they hustled
him out the front door of the apartment and down the stairs.
He tried to resist, but had to concentrate on walking in the
stiltlike shoes for fear that he would tumble down the entire
flight. His head began to clear, and he demanded, "What the
hell is the big joke?"
"You lost the bet," Dale said.
It moments for her statement to sink in, and by
took a few
then they had reached the curb, where he saw Margarite
trying to hail a taxi.
"I don't remember losing." He breathed the balmy air, and
felt steadier, but at the same time almost giddy too, strangely
reckless.
"Well, you did. We
wanted more, but you passed out. The
loser must do whatever the winners want, and this is what we
want." Dale patted him on the rump. "Cheer up, sweetie.
You have a cute behind. And if I do say so, my makeup job
makes you positively drip with glamour."
A taxi pulled to the curb, girls seated Lester between
the
them and Dale gave the an address he couldn't hear.
driver
"Where the hell are you taking me?" he asked.
There was no reply, and the taxi moved off at a rapid clip.
"Look," he said, "I don't mind a joke, and this is a good
one. On me. But I can't go running around town in this
getup. Can you imagine what the newspapers would do to
me?"
"Some girls," Dale said, her tone impersonal as she put a
hand on his groin, "talk too much."
"There are ways to silence them," Margarite replied im-
personally, and curling an arm around Lester's neck, dipped
her fingers beneath the bra, then ran her fingertips over his
nipple.
They continued to caress him, their intensity increasing
Noel B. Gerson I 1

when he responded. He was even more annoyed with himself

than he was with them when he found his ardor rising.
Both girls became still more insistent.
Lester knew he would have a real struggle on his hands if
he tried to break free, and was afraid the commotion would
cause the driver to find the nearest policeman. He shuddered
as he pictured the headlines: "CORBETT ARRESTED AS
TRANSVESTITE. TV Star Woman When Ap-
Garbed As
prehended"
"For God's sake/' he gasped, "cut it out!"
"Some girls are just too passionate for their own good."
Dale's manner was reproving, but she mercifully released
him.
"Even in my country, where sex is permissive, we know
about the wages of sin." Margarite withdrew, too.
Lester tried to join in their laughter, but his voice shook.
Dale studied him. "Sweetie," she said, "pull your skirt
down and your bra up." Before he could move she straight-
ened the hem at his feet, then tightened the bra strap on one
side.

"The blouse has more allure with the third button open,"
Margarite said.

"You're right," Dale agreed. "We should have noticed it

earlier, but that wardrobe was mammoth. You have no idea,"

she told Lester, "how hard it was to choose for you. We've
never seen so many clothes."
He felt more certain than ever that the apartment belonged
to a homosexual, but there were more important matters on
his mind. Glancing down, he saw the bra showed on both
sides of the opened blouse, and tried to fasten the button
with a hand that trembled.
"Naughty!" Dale slapped his hand away. "We know better
than you what's sexy."
The taxi jolted to a halt, Margarite paid the driver and they
 112 Talk Show
moved onto the sidewalk in an unfamiliar neighborhood, the
two girls flanking Lester.
Dale guided him to a door, and they found themselves in
the entrance of a dimly lit nightclub. Tables and a tiny dance
floor were crowded, and at least ten or fifteen couples were
dancing to music supplied by a stereo.
'Take short steps," Dale murmured, her lips close to Les-
ter's ear. "And don't gallop. Swing your behind, and you'll

catch on to the rhythm of a woman's walk. Be careful,

sweetie," she added, surreptitiously pinching his buttocks.
"You don't want anyone here to find out you're the Lester
Corbett in drag."
Lester wanted to rub the spot that smarted, but didn't dare,
and instead he followed her instructions, his steps mincing
and his hips swaying slightly. He felt like a complete fool, but
knew she was right. If anyone here discovered his impersona-
tion, the resulting scandal could mean the end of his career on
the air.

A maitre conducted them to a corner table at the far side of

the room, and the two girls allowed Lester to precede them.
He could hear them snickering as they followed.
"Very funny," he grumbled when he finally sank into a
corner chair.
Dale surveyed him. "Comb your hair and freshen your lip-

stick. You could stand a smidgin of powder on your nose, too,

but don't try it unless you think you can get away with it. The
rest you can handle without too much trouble."
He fumbled in the kidskin bag, where he found lipstick, a
compact, a comb and a pack of tissues that had been
drenched in the strong perfume. Making a supreme attempt
to look natural, he combed the sides of the wig, and, using the
little mirror in the compact, applied lipstick.
By the time he was finished, he found a double bourbon on
ice in front of him.
"That," Margarite said, lifting her own glass in a toast, "is

your reward. You see how nice it is when you behave?"

Noel B. Gerson I 13

Lester downed half of his drink in a single swallow. "I saw

that there's no money in the bag," he said, "not even a dime
for a phone call. You've really got me where you want me."
There was cruel pleasure in the laugh that greeted his
comment.
He glanced sharply at Dale. "Was all this planned? You
me at the office it was
told going to be an unusual night!"
"Try to speak in a mezzo/' she said. "That baritone makes
you conspicuous in the wrong way."
"Not only are you a couple of bitches/' Lester retorted,
"but you framed me!"
Margarite signaled to the waiter for another round of
drinks.
Dale ignored the fuming Lester. "What do you think of
this place?"
"It is exactly as you described it/' Margarite replied. "Very
nice."
"What made it particularly right tonight/' Dale said, "is

that singles and other unescorted women are welcome, but it

isn't too rowdy, and it isn't a dump."

Lester started on his fresh drink as soon as it arrived. "Now

that you've had your jolts," he said, "let's get to hell out of
here."
At the moment a balding man approached the table, his
paunch bulging under his blazer, and asked Margarite to
dance.
"I'm so sorry," she said, "I have suffered a twisted ankle.
But my friend here has been dying to dance."
when she gestured in his direction.
Lester froze
The man moved to a place behind his chair and held it,

making it necessary for Lester to stand and walk toward the

dance floor. Above the babble of voices and the sounds of the

music he could hear the intense, suppressed laughter of the

two girls.
Turning as he reached the floor, he had to think for a
moment before deciding which hand to raise. But his partner
 114 Talk Show
solved the problem by placing both hands around his waist
and clasping his back. Lester was as furious as he was humili-
ated, but two problems were solved for him. The music was
deafening, making conversation impossible, and the floor was
so crowded that couples merely shuffled and swayed in time to
the recorded orchestra.
Dale was dancing, too, and when she passed Lester, her
face only inches from his, she winked at him.
He didn't want her to know how miserable he felt, and
tried to return the gesture, but froze when he felt the artificial
lashes brushing against his cheek.
Suddenly his partner's hands slid lower and grasped him by
the buttocks, at the same time pulling him suffocatingly closer.
Lester made an attempt to suffer the indignity, but the
intimate bear hug was too much for him. Resisting the
temptation to drive a fist into the man's face, he finally
brought a stiletto heel down on his partner's instep, driving it
with full force.

The man's hands immediately dropped to his sides.

"It's really too crowded to dance," Lester said, and leaving
the floor, hurried back to the corner table, barely remember-
ing in time to take small steps.
"Nobly done," Dale said, laughing so hard she could
scarcely speak.
Margarite pointed to another drink at Lester's place.
He immediately raised it to his lips. "I won't do that
again," he said, "even if the whole damn place finds out who I

am."
"Attractive women," Dale told him, her manner serene,
"become accustomed to passes. It's a normal part of life."
Lester grinned feebly. "This seems to be a night of crises.

Right now I've got to go to the bathroom."

"Directly behind you." Margarite nodded to a door marked
Ladies.
He hesitated, knew he had no choice and stood.
Noel B. Gerson I 15

"Don't forget this/' Dale told him, handing him the silver

shoulder bag.
I'm stoned, he thought as he made his way powder
into the
room, and his verdict was verified by the double image
he saw in the full-length mirror. All at once an urgent desire
to assert his masculinity swept over him, and as he went into
the inner cubicle he made up his mind that he would urinate
in his usual manner, standing.
But he quickly discovered that the panties and pantyhose
were too binding, hobbling him when he hauled them down,
so he was forced to sit.
The swinging door of the cubicle opened, and Dale looked
in. "Just wanted to make sure you're okay, sweetie," she

said.
Another wave of shame overcame Lester when he realized
she was amused by the sight of the lowered undergarments
that peeked from beneath his long skirt. "Go to hell," he said,
and flushed the toilet.
Dale insisted on helping him pull up the panties and
stockings, and managed to caress him thoroughly in the
process. Then she sat him in a chair in front of the mirror,
opened the kidskin bag and swiftly repaired his makeup.
They returned to the table together, and Margarite pointed
to yet another drink at Lester's place. "This is the last you'll
get here," she told him. "Soon we are going home."
The end of his ordeal was in sight, he thought. "Thank
God for that." The contents of the glass vanished.
Margarite paid their bill, and Lester found it necessary to
concentrate as he negotiated the distance between the table
and the sidewalk outside. They had to wait some time for a
taxi, and the fresh air helped, but Lester knew it wasn't

enough. He was not only drunk, but would remain at the

mercy of these female pranksters until he could remove the
absurd makeup and recover his own clothing.
When they finally entered the taxi, the girls again made
 116 Talk Show
certain that Lester was seated between them. "Last time you
had most of the pleasure/' Margarite told Dale. "Now it is

my turn." Not waiting for a reply, she moved a hand up

Lester's inner thigh.
"I'm not complaining." Dale slid a hand inside the silver
blouse.
Lester knew he had norecourse, and sat very still, letting
them and toy with him as they pleased. Not only was
caress
he in drag, but he was sufficiently intoxicated to make a
thoroughly disreputable appearance if the night ended at a
precinct police station. He would have to bear their ministra-
tions.
They appeared determined to make him as uncomfortable
as possible, and gradually their caresses became more in-
sistent, more demanding.
"This part," Margarite said, sounding objective, "is squirm-
ing."
Dale was calm, too. "So is this."
The ordeal seemed endless, but at last the taxi drew to a
halt. Lester discovered he was trembling so hard he could
negotiate the stairs only by holding the rail.
Margarite had already opened the door by the time he
reached it. "Another drink?" she asked.
"I need a breather," Lester told her, and headed toward the
divan. The high heel of a pump proved to be his undoing on
the thick rug, and he stumbled, pitching forward.
Dale, who was already sitting, caught him as he fell, and
deftly rolled him over on her lap, face down.
Lester saw her flash a triumphant smile at Margarite.
"You've had too much to drink," she said, her tone severe.
"I hope you realize it."
Lester felt her raising the long skirt, then tugging at the
pantyhose and panties, but he had no idea what was in store.

"How much is too much?" he and laughed.

asked,
Dale remained stern. "Naughtiness must be punished," she
Noel B. Gerson 117

said, and removing his wide, silver belt, brought it down

smartly on his bare buttocks.
Lester tried to free himself, but discovered that Margarite
had seated herself on the floor at his head. She caught hold of
his wrists,and was so strong that he could not break her grip.
Struggling in vain, he could only kick his legs, and the mental
picture of the high-heeled pumps thrashing in midair was so
ludicrous that he desisted.
Dale continued to spank him with enthusiasm as well as
enough vigor to make his backside sting. "I'm not going to
stop," she said, "until you admit you've been bad."
His degradation was complete, and he groaned. "Okay! I
admit it!"

There was a wild note in her laughter. "You've been a bad

girl?"

"Yes." He was feeling real pain now.

"Then say it."

"I've been a bad girl," Lester muttered.

Dale immediately moved out from beneath him, flipped
him over onto his back with Margarite's assistance, and pulled
the skirt up to his waist. Then, in almost the same motion,
she mounted him, sitting upright as she would on a horse.
Laughing again, she unhooked the black bra in front and ran
her fingertips back and forth across his nipples. "Now," she
said, the lower portion of her body beginning to gyrate, "Ym
going to screw you to the bed!"
Lester reached for her breasts.
She pushed his hands aside, brushed his nipples with her
fingertips and began to fondle them. "Relax and enjoy the
ride, sweetie," she said. "I'm in charge."

Margarite laughed.
Lester knew they were mocking him, and made an attempt
to assert himself by coordinating his hip movements with
Dale's. Her weight bore down on him, making the feat
 118 Talk Show
difficult, but he braced himself on his elbows, and eventually
achieved a measure of control.
"You want to play rough?" she asked, and bending down,
nipped his nipples with her teeth.
Lester was startled, and for a moment stopped moving.
Dale chose that instant to let him enter, and resumed her
fondling. "Now we'll see," she said, and launched a series of
convulsive thrusts.
Again he tried to regain control, but she had the advantages
of position and the initial momentum, and he realized he
could not attain his objective without completely interrupting
the rhythm. So he abandoned the effort, and accommodated
his relatively slight movements to hers.
"That's more like it," Dale said, increasing the power and
speed of her thrusts.
Her advice had been good, he thought groggily, and al-
lowed her to take command. His desire mounted swiftly, and
through half-closed eyes he could see that Dale was working
herself into a passionate frenzy, too.
They reached a climax simultaneously.
Dale did not lie down beside him on the divan, however;
instead she climbed to her feet and sprawled in an easy chair,
a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
Lester felt drowsy, and closed his eyes. Then he felt some-
thing descend on him and opened them again, to discover
that Margarite had mounted him, replacing Dale.
"Now, my dear," she said, "you will learn the real disci-
plines of love."
"Give me a chance to catch my breath," Lester said. "I'm
not a computer."
The girl regarded him in silence for a long moment. "I have
with me," she said at last, "a marvelous device I bought in
Copenhagen. Perhaps it would be more instructive— and
afford both of us as much pleasure— if I turn you over and use
it."

He was horrified by the thought that she might use a false

Noel B. Gerson I 19

penis on him. "I want it this way," he said. "All I ask is a

minute or two."
There was contempt in her smile. "Dale," she said, "our
little friend needs another drink."
If there was anything he didn't want,it was more liquor,

but he desperately needed the respite, and remembering the

workout he had given Margarite the last time they had spent
a night together, he felt certain she intended to obtain ven-
geance.
Dale brought him a tumbler of bourbon, with a single ice
cube in it.
Lester tried to raise himself to a half-sitting position in
order to drink but Margarite was pinning his arms to the
it,

divan. He struggled in vain, and knew the night's exertions

had left him too weak to win a wrestling match with someone
whose vocation as an undersea diver required her to keep
herself in superb physical condition.
"I suggest," Margarite said, still straddling him, "that you
administer the restorative."
Dale couldn't stop giggling as she knelt beside him to feed
him the drink.
He felt a fresh wave of humiliation when he could lift his
head no more than a few inches, so binding was Margarite's
grasp. In spite of all he had consumed, he was aware of their
total scheme for the night: they were going to every imag-
inable extreme to make him conscious of the fact that they
were using him, that he was a sex object who existed solely for
their gratification, and that his own desires were of no rele-
vance to them.
He took a large swallow of the liquor, coughed and swal-
lowed again.
"Enough," Margarite ordered. "I do not want you to be-
come so drunk you will not remember what happens here." She
jiggled slightly, teasing him, and rubbed back and forth across
him.
"I'm not likely to forget," Lester said.
 120 Talk Show
"The other night when we slept together/' Margarite said,
"I did not enjoy the experience. I liked it no better earlier
tonight. Do you know why?"
He the first signs of becoming physically aroused, and
felt

had toadmit she knew what she was doing. "Sure. You like to
be at the helm."
"That is part of the truth, but only part. I do not like to
sleep with men. But for these past hours you have ceased to
be man. For a time you have become a woman. You look like
a woman, even when you are partly undressed, and your
smooth skin is like that of a woman. So you excite me."
"Anything to oblige," Lester said, but his bantering tone
could not conceal the shame he felt. She was not letting him
forget that, even in dishabille, he resembled a transvestite in
drag. Had his hands been free he would have torn off his wig
and false eyelashes.
"You are not merely a woman," Margarite said, speaking in
a low but distinct voice. "You are my woman." She released
him for a moment to cup his face in her hands, her strong
fingers biting into his flesh, and then grasped his arms again.
She was in earnest, Lester knew, and was speechless. In her
mind he had become transformed into a female.
Margarite lowered the upper portion of her body onto him,
her thighs continuing to straddle his, and sought his mouth.
The instant his lips parted, her tongue entered his mouth.
He remained passive for a time, allowing her to tease and
provoke him, but as his own interest quickened, he tried to
respond.
She would not permit him to place his tongue inside her
mouth, however, and insisted on retaining the initiative until
his jaws ached. Her bites were becoming sharper, and his
lips and tongue felt sore, but when he tried to avert his head

to gain a brief respite, she held him more firmly and became
more demanding as she imposed her will on his.
Suddenly Lester felt her prying his legs apart with a knee.
Noel B. Gerson 121

He resisted, but in vain; her physical strength was equal to

his, and she held the upper hand, literally as well as figura-

tively, so he was forced to give in.

When Margarite assumed the masculine position and he

sprawled on his back, his legs wide apart, his surrender was
complete.
She raised her head for a moment. "Now," she murmured,
"you shall see."
He realized she had begun a series of gyrating movements,
and responded in kind.
"Hold still!" she commanded.
Lester continued to wriggle.
Again she raised herself to one elbow, and with her free
hand slapped him hard across the face.
The unexpected blow, combined with the liquor he had
consumed, dazed him.
"When I give an order," she said, "you will obey it. Do you
understand?"
Unable to reply in words, he nodded.
The gesture spurred her to greater activity. Lowering her-
self again, she teased him mercilessly with her pelvic move-

ments, approaching and withdrawing, caressing his body with

hers.
He discovered that, with his legs far apart, he was com-
pletely helpless. And he began to sense, dimly, the reactions a
woman felt in sexual intercourse. His partner was not only
setting the pace, but was doing with him as she pleased,
imposing her will on his, and he had no recourse. He was
being compelled to accept anything that gave her sensual
pleasure, to accommodate himself to her whims and desires.
At last Margarite permittedhim to enter, and releasing his
arms, slid her hands beneath him and clutched his buttocks.
Lester felt almost suffocated by her weight pressing down
on him, yet her strong, firm thrusts continued to arouse him
to greater heights. Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he
 122 Talk Show
pawed at her back, and the long, false fingernails that Dale
had affixed to his hands raked her flesh.
This intensified her illusion that she was making love to
another woman, and her own desire became unbearable, her
thrusts growing wilder and more demanding.
As they approached a climax she possessed him completely,
then took him.
Lester was so exhausted he could not move.
Margarite rested for a time, her body still on his, and then
raised herself up to kiss him tenderly on his puffed lips. "My
dear," she said, "you're a good lay."
He knew she intended the remark to be insulting, but he
no longer cared, and drifted off to sleep.
Dale handed the other girl a fresh drink, and Margarite
grinned at her, sat in the other easy chair and stretched out
her legs.

The bedroom door, which had been ajar, opened wide, and
Randy Warren came into the room, a portable television
camera in his hand.
Although both of the girls were unclad, neither made any
attempt to cover herself in his presence.
"Well?" Dale demanded.
There was glee in Randy's shrill laugh. "What perfor-
mances! Marvy! And our reluctant queen," he added, gestur-
ing in the direction of the sleeping Lester, "was just perfect."
"It has been quite a night," Margarite said.
"That spanking bit was hilarious," Randy said. "I laughed
so hard I almost dropped the camera. I didn't think you'd be
able to work it in, but it went off as smoothly as if it had been
rehearsed. And what a reaction! I'd like to show the spanking
scene at a gay party this weekend."
"Don't you dare!" Dale exclaimed.
"Really!" he said. "That tape is too precious to take any
chances with it!"

"You got everything?" Margarite asked.

Noel B. Gerson 123

"From the time Dale started her makeup job to the final
passing-out scene. All I missed was what happened in the
taxis-"
"Too bad/' Dale said. "He was petrified and sexed up, all at
the same time."
"It doesn't matter. I got hours and hours of footage/'

Randy "Although I'm not sure how the scenes at the

said.
disco will turn out. It was so dark there that even this fan-
tastic camera may not have been able to record it all. But no
matter. Wehave all that we need— and more."
They watched him as he removed a spool of tape from the
camera, placed it in a box containing a number of other
spools, and then carefully put the camera on a closet shelf.
"I'm on my way/' Randy said. "Just be sure you get our
little friend out of here by 7:00 a.m. The building starts

coming to life at eight."

"You can depend on us/' Dale said. "We'll have him
cleaned up, looking like himself again and in his own clothes
by the time he wakes up, and he'll be gone no later than
seven. We won't let any details trip us up at this stage of
things."
"I can't wait until later in theday to see the tapes," Randy
said ashe headed toward the door. "I left my projector at the
apartment of a friend, and I'm going to run off the whole
footage right now."
Margarite followed him to the door and locked it again
after he departed. "Tired?" she asked.
Dale shrugged, then felt the other girl staring at her, and
smiled lazily. "Not too tired," she said, and led the way into
the bedroom.

The Louis XV furniture in the living room of the Plaza

Hotel suite positively leered at Lester, who sprawled in a
chair, drinking scalding, black coffee and averting his eyes
from the closed blinds, through which far too much sunlight
 124 Talk Show
filtered in. A copy of a Mme. Du Barry portrait, showing the
buxom lady in a low-cut gown, was a reminder of the absurd
costume he had been forced to wear. A satyr chased a nymph
in a Gobelin tapestry, and he couldn't help thinking of
Margarite. A woman in an elaborate hairdo smiled at him
from the decorative top of an enameled clock, and he re-
membered the ridiculous wig that had been crammed onto his
head for hours.
He finished his coffee, even though it burned the inside of
his lacerated, raw mouth, and hauled himself to his feet, then
tottered to the roll-away breakfast table for more. His head
felt as though it was being torn from his neck in what was the

most monumental hangover he had suffered in years, and he

knew he needed more sleep as well as a great deal more coffee
before he would feel like himself again. He probably needed a
double Bloody Mary, too, but the mere thought of liquor
caused him to gag.
Nothing, however, could rid him of the shame that suffused
his being. His memories were disjointed, but bits of the
preceding night came back to him. The way those two bitches
had pawed him in the taxi. The utter degradation of dancing
in the night club and going to the ladies' room. He clenched
impotent rage as he recalled the spanking that Dale
his fists in
had administered. And he buried his head in his hands at the
memory of the lay Margarite had forced on him. My God, he
thought, she actually raped me.
"And that's not all," he muttered aloud. 'They might as
well have cut my balls off."
It was useless, perhaps, to tell himself that he could have
handled the situation had he been sober, that he wouldn't
have wallowed in a helpless morass of ridicule had he been
able to think clearly and coordinate physically. What had
happened couldn't be undone.
Hating the two girls who had mocked his masculinity was
no answer, either, and didn't make his own sense of guilt any
Noel B. Gerson 125

easier to bear. He knew he had no one but himself to blame,

and could find no justification for what he had allowed to
happen to him. It was a cheap excuse to tell himself that he
had allowed young Lester's death to unhinge him; last night
had nothing whatever to do with his son's dying. A real man
would have become stronger, and wouldn't have degenerated
into a mass of self-pitying blubber.
Certainly he had done nothing to honor Lester, Junior's
memory. And he accomplished nothing positive by taking
part in a perverted orgy that hadn't given him even momen-
tary pleasure.
The trouble,he thought, wearily undressing and drinking
the black coffee, was that life had become far too easy for

him. He earned too much money, he had acquired too much

fame and he didn't really have to work very hard for either his
salary or position in the world. His insatiable appetites had
made him a half-man, and regardless of what the rest of
humanity might think of him, he would always carry with
him the knowledge that he was contemptible.
Dragging himself into the bedroom, ashamed to look at his
hairless body in the full-length mirror, he tumbled into bed
and dropped off into a light sleep that was interrupted by
flashes of nightmare memories he would never be able to
erase.
 members of Abraham Winston's staff breathed
Ihe
individual and when Bill Blaisdell cut
collective sighs of relief
short his trip to the West Coast, where he had gone to line up
the California, Oregon and Washington delegations. The
governor's executive secretary, the bearded, shaggy Blaisdell,
arrived in Columbus from Los Angeles less than twenty-four
hours after his employer's catastrophic appearance on Inquiry,
and by 10:00 a.m. the following day he was ready for action.
Key staff members filed into the tiny cubicle he called his
office, and he greeted them with growls, a sure sign that he

was functioning at top speed. Then someone closed the door,

and the meeting began.
"I'm not putting the finger on any of you for what hap-
pened in New York," Blaisdell said. "Foul-ups are part of the
fun of politics, but I needn't remind you that this one is on
us. And if we lose a sure thing at the convention because of it,

a lot of people will be out of jobs. Ken," he said to the press

secretary, not pausing for breath, "your original statement was
too bland. You should have come out of your corner swinging
at Lester Corbett."

126
Noel B. Gerson 127

"I tried to take the dignified approach, Bill. I didn't want

to indulge in personalities."
"Holy Lord!" Blaisdell's thick beard quivered. "One out of
four Americans saw Abe Winston crucified by a cardboard
idol who isn't worth the print on a bubble-gum card, and you
talk about avoiding personalities. Jimmy/' he continued, turn-
ing to the appointments secretary, "you should have taken the
governor straight to Washington for a conference with the
narcotics people at the Treasury. Oh, I know. A waste of time.
But you'd have given the public the impression that we were
doing things. Important things." Leaning back in his chair, he
placed his feet on the desk and bared his teeth in the smile
the others had learned to dread.
"Our peerless leader," the press secretary said, "is taking
command of the charge up San Juan Hill."
Blaisdell's expression did not change. "Grass will grow
under my feet," he said, "when I'm laid out in a pine box.
Which hasn't happened yet. I've been moving on several
fronts. First, a bipartisan bill is being offered in both the
Senate and House in Washington today, preventing malicious
attacks on public figures who appear on nationally televised
programs for purposes of making their views better known."
The press secretary whistled under his breath. "The net-
works will approve because they have no choice, and the FCC
will offer the bill full support."
"Naturally," Blaisdell said, "or so I've been assured this
morning by all the networks and two representatives of the
FCC. To go on. The commission investigating the death of
young Corbett make a full-dress report to Abe tomorrow.
will
No later than noon."
Helen Ferguson, the governor's private secretary and the
onlywoman present, shook her head. "How is that possible?"
she asked in her dry, schoolteacher's voice.
"Because I've spoken to members of the commission,"
all

Blaisdell replied grimly. "Tomorrow noon. Or else. They

 128 Talk Show
wanted more plainclothes help, and they've got it. Ten of the
best agents in the business, including three former FBI men/'
"I suppose you know what the report will say/' the ap-
pointments secretary muttered.
Blaisdell raised a shaggy brow. ''Sure. The present guber-
natorial administration is you ask me how I
blameless. And if

know, the answer is simple. Abe Winston has been death on

drug peddling, and all of us know it. The reason we work for
this guy is because we believe in him and everything he stands
for. He's great, and he'll be the best President this country has

had in more than twenty-five years."

"Watch the votes roll in," the press secretary said.
"and the commission's report
"I intend to," Blaisdell said,
will make certain there are one hell of a lot more of those

votes. Next point. I had a chat last night with a very dear
friend of mine."
The others laughed. It was a standing joke that the execu-
tive secretary had, strategically placed, very dear friends in

ever} part of the

7
United States.
"Which one was Helen Ferguson wanted to know.
this?"
Blaisdell's habitual scowl creased his face. "He owns and
operates the most efficient private detective agency in the
country. Last night I turned him loose on Lester Corbett."
The when he paused.
others waited expectantly
"I had an interim report from him a few minutes ago."
Blaisdell consulted some notes written in a hand that only he
could decipher. "For the past year and a half Corbett has
been having an affair with a woman who works on his pro-
gram. A blond named Jeri Maynard. Does that ring any bells?"
The press secretary leaned forward in his chair. "You bet!
And a very classy dish she is. Beautiful but smart as they
come. She's the chief writer on Inquiry, and from what I saw
of her, she's responsible for the show's success."
"That's the one," Blaisdell said.
 Noel B. Gerson 129

The press secretary gave him no chance to continue.

"Where do you want me to plant the story, Bill? I suggest—"
"Forget it," Blaisdell said, "and start using your brains,
Ken. If any. Holy Lord! If we
hang a guy for shacking
try to
up with a beautiful, sharp dollie who happens to be on his
payroll, Corbett will be the envy of every American male over
twenty-five. He'll get sent to the White House instead of
Abe!"
The press secretary was bewildered.
"It seems there are other women in the picture, too. Cor-
bett does a lot of sleeping around, although he doesn't zero in
on any one gal except this Maynard. So we can't pin him to
the wall for that, either." Blaisdell paused, looking at each of
the others in turn. "Unless one of them is unsavory in some
way. A whore, maybe. Excuse the language, Helen. Or a
which would be too hard to prove. Or a pervert,
traitor,

maybe. And we could establish a solid link between this

woman and Corbett. Get it?"
"I think so," the press secretary said. "Jeri Maynard has too
much stature, so we forget her affair with Corbett, or at least
put it on ice. We
wait until your detective friend uncovers
something grubbier, and then we smear Corbett." He
scratched his head and glanced up at the ceiling. "There's
only one thing wrong with the plan, Bill. Suppose there isn't
any juicy scandal in Corbett's closet."
"There has to be." Blaisdell's tone was emphatic. "When a
guy sleeps around as much as he does, there are bound to be
fights, nastiness, all kinds of good, red meat for the newspaper

columnists. And some of the broads are certain to be cheap

tramps, or have quirks of some kind that will make Corbett
vulnerable."
"I hope you're right, Bill."
"You'll see that I am. I've given my agency friend the same

deadline. I want the full background on every broad in Cor-

bett's life. By tomorrow noon. Then watch what we'll do to
 130 Talk Show
the son of a bitch. Forgive the expression, Helen. We'll lynch
him."

Jeri Maynard was notified the moment Lester Corbett ar-

rived at UBS, and went straight to his office. Looking at the
gold watch he had given her for her birthday, she saw that it

was 2:30 p.m.

His appearance shocked her. A black-and-blue mark was
prominent on one cheekbone, his lower lip was swollen and
cut, and when he removed his sunglasses, she saw deep
smudges beneath his eyes. "What happened to you?" she
asked, the question escaping before she could stop herself.
"I could tell you I ran into a door/' he said in a dry voice,
seating himself in his swivel chair and donning the dark
glasses again. "But you wouldn't believe me, and I wouldn't
blame you. Let's just say that I— well, I tied one on last night,
Jeri. And please don't lecture me. I've got the worst hangovei

of my life."
it was something like that when I finally tracked
"I figured
you down at the Plaza around eleven this morning— and was
informed you'd left orders not to be disturbed. By anyone."
"I'll be fine in a few more hours," he said. "And I'll look

okay on tonight's show, too. Makeup can do anything these

days."
She wondered why his tone was so bitter, but he had fallen
silent.She stared hard at him for a moment, then reached
across the desk and put her hand over his. "May be this isn't
the time for a talk, honey, but we're past due."
He leafed through the cue cards she had placed beside him,
but did not really see them. "Why not?"
"Everything has been changed since you heard of your son's
death. You've been erratic— and remote— and you act as
though you've run out of controls. Does it bug you that
much?"
He forced himself to remove the glasses so he could return
Noel B. Gerson 131

her steady gaze. Jeri deserved more than double-talk. "I don't
know, and that's the truth. One minute I feel normal, and the
next I'm unhinged. And it can't be the kid, Jeri. I didn't know
him, really, except that I always knew he was out there in
Ohio, either hating me or not caring if I was alive or dead."
Jeri gripped his hand more tightly. "You're probably feeling
all complicated things that only a psychiatrist could
sorts of
untangle— and I'm not suggesting you go to one. I do think
you need a rest, though. We
could take a week or ten days in
the Caribbean, if you like. Or go by yourself, if you prefer.
Stan will give you the time off, I'm sure, and the public will
understand. Several bags of sympathy letters are being de-
livered in every mail."
He returned her hand squeeze, then released her, and his
voice hardened. "It's wonderful when somebody thinks about
me. I'm not very good at dishing out sentiment, Jeri, but you
know how you make me feel. Sure, I'd love a vacation right
now. We could stretch out on a beach all day, every day. But I

won't do it. I can't!"

"Why not?"
"Because I away from a fight. Maybe I goofed
refuse to run
on the Winston and maybe I was right. The ques-
interview,
tion is moot. All I know is that I'm being slugged on all sides,
and in more ways than you can imagine, and I have no inten-
tion of hiding my head in the sands of a tropical beach."
Jeri knew the furor in Congress was growing worse, and
rumors, some of them emanating from the sales department,
insisted that several pro- Winston clients were going to drop
their sponsorship of Inquiry. "I guess I can't blame you," she
said.
His jaw tightened, emphasizing the bruise mark on his
cheekbone. "I've been at the top in this crazy business for a
lot of years, baby, and
had to fracture a lot of arms and legs
I

to get here. Once you're on top, it's even harder to stay than it
was getting there. I know. If I go off into the never-never land
 132 Talk Show
of the West my
job might not be here
Indies, even for a week,
when I happened to performers
get back. Stranger things have
with names as big as mine. Yes, and to network presidents,
too, for that matter! We're an industry of cannibals, and
we've got to keep eating others, or
they'll devour us."
She regarded him with quiet sympathy. "What have you
eaten today?"
"That," he said with a pained smile, "is the most revolting
question of the year."
"You'll feel better after you get some food inside you." Jeri
flippedon the intercom switch that connected his office with
"Miss Weber, will you ask the commissary to
his secretary's.
send Mr. Corbett a roast beef sandwich, a piece of cake and
two containers of coffee, please? Very black and very hot
coffee. And tell them to hurry it along. He's expected at a
meeting in Mr. Friedlander's office in forty-five minutes."
"Okay, Miss Maynard," the metallic voice replied. "And
will you tell Mr. Corbett that Dale Henry is waiting out here?
She needs to see him for a minute about tonight's costuming."
"Sure," Jeri said, and flipped off the switch.
Lester dreaded the confrontation with Dale, but knew it

couldn't be avoided. Much

he detested her humiliating
as
knowledge of him, he had to face her, and be pleasant.
"What's with this meeting in Stan's office?"
"The brass doesn't confide in me," she lied, and almost
collided with Dale when she opened the door. "Well, there's
a regular epidemic of dark glasses around here today."
As soon as Dale was alone with Lester she closed the door
behind her and took a pencil from the clipboard in her other
hand. "May I know what you're wearing on tonight's show,
Mr. Corbett? Dick Hubbel is having his usual fits because he
can't get his lighting set until he knows." Her manner was
crisp and impersonal.
Lester couldn't see the expression behind her glasses. "I'll
wear what I've got on right now," he said.
Noel B. Gerson 133

She glanced at him, and made appropriate notes.

He waited until she was done, and then he said, "You look
like I feel, but you didn't have a tenth as much to drink as I

did."
Dale relaxed a trifle, but was still guarded. "Not until after
you passed out. Then I made up for lost time, I think." She
drew a deep breath, then removed her sunglasses.
She looked healthy, Lester thought, and told himself that
blacks didn't show the ravages of an orgy as much as whites.
"I don't know how to say this, exactly, but I'm sorry we
were so rough on you, Les."
"Forget it, baby." Her attitude made it easier for him to be
generous. "I had it coming to me, I guess, and that man-eat-
ing shark had you all hopped up. Let's just say it was the most
bizarre experience of my life— and forget it."
"I wish we could," Dale muttered.
Lester raised an eyebrow.
"I knew it was going to be rugged, but I didn't know how
rugged." She could no longer meet his gaze.
"Well, I can't pretend I had the time of my life," he said.
"But nobody was hurt, so what's the difference?"
"I hope," she said, speaking with difficulty, "you'll keep
feeling that way." Not waiting for him to question her fur-
ther, the girl fled.
Lester was so relieved she had no intention of goading him
that he put her out of his mind, and made several telephone
calls around the office, trying to learn the reason for the

meeting Stan Friedlander had called. His lunch arrived while

he was using the phone, and he discovered he was hungrier
than he knew. He ate quickly, and was half-finished with the
cake when Miss Weber's voice came over the intercom.
"Randy Warren wants to see you, Mr. Corbett. He's out
here in my office."
"Who?"
"Miss Henry's assistant."
 134 Talk Show
Lester shrugged. "I don't have much time, but send him
in."The little fag gave him the creeps, and he made up his
mind to ask Dale to replace him.
Randy came into the office, immaculate in bell-bottomed
pants, a matching turtlenecked sweater of navy blue and a
short-cropped jacket that could have been worn by a woman
as easily as by a man. Closing the door behind him, he sat
down opposite Lester without being invited.
Lester was startled by his self-assurance.
"You haven't much time," Randy said, "and neither have I.
So it will serve our mutual purposes if we come straight to
the point."
His tone seemed insolent, and Lester bridled. "What
point?"
"The subject of our discussion," Randy said, "is last night."
Lester tensed, but his face remained wooden.
"You spent the night in my apartment, and the clothes you
wore belong to me. In fact, you ruined one of my most expen-
sive skirts."
pay you for it," Lester said.
"I'll

"I'm not interested in money," Randy said.

Lester stared at him through narrowed eyes. "The whole
thing was a fix."

"Fixed by me," Randy said, and his smile was waspish.

"I'm listening."
"If I Bishop Cranmer and Friedlander, you'd be
went to
out on your butt. Or, let's take those members of Congress
who have signed a letter to UBS, demanding that you be
fired. How they'd love to get their fat hands on this story."

"But you don't want to go to anyone," Lester said, his

voice metallic. "You and your playmate— Maxie Marx—will
keep your pretty mouths shut if I just plain resign without
giving any explanation."
"Max knows nothing about any of this, and he'd have a
screaming fit if I told him. His middle-class background is so
Noel B. Gerson 135

respectable it limits his imagination, and the very idea of

blackmail would drive him straight up a wall."
"But it doesn't affect you that way."
"Obviously," Randy said, and his voice was cold.
Lester ignored the throbbing of his temples. "You have
guts— of a sort. But you're stupid. Suppose you and the two
girls go to the network, or my sponsors, or whoever. You tell a

lurid story. I deny it. It's your word against mine. Three to
one, but that one has enough stature as a telecaster and a
public figure to make your combined word worthless."
"This is strictly one to one," Randy said, and his eyes
gleamed with malice.
"Meaning?"
"Margarite got cold feet this morning, and she's not only
bowed out, she's going back to Stockholm a week early. And
Dale chickened out on me, too, as I knew she would. I never
trust women, and I advise you to do the same."
"Screw you and your advice," Lester said, and stood. "I'll

give you all of fifteen seconds to get out of here before I heave
you out."
Randy made no move to rise, and reaching into the inner
pocket of his jacket, dropped a stack of small, cardboard
squares onto the desk. "My calling cards," he said. "See them
for yourself."
Lester pick up the pack, and saw at a glance that they were
photographs. Looking at a few of them hastily, he realized
they were pictures of the previous night's orgy, and he felt the
color rise to his face when he saw himself in female attire.
"Not bad, are they?" Randy asked calmly.
Lester resisted the temptation to throw the photographs in
his and instead managed to hand them to him.
face,

"Wherethe hell were you?" he demanded.

"Oh, I spent the whole night at the apartment, except
when I followed you to the disco. The lighting there was
 136 Talk Show
abominable, but my camera is a real wonder, and I got some
gorgeous shots."
"You goddam fag!"
Randy smiled. 'The next time you feel like climbing into
drag, do let me know, dear. I have a friend who'd be crazy
about you."
Lester's legs felt like lead, and he returned to his swivel
chair, sitting down in it with a heavy thump.
"These photos," Randy said, "are some stills that I culled
strictly for your benefit. Keep them as souvenirs, if you like."
He dropped them back on the desk.
Lester warned himself not to lose his temper. "Precisely
what do you mean by stills?"
"I was coming to that," Randy said with relish. "I put the
entire, memorable night on video tape. From the time the
good ladies started to prepare you for your adventure to the
almost Wagnerian end. As you can imagine, there are hun-
dreds and hundreds of feet of tape. They'll need editing, of
course."
Unable to control himself any longer, Lester whipped
around the desk, hauled the slighter man to his feet and
brandished a fist under his nose. "I'll break your neck!"
Randy did not flinch. "If I were you," he said, "I wouldn't.
I'm prepared to make a stink much worse than the one you
were doused in last night."
Lester released him, and rather than let the blackmailer see
he was trembling, perched on the edge of the desk.
"That's a vast improvement," Randy said, adjusting his
turtleneck collar.
"Let's skip all the cute talk and get down to basics," Lester
said.
"Gladly. You'll resign from Inquiry. Get your doctor to
issue a statement saying you need a long rest, if you want to
save face. The day you leave I'll give you the tape, every last
frame of it, and that will be that. Our little deal will be
completed, with no strings attached."
Noel B. Gerson 137

"How do I know you won't have made copies— or a fistful

of stills? How do I know you'll
keep your end of the bargain?"
Randy was enjoying himself. "You don't know any such
thing. You'll just have to take my word for it—because you
have no choice."
Lester glowered at him, and again had to fight the impulse
to strike him.
"Look at it from my position," Randy said. "I'd be fouling
my own nest if I tried to play coy, you know. Max might find
out, and that could cause me all sorts of unpleasant complica-
tions."
"You're really nuts," Lester said. "If I left Inquiry this very
minute, or if I dropped dead— or something— UBS wouldn't
replace me with Maxie Marx."
"That's what he says, but I'll take the chance," Randy re-

plied. "I have absolute faith in him."

"Cranmer and Friedlander," Lester said desperately,
"would try to buy Malcolm Sloane away from NBC. Or
they'd pay Harry Allen a fortune to leave CBS. I know what
I'm talking about. Maxie has been around too long. He was a
class B, standup, one-liner comedian for years before he be-
came a second-rate newscaster and commentator!"
"There's no need to insult him," Randy said with dignity.
"I'm positive UBS will want him, and I'm gambling every-
thing on it. But the wheels won't begin to turn until you've
gone."
"How much time do I have?" Lester needed to think of
some way to avoid the trap into which he had fallen.
"I've had no experience in this matters," Randy said, "but
one fact is very plain. The longer you have, the greater the
chances that you'll find some way to counter me. I'll give you
until tomorrow morning."
"Impossible!"
The makeup assistant shrugged. "I'll meet you at nine
sharp tomorrow morning in the cafeteria. I know that's one
place you couldn't have bugged, and at that hour the clatter
 138 Talk Show
of dishes is so loud it wouldn't do you any good, even if you
tried. You'll give me a very simple answer of one word. Either
yes or no. If it's yes, the tapes will be in your hands immedi-
ately, and I'll expect you to leave Inquiry at once."
"I wouldn't even have the rest of the week," Lester said,
and was ironically amused.
"When something needs to be done, I see no reason for
unnecessary delays."
"Suppose my answer is no."
Randy shrugged.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Since I've been taking a rather large risk," Randy said,
"I'm sure you realize I've plotted a very careful course of
action. But that happens to be my exclusive business." He
stood and strolled to the door, pausing with one hand on the
knob. "At nine in the cafeteria. And if you accept, I'll throw
in a bonus— that lovely silver blouse. It does so much more
for you than it ever did for me."
He was gone before the outraged Lester could calm himself
sufficiently to sit down and gulp his forgotten, half-cold
coffee. Then, seeing the offensive photographs, he ripped
them into small pieces, dropped them into an ash tray and
burned them, stirring the ashes to make certain that no bits
remained. He had allowed himself to be placed in a position
that was as excruciatingly embarassing as it was untenable,
and it was small consolation to realize that he could blame no
one but himself.
On the other hand, he refused to accept that blame. His
sexual appetites were larger and keener than those of ordi-
nary men, and he had intended no harm to anyone when he
had set out on his night's adventure. Certainly he did not
deserve the cruel trick that had been played on him, and he
had no intention of giving in to the absurd demands of Randy
Warren. A man didn't quit his job as host of the most popu-
lar interview program on television because of a threat to his
reputation.
Noel B. Gerson 139

Lester suspected that the makeup man was bluffing, at least

to some extent, and would not act he had indi-

as quickly as
cated. Therefore the wisest recourse would be to stall, and use
the time to neutralize the danger in some way. The problem
required considerable, sharp thought.
The fire in the ash tray finally went out, but the stench of
burning paper was still in Lester's nostrils as he walked down
the corridor to Stan Friedlander's office. A single glance at the
high-level brass gathered around the conference table at the
far end of the was enough to tip him off that this was an
office

important meeting. The network vice-presidents in charge of

sales, public information and network affiliates were seated

with Stan, and all rose to greet him, their handshakes cordial
but restrained. No one mentioned his bruised face, though he
had to turn away the stares of several men.
Stan took charge. "Les," he said, "ever since lightning hit
the outhouse the other night, we've been trying to deal with
this crisis one step at a time, but the problems are snowball-
ing. Tell him, gentlemen."
The sales vice-president fingered his silk-screened necktie
and looked lugubrious. "Four of our eight sponsors have sent
in formal complaints," he said. "They and their advertising
agencies have made no bones about being unhappy, and claim
that your attack on Governor Winston has hurt their com-
mercial image. I've given them assurances that there won't be
any repetition of the incident, of course—"
"Why of course?" Lester interrupted.
The sales chief looked at him in astonishment. "That
ought to be obvious. Anyway, they're seeking some positive
way of specifically overcoming the damage. They aren't think-
ing in political terms, let me emphasize. They aren't plugging
for Winston's nomination, and they aren't against him,
either. All they want to do is clear the air for the sales of their
products. I promised them you'd cooperate."
"That," Lester said, "will depend on what you want me to
do."
 140 Talk Show
"We're here for the purpose of trying to work it out/' Stan
said, trying to placate him.
The public-information vice-president removed his glasses
and polished them vigorously. "In all the years I've been in
publicity/' he said, "I've never run into a situation as sticky as
this one. I'm worried by the demands in Congress that some-
thing be done. Frankly, if we don't act in a way that will
appease Governor Winston's followers and all the others who
are worried by what they're calling an abuse of television's
freedom of expression, some nasty bills are going to erupt out
of both the Senate and the House. And those nervous Nellies
on the FCC are likely to crack down on their own. On all
the networks. We're under pressure from NBC and CBS to
do something, and some of the boys at ABC are on the verge
of suffering breakdowns."
"That's their problem," Lester said.
"It is also the problem of UBS," the public-information
head replied stiffly.

The network-affiliates vice-president cleared his throat.

"Let me add to our woes. Our stations all over the country are
being subjected to all sorts of local pressures of their own. Not
just from Abe Winston's pals, but from people who range
from the far Left to the far Right. There's a real grass-roots
concern that we went too far the other night, and our stations
are under the worst fire that's been directed at them in years.
They're putting the heat on us, naturally. Our San Francisco
and New Orleans stations have gone so far as to inform us
that unless corrective action is taken, they'll leave us as soon
as their contracts expire, and will affiliate elsewhere. I don't
want to sound too much like a Cassandra, but this thing
could develop into a breakup of the network unless we take
strong corrective action."
Stan Friedlander looked around the table, then at Lester.
"There you have it, Les. Not a very bright picture. Do you
have any suggestions?"
"It seems to me," Lester said, "that all of you are becoming
Noel B. Gerson 141

panicky. Yesterday's news always fades, and the public be-

comes interested in something else. The wails and the
screams will die away if we're patient."
The others shook their heads.
"You're wrong, Les," Stan said. "That's what happens
when there are minor flareups, like the time that English
actor lost his temper on the air. But this is different. The
pressures keep building, not decreasing. If we don't do some-
thing constructive— and fast— UBS will be in trouble, and
you'll be in the soup."
"Is that a threat?" Lester spoke with ominous quiet.
The public-information vice-president was impatient.
"Level with him, Stan. Hell popping all over the place, Les.
is

This morning the board of directors hauled Bishop Cranmer

on the carpet and told him to get this mess cleaned up in a
hurry."
"The one thing no one wants to do is to drop Inquiry from
the schedule," Stan said. "Please understand, Les, that we
have no intention of squeezing you out and keeping the show
on the air. You and Inquiry have become synonymous."
"And together," the sales vice-president declared, "you're a
very valuable property. You're responsible for as large a slice
of our income as pro football."
"Just so you don't get any nutty ideas, though," the public-
information chief added, "you'll be dead in the business if we
are forced to cancel the program. No other network will want
to touch you."
"That remains to be seen," Lester said.
"We're telling it to you straight, Les," Stan said. "Get on
the phone yourself, or tell your agent to start asking around
town. Oh, you wouldn't starve. We'd have to pay off your
contract for the next five years. But we don't want to be
forced into that position any more than you want it. The
purpose of this meeting is to salvage Inquiry and keep it
rolling."
 142 Talk Show
"Sure," the public-information head said, "we're all mem-
bers of thesame team."
"Your team, Les," Stan said.
Lester looked at each of them with cynical amusement.
"Your assurances convince me you'll give me the shaft, break
it off inside me and then tell me it doesn't hurt."

The network-affiliates vice-president leaned forward, cup-

ping his chin in his hand, and the others automatically de-
ferred to him, not only because he was the senior member of
the group, but because of rumors that he would succeed to
the presidency if and when Edgar Cranmer was kicked up-

stairs and given some harmless post like that of vice-chairman

of the board.
"Our situation is delicate," he said, "because we've got to
save face. We don't want to appear to be giving in to pres-
sures, regardless of whether they're applied by the stations, by
Congress or by our clients."
"I thought," Lester said, "that you were going to ask me to
offer a public apology to Abe Winston, and I'm glad you
realize I couldn't do it."

"The idea of an apology did occur to us," the senior official

replied.
"But I made it very clear that it was out of the question,"
Stan said hurriedly. "I knew your dignity wouldn't permit it,

Les."
"Dignity my ass," Lester said. "It's strictly a question of my
personal integrity. An apology— in any form— is out."
The station-affiliates vice-president remained calm. "Some-
thing else we want to avoid," he said, "is making you a symbol

to the anti- Wins ton political forces in the country. If they

started to rally around you, it would plunge the Universal
Broadcasting System into the thick of a political fight, which

a network must avoid at all costs."

"Then what are you planning?" Lester demanded.
The senior official spread out his hands. "As of the present
Noel B. Gerson 143

moment, nothing. We wanted to acquaint you with the depth

and scope of the problem before we go on from there. We'll
confer through the afternoon, if you like—"
"Forgive me, Fred," the sales vice-president said, "but that
might be a waste of everyone's valuable time. don't we Why
get together again at breakfast tomorrow morning? And in the
meantime we can put on our individual thinking caps."
"To coin a very original phrase," Lester said.
The others looked at him, but no one laughed.
"If we're in agreement, that settles it," Stan said. "We'll
meet here, in my office, at nine. And we'll expect you, Les,"
he added pointedly.
"When the chips are down, to coin a phrase of my own,"
Lester retorted, "I'm never late!" Screw Randy Warren, he
thought.
"That's good," Stan said, "because the Bishop has given us
a deadline. We've got to find a solution satisfactory to him
and to the board of directors no later than tomorrow after-

noon."

Arthur Sampson was in his most expansive mood he

as
waved his guest to a seat on the couch in his sumptuously
furnished office. "This is a rare treat, Les," he said, shooting
his cuffs so the eighteen-karat gold cuff links he had bought
on would show more plainly. "You don't
his last trip to Paris
get up here very often."
"Well, you've been trying to get hold of me for the past
couple of days, Artie," Lester said, "so I thought the least I

could do would be to put in an appearance."

"I appreciate it more than you know. I can imagine what
you're going through. You even look a little beat." Sampson
chuckled in a comradely sort of way.
Lester smiled, but made no comment.
"This calls for a little celebration." Sampson pushed a but-
ton on the sandalwood wall beside him, and a double panel
 144 Talk Show
opened, revealing a fully stocked bar. His manner appeared
casual, but he looked at his guest surreptitiously to see how he
reacted.
Lester knew four other advertising agency heads who had
similar bars, but pretended to be impressed. 'Terrific gadget,
Artie!"
"WhatTl you have?" Sampson went to an ice machine be-
hind the bar and removed a silver bucket.
"Nothing, thanks." Lester bent down to scratch a place on
his leg that itched, and was surprised; he had forgotten there
was no hair on his body. "Come to think of it, a mild bourbon
and water is something I could get down. But make it mild,
Artie. I got stoned last night, and I'm trying to take things a
little easier today."
Sampson laughed as he splashed bourbon into a glass. "I
wouldn't blame you if you stayed drunk until those idiots at
UBS get the ants out of their pants. I hear they've pushed
even' panic button in the place."
"They're wiring some new ones for sound."
Sampson brought Lester's drink and his own to the couch.
"Thev're reallv giving vou a hard time."
"Well, they're trving to."
Sampson raised his glass. "Here's to the one man in the
industry who can tell the Bishop what he can do with his
network."
"Not quite," Lester said. "I don't want to retire just yet, or
go into some other business."
"There's no reason you should. You have the biggest fol-

lowing of any tube personality- in the country."

"Call it an actor's pride, although I no longer think of
myself as one."
"You're far was saying to Mrs. Sampson just last
more. As I

night, you'vemade a unique place for yourself in our culture."

"Nice of you to say so, Artie, but that's something of an
exaggeration. Enough, anyway, that I've got to watch my step
with the Cranmers of the business."
Noel B. Gerson 145

"Don't you believe it for one minute." Sampson opened a

humidor, and after his visitor had rejected his offer of a cigar,
he selected one for himself. "You're cracking the real whip—
the money whip."
Lester didn't know how to explain to a man of Sampson's
mentality that far more than money had become involved, and
that the issue was complicated.
Sampson saw he had erred, and tried another approach. "I
don't mean to imply that you're worried about a paycheck,"
he said jovially. "But it can be damned annoying when a
couple of the houses over on the Avenue— I won't mention
any names— make noises about pulling out their clients."
"The network is playing it cool, Artie. They haven't men-
tioned the names of supposedly unhappy clients."
"Have they told you that you have one sponsor who
couldn't be more pleased? Abe Winston was all things to all
men— a combination of Franklin Roosevelt and Dwight Ei-
senhower, but you've exposed him, and you're in a position to
keep him on the run!"
The drink was too strong, and Lester put it down. "I've
gathered that Don Murtaugh was happy about the other
night's program."
"He's been in eighth heaven ever since! If you read For-
tune, Les, no secret to you that Donald Murtaugh is a very
it's

wealthy man. Ace of Spades razor blades is just one of his

enterprises. Why, this agency alone has the honor of repre-
senting three of his companies, and we're picking up a fourth
before the beginning of the next twenty-six-week cycle. So you
can take this word as definitive. Donald Murtaugh has au-
thorized me to pick up the tab for the entire Inquiry opera-
tion!"
"That's very gratifying," Lester said.
"But not surprising."
"Stan Friedlander mentioned it to me, Artie. He also in-
dicated that UBS couldn't and wouldn't accept the offer, but
if you haven't already been told, you didn't hear it from me."
 146 Talk Show
"Oh, several of the UBS top echelon have taken
members
great relish in telling me, but they'll change their tune when
several sponsors drop away and they find that Donald Mur-
taugh's money hasn't lost its color."
Lester couldn't share his confidence, but kept the opinion
to himself.
"You'll find there isn't a grander man anywhere. I realize
you and he have seen very little of each other, but all that will
be changed when he picks up the entire tab for the program.
And don't be surprised if he gives you gifts from time to time.
Like a Rolls-Royce. That's the way he is with friends who
think and feel as he does."
"I'm not at all certain," Lester said, "that Donald Mur-
taugh and I tune in on the same wavelength."
A hint of anxiety appeared in Sampson's eyes, but he con-
tinued to smile broadly. "I can't buy that. I know both of you
too well, and you're cut from the same bolt of the best grade
cloth."
"Tell me something, Artie. Would Murtaugh expect me
to—well, lean in the direction of his political views on the
air?"
"I'm positive you'll find that his views and yours are iden-
tical."
"That doesn't answer my question," Lester said.
Sampson's gesture was deprecating. "Mr. Murtaugh is de-
voted to the principles of free speech, and believes that all
media of communications should be unfettered."
"That isn't the story I've heard, Artie, so let's not get into a
hassle over it. Because I wouldn't allow anyone to dictate
program policy to me. I've had countless opportunities to
slant Inquiry in one direction or another over the years, but I
won't do it. Why, I won't let an actor come on to plug a new
movie or let an author get in some licks for his new book
unless I know it's a good movie or a good book."
It was Sampson's turn to know better. On many occasions
Noel B. Gerson 147

he had been present at the studio when Lester had arrived to

do the program, not knowing the identity of his guests. But
Sampson had been in advertising for a long time, and never
forgot the cardinal rule: when you want something from a
man, don't call his bluff.
"Les," he said, 'your record speaks for itself, and what a
record! Frankly, I think you're setting up a straw zombie
when you worry about you and Mr. Murtaugh seeing eye to
eye. You have exactly the same opinion of Abe Winston,
don't you?"
Lester was learning to loathe the mere mention of the
governor's name. "Once upon a time," he said, "I actually
intended to vote for the bastard. But I've seen the light,
friend. I've got religion, and I'm a mighty zealous convert!"
Sampson slapped him on the back. "There you are! Just
I said. You and Donald Murtaugh are walking down glory
like
road arm-in-arm!"
Lester straightened his necktie. "Artie, I'd like to examine a
supposition with you. It's a completely hypothetical situation,
you understand."
The lines at the corners of Sampson's eyes deepened, but
nothing in his manner indicated tension. "You and I have
always been tuned to the same wavelength."
"I'm just thinking out loud, Artie. Suppose I decided to
leave Universal. Not that I'm actively planning a move to
another network. Let's just say I'm playing with the idea."
Sampson's face was hidden, momentarily, behind a cloud of
cigar smoke.
"Would Don Murtaugh be interested in picking up the tab
new talk program?" Lester was very casual.
for a
Sampson became evasive. "Well, UBS owns Inquiry, of
course, soyou couldn't take the name with you."
"I'm well aware of that. What I have in mind is the same
program. You know, same format, same approach, same peo-
ple in front of the cameras and behind them. Oh, we might
 148 Talk Show
use somebody new in place of Max Marx, for instance, but
that would be a minor shift."
The advertising agency head stared up at the ceiling.
"What makes your present setup so attractive. Les, is In-
quiry's rating. You swamp your opposition. As I'm sure you
know, the other networks have nearly given up their attempts
to offer you serious competition."
"What I've done on UBS I could do elsewhere/' Lester
said.
"I don't doubt it!" Sampson became jovial again.
"\\ "hen you analyze Inquiry, it adds up to Corbett and
Corbett's format."
''And the ratings! Don't forget those charts, Les! That's
what the clients go for!"
"Sure, and I'll have them again, Artie, no matter where I
might want to move. Murtaugh would find the new package
even- last bit as attractive as the old one."
"I believe you'd find that any client— including Donald
Murtaugh— would want to wait until the high ratings were
established on your new affiliation before he committed him-
self. As and the guardian of his
his advertising representative
dollar, I'd recommend that he keep a sharp watch on vour
new program, which is what I'd be doing myself. And the very
minute you climbed to top of the ratings, I'd urge him to
jump in."
"By the time I climbed to the top, Artie, I'dno longer need
Don Murtaugh— or you. There'd be a line around the block,
waiting to kiss in on participating sponsorship."
"That's true, of course, so we'd just have to hope we could
bite off as big a segment as we could get. At that time."
Sampson looked ill at ease.
Lester forced a smile. "Thanks for laying it on the line,

Artie. I didn't expect any more from you, so I'm not really
disappointed."
Sampson peered at him. "If vou should decide to close
down Inquiry, I hope vou'd tip me off in advance, Les. I'd
Noel B. Gerson 149

certainly appreciate the word. It would give me a chance to

grab some other prime time for some of my clients."
"If and when I decide to do something drastic/' Lester said,

"you'll be one of the first to find out about it."

Bill Blaisdell looked preoccupied ashe sank into the chair

opposite Governor Winston's desk. "That detective agency I
put on Lester Corbett's tail moves fast."
"I hope," Abe Winston said, "they realize I have no part in
the ordering of any investigation."
"That's understood, Abe. They're discreet, you can rely on
it. They couldn't function if they weren't careful."
"Just so they know that we can't afford to take any chances,
either." The governor leaned back in his chair. "What have
they found out?"
"There's a second girl on the Inquiry staff who sometimes
sleeps with Corbett."
Winston shrugged. "I don't see that as cause for cheers."
"Hear me out. This one seems to be rather promiscuous.
The agency has already found a few other men on her list, as
well as a couple of women."
"You might be able to make something out of that."
"She's also black," Blaisdell said.
"I'm sure I know the one. She was in charge of the makeup
on Inquiry. A very striking girl."
"The same." The executive secretary was pleased with
himself.
Governor Winston shook his head. "Forget her, Bill."
Blaisdell's smile faded.
want to touch any situation that has racial over-
"I don't
tones. Even if nothing is ever traced back to us, there's
potential dynamite in the story, and if there should be an
explosion, some of the debris might hit me. Certainly you can
see some of our enemies twisting the facts around and claim-
ing that I'm antiblack."
"But you aren't, Abe."
 150 Talk Show
"You and I know it, and I hope the majority of black voters

know it. All I'd need would be the backlash of one scandal to
ruin me."
"I think you're being more cautious than you need to be,
Abe. I'm hoping something juicy can be developed out of
this."
'The stakes are too high to take any unnecessary risks."

The governor was emphatic.

Blaisdell sighed. "Okay, Abe. You're the candidate. But it
can't do any harm to let the detectives look into this situation
a more in depth. Nobody appreciates the delicacy of our
little

positionmore than I do, but they might dig up something on

Corbett and this girl that would be just what we need."

At noon the Sky Club was crowded with corporation execu-

tives,lawyers and other tenants of the UBS Building who
were eligible for membership because they made their offices
there. The convenience of eating on the fifty-fourth floor,
with its view of New York City, was attractive, and even those
who reserved tables in advance frequently had to wait a
quarter of an hour or more before being seated. At night the
business at the place was somewhat less brisk; a few business-
men held dinner conferences, and some members dined there
with their wives before going on to the theater. In the main,
however, the Sky Club was taken over after dark by Universal
Broadcasting System employees and performers whose voca-
tions required them to work late at night.
Since the view was a permanent backdrop, it was taken for
granted and largely ignored. The food was expensive, but if
one avoided the French dishes, was as good as that found in
most of the city's supposedly "better restaurants." But there
were compensating advantages, the most obvious of which
was the Sky Club's convenience. Men and women who ate
with one eye on the clock, always conscious of rehearsal and
air times, didn't have to join in the frantic search for taxis in
Noel B. Gerson 151

order to get back to work after eating a meal. And, as the UBS
people frequently reassured each other, the drinks were gen-
erous and the service was efficient, no matter how uninspired
the menu.
The regulars had their more or less permanent tables, and
Dick Hubbel, who wore a necktie and jacket only at the Sky
Club, occupied his usual place in a corner, which was more
isolated than the tables assigned less exalted mortals. As he
sometimes explained to friends, eavesdropping was one of the
restaurant's worst handicaps, but the occupants of corner
tables were relatively free of the curse, provided they remem-
bered to speak in modulated voices. And Hubbel, as everyone
connected with Inquiry knew, rarely shouted.
Seated with him was Jeri Maynard, a fact which caused
several of their colleagues to exchange significant glances. It
was no secret that they had been seen together frequently in
the days before Jeri had formed her personal relationship with
Lester Corbett, but she and Hubbel had avoided each other—
or, at least, she had avoided him— in the past year and a

half.

Both were aware of the talk they were creating, and Hubbel
grinned as he sipped his very dry martini. 'The place is

buzzing tonight. IT1 make you a bet our names appear to-
gether in one of the gossip columns within the next couple of
days."
"Oh, I hope not," Jeri said. "I knew we shouldn't have
come here, Dick."
'To hell with it," Hubbel said. "If people want to yak, let
'em." He signaled their waiter, who immediately went off for
a second round of drinks.
Jeri changed the subject. "What's your big news?"

He peered at her over the rim of his glass, then said

casually, "I spent most of the afternoon over at NBC."
"Oh?"
"I told them I wasn't ready to walk out on Les yet, but they
 152 Talk Show
didn't mind. They still want me to make the pilot tape of the
new situation comedy show."
"That's wonderful for you, Dick. If you have the time." Jeri

drained her Scotch and water.

"I'll make the time. I'll work around my present schedule,
we'll rehearse over a couple of weekends, and then I'll shoot
on a Sunday. So there shouldn't be too much of a time
conflict."
The waiter appeared with fresh drinks.
"Bring dinner in ten minutes, Mario," Hubbel told him.
"I know, Mr. Hubbel." The waiter was thoroughly familiar
with the director's routines.
Hubbel waited until he retreated. "They agreed to give me a
joint veto, with the producer, on all casting."
"I'm not sure what that means."
"The producer will cast the program, but I'll have the right
to throw in a monkey wrench if I don't agree with him."
"Not bad," Jeri said.
"Damn good. They also agreed that I could hire my own
staff, so I presented them with several names. A cameraman

I've been watching for a long time. And the best writer-editor
in television."
She looked You didn't mention me!"
stricken. "Dick!
"I sure did, and they're delighted. You can get a fifty per-
cent pay increase with no trouble at all."
"Well, I'm grateful to you. I guess. And I'm a little sur-
prised. It hadn't occurred to me that anyone at NBC would
think very much of me."
"The chief writer of Inquiry isn't exactly anonymous in the
business."
"I suppose not," Jeri said. "It just hadn't crossed my mind,
that's all. But I can't do it, Even if Lester weren't in
Dick.
such serious trouble, I wouldn't want to leave Inquiry. And
with the pressures piling up on him, I couldn't."
"Who's asking you to quit here?" Hubbel demanded. "I'm
offering you work on the pilot, that's all. Write the show
Noel B. Gerson 153

yourself, which you can do weekends, while Les is

easily over
playing golf, or whatever it is he does up in Connecticut. Edit
it in your spare time, even around here, if you think you have

to. This show isn't going to develop overnight, you know. The

NBC sales department will need two to three months to

peddle it, and nobody knows what Inquiry's situation will be
by then."
"You're placing me in a very difficult spot," Jeri said.
"Not at all.You're getting an extra string for your bow,
that's all. If the furor here dies down, and you decide you
want to stay, that's up to you. But if Inquiry folds, you'll be
moving to a program that will stay on the air for years. I've
been around for a long time, and this show has all the signs of
being around longer than you or anybody else would want to
stick with it."

"When you put it that way, I don't know what to say."

"The budget for the Hubbel said, "allows
pilot film,"
twenty-five hundred for the script and another five for the
editing. You must have use for three thousand clams."
"You're very insidious, Dick. Of course I could use an extra
three thousand dollars. Who couldn't? But how would I over-
come the dreadful feeling that I was being disloyal to Lester?"
Hubbel hitched his chair into another position so he faced
her."You brought this up. Remember that. I've kept my
mouth shut about you and Les for a long time, and you've got
to admit But this seems like a good time to shoot off my
it.

face, so answer your question with one of my own. Why

I'll

do you owe Lester Corbett loyalty?"

The girl sighed. "You don't understand."
"I sure don't. On a purely vocational basis, you owe him
nothing. You're as responsible for the current status of In-
quiry as he is. Or as Stan is, or as I am, for that matter. And
you're getting far less in return than any of us."
"The writers of talk shows that are supposedly spontaneous
never get rich, you know." She smiled.
"On a personal basis," Hubbel continued, "you owe him
 154 Talk Show
even less. He's taken you out of circulation, Jeri. You know
that you haven't had a single real date with anybody else for
months."
'That's simply because I don't feel like dating. Lester
wouldn't ask it of me."
"I wouldn't put it past him, but that's beside the point.
You aren't just his You're his supernursemaid, his chief
girl.

secretary, his bodyguard and the liaison between him and all
the people who find that life is too short to deal with him
direct. What do you get out of it, Jeri?"
She forced herself to return his gaze. "A feel of great satis-
faction."
'Then you're a masochist, which I never suspected, and
still don't believe."
"It isn't mysterious or very strange, Dick," Jeri said. "Lester
needs me."
He glared at the waiter, who chose that moment to appear
with their steaks, baked potatoes and salads, then turned back
to the "For God's sake, Jeri! You've been around long
girl.

enough he's a ham, and that they're all alike. He has

to know
the insufferable actor's ego. Sure, he needs you. He needs
anybody and everybody who'll flatter him, fawn on him,
soothe him, play up to him, fan his vanity and banish his
worries with adulation. But Lester Corbett, three-dimensional
human being, doesn't need Geraldine Elizabeth Maynard,
who is a more than three-dimensional human being."
She stared straight ahead, unmoving. "That's what I call
hitting below the belt, Dick."
"Sorry, honey, but it's the truth. And while I'm at it, I'll go
the rest of the way. He also doesn't need you as a bedmate.
Aside from his wife, who is available any time he wants her,
presumably, he has a whole stable of girls he can take to bed.
And does."
She made no reply, and continued to gaze at the huge pic-
ture window beyond his shoulder.
Noel B. Gerson 155

"I don't mean to bug you, Jeri," Hubbel said, "but it's time
you heard the truth from somebody."
"Who has no ax of his own to grind?"
He was irritated. "Of course I have! I'm jealous of the slob,
and you know it. I'd like to be hitting the hay with you my-
self, but I'm interested in far more. I'd like to see a joint

exploration, conducted by you and me. I'd like both of us to

find out if a hunch I've had for a long time is right. I think
you and I could have far more than an affair going for us. I
swore, after my marriage failed, that I'd never go through it
again, but the more I see of you, the more convinced I be-
come that we'd make it together."
"You're very sweet," Jeri murmured.
"I've been called a lot of things, but never sweet." Hubbel
reached across the table and took her hand.
She made no attempt to draw away.
"If this were a pilot film," he said, "the big love scene
would be coming up. I'd start by saying you have no future
with Lester Corbett."
"And I'd counter with something like this. Who says
there's going to be a future with him? Who says that's what I

want?"
"Then what do you want?"
"We'd better eat our dinner," Jeri said.
"That would need rewriting before we put it on tape.
line
No audience would sit still for evasive dialogue that doesn't
advance the plot."
"All right, I'll be frank, too." Jeri faced him again, her hand
still in his. "I belong to a hedonistic generation, Dick. Maybe

I seek nothing beyond today's gratifications. Maybe I'm will-

ing to let tomorrow and the day after that take care of them-
selves."
becoming Mrs. Lester Corbett, forget
"If you're thinking of
it. You've had two predecessors. The same kind of relation-
ship. It never crossed his mind to get a divorce in order to
 156 Talk Show
mam- either of them, and I'm positive he has no intention of
marrying vou."
''It has never crossed my mind that he might, Dick." She
made an attempt to free her hand. "Our meal will get cold."
"Cold steak is a gourmet delight. Where do you expect
your relationship with Les will lead?"
"It's already there, as far as it'll ever go. He wants me—
some of the time. He needs me— all of the time."
"Hooray for him," Hubbel said. "But what does Jeri May-
nard want and need?"
"Most of all, no more questions. This pilot film is turning
into an inquisition." Suddenlv Jeri gasped, and managed to
wriggle free. "There," she muttered.
He followed the direction of her gaze, and saw Lester Cor-
bett, sitting alone across the dining room. He appeared to be
studying a menu, and it was impossible to determine whether
he had seen them.
Jeri tried in vain to catch his eye.
"Although I'm sorry to embarrass you," Hubbel said, "I
can't pretend I'm sorry this has happened. Maybe you'll
benefit, Jeri. Maybe he'll stop taking you for granted. For a
day or two."
Lester put aside the menu, raised his head and saw them.
A wooden-faced Dick Hubbel lifted a hand in a curt greet-
ing.
Jeri could only hope that her smile looked natural.
Lester's return smile was fleeting.
"I'm afraid he's upset," Jeri said, "and that means he'll

spend the next week sulking."

"If you start feeling guilty for no reason, I'll whale you.
There's nothing unusual m seeing you and me together, in a
public place, tearing steaks apart with our knives and forks."
Hubbel began to cut his meat. "If you ask me, Les is preoc-
cupied, and scarcely even knows we're here."
"This is unusual, Dick. He hates to eat alone."
Noel B. Gerson 157

"If you're thinking of leaving me so you can join him,

forget it, honey! You accepted my invitation, and I'm not
releasing you until we've had dinner and coffee!"
"I— I just thought I'd go over to his table for a minute, and
see if he's okay."
Hubbel was exasperated. "Maybe he's so old and ugly that
he can't persuade anybody to sit with him. Maybe the word is
out that his head is going on the UBS chopping block, and
nobody wants anything to do with a pariah. Maybe, when I
have nothing better to do, I'll murder him. But for the
moment, I'm staying right here, with you. Mario!"
The waiter hurried to him. "Yes, Mr. Hubbel?"
"Bring me a bottle of ale, please, and make sure there's
another waiting on the ice for me." He had to go back to
work, so he couldn't get drunk, but he wanted to see how
close he could come.

When Lester entered his office suite, he found Jeri waiting

forhim, and greeted her with a casual, "Hi."
"You took your time up at the Sky Club," she said. "You
don't have too much time to go over your cue cards."
He took the cards from her, sat down behind his desk and
started to glance through them. "Looks like the usual."
"Oh, it is. On the very urgent personal instructions of Stan,
we're steering clear of all controversy."
"If had the energy, I'd burn these and step on the gas
I

with some ad-libs that would turn the rest of Stan's hair
white!" Lester sighed and stared into space. "But I just don't
have that much drive."
Jeri wondered if Dick had been right. Lester wasn't being
petulant, as he would have been had he seen her holding
hands with the director. But it was obvious that he was de-
pressed and out of sorts. "What's wrong, darling?"
"Nothing." He shuffled through the cards, then slapped
them on the desk. "That's a lie. I had a session with Artie
 158 Talk Show
Sampson this afternoon that's knocked the sawdust out of
me."
'There are brighter people in the world/' Jeri said, immedi-
ately defensive on his behalf.
"Sure, but Artie is a weathervane, which is what makes him
valuable. I don't want to go into a blow-by-blow now. I'll tell
you about it after the show."
She tried to respond calmly, but could hear the sharp edge.
"Oh, am I seeing you tonight?"
"Of course." He not only sounded as though they always
went out together after the program, but looked surprised.
Someone knocked at the door, and Jeri opened it.
Lester brightened when he saw Karen Block, the pert red-
head from guest relations. "This is more glamour than I can
stand," he said.
Karen hesitated on the threshold. "May I come in?"
Jeri saw that she was carrying a folded plastic sheet. "I
heard about your promotion. Congratulations. Straight in
there." She gestured toward the dressing room.
Lester looked blank. "What's this?"
"I thought you knew," Karen said, looking uncomfortable.
"I've been studying makeup
for the past year, and they've let
me on some of the daytime shows. This afternoon I
practice
was moved into the department, and they assigned me to
Inquiry."
"What's happened to Dale Henry?" Lester asked, trying
not to appear too interested.
Karen shrugged.
Jeri shepherded the other girl into the dressing room and
showed her the cosmetics cabinet, then turned to Lester.
"Dale resigned this afternoon and left immediately. I thought
you knew."
"How would I know? Nobody ever tells me anything.
What was it, a blow-up of some kind?"
"Not to my knowledge. Stan told me she came to his office,
Noel B. Gerson 159

told him she was quitting and asked him to sign a voucher so
she could pick up her severance pay."
"Just like that." Lester was certain there was a connection
between Dale's sudden resignation and their orgy of the pre-
vious night.
"I was surprised, too/' Jeri toldhim as he sat in the barber
chair and Karen drape the plastic sheet around him. She
let

knew his interest in Dale wasn't impersonal.

"Everybody in the house was that surprised/' Karen said,
her approach gingerly as she applied pancake to the face of
Inquiry's celebrated host. "And when Randy Warren didn't
show up this afternoon, I was moved into makeup and
costume coordination faster than I ever dreamed it would
happen."
Lester was glad his eyes were closed. "Don't tell me that
Warren quit, too!"
"Well," Jeri said, "he didn't resign officially, and he hasn't
asked for terminal pay, but Harrison Talbert and a couple of
the boys in the orchestra saw him cleaning out his locker after
lunch."
"Maxie ought to know," Lester said, and became increas-
ingly worried. It sounded as though Warren was clearing the
decks for action preparatory to the 9:00 a.m. blackmail dead-
linehe had named for the following morning.
"Somebody is planning to ask him, I think." Jeri was in-
different to the fate of Randy Warren, and a glance at the
clock on the wall told her the program's guests for the evening
were beginning to arrive, so she had to check them for pos-
sible last-minute inserts of questions. "See you in the studio,"
she said, and wandered out.
Lester waited until she had closed the door behind her
before he spoke. "I had no idea you were interested in
makeup, Karen," he said.
The girl giggled. "I didn't think you even knew who I was."
"How can you say that?" He sounded reproachful. "I've
 160 Talk Show
been aware of you since the first day you were assigned to the
program."
"Really? Why was that? Please close your eyes, Mr. Cor-
bett," she said, and continued to apply the makeup to his
face.
"A look in the mirror will give you the answer," he said.
"But Fm surprised that someone as beautiful as you would
want to be a makeup artist. Is this your ambition?"
"Oh, no! I want to learn everything I can about television,
and someday I hope to go into production."
"Well, that's wonderful! If I can ever be of any help to you,
just let me know."
"Thank you, Mr. Corbett," she said demurely.
"For right now," Lester said, "you're headed in the right
direction. Some night this coming week you'll have to let me
buy you a drink after the show to celebrate this promotion."
Karen knew his reputation, and hesitated for an instant,
then averted her face to hide an elated smile. "I'd love it, Mr.
Corbett," she said.

Jeri was waiting for Lester in his car when he came to the
subbasement of the UBS Building, and he kissed her as he
slid behind the wheel, but did not speak. Randy Warren's
deadline was very much on his mind, and so was the breakfast
meeting with the network brass, whose attitude had indicated
plainly that the fate of Inquiry would be determined in the
immediate future.
Realizing his mind was elsewhere, Jeri waited for him to
speak first.

"You want to go anywhere in particular?" he asked as they

moved up the ramp and onto Fifth Avenue.
"Wherever you say, honey," she said. "We could drop over
to Sardi's— we haven't been there for more than a week. But
it won't be too easy to talk there."
"Anyway, I'm not hungry," Lester said.
Noel B. Gerson 161

"Neither am I. Let's just go down to my place, and we can

have a quiet drink."
"Yes/' Lester said, "good," and drove down toward the
Murray Hill section on the East Side.
Jeri had learned not to force conversation when he was
silent, and pretended to relax against the leather seat. She

couldn't remember having seen him so tense, but knew he

would tell her, in his own time, whatever he wanted her to
know.
Lester let her out at the apartment building entrance, then
parked in the garage beneath it, and took the elevator up-
stairs. This was their usual routine, and he was not surprised

when he saw that Jeri had already changed into a mini-sleep-

coat. He embraced her, and was further gratified to note that
she was wearing nothing beneath the single, flimsy garment.
She knew what he liked.
While he splashed bourbon into two glasses, Jeri took a tray
of ice cubes from the refrigerator. Then, after he made their
drinks, she took his jacket and necktie to a clothes closet.
They followed the routine absently, like any two people who
had been together for a long time, and Jeri kicked off her
mules, then curled up on the small, elegant sofa that was one
of several expensive pieces of furniture in the tastefully fur-
nished four-room apartment. Like virtually everyone in the
television industry, she was careful to live up to her level of
success, which others gauged when they visited her.
Lester stretched out in an easy chair and put his feet on an
antique stool. "Are you accepting the assignment to do the
pilot for Dick Hubbel's NBC show?" he asked.
Jeri looked at him in astonishment. "How did you know
about it?"
He grinned broadly.
"Dick just made me When you saw
the offer this evening.
us up Sky Club." She thought a show of candor might
at the
help to avoid an argument.
 162 Talk Show
'Then I knew before you did/' he said. "You know I have
feelers all over the business."

Jeri nodded. 'That doesn't stop me from being astonished.

Anyway, I haven't given Dick an answer yet. I told him I
wanted a couple of days to think about it."
Lester's grin vanished, and he took a long swallow of his
drink. "If you're smart, you'll grab the offer."
"Why would it be smart?"
"Because Inquiry may be on the skids." He told her in
detail about the meeting with the brass in Stan Friedlander's
office, followed by his visit to Artie Sampson.

"It's no wonder you've been whirling tonight," Jeri said.

Relishing her sympathy, he wished he could give her a

censored version of Randy Warren's blackmail threat, but
knew her questions would force him to reveal more about the
previous night than he had any intention of repeating. He
could barely think of it himself.
"Of course," she said, sipping her drink, "you can put
Sampson out of your mind. He's a fatuous ass, and Murtaugh is
known as a client who only hops on a sure-thing bandwagon."
"That's why I'm so upset," Lester said. "Murtaugh's at-
titude—and Artie's— are signs that I'm slipping. If Corbett
was still sure-fire, they'd follow me anywhere, no matter what
the program or network. But Artie told me in just about as
many words that I'd have to prove myself on a new show
before he'd put in a bid for participating sponsorship."
"If you're wise," Jeri said, "you'll put Arthur Sampson out
of your mind. Even if he offered you a good deal, you couldn't
afford to be too closely associated with a political nut like
Donald Murtaugh. Your appeal has always been based on
your lack of bias, and most viewers would tune you out fast if
you had a close tie with those organizations on the lunatic
fringe of the far Right that he sponsors."
Lester nodded. "You're right, baby, as usual. Thanks for
helping restore the old perspective."
"Far more important," she said, "is the future of Inquiry
Noel B. Gerson 163

itself." She lighted a cigarette, and became thoughtful.

"You're too quick to assume that the Winston incident is
going to result in the program's cancelation. You forget that
UBS will do anything in its power to keep the biggest money-
maker in their stable on the air. I'm sure that was the message
Stan and the vice-presidential brass tried to get across to you
this afternoon."
"Maybe so."
"When they come up with something, they'll not only
want your help, but they'll have a right to expect it."
"Do you know something I don't?" Lester wanted to know.
Jeri shook her head. "Only that Stan told me you had a

chip on your shoulder."

"If they expect me to crawl to Abe Winston and tell him
I'm sorry, I refuse!"
"Nobody wants that, Lester."
"And I won't give up my drug crusade, either. That's some-
thing I wanted to discuss with you, baby. Line up some U.S.
Treasury official for an interview. One of the narcotics people.
And follow it up with a state drug commissioner. That'll not
only keep the subject alive, but it'll convince our audience
some of the action I promised them."
they're getting
"With Inquiry under heavy fire," Jeri said patiently, "UBS
wouldn't permit any such interview, and you'd be crazy to
force the issue just now. Get the Winston mess straightened
out first—however that will be done. And then pick up your
crusade again, if you have to."
"I insist on it!"

Jeri studied him, her blue eyes opaque. "Why, honey?"

"Because I started something, and I want to finish it."
"That's laudable," she said tactfully, "but don't try to
move too During a storm you tread water. You don't put
fast.

on a championship swimming exhibition."

It often surprised him that a girl with her sex appeal had so
much common sense. Hauling himself to his feet, he kissed
 164 Talk Show
her, hard, and went off to refill their glasses. "You think I was
a jackass to explode the bomb under Abe Winston."
"I haven't criticized you."
He placed her fresh drink beside her, then resumed his seat.
"But I know what
you're thinking. I had the whole world by
the but I yanked it too hard."
tail,

"Well, I do think you may have gone a bit overboard in the

way you treated the governor. But it's done, so we go on from
there."
"I was honest," he said angrily, "and I'd handle the show in
exactly the same way if I had to do it again. What do you
think of that?"
Jeri rose, came to him and with great deliberation seated
herself on his lap. "If you want my very candid opinion,
you're so up-tight you're driving yourself round and round in
tiny circles. A lot of people are on your team, honey. Let them
help you and advise you and even guide you. You'll come out
of this just fine if you don't try to steer the ship and run the
engine room at the same time. Start to relax, and do it right
now."
She gave him no opportunity to reply. Cupping his face in
her hands, she kissed him, her mouth slowly opening to re-
ceive his tongue.
Lester's arms went around her, and his pulse quickened, his
groin began to melt, as he felt her press firmly against him,
her hips already undulating. Part of Jeri's attraction was her
conviction that he was physically irresistible, and she always
responded with such quick and breathless passion to his love-
making that her response inevitably heightened his own. His
tongue again darted between her lips, coiling with her own.
From her throat came an urgent moan.
His hand crept inside the thin material of her robe, his
fingers closed over a nipple, teasing it until it rose and he
could feel its ridges and what he imagined was its moistness,
as if it were secreting a love juice. She pressed a hand against
the back of his head, trying to draw him inside her.
Noel B. Gerson 165

Lester's free hand moved gradually up her thigh, his fingers

just grazing her skin. She was moist, like a pearl dipped in
oil.

Jeri shuddered.
This was the reaction he had awaited, and he picked her up,
carried her into the adjoining room, and lowered her to the
bed.
She helped him as he undressed, and was shocked by his
but could not bear to speak of it unless he did.
hairlessness,
They pressed together, their bodies straining.
onto her back, and Lester, still kissing her, went
Jeri rolled
between her legs, then grasped her buttocks.
"Now," she whispered, gasping for breath.
He mounted her, and they began to gyrate rhythmically.
Suddenly Jeri opened her eyes and looked up at him.
"What's wrong, darling?"
Lester was bewildered. "I don't know. I want it. I want you.
But nothing happens." He began to thrust more violently.
She accepted him in silence for a time, then shook her
head. "Wait," she said. "This is one of those nights when
things don't work the usual way."
He was defiant. "They always work for me!"
"Do you want me on top?"
His memories of the previous night overwhelmed him.
"No!" he said loudly.
She was startled by his vehemence. "All right, darling.
We'll just rest for a little while."
Lester moved to a position beside her, and fell into a brood-
ing silence.
"You have a lot of things on your mind," Jeri said, "and
you've had a disturbing day, so it's no wonder."

He was upset by far more than she knew, and made no

reply.
She reached out to touch him. "You'll be okay again in a
little while."
"Look. Do you want me to take care of you?"
 166 Talk Show
"I don't think so. Til wait."
"It might be a wait until morning," Lester said.
"Does it matter? This isn't the first time we've been to-
gether, and it won't be the last."
He sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. "Can I

get you another drink?"

"I don't think so. Tomorrow is going to be an early day for
both of us."
Lester knew she was hinting that he'd be wise not to get
himself a but his nerves were screaming, and he wanted
refill,

to anesthetize them. Between now and morning he'd have to

decide how to handle the blackmail threat, and knew only
that he had no intention of succumbing to it. A man who had
spent his whole life clawing his way to the top and fighting to
stay there didn't abandon his career just because his reputa-
tion was being placed in jeopardy. He had to admit, though,
that the frame-up couldn't have taken place at a more awk-
ward time.
Jeri was watching him, concern evident in her eyes.
He lighted a cigarette for her and handed it to her.
She feigned a yawn. "Thanks, darling, but I'm sleepy," she
said, and stubbed out the cigarette.
Lester padded across the room and snapped off the light. "I
guess both of us could stand a few hours of sleep. Then I'll be
okay again."
"Of course you will!" Jeri turned over and pulled up the
covers.
Lester went into the living room, poured himself a strong
drink, and, after snapping off the lights, sat down with it in
the dark room. His future would be decided in the next
twelve hours, he thought, and in the morning he would re-

sume his battle to save his vocation as a telecaster. But, for

the present, he was sickened by something far more important
to him, and cursed the trio who had rendered him impotent,
emasculated him.
 ale Henry emerged from the bathroom in her
bra and panties, and went straight to the dressing table at the
far side of the hotel room. Then, taking cosmetics from her
oversized shoulder bag, she made up her face with smooth,
professional competence.
The man watched her from the bed, propping himself on
one elbow. "You do a slick job with all those little brushes,"
he said.
She glanced at him in the mirror. "I thought you were still
asleep."
"I ordered breakfast sent up while you were in the bath-
room."
"Good. I need more light," Dale said, and snapped on the
dressing-table lamps.
"I was hoping we'd have another round," he said pointedly.
Her smile was fleeting. "You're a glutton," she said, and
continued to make up.
The door buzzer sounded in the adjoining sitting room.
"There's our breakfast," the man and went into the
said,
other room, carefully closing the door behind him.

167
 168 Talk Show
Dale pulled on her and zipped it, then examined her-
dress
self critically in the mirror. She neither looked nor felt tired,
which was all to the good; this was an important day, and she
wanted to appear at her best when starting a new job.
"All clear," the man called, and she went in to join him.
"What an enormous meal," Dale said, looking at the
covered dishes on the roll-away table.
"Well, I didn't know what you like for breakfast, so I

ordered several things."

"You don't care how you throw your money around."
He grinned at her. "It isn't my money."
"The fruit juice and coffee will be enough for me," Dale
said as she moved to the chair opposite his. "I never eat much
in the morning. I've got to watch my figure."
"I'll gladly watch it for you."
She opened her napkin, and two hundred-dollar bills flut-

tered to the table.

The man was still grinning at her.
"You know what it makes me if I take this money?" Dale
asked.
He shrugged. "Don't be foolish. Take it. I'm charging it off,

so you may as well have it."

She left the bills where they had fallen, and sipped her
orange juice.
"I'm not kidding," he said. "It'll go on my expense account,
regardless of whether you take it."
Dale hesitated for a long moment, then stuffed the money
into her shoulder bag, which rested on the floor beside her.
"You must have some fancy job," she said, busying herself
pouring coffee.
"It's a living," he said, and abruptly changed the subject.
"Next time I come into town, do I call you at Universal, care
of the Inquiry program?"
She couldn't remember mentioning to him, when they had
sat together at the bar after he had picked her up, that she
Noel B. Gerson 169

was employed by UBS, but perhaps she had made an inad-

vertent slip. "I don't work there anymore."
"Really? Since when?"
"Yesterday."
"Trouble with Lester Corbett, maybe."
Dale wondered whether the man had known her identity
when he had set out to meet her. In that event the night's
lark hadn't been accidental. She was positive she hadn't
mentioned Lester's name. "Corbett is okay," she said, weigh-
ing her words. "I just wanted to better myself, that's all."
"Where are you working now?"
"I'm not so sure," she said, "that we ought to see each
other again. Black girl and white man. No future in it."
"There might be," he said, looking up from his bacon and
eggs.
Dale became taut.
"Those C-notes are just samples," he said. "They're sup-
posed to whet your appetite for the big money."
"I'm not that good in bed," she said, acid dropping from
her voice.
"Who's talking about bed?" he countered.
She rubbed her bare arms to rid them of gooseflesh.
"If you'll cooperate, Miss Henry, you can make plenty."
Dale knew she hadn't told him her last name. "Mister,"
she said, "you've got some explaining to do."
"Sure." He took a piece of toast and munched it. "The
people who hire me don't care how they spend it, provided
they get what they want."
She took a cigarette from her shoulder bag, and her hand
trembled as she held a match to it.
"In my
kind of work," he said, "there are two ways to get
information. Either you pump it out of people without their
knowing it, which is easy when you're putting together a
report that doesn't dig below the surface, but gets much
tougher when you want the solid meat. Or you go to your
 170 Talk Show
subject, cut him and he works with you. That way
in, every-
body profits, and no sweat."
there's
"Are you a policeman?" Dale demanded.
"Do I look like one?"
"Maybe." He was stocky, in his late thirties, and, now that
she thought of it,there was something in his attitude that
reminded her of the plainclothesmen she had always recog-
nized in her Harlem childhood.
"No police force in the world pays enough," he said. "Not
when you like good things the way I do. See this suit? Two
hundred and seventy-five, it cost me. You don't buy suits like
this on a cop's pay." He laughed, challenging her.
"Then you're a private detective."
"Ihappen to own the most discreet agency of investigation
in the country. I don't go out into the field on many jobs
myself anymore, but I'm on an assignment now that has all

kinds of angles and ramifications, so I'm running the show

myself."
"Where do I come in?"
"Have some more coffee," he said, and poured a cup for
her.
"We didn't just run into each other last night," Dale said.
"You rented this suite in the hope that I'd— well, do just
what I did."
"Sometimes, in my business, work is a pleasure."
Dale looked at her watch. "I wasn't fooling when I said I'm
starting a new job today. I don't have much time."
"Okay." The man hitched forward in his chair, the rest of
his breakfast forgotten. "You know Lester Corbett."
"Iworked on his program for a long time, and I handled his
makeup. Also the color coordination of the clothes he wore in
front of the cameras."
"That isn't what I meant, and you know it. You've been
well acquainted with him. Personally."
Dale made no reply.
Noel B. Gerson 171

"Our investigations have revealed— beyond all doubt— that

you've dated Corbett numerous times over the past couple of
years."
She shrugged. "What does that prove?"
"A man like Corbett doesn't take out a woman of your
talents in order to talk business."
Dale retreated into a dignified shell. "Come to the point,
please."
"The people who have hiredme want to nail Lester Cor-
bett's hide to a wall. Give me all you know about him,
particularly anything that can be verified, and you can write
any amount you want on a blank check."
Looking at him, her face expressionless, she took a deep
drag on her cigarette and sipped her coffee.

Jeri Maynard saw to it that Lester Corbett was punctual,

and he arrived at Stan Friedlander's office at 8:45 a.m. The
executives staggered in over the next few minutes, and the
entire group repaired to the UBS cafeteria three floors below
them, and headed toward the dining room at the rear that was
reserved for the exclusive use of department heads, star net-
work performers and their guests.
This was the busiest hour of the day, and the cafeteria,
which seated four hundred, was filled with secretaries, file
clerks, engineers and research workers. According to a long-
established policy, the corporation didn't try to make a profit
on the operation, and passed along the savings to the con-
sumer. So the meals served there were less expensive than
employees could find in a restaurant, although newcomers
were warned, "Every dish in the place tastes cut-rate."
Lester emerged from the elevator with the vice-president in
charge of public information, who was telling him in detail
about the author of a nonfiction book.
"This guy does a lot of magazine pieces, Les— on the level
of Harper s and the Atlantic, and although his book isn't much
 172 Talk Show
of anything, would be easy for
it me to con him into doing a
magazine article on you if you'll give him a guest shot. You
could use the exposure in that type of magazine. It would
improve your image in the circles that say you aren't intellec-
tual enough."
"1*11 tell Jeri to set up an appearance through his literary
agent/' Lester said.
Stan Friedlander pushed open the door of the air-condi-
tioned cafeteria, and they started through the room.
Randy Warren, in his usual turtleneck sweater, was sitting
alone at a table directly inside the entrance, facing the door.
Lester felt a sense of shock when he saw the makeup man
quietly staring at him.
Randy did not speak, but continued to watch him brazenly.
The party that was heading for the executive dining room
passed so closed to the table that Lester could have reached
out and touched Randy on the shoulder. But he gave no sign
of recognition, and continued to chat with the public-informa-
tion chief as he moved past the blackmailer. At the entrance
to the inner room he half-turned, and saw that Randy had
twisted around in his chair, a cigarette dangling from the
corner of his mouth, and was still watching him.
The die was cast, Lester knew. He had defied the threat by
ignoring Randy's deadline, and there might be hell to pay.
But, in one sense, it didn't matter, regardless of the embar-
rassment Randy might cause him. The simple act of refusing
to meet the makeup man's outrageous terms gave him a feel-
ing of relief.

To the surprise of his companions, who hadn't expected to

find him in a jovial mood, he and
told a long, involved
amusing story about the he had encountered cover-
difficulties

ing a football game in the days when he had been a sports-

caster.
After one of the two waitresses assigned to the executive
dining room brought their food, the group settled down to a
Noel B. Gerson 173

and the vice-president in charge of affiliates

serious discussion,
took the floor. "Late last night/' he said, "I had an idea, a
very simple idea, that might provide us with the solution of
our dilemma. I spoke to Stan about it, and I believe he ap-
proves."
Stan smiled and nodded.
"I wanted to talk to you, too, Les, but I didn't know where
to find you."
That was a lie, Lester knew. Stan had realized he was going
off with Jeri after the show, so they could have called him at
her apartment. He supposed, however, that instead of resent-
ing the oversight, he should be grateful for the circumspection
they had shown.
"If were Abraham Winston," the affiliates chief said, "I'd
I

want— more than anything else— the right to present my side

of the drug story to the American people. Now, from what
I've read in the Times, and from what the general manager of
our affiliate in Columbus tells me, the investigation into the
death of Lester's son will be completed in the next day or
two. This is and our Columbus manager says he's
Friday,
positive the full report will be submitted late Sunday evening,
in time to make Monday morning's newspaper headlines.
"I'd like to persuade the governor not to release the report
at that time and in that way. I'd like to offer him the facilities

of Inquiry, on Monday night if he can get here, or on any

other night next week that's convenient. He'd be using the
same forum on which he was attacked— unfairly attacked, in
his opinion. What do you think?"
The public-information vice-president obviously knew of
the idea, too. "It would be great," he said. "Lester Corbett,
Inquiry and UBS would get points for their sense of fair play.
The critics would be left holding
of the network in Congress
an empty bag, and the FCC would have no reason whatever
to be contemplating punitive action against us."
The vice-president in charge of sales beamed. "Our spon-
 174 Talk Show
would be off the hook, too. They'd have no kick. In fact,
sors
when you think of the ratings that program can achieve, they
ought to be delirious."
"We've thought of putting spot announcements on the air
for at least twenty-four hours before the telecast," Stan Fried-
lander said. "Short and punchy. Like, 'Governor Abraham
Winston answers Lester Corbett on Inquiry at eleven fifteen
tonight over UBS.' Bam-bam. Lots of spots, on both our TV
and radio networks. We'll draw as big an audience as a speech
by the President pulls."
"Governor Winston's opponents for the nomination won't
be happy, of course," the affiliates vice-president said, "but
they can't beef too much."
"Of course," the public-information chief said, "the other
party will protest that we're opening up the presidential
campaign itself. Fair enough. So— a few weeks from now, or
whenever, after they've held their convention and chosen
theii candidate— we can offer him a guest slot on Inquiry, too.
We can put some teeth into the interview. Not too many, of
course, because we don't want a repetition of this hassle. But
we can pull off another great show with ratings that will
blanket the airwaves."
The and they sat back in their
waitress arrived with coffee,
chairs, smilingand nodding, as she poured it.
Lester waited until she had departed, and said, "Nobody
has asked for my opinion."
"It's just great, Les, isn't it?" Stan hadn't looked this
pleased in many days.
"It stinks," Lester said.
Several of the others started to speak simultaneously.
The affiliates vice-president raised his hand, and his col-
leagues fell silent. "Before I left home this morning," he said,
"I took the liberty of calling Edgar Cranmer and explaining
the idea to him. He's given it his full endorsement. More than
that. I'm sure you'll find him in his office right now, telephon-
Noel B. Gerson 175

ing the members of the board of directors, who will share his
relief that the crisis will be ended amicably, in a manner satis-

factory to everyone concerned."

"Not to me," Lester said.
There was a protracted, uncomfortable silence.
Stan Friedlander forgot to be jovial. "What are your objec-
tions?" he asked, and his wife could have testified that his
ominous quiet was a sure sign he had been pushed to the
wall.
"It will look," Lester said, "as though I've been forced to
capitulate. And that'll be the truth."
"On the contrary," Stan declared, "your image as the
honest, modest fellow-who-lives-next-door will be enhanced.
You've already won the sympathy vote of parents who are
worried about their kids' use of drugs. Now you'll pick up the
rest of the audience, the people who thought you weren't
giving Abe Winston the fair shake he deserved. This idea is

foolproof!"
"At my expense," Lester said. "The network comes out of
the dung heap smelling of roses. The sponsors are delirious
because of the ratings.Abe Winston's commission white-
washes him, and three thousand other people, all of them
anonymous, are responsible for my son's death. So he's
elected President by the biggest plurality any candidate has
racked up since Franklin Roosevelt creamed Alf Landon. And
nobody suffers except a slob named Corbett. Who he? Oh, a
talk-show host who used to be known for his honesty and
candor. Does it matter if he's slipping? Does anybody care if
this Winston rebuttal destroys Corbett's credibility? Hell, no!
Start breaking in his replacement, few months you
and in a
can give the bastard his walking papers. He can go peddle
apples on a street corner, which is all he'll be good for!"
"If you'll give yourself time for reflection, Les," the affili-
ates vice-president said, "I'm sure you'll change your mind."
"It occurs to me," Stan said, "that we haven't brought out
 176 Talk Show
one angle, and Les may not understand it. Sure, we're propos-
ing that Abe Winston be given time to say anything he
pleases. Fifteen minutes. A full half-hour. Whatever. But
you'll have an opportunity to cross-question him. You can
double back, or go over new ground, or ask him about the
commission's report to him."
"I'm sure," Lester said, and sneered. "All of my questions
will be typed on Jeri's cue cards. She'll have had instructions
to avoid controversy as she would the bubonic plague. I'll be
earnest, sincere— and a water-soaked sponge. I'll be warned
that if I stray from the cue cards and ask Winston any ques-
tions that'll strike sparks, I'll not only lose Inquiry, but I'll be
blackballed from the industry!" He paused and looked around
the table. "Does anybody here have the guts to tell me I'm
exaggerating? Or writing an inaccurate script?"
The affiliates vice-president drained his coffee. "No useful
purpose will be served by continuing the discussion at the
present time," he said. "I suggest a temporary adjournment."
"Les," Stan said, "please stick around your office this morn-
ing. I'm sure you'll be paged."
As Lester made his way out of the cafeteria he saw that the
table Randy Warren had occupied was empty.
To the astonishment of the staff, and for the first time in
years, Lester was seated at his desk before 9:30 a.m. He
thought of going to a hotel, where he could spend the rest of
the morning sleeping, but his courage deserted him. His chal-
lenge to the network, combined with his defiance of Randy
Warren, was enough for one morning. He knew he hadn't
heard the last of the plan to give Governor Winston rebuttal
time, and if he disappeared for hours he'd be giving UBS the
perfect excuse to discharge him as irresponsible. It was far
better to dig in here and stand by his guns.
He tried to read the Times, couldn't concentrate, and
called home, but Grace apparently had turned off all the
phones, and he couldn't rouse her. It would be beneath his
Noel B. Gerson 177

stature to wander through the Inquiry offices, he knew, and

his mere presence would disrupt a staff that always worked
with one eye on the clock.
At a complete loss for something to do, he flipped on the
network color monitor at the far side of his office, and then
winced. Max Marx, who was the host of a regular morning
show of household hints, was chatting with three ladies
"chosen at random" from the studio audience about the finer
points of pruning a garden. Turning off the set, he decided to
take a nap, and stretched out on his couch.
Before he had a chance to close his eyes the door opened
and Dale Henry walked in. "Your secretary was away from her
desk," she said, "but one of the girls told me you were in here.
I've spent the last hour looking all over town for you."
Lester sat upright and regarded her warily. "I thought you
left yesterday to take a new job."
"I did. And I had
them this morning to say I'd need
to call
a more time before reporting. I had to see you first."
little

Randy having failed in his blackmail attempt, Lester

thought, Dale had been sent to turn the screws tighter.
"Aren't you going to ask me to sit down?" she asked.
His smile was ironic. "Help yourself, lovely lady."
She looked around the office, then deliberately elected to
seat herself beside him on the couch.
Lester continued to smile as he watched her go through the
futile motions of tugging down her skirt. Obviously she failed
to realize that she and her Swedish companion were two
women who no longer appealed to him.
"I've got to have a frank talk with you," Dale said.
"Uh-huh. Randy sent you."
"I don't approve of what he's doing, and I'll have nothing
more to do with him."
"Yeah," Lester said.
Dale was annoyed. "I didn't have to come here, but I'm
trying to do you a favor."
 178 Talk Show
"If all the people who want to help me got together/' he
said, "they'd have me sealed in my coffin and buried in no
time."
"You're in far greater danger than you know/' she said.
"Randy knows what he can do with that tape, and the same
goes for you."
"This danger comes from people far more powerful than
Randy. And richer."
Either she was a better actress than he had realized, or she
was in earnest. "Let me guess," he said. "Your little syndicate
is selling shares in a dirty movie."
Dale couldn't help laughing, but quickly sobered. "I've
found out about some people who'd pay a fortune for a cer-
tain erotic film," she said, and sketchily relating the story of
her previous evening's pickup, she told him in detail about
the developments at breakfast.
Lester wondered if he had grown as pale as he felt. "Did
this detective admit in so many words that he's been hired by
Abe Winston and his crowd?"
"He never mentioned any names. Or occupations. Or any-
thing. All he said was that they've got all the money they
need, and that they want to get their hooks into you."
"And what did you do?"
"I refused to play ball with him. So he started quoting
figures to me, and got up to a thousand in cash."
Now, Lester thought, she would ask for a larger sum in
order to keep her quiet.
"I told him I'd think about it," Dale said. "It was the best
way to get out of there without making a scene. Les, these
people are out of my league, and I don't want to get mixed up
with them. I'm over my head, and I don't like it. I'm the only
black involved in this whole mess, so you know who'll be
made the scapegoat if something should go wrong. I don't
want to make another mistake."
"I didn't know you had made one."
Noel B. Gerson 179

"You don't believe me/'

"I'm not sure what to believe," Lester and meant it.
said,
"Sweetie/' Dale said, "you don't dig me
all. I was fed up
at
with you because you took me for granted. I was always
around when you wanted a quick lay. Oh, I know, I was as
much to blame as you were, but the color of my skin makes
me sensitive. So it didn't take much persuasion to talk me
into playing that stunt on you the other night. It would have
been all right if we'd stopped with what Margarite and I did
to you." She smiled for a moment. "That part was fun."
"Oh, it was dandy," Lester said bitterly.
She ignored the interruption. "But I didn't realize how far
Randy planned to go with the film. I like to stay on the right
side of the law. But I'm on that film, too. So it isn't just
loyalty to you— or a wish to do you a favor after playing a
dirty trick on you— that brings me here. If that detective buys
the tape, I'm on it. His clients can twist my arm any way they
please."
"All I can say is that I've been dragged into something on a
high-power level," Lester said. "Far beyond the scope of even
the most successful talk show on all of television." He
sounded bitter. "And you've been sucked into it with me."
"What have you done about Randy?"
"Nothing.He ordered me to accept an ultimatum to meet
him at nine o'clock.
I saw him, but I didn't speak to him."

Dale showed alarm. "He's mean, sweetie. And he'll follow

through."
Lester shrugged. "He'll have to get in line if he wants a
my scalp."
piece of
"How I wish I could go hide someplace! I'd give my soul to
go underground."
He stared at her, aware of the possibility that he could
reduce the pressures slightly. "Do you mean that?"
me a chance, and watch me prove it!"
"Just give
"Do you need cash?"
 180 Talk Show
"That isn't why I came here/' she said, flaring.
"How much?"
"Look, I told you that I'm starting a new job today—"
"How much?"
"—at one of the other networks, and I—"
"If you honestly want to go underground, I can help,"
Lester said. "There isn't a better makeup artist in the busi-
ness, and they'll hold the job for you. If they don't, you have
the reputation to pick up another whenever you want it."
Dale watched him as he went to a wall safe and began to
twist a pair of dials.
He opened the safe, took out a stack of paper money that
was held together with a rubber band, and counted out
twenty hundred-dollar bills. "Will two thousand take care of
you for a month?"
Her laugh was brittle. "What kind of a salary do you think
I earn, sweetie? For that kind of bread I can vanish in Harlem

for a long, long time."

"Four weeks is plenty," Lester said. "By that time I'll
eitherbe in the clear, or I'll be the smallest grease spot in the
United States."
Dale took the money, folded it with care and stored it deep
in her shoulder bag. "So help me," she said, "I didn't come
here for this."
"It was my idea," Lester said.
She studied him. "You aren't as much of a bastard as I
always thought. I've been feeling different about you ever
since I cut you down to my size." Suddenly she reached up to
kiss him on the cheek.
Her touch caused him to flinch.
Dale immediately went to the door, and paused there, one
hand on the knob. "I'll let you know where to find me," she
said, "just in case you need me."
"I won't," he said, "and I'd much rather you didn't."
Dale started to speak, changed her mind and was gone.
Noel B. Gerson 181

Before Lester could recover, Max Marx stood in the en-

trance. "Got a minute, friend?"
"I'm holding open house this morning," Lester said.

"Come in, friend." He returned the rest of the money to the

wall safe, which he closed.
Max made no comment, but glanced for an instant in the
direction of the departing Dale. Then he sat down opposite
Lester's desk, carefully tugging up his trouser legs to preserve
their crease. "I can't remember when you showed up this
early."
"A command performance for the brass."
"I thank the Lord," Max said, "that I don't have that
problem. The front office doesn't know I'm alive."
"The way I've heard it," Lester said, "you've developed a
real yen for my job."
"God forbid!"Max said. "I know my limitations, friend.
I'm earning close to a thousand a week, which is more than I
ever thought I'd make, way back when I started in summer
stock. And I don't intend to rock any boats."
"That," Lester persisted, "isn't what I heard from a rather
special friend of yours, Maxie."
Max Marx flushed, looked at his fingernails and then lifted
his head again. "A certain person is ambitious for me. You
know how it is, Les." His self-deprecating gesture was uncon-
sciously feminine.
He was upset, Lester thought; Maxie rarely gave himself
away that blatantly.
"I give you my solemn word I don't want to take over
Inquiry. I couldn't do the job, Les. You know it, the front
office knows it— and Max Marx knows it better than anyone."
"Then you know what I'd do if I were you, Maxie? I'd cool
off my ambitious friend."
me. But he just won't listen to me, Les,
"I've tried, believe
so what can I do?"
"Drowning," Lester said, "would be too good."
 182 Talk Show
"For the past few days he's been positively manic, and he's
had me worried/' Max said. "I've been wondering if he's
losing his grip on reality. He's been insisting to me that you're
going to resign in my favor. Can you imagine anything that
insane?"
"Never," Lester said.
Max took a cigarette from a gold case, lost his taste for it

and put it away again. "Yesterday," he said, "he cleaned out

his locker and walked out of the network. Just like that. He
didn't give notice, didn't quit, just left. And when I tried to
reason with him last night, after the show, he laughed at me.
He kept insisting, over and over, that everything was going to
be different after this morning."
Lester didn't what extent Max might be involved
know to
in Randy's conspiracy, even though he appeared innocent,
and proceeded cautiously. "What was so special about this
morning?"
"I don't know, but I hoped you could help me," Max said,
and looked embarrassed.
"Why me?"
"Forgive me
sounding absurd, but Randy said he had a
for
breakfast date with you. In the cafeteria.And he swore you
were going to come straight back here and resign. I'd have
come along and tried to stop him, but I had my rehearsal for
my homemaker's show and couldn't get free. I suspect that's
why he chose nine o'clock."
"This," Lester said, weighing every word, "is the first I've

heard of the whole thing."

Max looked both incredulous and relieved. "You didn't
have a breakfast date with Randy in the cafeteria? You didn't
meet him there at nine?"
"From precisely eight fifty until nine twenty-five," Lester
said, "Iwas trapped in the executive dining room with most
of UBS's brass and our mutual father-confessor, Stan. Half
the hired help of the company saw us going in and out. If
Noel B. Gerson 183

somebody had put caps and gowns on us, we'd have looked
like professors in a university convocation procession."
"I'm mortified/' Max muttered. "I truly don't know what
else to say."
"Forget it," Lester replied. "Apparently the kid has been
having some kind of a hashish dream."
"If he's been taking drugs again, that's the end of it, I

swear!"
"I was just using a figure of speech, Maxie. I wouldn't have
the least idea whether your friend is on hashish. Or anything
else."
"This could explain a great many things," Max said. "He
promisedme he stopped, so it didn't occur to me that he
might—" He broke off, bit his lower lip and stood abruptly.
"I appreciate this, Les. Thank you for being patient. And
understanding."
"Out of a thousand or more people on the UBS payroll,"
Lester said, "you're the only person who thinks I'm either."

Jeri Maynard sat very still, her hands folded in her lap, and
tried not to watch Stan Friedlander pacing the length of his
huge office.

"I want you to tell me in all candor what you think of

Fred's idea," he said.
"It's so brilliant," Jeri replied, "that I'm surprised no one
thought of it earlier."

"It's good for Inquiry—"

"And for the network. And
Governor Winston." for
"Above all, for Lester, as we
and tried to tell him!"
tried
Stan halted long enough take a cigar from his humidor, re-
move the band and light it. "Can you see any flaws in it from
his position?"
"None," Jeri said. "But he's so defensive about his mistake
of the other night that he doesn't see the situation through
 184 Talk Show
normal eyes, Stan. That's why he thinks the governor's re-
buttal would be an attempt to slap him in the face/'
"I called you in here/' Stan said, "because I want you to
talk to him. Go down to his office right now, and tell him."
She shook her head, and ran a hand through her short,
blond hair. "I know Lester too well, Stan. He'd tell me to
mind my own business, and we'd have a raging fight."
He halted, the cigar clenched between his teeth. "I never
interfere in the private lives of the talent I hire or the em-
ployees on my payroll. But I'm fighting for the survival of
Inquiry, so forgive me for being blunt. You've been sleeping
with Les for a long time. My God, Jeri! You must have some
influence over him!"
"Only in personal things, as you ought to know. You've
been associated with him far longer than I have, Stan. He's his
own boss in everything that touches his work!"
"I've been told you can go over to NBC with Dick Hubbel,"
he said. "Congratulations."
There were no secrets in a network office, Jeri concluded.
"Thanks."
"Think of us poor dopes collecting unemployment checks.
Maybe a half-dozen or so people from the Inquiry staff will be
absorbed by other shows, but everybody else will be out. In-
cluding the Great Man, of course. And the best producer in
the business."
She was amazed. "You, Stan?"
"If you didn't know it, I'm more vulnerable than all the
rest. Who does the front office hold responsible for everything
that happens on Inquiry? Me! Who gets blasted for every
goof, every fluffed line, every interview that falls flat? Me!
Who gets hauled on the carpet when Les is suffering from
constipation— or something— and puts on a flabby show? You
guessed right. Me, with a mortgage on a $110,000 house, two
big cars I'm buying on time, and three of my kids at Ivy
League colleges running up the biggest goddam bills you ever
Noel B. Gerson 185

saw. I swear to you, Jeri, if Les Corbett doesn't come down

from mountaintop and start acting like a reasonable hu-
his
man being— and fast— I'll shoot him through the head."
Jeri was startled, but recovered her aplomb. "Is it really that
bad, Stan?"
"Worse. Bishop Cranmer has just fought off an attempt on
the board of directors to unseat him, and this situation could
kick his troubles loose again. So he can't afford to be lenient.
Either Les cooperates and brings this mad fandango to an
end, or all of us are thrown out on our asses. There can be no
halfway measures." He glanced at the clock on his wall, and
clapped a hand to his head. "Batten down the hatches, Jeri.

The fireworks are about to start!"

Abner Brody was typical of the new breed of talent repre-

sentative who had developed during the television era. Unlike
his show business predecessors, who had no college education,
he was a City College of New York graduate and suburbanite
who dressed with understated elegance, rarely raised his voice
and was devoted to the principle of the soft sell. When the
occasion demanded, however, he could be direct, firm and
dynamic, and he wasted no words as he strode into Lester
Corbett's office.

"Of all the clients I represent," he said, "you're the biggest

horse's behind. Why didn't you let me know that earthquakes
are shaking UBS today?"
Lester shook his hand."What are you doing here, Abner?"
"I'vehad a half-dozen calls from the network people, tell-
ing me your troubles— and asking me to join you for the
showdown. Why do you think I collect ten percent of your
income, you damned fool? You should have kept me in-
formed."
"This is a situation I can handle myself," Lester said.
The agent cocked his head to one side and regarded him
with infinite sadness. That," he said, "will be the day. Les,
 186 Talk Show
you manage better than most in ordinary hassles, but you're
up against something big this time. The whole power struc-
ture of the television industry. I've been asking myself what in
God's name got into you when you put the slug on Governor
Winston. And don't bother giving me your answer, because it
doesn't matter. What's done is done. All that matters now is
to get this situation in hand."
"I suppose you've heard the cock-eyed proposal of the UBS
They want to invite Winston to
brain trust of vice-presidents.
make another appearance on Inquiry, and give him carte
blanche. They even suggest that right on the air he release the
report of the commission looking into my son's death. My
air!"

"Except that it isn't your air. According to the FCC, it

belongs to the public, and UBS holds it as a trust. According

to practice, Channel One is the exclusive property of the Uni-

versal Broadcasting System. They graciously permit personal-
ities and performers to make use of segments of the time
available on the air, and even pay them for the privilege of
telecasting. But the prerogative is that of the network, which
has the right to withdraw the privilege whenever it sees fit."
'Thanks for the lecture. Do I gather you approve of their
idea, Abner?"
"I think somebody in this place was inspired, for once,"
Brody said. 'They came up with a gimmick that's absolutely
guaranteed to get you out of a jam that's even worse than my
nightmares."
Lester looked at him coldly. "Since you know everything
else, you undoubtedly have been told that I've flatly rejected
the idea."
"But you can be persuaded to change your mind."
"Like hell I can."
"Les," Brody said earnestly, "if you want to retire from the
business, just say so. Don't insist that they throw you out on
your can. If you refuse to go along with this scheme, you're
Noel B. Gerson 187

not only washed up at UBS. I wouldn't be able to get you a

job somewhere announcing local station breaks. Apparently
you aren't aware of the extent of the repercussions your
Winston interview has created. You've touched the most
sensitive nerve in America. You've played partisan politics on
the air!"
Lester tried to interrupt.
But the agent gave him no chance. "So you've got every-
body in an uproar. The business community. The universities.
Washington, naturally. The labor unions. Television survives
because it keeps itself antiseptic. It strikes an impartial, un-
biased balance, and it never, never takes sides in any argu-
ment. Sure, it can be argued that television has no character,
no guts because it stays so bland. But I don't want to hear
that kind of talk from you, and neither does UBS. When we
renegotiated your basic contract, it was for two and a half
million over a period of ten years, and don't you forget it.
Seven hundred and fifty grand a year, not counting all the
extras. And they don't pay you that kind of money to bite the
hand that feeds it to you."
"Who are you representing, Abner, UBS or me?" Lester
demanded.
"You caused this mess. They didn't. They've found a way
to get you out of it, and you're crazy if you don't leap at the
chance. When we go into the lion's den, do yourself a big
favor and keep your mouth closed. Don't let me hear even
one sound of that golden Corbett voice. I'll do the talking for
you."
"Is there going to be another meeting? All I know is that I
was ordered to stick around. Like a small boy being sent to his
room until he says he's sorry he was so naughty."
Brody looked up at the wall clock, shook his head and
grasped his client's arm. "Right this minute," he said, leading
Lester out of his office, "you're marching to Armageddon."
 188 Talk Show
The office of Edgar Cranmer, at first glance, reflected the
simplicity of the man himself. His desk was plain, the other
furniture was simple, the drapes appeared ordinary and the
carpeting was done in a solid maroon. But a closer inspection
revealed that the desk, chairs and tables had been handcrafted
by expert cabinetmakers, the drapes were of pure silk and the
carpeting was of a quality rarely found in the United States.
Cranmer himself was equally subtle in appearance, resem-
bling the conservative investment banker he had been before
being called to Universal Broadcasting, on whose board he
had served for a number of years, to reorganize the network. A
quiet man who nevertheless gave off an aura of authority, the
nickname of Bishop, given him because of the famous
Renaissance clergyman of the same name, seemed to fit him.
His manner was austere, his dress conservative, and he habit-
ually wore a slightly puzzled, faintly disapproving frown,
which cowed most of his subordinates.
Talent, even the most expensive talent on UBS's roster,
seldom visited the Bishop in his lair. He did not encourage
meetings there, and followed the theory he had developed,
that the chief executive officer of the corporation should hold
himself aloof from the performers whose exorbitant salary he
paid. He heartily disapproved of these earnings, but it was no
secret that his own salary, combined with a complicated stock
deal, put him in the same category. No actor or singer or
commentator, no matter how much money he made, could
look down the financial side of his nose at the Bishop.
Lester Corbett couldn'tremember having stepped inside
the sanctum sanctorum more than two or three times, but he
tried to conceal his nervousness by adopting a flippant atti-
tude. "How's Mr. Cranmer?"
tricks,

The president and chief executive officer of the Universal

Broadcasting System regarded him somberly. "Good morning,
Lester. Nice to see you again, Mr. Brody." He waved them to
chairs.
Noel B. Gerson 189

Abner Brody made no attempt to conceal the fact that he

was impressed. "This office is very nice."
"Thank you/' Cranmer said, and wasted no time. "Gentle-
men, I read a piece in Newsweek recently to the effect that
life in the television industry consists of leaping from one
crisis to the next/'
The agent laughed politely, but Lester remained wooden.
"That may be true/' Cranmer continued, "but I must tell
you that I've never known a crisis like the one that was
precipitated this week. Not only has Universal been rent to
the core, but all of the other networks have been shaken.
Everyone in the business is watching to see what we do to
recoup. If we can, that is, before the Congress and the govern-
ment's regulatory agencies crack down on us. I can't tell you
in strong enough terms just how serious our situation is."
"We have a pretty good idea," Abner Brody said.
Lester seemed absorbed in studying a silver-framed portrait
of the gray-haired Mrs. Cranmer on the desk.
"In my talks with the various department heads here,"
Cranmer want no temporary, stop-
said, "I've stressed that I
gap measures. We can grow from this experience, and benefit
accordingly, if we act boldly and with imagination. I'm
pleased to say that Universal's officers have risen to the chal-
lenge. Dr. Stoddard, our board chairman, is delighted, and so
are the members of the directorate with whom I've been
speaking on the telephone all morning. You're familiar, of
course, with the proposition that's been advanced."
The agent smiled and nodded.
Lester confined himself to a brief inclination of his head.
"I've arranged to speak to Governor Winston in a quarter
of an hour from now, and intend to make him our offer at
that time."
Lester roused himself. "That's hitting below the belt, Mr.
Cranmer! Why apply that kind of pressure?"
Cranmer regarded him with impersonal remoteness. "If
 190 Talk Show
you'll forgive the paraphrase of Winston Churchill, Lester, I
didn't take this position of mine in order to preside over the
dissolution of the Universal Broadcasting System. I'm here to
make it secure, strong and profitable, and I shall do every-
thing within my not inconsiderable powers to insure that
those goals are met."
"Fair enough," Abner Brody said.
Lester glared at him. "I keep wondering what side you're
on."
"Mr. Brody is very much on your side, I should say,"
Cranmer told him. "You're going to enjoy incalculable
benefits."
"Such as?"
"I directed market research to make a very rapid survey for
me this morning. Their results, which they called in to me
just before you arrived, are preliminary, of course, but they're
nevertheless significant. Governor Winston's second appear-
ance on Inquiry will do wonders for our ratings, and after
you've interviewed the opposition candidate this summer,
we'll go up a few more notches. I'm confident that before
autumn we'll be in a position to make a substantial increase in
the commercial rate we charge for the program."
The agent, who had been too awed to smoke, confidently
lighted a cigarette.
"Naturally," the network president said, "we'll want to pass
along an equitable share to the man who has made— and will
continue to make— the program the most successful of its

kind on the air. I thought we might settle the matter in prin-

ciple now, and work out the details later through the program
department."
"What kind of principles do you have in mind?" Brody
asked.
"For one thing," Cranmer said, "we wouldn't want it to
appear that we were buying off Lester, so any new agreement
Noel B. Gerson 191

wouldn't become effective until the end of the summer cycle,

when we hope to raise the sponsorship rates."

'That's smart/' the agent said. "We agree."
"I haven't agreed to anything/' Lester said.
Cranmer pretended he hadn't heard the comment. "I'm
sure you and the program department will be able to work
this out to your mutual satisfaction, Mr. Brody/' he said, "but
I'm thinking of a sliding-scale pact, something that will pro-

vide for an increase in the neighborhood of one hundred

thousand a year."
"We'd require a minimum of one hundred thousand, Mr.
Cranmer," the agent said. "In my client's bracket, a floor of
any less wouldn't mean anything."
"We have a gentlemen's understanding," the network
president replied, "that the increase is definite, and won't
amount to less than one hundred thousand a year."
"Don't I have anything to say in all this?" Lester wanted to
know.
Brody turned to him. "Usually," he said, "I don't allow a
client to be present when I'm working out a new contract."
"We're involved in an unprecedented situation," Cranmer
said, "so it's necessary for Lester to be here. It would be un-

fortunate—all around— if he didn't understand the agree-

ment in its entirety."
Lester's gesture was impatient. "If you think you can buy
me foran extra hundred G's a year, you're mistaken. I
couldn't keep that much of the new money."
"There are ways," Brody said, "to make some of it stick.
Don't go off half-cocked."
"What's more," Lester declared, "Stan knows, and so do all
the others, that I turned them down this morning. So you
can't make out that you didn't hear about it and try to turn
the tables on me."
Cranmer's manner became frosty. "I was told your position,
of course. But I chose to regard it as temporary."
 192 Talk Show
"It isn't," Lester said, ignoring Brody's frantic efforts to
silence him.
"Nevertheless, that' s how I regard it," Cranmer said, "be-

cause I'm positive you don't understand the situation in

depth."
"I know all about the government wanting to crack down
on the industry," Lester said.
"That isn't what I meant. I was thinking in terms of Lester
Corbett, the host of Inquiry. You andI have grown together

at Universal, Lester, and I like to think that each of us has

contributed materially to the other's success, just as we've
both made Universal competitive with the other networks.
The loss of Lester Corbett and of Inquiry would be regret-
table, although Universal has become strong enough to with-
stand the blow."
"Now you re threatening me," Lester said.
"Not at all. Ihave no intention of permitting Inquiry to go
off the air," Cranmer said, "and I have every hope that Lester
Corbett will continue to serve as its host." He turned to the
agent. "Mr. Brody, it wouldn't surprise me if you share my
fascination with the magic that the television camera can
such a broad scope and such intimacy of appeal
create. It has
that a nobody can be transformed, overnight, into a highly
paid national celebrity."
Brody's nod was cautious. "I've seen it happen many
times," he said.
"Now, I don't pretend that we wouldn't suffer if we lost
the services of Lester Corbett. As our publicity department is

so fond of saying, he's more than a celebrity, he's a national

institution. But I don't agree with the thinking of several of
my subordinates, who have been claiming that Lester Corbett
and Inquiry are one and the same."
Lester's laugh was harsh. "You couldn't be thinking of
replacing me on Inquiry, Mr. Cranmer!"
"With the greatest of regret and personal sorrow," the
Noel B. Gerson 193

network president said, "and only if there were no other way

out of our dilemma. I'm paid a handsome income to make
decisions, and I've made one. Inquiry will not be taken off the
air. If Lester Corbett elects to disassociate himself from the

program, he no choice, and we'll terminate his

will give us
services— and his compensation— as of the moment he ten-
ders his resignation/'
"Wait a minute," Brody said. "You'd still have to pay him
more years."
for five
"Not if he resigns," Cranmer said with a faint smile, "or so
I'm informed by our legal department. You'll want to check
your own attorneys on the point, of course, but I trust the
situation won't come to that."
"Who
would you put in to replace me?" Lester demanded,
and laughed again. "Maxie Marx?"
Cranmer addressed himself to the agent. "We were just
speaking of television's magic, and I'm sure you represent
many talented people you'd want our program department to
audition for the job. So would every other agent."
Brody nodded, unable to hide his consternation. "You've
got us by the short hair, Mr. Cranmer," he said. "Les had you
licked as long as he had you believing that nobody else could
do the show. Of course, he can still do it better than anybody
in the business."
"That's why we want to keep him." The telephone rang,
and Cranmer picked it up. "Edgar Cranmer," he said. "Ah,
good morning, Governor. You've already had a chat with Stan
Friedlander, no doubt. Splendid! And how does
. . . . . .

our plan strike you? We hoped you'd feel that way.

. . .

. .No, Governor, we're not being in the least generous. It's

.

our duty to see both sides of every question. . . . Yes, Lester

Corbett will want to chat with made your you after you've
speech and submitted your commission's report. Rest assured
we'll give you his questions in advance. ... As it happens,
he's right here in my office now, and he sends you his best
 194 Talk Show
regards, too. . . . He'll be delighted to hear you bear no
personal grudges, and you can rest assured he doesn't, either.
. . . Fine, Governor. I look forward to seeing you on Tuesday
evening." He replaced the instrument in its cradle.
'The slickest stunt I've ever seen," Lester said. "You'd
have done okay as a carnival barker."
"I'll Cranmer said. "As you
take that as a compliment,"
just heard,Governor Winston has accepted our invitation. He
can't break his Monday appointments, but he'll fly to New
York Tuesday, and will be your guest that night."
Lester clenched his fists.

Brody cut in before he could speak. "While Mr. Cranmer

was talking to Governor Winston, I did some thinking. Two
points I want to make. First, I hope you're not taking it per-
sonally, Mr. Cranmer, if Les has been rude. Remember that
he's suffered a terrible shock this week."
"I haven't forgotten it," Cranmer said, "and Lester knows
that Universal and I offer him our condolences."
"That switches me onto another track," Brody said. "Les, I
know how
already you can hang onto some of that extra
money— and do a lot of good at the same time. Establish a
foundation that will fight the use of drugs by college kids, and
call it after your son. Make a regular contribution to it every
year. That way you'll be doing some real good as well as estab-
lishing a permanent memorial to your son."
"Mr. Brody, I congratulate you," Cranmer said, "and
Lester, I can promise you that Universal will make a
think I

substantial annual contribution to the foundation."

"You guys," Lester said, "would do well as a vaudeville
team. Never mind how much you make Corbett crawl. Never
mind how big a black eye you give him with his following. No
matter how weak and cowardly you make him appear. You
even set up a foundation for me— with my money! Nobody
even bothers to ask me if that's the way I want my son
remembered!"
Noel B. Gerson 195

Cranmer stood. "Let me synopsize the terms/' he said.

Brody relunctantly rose to his feet, too.
"Inquiry/' the network president said, "will remain on the
air, and under the terms of Universale contract with Lester

Corbett, we require him to continue to act as the host of the

program. he chooses to leave the show, he does so on his own
If

responsibility,and Universal immediately cuts him off. He

not only receives no more compensation, but it should go
without saying, though I'll still say it, that he won't work here
again."
"We get the picture," Brody said, and tried without success
to smile.
Lester heaved himself to his feet and started toward the
door without saying a word.
Cranmer moved around his desk quickly, reached the door
first and placed a hand on the knob. "If you'll go along with

one of the shrewdest moves ever made in this business, you'll

have no cause to regret it, Lester. But if you don't show up for

Tuesday night's interview with Governor Winston, or you

screw it up or try to use it to your own advantage, may God
help you!"

Bill Blaisdell crumpled a paper on which he had scribbled

some notes, Abraham Winston's tooled
and threw it in
leather wastebasket. "If we had seen his move coming," he
said, "we could have demanded still more from UBS."
"It seems to me we're getting quite enough, Bill," the
governor replied in a mild tone. "As much time as I want to
say anything I A chance
please. to read the commission report
on young Corbett's death to the American public. And the
opportunity to have another chat with Lester Corbett before
a national television audience. I'll be ready for him this time,
and I promise you I won't come out second-best. This re-
buttal will not only make it easier to line up the delegates for
the convention, but it will serve as a great kickoff for the
 196 Talk Show
campaign itself. If we had planned this ourselves, I couldn't
be more pleased."
"I could/' Blaisdell said. "Corbett still sticks in my throat."
"Don't be so vindictive, Bill," the governor replied. "He's
just a talk-show host."
"He's tricky, smooth and fast on his feet," Blaisdell said,
"and I'm not forgetting he has a career of his own at stake.
He's not going to enjoy eating humble pie, and he'll want to
stay on top. What's more, he's dealing in his own medium.
He knows television far better than you, and he can undercut
you with a gesture, a facial expression, even a grunt here and
there."
"Well," Abraham Winston said, "I suppose it's possible,
Bill. But I really believe UBS is trying to make amends.
Several of our heaviest financial supporters sit on their board
of directors, don't forget."
"I'm not talking about Wall Street men or the attitude of
UBS. They wouldn't have come to you with this proposition
if they intended to hold you up to ridicule again. It's Lester

Corbett who worries me, and I want to keep a check rein on

him."
"How?"
Blaisdell grinned. "There are some things," he said, "that
the next President of the United States would do well not to
know." He walked out the door and went to his own office,

where he placed a call to New York on his private line.

The line rang only once. "Hello," a man said in a deep
voice.
"Jeff," Blaisdell said, "this is your friend in Columbus. How
are we doing?"
"So-so."
"You made the offer to Corbett's black girlfriend?"
"Yeah, and she said she'd think about it. I think she's cold
on the idea, Bill, and I had no way to apply pressure without
revealing the names of people who shouldn't be named.
When you don't have a handle, you can't crank up a car."
Noel B. Gerson 197

"Go back to the girl and sweeten the pot. Increase the offer
anywhere up to twenty-five hundred. And throw in a little
menace, if that will help."
"I tried that line, but I didn't have to try especially hard.
The minute she found out who I was she got scared/'
"Then just dangle the bait/' Blaisdell said.

"I wish I could, Bill." The private detective sounded for-

lorn. "But I'm not so sure can find her again.
I An hour or so
after she left me this morning, she disappeared."
"Impossible. People have jobs, homes, friends, relatives.
They always show up."
"Well, she had a new network but she didn't put in an
job,
appearance there. She paid a brief UBS this morning,
visit to

and I traced her to Corbett's office. She stayed there a few

minutes, and left. The operative I had on her tail tracked her
into the subway, and she deliberately shook him off."
"How do you know it was deliberate?"
"I don't hire amateurs to work for me, Bill," the detective
said reproachfully. "We checked on her apartment, and she's
no forwarding address."
cleared out, leaving
"If she's panicked,and it appears she has," Blaisdell said,
"there must be something important she's trying to conceal."
"That's the way I figure it. I've never yet known a subject
to go underground without an urgent reason."
"Then you've got to find her, and fast!" Blaisdell said. "My
boss is doing a repeat with Corbett on Tuesday night, and I
need a loaded gun to hold to that bastard's head!"

Lester Corbett slumped dispiritedly behind his desk, the

final words of his agent still ringing in his ears: "Play ball with
the network, and you've got it made. Rock the boat and
you're finished!"
Abner was right, perhaps, and Lester knew his advice was
sound. A new long-term contract, an increase to almost a
million per year, and maybe some stock options, were within
grasp. Not bad for a guy who, only ten years earlier, was happy
 198 Talk Show
to accept one-shot spot appearances for the AFTRA minimum.
But life became infinitely more complicated as one became
increasingly successful, and Lester Corbett, national person-
ality, lacked the freedom of that younger Lester Corbett, part-
time announcer, part-time actor. His faithful audience of
millions regarded him as a man whose and
likes, dislikes
integrity were remarkably similar to their own tastes and
principles. If they thought he had knuckled under to network
pressures, they could express their permanent displeasure with
a twist of the dial. And he suffered under no false illusions
regarding his fate if that happened, and his ratings dropped.
UBS would turn him out to pasture with the usual syrupy
expressions of regret, and he would have little to occupy him
but his pool and bridge games at the Players Club, and his
golf.
A great many he knew, would gladly exchange
of his peers,
places with him, and would point out that an assured income
of a million every year for the next decade wouldn't be hard to
take. Never having been in the big money, they didn't realize
that he wasn't worried about finances. He'd worked hard all
of his life, and work was still the principal reason for his
existence. Recognition was his chief reward, not money. So he
needed Inquiry even more than the program needed him.
All of his problems— except one— would be solved if he
surrendered and accepted the network's demands. What no
one seemed to understand was that Lester Corbett would
become nothing but an automaton, an animated grease spot if
his pride was destroyed. And he sure couldn't buy the argu-
ment that he was suffering from an inflated actor's ego that
distorted the true picture. Although he was publicized as a
talk-show host, and was regarded as a commentator, he was an
actor, and couldn't change his temperament.
The voice of his secretary on the intercom cut short his
random thinking. "Costume wants to see you about tonight's
show, Mr. Corbett."
Noel B. Gerson 199

"Okay, send her in. And you may as well go to lunch, Lynn.
And Friday is your shopping day, so don't hurry back."
"Thank you for remembering," she said, and clicked off.
Lester was on his feet as Karen Block came into the office,
and he made no secret of his admiration for her figure in a
close-fitting tunic and clinging pants that looked as though
she had been immersed in water. "Good morning," he said.
"You look smashing in that outfit!"
"Do you like it? Thanks, Mr. Corbett. The trouble with my
old job in guest relations was that there were all kinds of
clothes restrictions. Now I can wear what I please."
"A good thing, too, with your body. And the name is
Lester, not Mr. Corbett. Lester, or there's no sense in being
intimate." He waved her toward the couch, then strolled
toward itand joined her.
"Lester." She said it experimentally, flipped back her long,
auburn hair and smiled. "It isn't as difficult as I thought."
"Did you think I'd devour you whole?" He offered her a
cigarette from the inlaid box on the coffee table.
"Well, when you're at the bottom of the heap in guest
relations, you don't think of calling the star by his first name."
Karen was not too awed to flirt with him as he flipped on a
table lighter for her.
"You're part of the team now, so it's different."
"You won't believe what Mr. Friedlander told me this
morning!" Her excitement was infectious. "I was brought into
makeup and costume as the assistant, you know. I thought
Randy Warren was going to be in charge. But he's quit— or
something. Anyway, he hasn't been around, although a couple
of the kids thought they saw him in the cafeteria this morn-
ing. Anyway, Mr. Friedlander is going to give me a shot at
running the department. If I can't handle it, he'll put some-
body over me, somebody they'll transfer from another pro-
gram. But if I can do it, they'll give me an assistant."
"You'll be a complete success. I'll see to it. The Inquiry
 200 Talk Show
setup is very simple to handle. You see to it that makeup is

painless for the guests who don't enjoy having cosmetics

smeared on their faces. That's easy. And you see to it that
Lester Corbett stays tamped down and doesn't have one of
his temperamental fits. That's even easier. I guarantee it."
He put his hand on her thigh, resting it there, not grasping,
not caressing. The girl did nothing. Very cool. But he thought
he could feel a warmth from her skin through the cloth.
He glanced at the wall clock. "In fact," he said, "we ought
to celebrate your promotion right now. Do you have a lunch
date?"
"Not really."
"Now you do." Lester stood and went to the cabinet on the
far side of the room that opened into a seldom-used bar.
"We'll start with a drink right here. What'll it be?"
"I've never done much drinking at noon." The girl looked
dubious.
"It wouldn't be much of a celebration without some. You
look like a martini drinker to me."
"They're kind of strong."
"Not the way I fix them. And while I'm doing it, you can
decide what you want me to wear for tonight's show."
"You want me to decide?" Karen was astonished.
"Why not? It's your department. You'll find my wardrobe
in the second closet over there."
Karen went to it while he mixed their drinks, trying not to
appear impressed either by the ice-making machine in the
small bar or by the score of suits and jackets she saw hanging
in the closet.
Lester joined her as she stood in front of the open closet
door, and casually slipped a hand around her waist. "Have you
made up your mind?"
"Well," she said, "you look a little tired today, so maybe
that dark blue would given an added dimension of life and
warmth. I'm not certain."
Noel B. Gerson 201

He removed his jacket, and tried on the one she had indi-
cated. "Okay?"
Karen regarded him critically for a moment. "Perfect!"
"Sold," he said, removed the jacket and handed it to her.
She busied herself returning it to its hanger in the closet.
Lester took hold of her hand. "You don't want your drink
to get warm."
"This necktie with it," she said, "and a pale blue shirt."
"Whatever you say, Karen." His genial manner was remi-
niscent of the aura he created in front of the cameras.
"I've got to notify master control."
"Help yourself." He waved her to the telephone.
Karen called Dick Hubbel, and spoke to him briefly. She
was smiling when she turned away from the instrument and
went to join Lester on the couch, where a pitcher of martinis
stood on the coffee table. "Mr. Hubbel congratulated me for
having your whole costume set so early in the day."
"I told you it would be easy." He lighted a cigarette for her,
then handed it to her.
The girl regarded him at length, her deep green eyes be-
mused. "You aren't at all what you seem to be to the kids in
guest relations."
He poured their drinks and handed her a glass. "And what's
that?"
"Oh, very remote. Nice, too," she added hastily. "But you
look through the kids and don't actually notice them."
"I've always noticed you!"
"I know," she murmured, and averted her gaze.
"Here's to a long and close relationship!" Lester raised his
glass.

"That's a lovely toast." Karen looked demure as she sipped

her martini.
"You've mentioned that you're interested in all phases of
programming. Once you're set in makeup and costume, and
have all your routines buttoned down, we'll work out a
 202 Talk Show
schedule so you can get a taste of what they do in other
departments. You can spend some time with the maniacs in
master control, and you can watch them put the show to-

gether in the bullpen/'

"Not there/' Karen said.
"Why not?"
She appeared to be concentrating on her martini. "I don't
believe Miss Maynard would make me particularly welcome. I
mean, the writers are terribly busy, and—"
"Nobody on Inquiry is ever too busy for other members of
the staff!" He refilled their glasses.
Karen laughed. "Maybe I sound naive, but Miss Maynard
has always struck me as being— well, kind of possessive, if you
see what I mean."
"I see exactly. You think Jeri would be jealous if I asked her
to let an outsider who happens to be an exceptionally attrac-
tive girl sit in and observe the operations of her department."
"Yes," Karen said, "except that I'm not all that attractive."
"I happen to differ on the point." His hand returned to her
thigh.
She looked at it, then at him, and the green eyes became
candid. "There's a lot of talk around the studios," she said.
"Everybody thinks you and Miss Maynard have a special
relationship."
"Jeri has no right to restrict my friendships," Lester said,
"and she knows better than to try."
"That makes it all right, then." Karen drained her glass,
looking relieved, and made no objection when he emptied the
contents of the pitcher into it. "She has lots of connections
around here, and I wouldn't want to make an enemy of her
when I'm just starting out."
"Every network is a rumor factory," Lester said. "Gossip is
turned out faster than video tape. But no matter what you've
heard,I go my own way. And nobody knows it better than Jeri
Maynard. Have we got that straight?"
Noel B. Gerson 203

"Very," the "and by the time I finish this drink

girl said,

I'm going to be bombed."

Lester chuckled. "Me, too. That's the best way to cele-
brate." He rose, went to the door and locked it.
Then he turned and halted abruptly. Karen had unzipped
and taken off her tunic, and was calmly removing the bottom
portion of her pantsuit.
She stood before him without embarrassment in her flimsy
bra, panties and high-heeled shoes. "This was the general
idea, wasn't it?" she asked, smiling shyly.
Her matter-of-fact air stunned him momentarily, and he
thought it best not to try to force out any words. It seemed
he'd have no need for them anyway.
"The only seductions," Karen said, "take place in Gothic
novels. When a woman and
a man want something, they do
something about had hot pants for you ever since I
it. I've
came to work here, and you had me on your futures list,
although you didn't quite know how to get around to me."
Lester caught his breath as she unhooked her bra.
"Why wait until after lunch?" she demanded. "By then
we'll have had too much to eat and drink. I really want to ball
you. Let's do it now." Discarding the bra, she went to him.
Before Lester could take more than a single step toward
her, she caught hold of his head and pulled it down to her
bare breasts. He nuzzled them, then took each nipple in his
moist lips.

Karen shuddered, then pushed him away. "That's just a

sample. Yourofficial costumer thinks you're wearing too many

clothes."
Her sudden boldness had unnerved him, and his laugh was
shaky as he began to undress.
Moving swiftly, she helped him, unbuttoning his shirt and
unzipping his trousers. Her hands lingering and caressing, and
it felt as though she had the wisdom of all women in the tips
of her long fingernails.
 204 Talk Show
"We're going to make up for a lot of lost time," Lester
said.
"Not unless you help me, too/' she replied, indicating her
panties.
Lester went to his knees before her, separated the silken
material from her skin and held the panties while she stepped
out of them. Then he reached out and grasped her around the
hands sliding to her buttocks as he drew her to him
waist, his
and pushed his face into the soft, moist hair between her
legs.
Karen caught hold of the back of his head, pressing him
closer."What's Jeri Maynard got that I haven't?"
He was too busy to reply.
She continued to stand, her feet well apart, her hips
gyrating.
Lester intensified his tongue's probings, at the same time
forcing his fingers to bite deep into her rounded buttocks.
Karen found it difficult to speak. "You'd better stop/' she
gasped. "I can't hold off— much longer.'"
He paid no attention to her protest.
She began deep pelvic thrusts, each more con-
a series of
vulsive than that which preceded it.
Lester's tongue sucked joyfully at her as her passion reached
a peak.
Suddenly Karen went up on her toes, cried aloud, and,
clutching his head, came slowly down sobbing quietly.
He stood, gathered her unresisting body in his arms and
carried her to the couch.
She gazed up at him as he stretched her out on it. "How
did you know what I wanted?"
"I must have guessed it," he said. "It was instinctive, I
suppose. I didn't stop to think about it."
"I don't have to beat my brains out to know what you
want, either," she murmured, and pulled him down on top of
her.
Lester wanted her more than he could recall wanting any
Noel B. Gerson 205
woman, and realized, dimly, that more than his desire for
Karen was responsible. Beyond all else he felt the compelling
need to prove to himself that last night's fiasco with Jeri had
lacked lasting significance, that it had been caused by his
worry and exhaustion.
"Whenever you're ready," Karen said, with one hand open-
ing herself to him and trying to guide him in. But soon he
realized he had reached a level beyond which he could not
progress.
The girl's body continued to move in concert with his, but
she, too, was aware of the change. "What's wrong?" she
whispered.
"Damned if I know." Lester dismounted and sat at the far
end of the couch, his desire unrequited, his mind whirling
with the implications of his failure.

Karen sat up, regarded him speculatively, and reached for

his unfinished drink. "A little too much of this local anes-
thetic, maybe?"
Lester's shoulders rose and fell. "Could be, I suppose,
although it never hit me this way before."
"Could it be that I don't turn you on?" Karen was reflec-

tive, then pouted. "After all, I'm not the Maynard type."
Jeri
"You're gorgeous! And I want you— more than I seem
capable of showing you."
She smiled at him, then slid to the floor at his feet and laid
her face against his thigh. "Don't be too sure of that," she
said.
Ashamed of his weakness, Lester permitted her to do as she
pleased.
It was Karen's turn to tease and arouse with lips and tongue
and teeth.
His body straining, every nerve screaming for release, he
buried his hands in her thick hair as her head moved slowly
but with incredible She actually made sounds of
finesse.
gurgling joy as she devoured him. Then, all at once, he found
relief.
 206 Talk Show
Karen, having cleaned herself, rejoined him on the couch. "I
could do with a cigarette," she said.
Lester lighted one and handed it to her, but lacked the
courage to meet her gaze.
"If you had told me your preference," she said, "we could
have saved you all that agony. Next time I'll know better/'
"You won't believe this," he muttered, "and I can't blame
you for it, but I've never had any particular preference. I like
everything."
"Then it has something to do with me. Or with Jeri
Maynard."
"Look," he said in irritation, "get this into your red head.
I'm not married to Jeri, and never will be."
"I was just thinking out loud," Karen said.
"Don't," Lester said. "I'll prove to you, next time, that this
was just one of those freak things."
"I'm glad there's going to be a next time."
"You don't think I'm going to let you waltz out of my life,
do you?"
"I didn't know what to think." She kissed him, ran her
hands up and down his body, then stood and began to gather
her clothes. "I've got to fix my makeup and comb my hair."
"My bathroom is the door at the far end of the room."
"I'm really moving up in the world. I've never used a
private office bathroom." The door closed behind her.
Lester continued to sit for what felt like a very long time
before he finally dragged himself to his feet and wearily began
to pull on Karen was young and lovely, with a
his clothes.
tricky figure and an imaginative approach to sex, so he could
not blame her in any way for his inadequate performance.
Margarite Boe, Dale Henry and, above all, Randy Warren
were responsible for his continuing failure, and the knowledge
gnawed at him, overshadowing the most important vocational
crisis he had ever faced.
Noel B. Gerson 207
Stan Friedlander measured a limited quantity of the Sky
Club's low-calorie dressing on his chefs salad. "You're the
only one who can save us all, if you'll do it/' he said.

Jeri Maynard finished tossing her own fruit salad, then

stirred noncaloric saccharine into her iced coffee. "Just what is

ityou want me to do?"

"Talk some sense into Les. Or beat it into him. Anything."
Stan gave her a synopsized version of Lester's meeting with
Edgar Cranmer.
She nodded and began to eat.
Stan watched her. "No comments?"
"Plenty," Jeri said. "Lester is reacting to pressures, that's
all."

"He's being stubborn beyond belief, and I think he's acting

like a moron."
"That's because you're a logical businessman. You and I

build up the reputations of people like Lester, Stan, each of us

in our own way. We use them as glamour pawns in the game
of superchess that the networks play with each other, and we
tend to forget that their egos expand as their names and
incomes grow. Sometimes faster."
"Give them a starvation diet on the air, and they'll shrink
right back to pigmy size."
"Certainly, but you can't expect them show that much
to
insight. Not when there are several people on the UBS staff
who are assigned to Inquiry for the express, exclusive purpose
of making Lester Corbett into the nation's number one TV
idol. We encourage his fan mail, using every promotion tech-
nique and gimmick, both overt and subliminal, and then we
shake our heads in wonder because he takes himself seriously
when tens of thousands of people write every week to tell him
he's marvelous."
"For the sake of my own, personal satisfactions," Stan said,
I'll laugh like crazy if he's hauled back down to earth. But
Ellie will have hysterics for the rest of her life if we're forced
 208 Talk Show
to give up our new house and her car. Much less send the kids
to state colleges."
"You just prove my point/' Jeri said. "Your own concept of
reality has been changed by the inflated medium we work
in."
"Suppose I grant everything you say." Stan poured the rest
of the dressing onto his chef's salad in a sudden, reckless
gesture. "Where does that lead us?"
"It doesn't, except that it offers us a clearer understanding
of the problem we face. Lester honestly thinks he's as impor-
tant a public figure as Governor Abe Winston, and in some
ways he is, unfortunately for the rest of us. He also believes
he's as powerful as Bishop Cranmer—
"Which he isn't."
"Correct. So our problem is how to convince someone who
believes he's invincible that the people who really push the
power buttons will squash him."
"If you don't know the answers, Jeri, we're sunk."
"I'm not necessarily saying I can't find them. I'm exploring
this situation one step at a time to see if we can't find our
way, Stan." She lost interest in her food, and sat back in her
chair, then lighted a cigarette.
"Les refuses to listen to reason?"
"I've tried logic, but it doesn't work. He's looking through
the wrong end of the telescope."
"Then what do you suggest?" Stan demanded.
"Lester isn't as independent as he thinks. We've got to
approach him through his needs."
"Forgive my lack of delicacy," Stan said, "but I believe
you're hinting you can soften him horizontally."
Jeri drew deeply on her cigarette and stared out of the Sky
Club's plate glass windows at the peaks of other Manhattan
towers. "Lately," she said, "I haven't had too much of a hold
on him in that department."
"Then who has?"
Noel B. Gerson 209

"If there were anyone special, I believe I'd know about it,
Stan. Not that he'd come out and tell me in so many words. I
know what you think of his sex appetites, but Lester isn't that
crude. He just happens to be a man who'll never be satisfied
with any one woman. He may want me, and I'm sure he does,
but he can't help sparking to new faces."
"And new bodies," Stan said sourly.
The girl shrugged. "That's the way he's built, and I knew it

when I started going with him, so I can't complain."

"How you can love a guy like that is beyond me!"
"Let's not bring love into this, please."
"Sorry, Jeri. I'll put it another way. What hold do you have
over him?"
Jeri thought for a long time before she replied. "For the
past year and a half," she said, ''Lester has used me as a
substitute wife. He can cry on my shoulder, he can have a
temper tantrum, he can run to mama to kiss the cut on his
knee and make it better. He's emotionally dependent on me.
To a limited extent. And subject to cancellation without
notice. He can get rid of me any time he pleases, which is why
he finds it easier to lean on me than on his wife." She smiled,
and her voice became dry. "If you want to know why I put up
with it— with him— it must be because I'm the maternal type.
I enjoy knowing that Lester honestly needs me. The day he

doesn't is the day I tell him good-bye."

"Would it do any good if we get Grace Corbett in on all
this?" Stan wanted to know.
"Only for a last-ditch, united-front effort, I'm afraid. She's
the part of Lester's background that makes it possible for him
to avoid marriage with anyone else. She keeps house for him,
she provides him with the aura of middle-class respectability
that his national image demands, and she sees to it that the
servants give him and dinner when he comes home
a drink
from his weekend golf game. But there's no more to the rela-
tionship than that, although I don't know— and wouldn't
 210 Talk Show
want to predict— how Lester would react if he thought his
marriage might be in jeopardy."
''All right, we'll forget Grace."
"Not necessarily."
Stan asked the waiter for more and unwrapped a cigar,
ice,

which he lighted with care. "Dick Hubbel has told me all the
details of his NBC offer to you. He told me because I asked.
And I'm in a position to top it, Jeri. We're paying you around
twenty-five thousand a year right now, I believe."
"Twenty-seven, five."

He waved the cigar. "For the sake of a lousy couple of

grand,make me a liar. Jeri, I'm willing to make a hash of my
whole budget. I'll take you out of the bullpen, although I'll
want you to keep supervising what's done there, with your
own choice in charge of it. In brief, I'll give you a new con-
tract as associate producer of Inquiry, with a starting salary of
forty grand, plus an addition of a thousand per year for the
five years the contract is in force. No tricky escape clauses,
either. You can have your own lawyer work out the details
with the legal department."
hard at him and saw he was serious.
Jeri stared
"Next to me," he said, "you're the commanding general.
You're my deputy, and you supervise every phase of our entire
operation."
"I'm overwhelmed," she said.
Stan shrugged. "What the hell, they're going to give me a
vice-presidency, so I'll need somebody to supervise Inquiry
from day to day."
"I get the pitch."
"Yes, I'm sure you do," he said, and looked at her.
"Your promotion and mine," Jeri said, "depend on my
ability to persuade Lester to do the new Abe Winston guest
shot, and to do it in the way it's prepared. All you're asking,
Stan, is that I perform a miracle!"
Noel B. Gerson 21 I

Grace Corbett wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, not

even the neighbors she considered her best friends, but the
days she enjoyed most were those she spent alone in the
house. The truth of the matter was that the presence of
servants still inhibited her, and although she had been em-
ploying them for years, ever since Lester had moved into the
big money, they continued to make her nervous.
So she was filled with a sense of well-being when she
awakened, early in the morning, and realized that the new
couple were taking the day off, even though they had worked
only two days. She hadn't protested too hard when they had
insisted they be given Fridays and Mondays off; it was easier
on her, in some ways, if they were on hand when Lester was at
home over the weekends.
Luxuriating in the king-sized bed that her husband rarely
shared with her, she dropped off into a light sleep again, and
dozed until midmorning. Then, attired in the old robe she felt
she couldn't wear in front of the servants, she went down-
stairs, made a pot of coffee and settled down at the kitchen
table to read the gossip columns, drink endless cups of coffee
and chain-smoke. This was the most peaceful time of day, the
period when she permitted no problems to intrude on her self-
induced euphoric state, and she was content.
After she had gleaned the last crumb from the Daily News
and glanced briefly at the Times, she drifted upstairs again,
dressing in one of the modestly tailored suits she favored, and
spending no more than a few moments at her dressing table.
A little lipstick was all the makeup she needed when she
visited her friends, who didn't care how she looked.
Now the rest of the day stretched out before her, and she
gave her first consideration to the question of how to spend it.

The garden club she had joined last year was holding a
luncheon and meeting, but she didn't take her own gardening
activities seriously, and wasn't in a mood to discuss tulip bulbs
and rare iris plants with enthusiasts. Perhaps she would call
 212 Talk Show
Helen Thompson, who lived down the block, and they would
try thatnew restaurant that had opened just off the turnpike.
Lester had derided the place, saying it mass-produced medi-
ocre meals for tourists who wouldn't appreciate good food if
they were served it, so she had an idea she would feel com-
fortable there.
The sound of an automobile moving into the long driveway
surprised her. She was expecting no one this morning, so she
took care to remain hidden behind the summer drapes as she
peered out of the window. A taxicab pulled to a halt, dis-
charged its passenger and pulled away again, leaving a slender
young man in a silk turtleneck, matching slacks and jacket of
exaggerated, English cut standing in the driveway. He carried
a square, leather box, which he held by a handle, and stood
for some moments, looking at the house and grounds.
Grace's first impression was that he was a door-to-door
salesman of some sort, but she quickly realized that such men,
if they used automobiles, always drove their own cars. Sales-
men didn't take taxis which they then paid off and dismissed.
The young man looked vaguely familiar, she thought, but
couldn't place him. It was obvious that he was a stranger to
the house when he moved to the front, double doors and rang
the chiming bell there; anyone who knew the place always
came to the "family" entrance that opened onto the breakfast
room.
Vaguely resenting the unexpected visit, Grace took her
time answering the summons.
"Good morning, Mrs. Corbett." The young man was very
polite, very respectful. "I realize now that I should have called
you from the station, and I must apologize for bursting in on
you unannounced. I do hope you'll forgive me. I'm Randolph
Warren, of the Inquiry program."
"Won't you come in?" His good manners impressed her.
"Thank you." He took care to wipe his shoe soles on the
thick mat, and further ingratiated himself.
Noel B. Gerson 213

"I don't think I've seen you before/' Grace said. "Have we
met at the studio?"
"Oh, I've seen you on the all too infrequent occasions when
you've come in to the studio, ma'am, but I'm not important
enough to have been presented to you. I'm just one of the
technicians."
Grace smiled at him. "Technicians are very important in
television."
"You're kind to say so, stopped to look
Mrs. Corbett." He
at a chair in the drawing room, which he saw from the corri-
dor. "That looks like a genuine Louis XV."
"It is." Grace was delighted that someone had recognized a
piece of the furniture she had paid a decorator a fortune to
bring into the house.
"Gorgeous. do envy you." He peered at the piano stand-
I

ing at the far side of the room. "How marvelous! A grand,

with woodwork done in the style of an early eighteenth-
century spinet. What a fun idea! And it goes so well with the
rest of the room."
"Thank you. It's very sweet of you to notice. May I offer
you some coffee, Mr. Warren?"
"I'd love it."
She gestured toward a room filled with overstuffed furni-
ture. "Why don't you wait for me there, in Lester's den? The
servants are off today, so I'll get the coffee myself."
Randy glanced into the room, its mantel crowded with
Emmys, Peabody Awards and other trophies Lester had won
during his long years on Inquiry. "If I may, I'd rather come
with you."
Grace saw he meant it, and felt at home with him. He
wasn't like so many of the breezy, fast-talking television
people who put up brassy fronts and looked down their noses
at anyone who wasn't in the business. Leading the way to the
kitchen, she pointed to the case he was carrying. "Would you
like to put your package somewhere?"
 214 Talk Show
'Til keep it with me, thank you. Oh, this room is charming.
I like the two-toned green tiling! It's old-fashioned and mod-
ern at the same time."
"I designed it myself/' Grace said proudly, and was glad
that someone appreciated her taste. Lester always complained
that the color of the tiles made him feel seasick.
Randy sat at the kitchen table, his case on the floor close
beside him, and watched Grace empty the coffee grounds and
refill the pot. "It's so nice to see that someone else doesn't use
an electric percolator. I always say that the old-fashioned
coffeepot is the best."
"So do I. I guess we're real coffee drinkers. I like it strong
enough to stand up and walk by itself."
He laughed and offered her a gold-tipped, perfumed ciga-
rette, then lighted it for her.
"Mmm. Good." She looked curiously at the cigarette.
"There's only one shop you can get them. A little place in
the Village. Let me
you a package." He reached into an
give
inner jacket pocket and extended a cellophane-wrapped, card-
board package to her.
"Oh, I couldn't," Grace said.
"I insist, Mrs. Corbett." He placed the package on the far
side of the kitchen table.
"You're very generous, Mr. Warren."
"Not at all."
Grace stood patiently near the stove, awaiting his explana-
tion of the reason for his call.

Randy knew what was on her mind. "May I wait until we

can relax over our coffee?"
"Of course." His manners were exquisite, she thought, and
didn't care if his gestures and slight lisp were rather effemi-
nate. Lester always ridiculed obvious homosexuals, but she
found them pleasant company. A woman didn't have to be on
her guard with them.
"Country living does have advantages, I suppose," Randy
Noel B. Gerson 215
said. "I've often thought of moving out of the city, but I'm in
a rut there— a rut that I truly enjoy, I might add— so I don't
believe I could ever tear myself away."
Grace found herself chatting easily with him until their
coffee was ready. "How would you like it?"
"Black, without sugar!"
"We're kindred spirits," she said as she brought their cups
to the table. "Are you sure you want to drink it in here?"
"By all means. This atmosphere is gemiitlich, Mrs. Cor-
bett, and makes it far easier for me to say what I must." He
offered her another of his cigarettes, then lighted it for her.
"Oh, dear. I hope nothing unpleasant has happened."
"Well, I'm afraid you won't enjoy it, but I certainly share
your hope there will be no permanent damage done by it. Mr.
Corbett has been— well, rather naughty, you see." Randy
hesitated, and was surprised to discover that his mission was
going to be more difficult to accomplish than he had assumed.
If Grace had been sophisticated and tough, he could have

breezed through his prepared speech without being bothered,

but she was such a simple, gentle soul that he couldn't put
the story into words for her.
Grace shifted uneasily in her chair and took a deep drag on
her cigarette.
"I've brought some video tapes with me, and I'd very much
like you to see them. I know you have a viewer attachment
here. One of the engineers from the studio brought out a new
one a few months ago."
"My husband has it in his den," Grace said, "but I have no
idea how to use it."
"Oh, I'll take care of that part. All I'll ask you to do is sit
back and watch." Randy drained his coffee and stood. "Shall
we go in?"
"All right." She led him back to the den, and watched him
as he attached the viewer apparatus to the television set there.
"This," he said, "attaching the first of three reels to the
 216 Talk Show
viewer, "is like any other television program, except that it

was filmed from life, so to speak."

Grace placed a package of cigarettes beside her chair, and
settled back in it as he turned on the set. Then, suddenly, she
gasped and sat upright when she saw two naked young
women, one of them black and the other a pale blonde,
bending over the equally naked figure of Lester. One seemed
to be applying makeup to his face, while the other smeared
his body with a cream.
"He's asleep at the moment," Randy said, moving to an
adjoining chair.
Grace's horror increased as the film progressed, but she
laughed shrilly, nervously, when the two girls had bathed and
made up Lester, then dressed him in the feminine attire.
"He's sort of attractive as a woman," she said, feeling the
need to comment.
"Luscious," Randy agreed. "As you shall see."
Grace giggled at her husband's obvious discomfort when he
stood with his companions at the curb, waiting for a taxi, and
she laughed more loudly at the scene depicting him on the
dance floor.
"The music is so loud," Randy told her before changing the
reel, "that you can't hear any of the dialogue at the disco on

the sound track, but I was told it was precious."

Grace discovered she had been chain-smoking, and
clenched her fists as the film resumed.
Randy, watching her surreptitiously, was uncertain whether
she laughed or made a strangled sound in the back of her
throat as the scene in which Dale spanked Lester while
Margarite held him was played on the screen.
But it was impossible to misinterpret her reaction when she
saw the two girls taking turns performing the act of sexual
intercourse with him. She grew very pale, and occasionally
covered her face with her hands, but her fascination was as
great as her horror, and she repeatedly tore her hands away
from her eyes and continued to watch.
Noel B. Gerson 217
The came to an end when Lester dropped off to sleep.
film
Grace did not move or speak as Randy repacked the reels of
tape in his case, unhooked the viewer and put it back on the
closet shelf from which he had taken it.
"It pains me to have been forced to show you this film,"
Randy said. "I wish I could have spared you, Mrs. Corbett."
She heaved herself to her feet, and stood very erect, her
knees stiff. "I don't know about you, but I could stand a stiff

drink," she said, and returned to the kitchen.

He followed, carrying the case.
She splashed vodka into two glasses, then discovered that
the ice cubes in a refrigerator tray were stuck together, and
used an ice pick to remove a few of them from the solid mass.
"I didn't ask if you wanted vodka," she said, suddenly remem-
bering her manners.
'That'll be just fine," Randy said, and, taking his glass,
resumed his seat at the table.
Grace swallowed the better part of her drink in a single
gulp before she joined him. "Who are those women, Mr.
Warren?"
"I don't believe their identity really matters."
"No, I suppose not." She shivered, but managed to speak
"Did you come here for purposes of blackmail?"
civilly.

"Certainly not, ma'am!" Randy sounded indignant.

"Because if you did," she said, ignoring his reply, "you've
come to the wrong person. I have only my household account.
My husband handles all of our funds."
"I have no interest whatever in money, Mrs. Corbett—
either yours or his!"
"Then why did you come out here to show me this horrid
movie, Mr. Warren?"
"I told Lester about it a few days ago," he said. "The next
morning, in fact."
"Then he knows about it!"
"Indeed. He pretended indifference, and refused to accept
my generous offer."
 218 Talk Show
Grace was still suffering from an inner turmoil, combined
with a sense of mortification, more intense than she had ever
known. But one portion of her mind was growing calm, and
she was surprised to discover that she could think clearly,
without giving way to senseless panic. She didn't yet know
what this extremely polite young man wanted, but realized
she had to exert rigid self-control.
"Fin listening, Mr. Warren," she said.

"You can imagine," Randy said, "how the members of the

Universal Broadcasting System hierarchy would react to this
film, orwhat the advertising agencies representing Inquiry's
sponsors would do. As for the hints in the press, especially
the New York columns—"
"I have a vivid imagination, Mr. Warren." Grace's voice
was cold.
He was immediately aware of her withdrawal, and became
more cautious. "The problem, as you can see, is delicate."
"The reason there's a problem is because you intend to
create one."
you want to put it that way. Yes, ma'am."
"If
"You say you aren't interested in money. Obviously, Mr.
Warren, you didn't come out here to show me the film be-
cause you wanted to see Lester Corbett's wife squirm. So
suppose you tell me why you're here."
"I suggested to your husband," he said, "that he resign
from Inquiry. In return, I'd give him the film."
"You want him to give up the program, just like that?"
"Rather than be embarrassed by the exposure he'd suffer,
yes." Randy hardened, too.
"But Lester refused."
"Not openly, Mrs. Corbett. We arranged to meet in the
UBS cafeteria early this He was there, but he
morning.
snubbed me. walked past me as though I didn't exist, and
He
I don't mind telling you that I'm not one to tolerate such
insults!"
His good manners had given way to sullen petulance, and
Noel B. Gerson 219
Grace was even more This young man could be exceed-
alert.

ingly dangerous, awhich Lester apparently failed to

fact
appreciate. "I know very little about the television business/'
she said, "so I hope you'll tell me what you'd gain if Lester
gave up Inquiry."
"A dear friend of mine would replace him/' Randy said,

and simpered.
She found it difficult to recall why she had found this
obnoxious person charming. "What is that you
you're saying
and your friend got my
husband drunk, and staged the eve-
ning's entertainment you just showed me."
"My friend had nothing whatever to do with it. When he
becomes the host of Inquiry, he'll believe he won the post on
merit."
Grace took one of her own this time, and struck
a cigarette,
a kitchen match For some moments she smoked in
to light it.

silence. "You haven't yet explained why you've come to me."

"Your husband is being shortsighted, but I'm confident
that you, at least, will want to avoid a scandal that would
make him the joke of the industry— and would ruin his
reputation with the viewing public."
"Then you believe I'm capable of exerting that much influ-
ence," Grace said.
"The bets have been called, Mrs. Corbett, so your own
reputation and position are at stake."
Grace curbed an impulse to scream at the top of her lungs.
"You intend to issue me an ultimatum, too."
Randy's face softened when he smiled. "No, ma'am. I don't
believe in threatening women, and I sympathize with your
situation, Mrs. Corbett. If I'd had my way, you'd know nothing
about any of this."
"I knew you were a gentleman."
Her irony escaped him. "All I ask is that you talk with Mr.
Corbett. Once he's heard I've come to see you, and that I've
shown you the tape, he'll know I mean business."
"I see."
 220 Talk Show
'The very last thing I want is to cause you distress,
ma'am," Randy said. 'Take the better part weekend to
of the
discuss this with your husband. I'll you a telephone
give
number where you can reach me on Sunday evening, and you
can let me know your decision then."
Grace raised a veined hand to her eyes, and all at once she
knew what had to be done. This young man was evil incar-
nate, so she had no choice. "I need another drink while I

think about this," she said. "What about you?"

"No more for me, thank you. But take your time, Mrs.
Corbett. I'm in no rush."
Grace went to the refrigerator, placed her glass on the table
beside it, and removed the tray filled with the congealed ice

cubes. Then, picking up the bone-handled ice pick, she began

to chip away at the edges of the mass.
Randy busied himself selecting a gold-tipped cigarette from
his case.
She glanced at him, saw that he was preoccupied, and
weighed her chances. He was sitting at right angles to her, and
was looking out of the windows directly ahead of him, so he
wasn't paying any particular attention to what she was doing.
"It might be better," she said, "if you telephone us on Sunday
evening."
"Of course," Randy said. "Would seven o'clock be conven-
ient for you?"
Grace took a firmer grip on the handle of the pick. "That
would be fine," she said, and moving behind him, lunged
forward, driving the sharp-pointed steel shaft deep into the
left side of his back.
Randy Warren made no sound as he toppled forward and
sprawled on the floor, face down.
Grace felt no emotion as she looked down at him. "On
second thought," she said, "don't bother to call."
He lay still, the handle of the pick protruding from his
back, a damp, crimson smudge forming around it.
Noel B. Gerson 221

Grace nudged him with her foot, turning him over.

Randy's sightless eyes stared up at her, an expression of
incredulitystamped on his face.
Grace was struck by the enormity of what she
All at once
had done, and began to tremble. She poured herself another
drink of vodka, gulped it down, and then considered what to
do next. Her mind raced ahead, and she felt no fear; indeed,
for once in her life she knew she was able to handle a
situation.
The removal of the ice pick required the exertion of greater
physical strength than she had imagined, and she had to tug
at it repeatedly before it came free. To her surprise, only a
little more blood oozed onto the back of the dead man's
jacket. She wiped the bloody pick on his clothes, then rinsed
it and left it in the kitchen sink for the moment.
Her first task was that of getting rid of the corpse, and she
knew how to do that, too. It was wonderful how rapidly the
right ideas were coming to mind. Dragging Randy by the feet,
she found it easy to pull him down the cellar stairs, but when
he collapsed in a heap there, she discovered he was too heavy
to move.
At the far side of the cellar was a four-wheeled furniture-
moving dolly, so she fetched it, then managed to roll the
corpse onto it. It felt as if rigor mortis were already setting in.

She realized she had to hurry, and went straight to the

furnace.
The house was heated by a mammoth old coal burner that
had belonged to the previous owners of the house and that
Lester had converted into an oil burner. Grace halted to
ponder, knowing that something important would come to
mind. Soon she remembered: just last week the service-
man from the oil company had come to clean out the burner,
and she had watched him open the metal door of the maw
with a crowbar that stood against the wall. She picked it up,
wincing at its weight, then tried the door.
 222 Talk Show
To her pleased surprise it creaked open at once.
She removed Randy's wristwatch and a heavy signet ring,
took his cigarette case, and, going through his pockets, found
a small key ring with two keys attached to it. She also found
three quarters and several dimes, which she took, but deliber-
ately left his paper money in his pocket. After all, she wasn't a
thief.
Lifting the corpse from the dolly and stuffing it into the
furnace required every ounce of strength that Grace pos-
sessed, and the task seemed interminable. She strained, her
heart pounding, until she thought her lungs would burst and
her arms and legs would cave but at last she was done, and
in,

after slamming the metal door shut again, she leaned against
the wall for a few moments and closed her eyes.
There was still far too much to be done to permit her to
rest yet, so she carried his belongings upstairs, pausing at the
cellar entrance to pull the handle of the master switch that
turned on the burner, which had been disconnected for the
summer. After a moment the roar emanating from the metal
monster told her the oil inside had ignited.
Grace moved methodically, swiftly. First she scrubbed the
ice pick, washed the glass Randy had used and dumped the
butts of his special brand of cigarettes into a large ash tray,
which she put aside. Then she scrubbed the traces of his
blood from the kitchen floor with heavy paper towels, and
retracing her steps to the cellar, removed smudges from the
stairs as well. There was no blood on the furniture dolly, she

saw, and that simplified matters.

By the time she returned to the kitchen she found heat
pouring from the air ducts, and mingling with it was a sicken-
ing odor. There was a way to take care of that, too, she
thought, and went to the freezer, where she removed a pork
roast, put it in a pan and placed it in the oven, which she
turned on.
Dropping the paper towels into the large ash tray, she went
Noel B. Gerson 223

into the den for the small ash tray that Randy had used there,
and added those butts to her collection. Then, using a few
drops of the fuel that ignited charcoal bricks when she cooked
outdoor barbecues, she set fire to the contents of the ash tray
and watched them burn. It was easy to wash the charred
remnants down the kitchen sink and scrub the sink again.
Randy's jewelry presented the most urgent problem of the
moment, and she examined each item with care. The ciga-
rette case was her worst headache, she realized. In it was an
inscription: For R. W., with all my love, M. M.
While trying to decide how best to dispose of the jewelry,
Grace took the case containing the video tapes into the den,
and put it at the rear of a shelf, where it would be safe for the
moment.
The inscription on the had to be removed,
cigarette case
she thought, so she took it down workbench in the
to Lester's
cellar, found some heavy steel wool and scrubbed until her

fingers were raw. Thick scratch lines marked the inside of the
case now, she saw, but the inscription, if not obliterated,
could no longer be read. That was the best she could do.
Her legs felt weary as she climbed two flights of stairs to her
bedroom, but she couldn't allow herself to think of such
things now. Inspecting herself with meticulous, painstaking
care, she found a small brown smudge on the front of her
skirt,and rubbed it with spot remover. The cleaning fluid left
a faint ring, but that didn't matter. Tomorrow she would take
the skirt to be dry-cleaned, and in the meantime the worst
that anyone who noticed the ring could say was that she had
been a trifle careless.
Taking a handbag and a pair of white gloves from a dresser
drawer, she was ready for the next step. Returning to the
kitchen, she wiped fingerprints from the jewelry with a
kitchen towel, taking care to wear the gloves, then dropped
each item into the bag, placing the coins with her own money.
The roast was beginning to cook, and Grace was relieved.
 224 Talk Show
The stench emanating from the air ducts was, if anything,
even worse.
Not allowing herself to rush, she walked sedately to the
garage after locking the kitchen door behind her, and backed
the car out. Helen Thompson was weeding in her garden, and
Grace saw her as she moved out of the driveway, but merely
tooted the horn and waved. Helen would assume she was late
foran appointment.
Grace drove to the parking lot of the Westport station,
where she parked her car, and had to wait only twenty
minutes for the next local Penn-Central train into New York
City.On the ride into town two thoughts occurred to her. She
had left the unopened package of Randy's special cigarettes
on the kitchen table. And she knew the identity of M. M., the
donor of the cigarette case. It hadn't occurred to her that Max
Marx was a homosexual, but one learned many things. She
would remember, and would be on her guard against Max.
After the train pulled into Grand Central Station, Grace
left by the Lexington Avenue entrance. She had already sepa-

rated the keys from the ring, and while walking to a bus stop,
dropped them down separate subway gratings. They might or
might not be found, someday, but even if retrieved they
would be discarded with tons of other rubbish.
Stepping onto a southbound bus, Grace seated herself near
a group of teen-agers who were laughing and shouting to one
another, and she endured the noise as best she could. She had
a splitting headache, but there was nothing she could do
about it now. For a few moments, as the bus approached 34th
Street, she was afraid the teen-agers were about to leave and
that her plan would fail. But, after a brief scuffle, which the
driver rewarded with a glare, they subsided again.
Taking no chances, Grace changed her own itinerary, and
as the bus drew near 23rd Street she stood, leaving Randy's
ring in a conspicuous spot near the outer edge of her seat. As
Noel B. Gerson 225
she left the bus she saw at a glance that one of the youths had
taken and was holding it in his cupped hands, staring at it,
it,

while his companions looked at him with unconcealed envy.

The ring would not be seen again.
Crossing to the far side of Lexington Avenue, Grace paid
for a token and descended the stairs into the damp, foul-
smelling bowels of the earth. She hated subways, but today
there was no choice. After a few moments a northbound local
screeched to a stop, and she went inside, pleased to see that
the car was fairly crowded.
She had to work quickly now, and taking the cigarette case
from her handbag, slipped it onto the seat beneath her. The
third stop was 42nd Street, and she felt a flush of triumph as a
horde scurried and fought for seats. The case, she knew,
would vanish in a few seconds, too, and the possibility that
someone might turn it in at the lost-and-found office was very
remote.
Stopping at the drugstore in the Commodore Hotel for a
small bottle of aspirin, Grace went on to the Oyster Bar in
Grand Central Station, and while waiting for the next sub-
urban train, washed down the headache killer with a Vodka
Collins.
Less than an hour later she had returned her car to the
garage and unlocked the door of her house. The telephone
was ringing walked in.
as she
"Hi, Gracie," Helen Thompson said. "I've been watching
for you to drive past. About an hour ago, while I was trim-
ming my rose bushes, I smelled something awful coming from
your house, and I tried to get in, but the door was locked."
"I know," Grace said, and sounded rueful. "I put a pork
roast in the oven just before I went out, but I was delayed on
my errands, and I'm afraid it's ruined. Just a sec while I find
out."
Grace put down the phone and went to the oven. As she
had hoped, the roast was reduced to the charred remains of
 226 Talk Show
overcooked meat. Smiling quietly, she switched off the oven

and returned to the telephone.

''I was right, Helen/' she said. "You've never seen such a

mess. I'll have to throw it out."

"Well, you're lucky," her friend said. "You have servants
who can clean the pan and the oven tomorrow."
"True, but I did have a hankering for roast pork tonight.
Oh, well."
"I have an idea," Helen said. "Your husband won't be
home for dinner, I suppose?"
"Oh, no. Never on weeknights. He has to stay in the city
for his program."
"Then maybe we could go out together."
"Wonderful," Grace said. "We could try that new restau-
rant just off the turnpike. I've been dying to go there."
"Shall I call them and see if they have roast pork on the
menu?"
"Thanks all the same," Grace said, "but the smell isn't

entirely gone yet. I think I'll have a tuna fish salad instead."

She rang off after agreeing to pick up her friend in an hour.

Then, going straight to the air duct, she dropped to her knees
and inhaled. To her infinite relief, the odor emanating from
the furnace was nearly gone. But she decided to take no
chances, and although the house was insufferably hot, she let
the furnace continue to burn. It was far simpler to open a few
windows as she went through the house.
Emptying the oven pan was a chore, but she dumped the
contents into the garbage, and debated whether to let the pan
soak. On reflection, she decided to leave the pan in the oven.
If anyone noticed the traces of the odor later, she had her

homemade excuse close at hand.

Randy's unopened package of cigarettes still sat on the
kitchen table, and Grace felt a twinge of regret as she burned
it, then washed the remains down the kitchen sink. It was

such a waste to destroy a box of such splendid cigarettes.

Noel B. Gerson 227
A final check of the cellar, the den and the kitchen revealed
that everything was in order. She put away the ice pick, dried
the ash trays, and made a final inspection in the cellar. There
she noticed some metal dust that the steel wool had removed
from the cigarette case, so she scraped it onto a sheet of paper,
carried it to the kitchen and washed it down the drain, too,
leaving the water running for about five minutes to make cer-

tain that no remained in the pipes.

particles
The furnace continued to burn, and Grace was satisfied. All
traces of Randy Warren had been removed, and she remem-
bered that the taxi driver who had brought him to the house
had driven off before she had answered the ring at the door.
She could deny, if necessary, that she had been at home when
he had arrived. Only the tapes were left, and she had a specific
use for them.
Thinking of the tapes reminded her of Lester, and she went
to the telephone and called him at the studio. To her surprise
he came on the phone within a few moments.
"I thought I ought to call you," she said, "just in case you
tried to reach me earlier, while I was out."
"I did try to reach you a couple of times," he lied.
"Was there anything special?"
"Yes and no," Lester said. Although he seldom confided in
her, she had a right to know that his entire vocational future
was in jeopardy. have to tell you the details when I come
"I'll

home. The heat has been turned on here."

It was uncommonly warm in the house, too, Grace

thought, watching the curtains rippling as the heat that

poured out of the air ducts played on them. "When are you
coming?"
"I have a golf game in the morning, so I want to get there
some time tonight, but don't wait up for me. I might be fairly
late. I've got to get together with some staff people after the
program."
What he meant, she thought, was that he intended to see
 228 Talk Show
Jeri Maynard. "I don't care how late it is," she said. "I'll be
up."
"How come?"
"There are some things I want to discuss with you, too."
"Can't they wait until tomorrow?"
Grace heard the annoyance in his voice, and her smile was
tight-lipped. "I don't believe/' she said, "that you'll want me
to wait. I want to talk to you about a movie in which you
starred. Inadvertently, as I understand it."

There was a end of the line.

total silence at his
"Whenever you decide to come home, I'll be here," Grace
said, and broke the connection.
That, she told herself, would give him something to occupy
his mind. She hadn't intended to reveal anything to him on
the telephone, but it didn't matter. Nothing was the same as
it had been, and hereafter everything in their lives would be

altered. She had no clear idea as yet just what she intended to
do, or how to proceed, but she was determined not to permit
her very busy day to have been spent in vain. She didn't feel
like a woman who had committed murder, and, to her aston-
ishment, she felt neither remorse nor regret. All she knew for
certain was that she would not go back to the drab existence
she had been leading.
 he television industry had raised high its collec-
tive eyebrows when Malcolm O'Brien had left UBS, where he
had been vice-president in charge of programs, to take a senior
post of similar rank at another network, where he became
head of the program development department. Variety, the
show business newspaper, had observed at the time: "Mai
O'Brien's move spells headaches for everybody else in the
business. The ideas for most of the programs boasting high
ratings on the UBS schedule came out of his office, and he's
expected to produce more of the same in his new spot. But
O'Brien hasn't been hired away from UBS exclusively as an
idea man. The industry expects him to initiate major talent
raids within eighteen to twenty-four months. All of the other
nets are putting up barbed wire fences and are preparing for
what might become an undeclared war."
A dapper man, with curly, black hair and long sideburns,
O'Brien rested on the base of his spine as he lounged in the
leather armchair, and stared up at the ceiling of Abner
Brody's office. "Unofficially and informally, Ab, that's the
pitch. All we have to do now is bring your boy into the act,
and maybe we can put together a first-rate road show."

229
 230 Talk Show
"It could be attractive, Mai/' Brody said. "Certainly our
timing is perfect."
'That's the secret of my business," O'Brien said, and
grinned. "Call him."
Brody picked up his phone. "Get Les Corbett for me at
UBS," he told his secretary, "and don't mention the name of
my visitor when you get him. There might be a crossed wire—
or something— over there, and they'd go into a panic if they
heard the name of Malcolm O'Brien."
The two men exchanged swift glances, then avoided each
other's eyes until the telephone rang.
"Les, how busy are you?" Brody asked. "All right, I want
you to do yourself a favor. There's an old friend of yours and
mine who'd like to buy you a social drink. No business. Just a
drink. So hop in a cab, and— no, not up here. He'll meet you
in that little bar across the street from my office. No, I don't
recall the name of the place. Dave's, or Fred's, or something.
. .No, not 21! He doesn't want to see something in every
.

column in town tomorrow! ... As fast as you can get over,

Les. He'll meet you in one of the booths at the back. . . .

Yes, you'll know him when you see him, I guarantee."

O'Brien leaned forward in his chair when the agent re-

placed the telephone in its cradle.

Brody smiled. "Les has a pretty good idea who it'll be."
"He should," O'Brien said. "He's been in the business a
long time, and he knows you don't meet anonymous friends
in the back booths of nameless bars for kicks." He rose,
stretched and brushed a few tobacco crumbs from his impec-
cably tailored suit.

"Sure you don't want me along, Mai?"

O'Brien replied, "it might smack too much of a
"I think,"
deal. So there could be too many complications if anything
leaked prematurely. At this stage we've got to play it plenty
cool."
"Well, I'll hang around here, just in case either of you
wants a word with me."
Noel B. Gerson 231

"I doubt if we'll get that far today, Ab. These preliminary
explorations take time."
"Except that you and Les know each other so well. I'm not
forgetting that it's you who set him up on Inquiry."
"Just so he remembers it."
"If he doesn't/' Brody said, standing and extending his
hand, "I'm sure you'll remind him, Mai. Good luck."
O'Brien made his way to the modest tavern, selected a
partitioned booth near the doors that led to the rest rooms,
and ordered a sherry on the rocks. He did not have long to
wait.
Lester Corbett's face showed no surprise as he joined the
other man in the booth. "Mai, it's good to see you," he said,
showing cordiality but restraining his enthusiasm. "How are
Betsy and the kids?"
"Everybody's just great, boy. I needn't tell you how sorry I

was to hear about your son."

"Thanks." Lester scowled and seemed to withdraw.
O'Brien ordered him a bourbon and water. "We haven't
seen each other in over a year—"
"More than that."
"—and I like to keep in touch with old pals."
"I'm glad I'm one of them, Mai." Lester came to life again,
and seemed very much at ease. "You've been making history
in such big gobs over at your new shop that I was afraid you'd
forgottenall us peons."

"You're no peon, Les. You're the hottest property in the

business, and you can be still bigger." O'Brien raised his glass
in a toast.
Lester returned the compliment. "Here's to your new
Penny Payne program. You've just about locked up Wednes-
day nights with it."
"Except for the late segment, opposite Inquiry. Nobody
can buck your kind of competition, and we don't even try.
How are things going these days?"
Lester was in no mood for pretense. "You probably know as
 232 Talk Show
much as I do, if not more. Particularly as you've just come
from Ab Brody's office."
O'Brien's laugh made it appear that the other had said
something very witty.
"The Bishop," Lester said, "is spending all his time up in
his pulpit."
"The Bishop," O'Brien said fondly, "is always spastic.
Which can make things tough for a personality who has the
right, based on his performance record, to write his own
ticket."
"Oh, he means well." Lester became patronizing. "His
board gives him a rough time."
"One thing I like about my present setup," O'Brien said,
easing toward the subject that had brought them together, "is
that our directors leave operations in the hands of the people
they're paying to do the job. They live in the realm of high
finance, and they let us run our network."
"That's what Penny and Biff Payne were telling me when I

ran into them a week or so ago." Lester moved his pawns,

too.
"Well, we try to pass along the principle where it counts.
Penny has been in show business more than thirty-five years,
and she knows what she's doing. We set the format for her,
and from there she and Biff have taken off on their own. Oh,
we keep a paternal watch on the program. All that sort of
thing. But Penny and Biff are in the cockpit, and they drive
their own airplane."
"It must be quite a system."
"It is," O'Brien assured him. "Naturally, only the biggest
names are granted that privilege. Stars who know what they're
doing. You know, people of the caliber of a PennyPayne—01
a Lester Corbett."
Under the circumstances, sententiousness was appropriate.
"When you've reached a certain level," Lester said, "you
appreciate the trust as well as the courtesy of the thing."
Noel B. Gerson 233
'The human factor is very important in our shop/' O'Brien
replied. ''Do you know why, aside from the obvious? Because
it's good business. When a personality like a Lester Corbett—

who is far more than an entertainer— captures the prepon-

derant bulk of an audience and holds it, year after year, it
ought to be plain to everyone that he knows what he's doing."
"I like to think I do," Lester said, becoming modest.
"Do you know the sort of operation you'd have if you were
with us? I'm speaking hypothetically, of course."
"Naturally."
"The producer of the Lester Corbett Show— and that's
what we'd call it, the Lester Corbett Show, with no cute titles
and no frills— would be none other than Lester Corbett
himself. With an associate producer to handle the details."
"Who would appoint the associate, the network or me?"
"Oh, we'd work that out together. Amicably. Because we
see the associate as a liaison officer, sort of, between the star
and the network. Biff Payne can tell you how marvelously the
whole thing has worked out for him. He and his associate
producer haven't had a serious quarrel. Oh, they've had to
smooth out an occasional rough spot, which is part of day-to-
day living, but they hadn't had a real fight, and we haven't
had to climb into the ring with either of them."
Lester clinked the ice in his empty glass, which caused the
other to order another round. "Biff and I didn't get around to
that phase when I saw him and Penny," Lester said, speaking
with care. "Mostly, they were raving about their long-range
financial benefits."
"They have a right to," O'Brien said. "Our philosophy is

unusual, which one of the reasons I moved when I did.

is We
believe in sharing the pie with the people who've provided the
ingredients and have baked it for us."
"Too bad the rest of the industry doesn't feel that way,"
Lester said.
"Let me give you another hypothetical example, Les. Sup-
 234 Talk Show
pose, just for purposes of illustration, that we had the Lester
Corbett Show in our shop. What would be without the
it

personality to which we'd peg it? Nothing! So we'd have to

givehim a starting income of a million a year."
"With escalators?"
"Certainly. Annual escalators. Generous ones. To be
worked out in the contract, naturally."
"It doesn't sound too bad." It was obvious that Lester was
not impressed.
"But that's only the beginning. As I was telling Ab Brody."
O'Brien paused, then took his time lighting a cigarette.
Lester out-waited him, and remained silent.
"For each year that he stayed on the air with us, we'd put
one hundred thousand into a retirement fund for him. We'd
invest it in tax-free bonds, something like that, and it would
be done in accordance with the newest Internal Revenue
wrinkles, so he wouldn't have to pay any taxes on that money
until he actually dipped into the till, whenever the day might
come when he decided he didn't want to work anymore."
Lester brightened. "That," he said, "sounds more like it."
"You and I have always thought in similar terms, Les."
"That's why I've missed you since you went on to the
greater glories, Mai."
They looked at each other, and a subtle change took place
in O'Brien's manner. He became firmer, less jovial, although
he continued to smile and his surface attitude remained casual.
"We'd expect him tocome to us with clean hands, of course."
"Oh, of course. don't you tell me what in hell
Now, why
that's supposed to mean, Mai." There was more than a hint
of toughness in Lester's manner, too.
"Oh, take the FCC, for instance. We
wouldn't want any
trouble there."
"A pro knows how to stay out of a jam with Federal regula-
tory agencies, Mai." .

"I was just giving you an example."

Noel B. Gerson 235

"How's for another? Suppose I refused to go on the air with

Abe Winston. For instance.''
"We couldn't touch you if you failed to live up to your
contractual obligations at UBS, Les. You know that."
"My contract stipulates—"
"Iknow every word of what it says! Who do you think
hammered it out in all those long sessions with Brody?"
"What you're telling me, Mai, is that your people wouldn't
be interested in a new Lester Corbett Show if I don't show up
for the telecast repeat with Abe Winston that they've sched-
uled in spite of my protest."
O'Brien became paternal, and reaching across the table,
caught Lester by the shoulder in a gesture of affection. "Boy,
start using the old quarterback's technique. You're mighty
good at it. You send your fullback into the line, and he picks
up no yardage. You try a forward pass, and you're creamed
behind the line of scrimmage. Then what do you do?"
"Suppose you tell me, coach."
"The obvious play is a quarterback sneak."
Lester stared at him in puzzlement.
"A smart quarterback pretends he's going to follow the
other team's game plan, but he keeps his own surprises up his
sleeve."
Lester continued to frown for a moment, then he laughed
aloud. "Mai, you're a genius."
"They don't pay me for sitting back, boy."
"The best of this," Lester said slowly, "is that the whole
thing is legal. I don't break my contract. They have no legiti-

mate complaints."
"That's the whole idea."
"Just about as foolproof as anything could be in this busi-
ness," Lester said. "I'll keep that angle locked under my hat."
"Oh, UBS will think of it, if they haven't already, but it
may occur to them too late." O'Brien called the waiter and
asked for his check.
 236 Talk Show
They walked together into the street, where the rush-hour
traffic was beginning to clog the sidewalks with pedestrians
hurrying to catch subways and busses.
"I'm taking a cab back to UBS/' Lester said. "Can I give you
a ride uptown, Mai?"
O'Brien's smile was still bloodless. "No, thanks. It's only a
couple of blocks' walk back to the office. This has been a
grand reunion, Les, and we'll have to do it again. I'll give you
a ring— after Tuesday."

Max Marx hesitated at the entrance to the detectives' room

in the precinct station. The blinds were still open, although
night had fallen, and the glare of naked light bulbs empha-
sized the ugliness of three rows of battered, wooden desks,
which were cluttered with piles of papers, old typewriters
and files in dust-covered manila folders. Several men were
gathered around a desk at the far end of the room chatting, all
in their late twenties and thirties, and two, who had removed
their jackets, were wearing pistols in shoulder holsters.
The visitors who crowded the UBS studios every night to
see Inquiry would have been astonished by the change in
Max. His jolly, self-confident air was gone, and he stood
diffidently, looking at the group who paid no attention to

him. "They told me at the desk," he called in a voice that

cracked, "to ask for Sergeant Cavanaugh."
A husky man, graying at the temples, detached himself
from the group and gestured toward a desk set apart from the
others. He lowered himself into a creaking, wooden armchair,
tilted it and put his feet on the desk. "What can I do for
you?
Max introduced himself.
Detective Sergeant Cavanaugh's face remained wooden.
"Uh-huh. I recognized you when you walked in."
"A friend of mine has disappeared." Max fingered his
Noel B. Gerson 237
necktie, touched the matching handkerchief in his breast
pocket and then plunged his hand into the pocket of his
expensive tweed jacket. "I mean, I think he has/'
The sergeant listened without comment as Max told his
story, making an occasional note on a yellow pad of legal-sized
paper with a pencil stub. People vanished in New York City
every day, and he couldn't become excited over the disappear-
ance of someone who, judging by the character who was
reporting his absence, was just another homosexual. Marx
didn't come
over as a fag on the air, but Cavanaugh was rarely
surprised, and only the prominence of his visitor prompted
him to show more than a desultory interest in the case.
He interrupted from time to time, asking routine questions,
and Max became even more voluble, revealing more about his
relationship with Randy Warren than he had intended.
"I don't know him all that well, Sergeant, but he is a
friend, and I thought it was my duty as a citizen to let you
know."
"You say he lives in the Village. Okay. I'll send somebody
around to his place. You ever been there?"
"Well, yes. Several times."
"Okay, suppose you go along and show us around, Mr.
Marx. We don't dig into a case like this after such a short
time, as a rule, but we're not particularly busy tonight, so
there's nothing to lose. You take us there, and if your chum
has pulled a Judge Crater, we'll try to find him."

Karen Block was just finishing her task of making up Lester

Corbett for the Friday night program when Sergeant Cava-
naugh was announced. The girl went on to make up Inquiry's
guests, and Lester walked from his dressing room into his
adjoining office to greet the visitor.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Corbett," the sergeant said.

"I'm looking into a case that isn't making waves anywheres,
and the only reason I'm here is because it gives me an excuse
 238 Talk Show
to meet you. I've admired your program on the air for years."

Lester, at his jovial best, offered him a drink.

"Can't, thanks. Fm
on duty." Cavanaugh accepted a chair,
told him about Max's visit to the precinct station, and indi-

cated that a detective had visited Randy Warren's apartment

as well. "The only way you come into this is that this fellow
Marx indicated he'd been told Warren had a breakfast date
with you this morning, in the company cafeteria. Did you?"
Lester shook his head, and although his temples pounded,
his expression did not change. "Max asked me about it earlier
today. Around noon, I think. But I had breakfast, as it hap-
pens, with my producer and several of the network's vice-
presidents. In the executives' dining room."
"Why do you suppose he thought this Warren character
was going to meet you, Mr. Corbett?"
"A network is a real can of worms, Sergeant. I hate to sound
egotistical, but the little people are always seeking more
status. Warren was an assistant in the makeup department,
and he might have tried to make himself more important by
pretending to our announcer that I was going to meet him."
"That's how I had it figured." The sergeant was busy
appreciating the size and furnishings of the office. "You know
anything about this Warren's private life?"
Lester smiled deprecatingly and shrugged.
"I didn't think so. Would you happen to know if he was
especially close to anybody around here?"
"Not to my knowledge, but I'm not in a position to know
about such things. He came in to make me up for the pro-
gram once or twice a week, and that was it. I've never seen
him outside the studios."
"Well, you've got to be a pretty shrewd judge of people to
do what you're doing on the air every night, Mr. Corbett.
What's your opinion of this Warren? I mean, would you say
he was normal, and all that?"
Lester hesitated.
Noel B. Gerson 239
'The newspapers/' Cavanaugh said, "are bound to run a
few paragraphs tomorrow morning, so this isn't a secret.
Would it surprise you to learn his apartment was filled with
women's wigs and clothes? A complete wardrobe, right down
to underwearand stockings."
''Now that you mention it," Lester "I'm not in the
said,

least surprised. I'd never stopped to think about him one way
or another, but I guess I must have known he was a queer.
You say he's disappeared, Sergeant?"
"That's what we've been told, but we're not putting out a
dragnet for him. I'd need a dozen more men if I had to do a
depth investigation every time a fag in this town had a fight
with his boyfriend and took a powder." Cavanaugh heaved
himself to his feet. "Just one thing as a matter of routine, Mr.
Corbett. We'll appreciate it if you don't tell your announcer,
Marx, that I was here."
"I see very little of Max," Lester said. "He's a competent
station-break and warmup man, but we travel in different
circles." Again he hesitated. "Surely you don't think he had a
hand in something— well, unpleasant?"
"You never know until you've run a check. Mr. Corbett,
I've got to tell you that my wife and daughter are great fans of
yours. They never miss your show."
Lester went straight to a file cabinet, opened it and took
out two glossy print photos of himself. "How do they spell
their names?" he asked, and inscribed the photos with a pen
filled with white ink.
"I always figuredyou were okay, Mr. Corbett. They'll get a
real bang out of these pictures, believe me." The sergeant
shook hands vigorously, and departed.
For a long time after he had gone, Lester stood in the
middle of his office, staring at the wall. Randy Warren, he
told himself, must have been in touch with Grace, who could
have learned about the unfortunate orgy tape from no one else.
And, he felt certain, Warren must have been in touch with
 240 Talk Show
her since his own failure to meet the blackmailer in the cafe-
morning. But, no matter where Warren had gone, no
teria this
matter where he might be hiding or why, any contact he'd
had with Grace was something to be forgotten. Under no
circumstances could the police be allowed to learn of the
tape's existence.

Dale Henry sat in the cramped living room of the apart-

ment on upper Park Avenue, idly glancing through the early
edition of the News. The high school classmate who had
given her refuge had an early-morning job, and had retired
early, and the prospect of watching a television program
didn't appeal to someone who was trying to put a distance
between herself and the medium. Perhaps, Dale thought, she
would acclimate herself to the routines of people who didn't
work nights, but it would be a long time before she'd be able
to drop off to sleep this early. Just for the hell of it, maybe,
she'd switch on Inquiry, but she glanced at her watch and saw
it wouldn't go on the air for another quarter of an hour.

The headline of a small, three-paragraph story caught her

eye, and she froze as it. Randolph Warren, until
she read
today an employee costume and makeup coordination
in the
division of Universal Broadcasting System programming, was
reported missing from his Greenwich Village apartment. A
police search had indicated nothing out of the ordinary to
date, although a complete wardrobe of women's clothing,
cosmetics and wigs had been found in his apartment. Neither
his neighbors nor fellow employees at UBS could reveal any
motive for his disappearance.
Dale smoked two cigarettes before her mind could function
clearly, and then it raced. All she knew was that this was a
situation she couldn't handle alone, so she waited another ten
minutes, until the Inquiry program was well under way, and
then she called the UBS studios.
"Let me speak to Jeri Maynard," she said. "She's either on
Noel B. Gerson 241

the floor backstage at Inquiry, or in one of the viewing

booths."
The wait was interminable before Jeri came on the line.

"Hello."
"Jeri, this Dale Henry. Don't say anything until you hear
is

me out. You andI have never been especially friendly, and

you may have more reason to hate my guts than you know.
But things are happening that concern somebody very close to
you—"
"You mean Lester." Jeri sounded unexpectedly prim.
"I'd rather not mention any names. All I can say is that
everything has gotten too complicated for me, and I need the

advice of somebody who gives a damn. Will you help?"

"Of course, if I can."
"First off, I'll need to do some explaining. Could you meet
me someplace?"
"Of course. When did you have in mind?"
"The sooner the better. After the show goes off the air, if
you can."
"Would you rather make it right now?" Jeri asked.
"They're wading through a routine show down on the floor,

and I'm not going to be needed again tonight."

"That would be great. Tell you what. I wouldn't ask you to
come up here alone, not these days. Take a taxi to 96th and
Madison, and I'll be waiting there in another taxi."
"You make it sound intriguing," Jeri said, and laughed.
"As soon as you can get there," Dale said, and placed the
telephone in its cradle.
She forced herself to wait ten minutes, then went out and
had another long wait before she could hail an empty taxi that
would stop for her. When she reached 96th Street and Madi-
son Avenue, she saw Jeri sitting in another taxi parked at the
curb, and directed her driver to halt in front of it.
Jeri joined her, and Dale said, "Take us back to where you
picked me up."
 242 Talk Show
"You're being very mysterious/' Jeri said.
"Only because I don't like to take unnecessary chances,"
Dale said, and fell silent
Jeri tried to make conversation. "I didn't expect to see you
again so soon. How do you like it at CBS?"
"I've made arrangements not to start there for another
month. This friend of mine runs a beauty parlor in Harlem,
and I'm helping her out for a few weeks." Dale was reluctant
to speak.
Jeri fell silent, too, and they did not converse again until
the taxi discharged them and they walked a block to the
apartment Dale was sharing.
"I just moved in," Dale said, "so I haven't had a chance to
build up the liquor supply yet. All we have in the house is
beer and a little gin. With or without tonic."
"Nothing for me at the moment, thanks."
Dale mixed herself a gin and tonic, then pointed to the
article in the News. "Have you read this?"

Jeri shook her head. "No, but the police spent some time at

the studio earlier this evening, and several people said they
saw Randy in the cafeteria this morning. A couple of them
said he claimed he had a breakfast date with Lester, who
knew nothing about it."
"They did have a date, but Lester didn't keep it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Dale swallowed some of her drink. "I don't want you to get
me wrong. I was resentful of Les, but I didn't wish him any
real harm. I have to level with you, Jeri. Every time he came

to me, I gave in— and I hated myself for it as much as I hated

him."
Jeri nodded. "I know what you mean, Dale. I've had
exactly
the same feeling myself, more than once. And you needn't be
bashful. I've known
for a long time that Lester was going to
bed with you whenever he became bored with me. That's just
Noel B. Gerson 243

the way he is, and if I'd resented him for it, I'd have stopped
seeing him a long time ago."
"I'm glad you understand. That makes it easier." Dale
lighted a cigarette, and offered one to the other girl. "I didn't
want to do him any real harm. When Randy dreamed up his
idea, Margarite Boe and I went along with it just to get even
with him, kind of. I swear there was no more to it than that
on our parts, although I can see now that Randy moved when
he did because Les got into a foul-up with the network after
his Winston interview."
Jeri smoked in silence for a time. "Perhaps you'd better
start at the beginning."
Dale told her, succinctly, about the trick that she, Marga-
rite and Randy had played on Lester.
*
'Randy made a tape— and threatened him with blackmail
if he didn't quit the program? How ghastly!"

'That's what I thought. I was over my head, so I got out.

But you haven't heard all of it." Dale told of her encounter
with the detective, and omitted only the fact that Lester had
given her money to lie low for a time.
"Who was employing this detective? And how do you
know that's what he really was?"
"I've told you everything I know," Dale said, spreading her
hands.
"Not quite. And I believe I will take that gin and tonic
now. Why did Randy want Lester to leave Inquiry?"
"Because he was convinced Max Marx would get the job."
In spite of her horror, Jeri laughed. "That's absurd!"
"Sure it is," Dale said, "and the craziest part of it is that
Maxie didn't take it seriously, at least he didn't as of yester-
day. Randy wants him to think he's getting the job on merit."
Jeri sipped the drink the other girl handed her. "The one
angle I can't figure is this detective business. If it matters.
That'll straighten itself out, or come to light, or something.
I'm not worried about Randy, either. He's probably gone off
 244 Talk Show
somewhere to dream up some new schemes, and I dare say
he'll show up in a day or two. What concerns me is Lester."

She made no mention of the thought that was paramount in

her mind: she knew now why he had been rendered impotent.
"You don't think he— did something nasty to Randy?"
Again Jeri laughed, this time harshly. "I certainly wouldn't
blame him if he had. But he didn't. In the first place, he isn't
the type, and in the second place, I can account for even-
minute of his day, except for a half-hour or so late this after-
noon, when he dashed over to his agent's office."
"That's a relief," Dale said, and sat back in her chair.
Jeri glanced at her watch. "It's too late for me to get back
which means I'll
to the studio in time to see Lester tonight,
have to wait until Monday. Which is just as well, in some
ways. I dread the thought of telling him I know he was put
through a wringer."
"I've apologized to him," Dale said. "And I don't think he
bears me a grudge."
"He wouldn't. Most people who work with him don't
realize it, but Lester is a remarkable person. Thev just see his

temperament— the petty explosions, and the little scenes he

makes. They don't know how thoughtful and generous and
kind he is."

Dale spoke before she could stop herself. "You have guts.
I'd hate to be in love with somebody who doesn't know the
meaning of fidelity."
"I'm not the way I am by choice," Jeri said, and her smile
was tight.
"This mess is partly my fault. I wish there were something
I could do."
Jeri stared at her. "Maybe there is."

"WTiat do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, Dale, not yet. All I know right now is that
Lester Corbett needs all the help he can get, and I'm going to
do everything I can. It appears— from that detective— that
Noel B. Gerson 245
somebody else has wind of the other night, so you're wise to
stay out of sight for now. But let's see what develops, and we
can keep in touch over the weekend."

Grace Corbett fortified herself with two strong drinks of

straight vodka, which she poured over ice, but the glass was
washed and dried by the time Lester came home. All of the
lights on the ground floor were blazing, and she awaited him,
fully dressed, in his den.
"Well, this is quite a surprise," he said as he joined her.
"It's the first time in a year that you've been up when I've
come home."
"I never knew when you'd appear, so I gave up waiting for
you a long time ago. But I figured you'd want a little chat
tonight." She was grim.
"You guessed right, Gracie. Start talking."
"This is one time you aren't putting me on the defensive,
Lester Corbett," she said. "You're the one who has some
explaining to do."
"What's to explain?" he demanded. "I had a couple of
drinks too many, and I was sandbagged."
Her eyes narrowed, Grace studied him. It was apparent that
he suffered no guilts, felt no remorse and had no intention of
apologizing to her. "Is that all you have to say?"
"What do you expect? You don't think I got into a situa-
tion like that on purpose! I spent the night sweating blood, I
can tell you. I was scared half to death the whole time that
there'd be a public scene— and that I'd find myself in head-
lines."
"It would have served you right." Venom dripped from her
voice.
"Some wife!"
"What a husband! You spent a whole night in revels—"
"Not of my doing!"
"—and you aren't even sorry for it! You cheat on me,
 246 Talk Show
blatantly, not with one woman, but with two, and you expect
me to swallow my pride, what's left of it."
"What did you want me to do? They dressed me up like a
freak, and I didn't have a penny. was in no position to jump
I

on the next New Haven train and come running home to

Mama!"
"You expected to have sex with those girls when you first

got together with them, Lester, and you did. Before they ever
played their tricks on you."
"Can't we talk about all this tomorrow? You ought to know
I'm tired when I get off the air."
"We're going to get a great many things settled tonight. Sit
down, please." Grace was unyielding.
Her firmness surprised him, and he went to the bar to pre-
pare himself a drink. "You've got to answer to a few things
yourself. How did you get the tape?"
"I'll have a vodka on the rocks. A stiff one."

She couldn't handle liquor, Lester thought, and wanted to

dissuade her, but changed his mind and poured her a drink.
"I'm listening," Grace said.
He thrust her glass at her, then sat down on the far side of
the room. "I'm no sadist, Gracie, and I don't want to hurt
you, but you're asking for it. You know I've always done a
little playing around on the side. It has nothing to do with
you, it relieves my tensions, and it does no harm. I'm still

married to you—by choice."

"Or because a divorce would damage your public image.
Somebody in your position is like a politician. Part of your
audience might tune you out. Catholics. Protestants in the
Bible Belt. All kinds of people. You worry about your ratings,
not me."
"How many have to tell you," Lester demanded,
times do I

"that none of this has any connection with you?"

"I'm tired of having to get along on the basis of your cock-
eyed standards," Grace said. "From now on, there's a connec-
tion, all right. A direct one."
Noel B. Gerson 247
"Randy War-
Lester sipped his drink. ''Obviously/' he said,
renshowed you the tape."
She smiled for the first time since he had come into the
room. "He gave it to me/'
Lester lost his composure. "I find it hard to believe that.
He had some nutty plans of his own."
"Maybe/' Grace said, "he thinks my plans are better.
Maybe he thinks I can put the tape to better use than he
could."
"You've got to be kidding."
"He's not the only one who could use blackmail."
Lester sighed deeply. "Grace, if you want a divorce, say so.
It isn't what I've wanted, but I'll survive, and so will my
career."
"What you're trying to say is that marriage is a protection
for you. Other women want to marry you, but you tell them
your wife won't give you a divorce, and that's the end of it.

Like that Maynard girl."

He felt more at ease, and laughed. "I can't ask someone
with your temperament— and the blinders you wear— to be-
lieve this,, but Jeri Maynard and I have never discussed the
possibility of marriage."
"If not that one, then another. Their identities don't
matter, you know. There's been such a long parade of them,
back through the years. But the bands have stopped playing,
and the parade is over."
"I don't believe Randy gave you the tape."
"I hope you don't force me to prove it." A hint of a glacial
smile was her only physical reaction.
"Where is it now?" Lester persisted.
"My God, wouldn't you love to know!
I had it on the shelf

right there— in the closet with your golf clubs, but I moved it.
To a place you'd never find, not if you spent all your time
searching, and lived to be a hundred! But go ahead and
search. It will be amusing to watch you."
"To hell with that." She had more guts than he'd thought,
 248 Talk Show
and there was respect as well as animosity in his glare. "Just
what do you think you'll do with it?"
"First," she said with relish, "111 arrange a showing for Mr.
Cranmer and the Universal board of trustees. They might
decide to use it on Inquiry some night when the program is
dull. Just think of the rating you'd get!"
"Very funny."
'Then I'd arrange a special screening for all the newspaper
people, including the columnists you despise so much. Now
there s a group that would lap it up."
"I really think," he said slowly, "that you'd do it."
"Try me!" She couldn't remember when she had enjoyed
such an overwhelming feeling of triumph. "I left out part of
the audience just now. Whenever you start showing too much
interest in a girl— and any interest is too much, Lester, so
don't say you haven't been warned— I'll entertain her with
the most eye-opening movie she's ever seen. I guarantee that
will cool her great love for you!"
Lester shifted uncomfortably in his chair and tried another
approach. "Where is Randy, anyway?"
Grace shrugged, her face impassive. "How would I know? I

never saw him— until he gave me the tape."

"Where was that?"
"You ask too many questions."
"Maybe I'm not the only one asking them. The police were
conducting an investigation early this evening. I was told he
disappeared."
"Well," she said, "he isn't hiding around here. You can be
sure of that!" Extending her empty glass, she tinkled the ice
in it. "This is thirsty work. I'll take a refill."

"Help yourself."
"You'll get it for me!" Suddenly she giggled. "Maybe you
aren't as sexy as a topless waitress, but you come close."
His temper exploded. "I won't stand for that kind of gag! It

goddam well isn't funny." Jumping to his feet, he crossed the

room and stood over her, his fists clenched.
Noel B. Gerson 249
Grace knew him far better than he realized, and did not
flinch. She held the glass out to him, her face and manner still
calm. "While you're at it, I'll take a little more ice, too."
His face red, he continued to tower over her, muttering
under his breath. "Just understand," he said, "that I'm not
going to be reminded of what was the most painful experience
of my life."
"Then behave yourself, and start treating me like a real
wife. I'm sure you go leaping around a room fast enough to
get drinks for your girls."
He exerted his willpower, making a supreme effort, and bit
back a retort. Then, because there was nothing else he could
do, he took her glass to the bar and refilled it.
"Thank you, dear," Grace said, and smiled.
"Tomorrow, you're invited to Stan Friedlander's with me,"
he said.
"You mean you're actually asking me to a party?"
"It isn't a party. Something came up late today that I've
got to discuss with Stan. There wasn't time tonight, so he's
asked me over to his house for lunch tomorrow— after my golf
game. And you're included. So I accepted for you."
"By now," Grace said with asperity, "you ought to know I

don't feel at home with those television people."

"Ellie Friedlander isn't in the business any more than you
are." Lester felt a malicious sense of satisfaction in adding,
"Besides, if you want the prerogatives of a full-time wife,

you'll have to start acting like one."

"You're a bastard."
"You're no bouquet of American Beauty roses yourself," he
said, and draining his drink, started toward the stairs.
The confrontation hadn't turned out precisely as she had
planned, but she supposed it didn't matter. He knew the new
rules that would govern the game, and that was what had
mattered. It wasn't easy to put aside the worry that had
assailed her when he had said the police were searching for
Randy Warren, but she had covered her tracks, and could do
 250 Talk Show
no more. Oddly, she was at peace, knowing she had accom-
plished something positive, at long last. Perhaps it was too

much to ask Lester to dance to her tune immediately, but he

would learn, as she drew the noose tighter, that she meant
every word.
It was possible, although she couldn't count on it, that they

might return to the spirit of their first years together, when he

had committed relatively few indiscretions and had been
genuinely concerned about her happiness and welfare. "Good
night," she called.
'The same to you/' Lester said, and was glad she hadn't
insisted that he take her to bed, only to discover that he was
incapable of producing. Randy Warren had goofed when he
had vindictively given her the video tapes, presumably after
discovering that Maxie didn't stand a chance of being made
the host of Inquiry. But one man's mistake was another's
good fortune, and, between this lucky break and his session
this afternoon with Malcolm O'Brien, his freedom of action

was being restored.

The restaurant, located in the West Forties, was unfashion-

able and drab, but it stayed open until 4:00 a.m., the food was
edible and the after-midnight patrons weren't celebrity-
conscious, so had become the newest hangout of the tele-
it

vision crowd who worked late. Tired after their long stint,
they enjoyed the quiet, and no one objected to the slightly
seedy atmosphere. They could eat breakfast in peace, hashing
over the night's programs, and there were few who asked for
more.
Jeri Maynard ate her scrambled eggs and bacon, surprised
to discover she was hungry, but found it difficult to make
conversation.
Dick Hubbel watched her over the rim of the coffee cup
from which he was sipping."When you walked out in the
Noel B. Gerson 251

middle of the show tonight/' he said, "I was sure that was the
last I'd see of you this weekend."

"I'm here with you, aren't I?"

He shrugged. "I'm grateful for all favors, large and small.
Where did you go?"
She had no intention of telling him about her meeting with
Dale Henry. "Something came up."
"Sorry I asked."
"Don't be hateful, Dick." She placed her hand over his for
a moment. "It doesn't concern you, and it's something I can't
discuss."
"One of your new functions as the number two boss of
Inquiry, maybe?"
"You've heard about Stan's offer."
"UBS is a screen with holes in it. Sometimes I think the
whole place is bugged."
"Well, I haven't given Stan an answer to his offer," Jeri
said. "You can tell that to my unseen audience."
"I listen." Hubbel was gruff. "But I don't mention you to
anybody around there."
"Thank you." Her gratitude was genuine.
"Jeri," he said, "you can't take the job."
"I can think of a great many reasons I should. Lots more
money. A big step up the vocational ladder."
"And a bigger headache, one that will keep you tied to
Lester Corbett."
"Is that bad?" She tried to speak lightly, but failed.
"It stinks!" Hubbel's vehemence was explosive.
"You aren't a woman, so you can't understand."
"All I know is that no woman who has any brains in her
head can stay in love with that egomaniac!"
"It isn't a question of love, exactly," Jeri said. "I wouldn't
call Lester's ego a bluff, but it doesn't go far beneath the
surface. He's vulnerable—"
"Sure, and insecure, and frightened. So were Adolf Hitler
 252 Talk Show
and Attila the Hun, but that doesn't make them any more
attractive. I've known Corbett you have,
a lot longer than
Jeri. He consumes Fve watched him do it. He'll gnaw
people.
away until there's nothing left, and then he'll go on to the
next one. You may be gorgeous now, but you won't make a
very pretty skeleton."
The girl laughed.
''I'm dead serious/' Hubbel said.
''I know youare, and I beg your pardon, Dick. But Lester
has all kinds of problems you know nothing about, and I'd be
the rat of creation if I walked out on him before they're
solved."
"Either he'll do the repeat show with Governor Winston
on Tuesday, or he'll get heaved out on his butt. That's a
simple choice, not a problem."
"I wasn't talking coming Tuesday, but
about Inquiry this
no matter. That can be enough problem for all of us. The
of a
governor's public-relations director is flying here tomorrow,
and I'll spend most of the weekend with him, blocking out a
new interview. Which Lester may or may not accept."
"If he goes on the air," Hubbel said, "he'll have to accept
whatever you've done for him."
"And you think you know him? You are naive. How many
dozens of times have you seen him throw away an interview
and ad-lib his whole show? When he's sharp, when his anten-
nae are aimed in the right direction, he has an instinct for
what will fascinate an audience. That's why he's built the
highest, most consistent rating in the business, and don't ever
fool yourself. It isn't because of the words I put on cue cards
or the way you juggle your cameras from the control room. He
knows how to establish a link to his audience, and he grabs
them out there, by the millions. We behind-the-scenes people
like to think of actors and commentators as puppets we
manipulate, but it was Lester Corbett's destiny to live in an
electronic age and become the host of a complicated talk
Noel B. Gerson 253

show. He's extraordinary, and not one of his competitors is in

his class."
"And you claim you aren't in love with him?" Hubbel
forced a smile, then added ruefully, "You're right, I'm sorry to
say. The slob has a way of establishing rapport with an
audience that's unique, and none of his imitators can come
near him."
The reluctant tribute satisfied Jeri, and she sat back in her
chair, stirring a small quantity of sugar into her coffee.
'The point I'm trying to make," Hubbel said, "is that
there'sone enormous difference between Corbett on the air
and Corbett in person. I'll worry about the new Winston
show when the studio light turns red on Tuesday night. What
bothers me now, and will continue to bug me long after
Tuesday, is what becomes of Jeri Maynard, girl producer and
unofficial hand-holder of genius."
"She doesn't expect to live happily ever after, Dick."
He looked hard at her. "She could, you know."
"Do you honestly think," Jeri demanded, "that we could
build a permanent relationship when you know I've had
something with Lester— and I wouldn't define it, even if I
could— that's been unique?"
"You're trying to tell me you could never completely re-
cover from what you've had with him. Being a male animal
myself, and not totally lacking in ego, I can't agree with you. I
think I could make you forget him. Not right off, maybe, but
eventually. Let's assume I'm wrong. I'd try, and if I fell on my
keester, that's the chance I'd be taking."
"I wouldn't marry you, Dick, or even live with you, unless I
thought I could get Lester out of my system. It wouldn't be
fair to either of us."
"I'm not suggesting that much," Hubbel said. "Not yet,
although it isn't easy to keep from making passes at you. We
build foundations before we put up the house. And you start
digging the basement by not seeing Corbett anymore, which
 254 Talk Show
means you stop seeing him at work as well as personally. Get
yourself wrapped up in my new situation-comedy show, and
see how quickly you'll be able to think of him in the past
tense."
"It would be silly to pretend I won't do a lot of thinking in
the next few days, because I will. Obviously. But," Jeri con-
tinued, "I have no intention of even trying to make any
decision until Tuesday night, at the earliest. And by then, I
hope, a great many of Lester's problems— and mine— will have
been solved."

The two-acre Friedlander lawn was maintained and mani-

cured with precision. The grass was kept one-half inch high,
and an intricate sprinkler system made certain it remained
green; hedges and bushes were trimmed weekly, the trees in
the small apple and cherry grove were kept pruned, even
though the birds ate all the cherries, and the flower beds
stayed in bloom from late spring until early autumn. The
three-story brick house was in equally good condition: shut-
ters were painted, and sandblasting kept the brick in mint-

new condition.
Two of the Friedlander children were swimming in the
kidney-shaped pool behind the house, while Grace Corbett
and Ellie Friedlander sat beneath a huge beach umbrella on
the apron beside it, making valiant efforts to find something
in common, other than their husbands' business, that they
could discuss. Ellie, a vivacious brunette who had kept her
figure through strenuous dieting and knew she looked attrac-
tive in a snug-fitting pantsuit, methodically went down the
check list of subjects she used at difficult dinner parties, but
she was dealing with a woman who appeared almost patho-
logically shy, and who answered in monosyllables.
Grace knew the other woman was struggling, which made
her all the more inhibited. It was all well and good to tell
Noel B. Gerson 255

herself that Lester was more important than Friedlander,

whose livelihood depended on him, but that didn't prevent
Friedlander's wife from thinking that Lester's wife was a
hopeless mess. It wasn't easy to refrain from enlivening the
conversation by saying, "You'll never guess what happened
yesterday. One of your husband's horrible little employees
tried to blackmail my husband, so I murdered him in cold
blood." The imaginary monologue made her laugh.
Ellie was convinced she had said something amusing, and
her manner became less brittle, less intense, which eased the
situation a trifle. But she couldn't help wondering what Lester
Corbett had ever seen in someone who was so dull, and she
was grateful that these command appearances took place no
more often than once or twice each year.
Meanwhile the two men dutifully inspected the grass, the
hedges, the flowers and the fruit trees, and then made their
way to Stan's air-conditioned summerhouse, which stood off
the dining room. Both were elegant in ultraexpensive sports
shirts, slacks and loafers, and they carried themselves with the

near-arrogance of the highly successful when they know a

battle is pending.
"You ought to install a putting green out in back, Stan,"
Lester said. "Your land is flat there, so it would be a perfect
spot."
"I've thought of it, but my kids— and their damn dogs-
would have it chewed up in no time. The country club is only
a fifteen-minute drive down the road, so it isn't too bad."
"Did you play this morning?"
"I slept."
"I was out on the course near us at nine," Lester said.
"Your energy always gets me down. What did you shoot?"
"An eighty-two. I'd have done better, but I screwed up on
the back nine."
"Remind me not to play against you in the Inquiry tourna-
ment." Stan went to a refrigerator in the corner of the
 256 Talk Show
summerhouse and brought out two bottles of imported beer,
which he opened.
Lester stared up at the ceiling. "I can't help wondering
whether I'll be playing in the tournament this year/' he said.
Stan's gaze was sharp. "Come You aren't really
off it, Les.
thinking of refusing to do the new Winston interview'/'
"I haven't made up my mind yet. Oh, I've agreed to give up
part of my Sunday and go into the city to see what Jeri
Maynard and the governor's press agent have cooked up for
me, but I won't commit myself to anything more than that."
"You're wrong, Les—"
"We've hashed this thing out enough times," Lester said,
"and Bishop Cranmer thought he spoke the last word in the
royal audience yesterday. But that isn't why I wanted to see
you." He raised his glass, then tasted the beer, and nodded
appreciatively. "Very nice."
"The Dutch make it for their own use. A friend of mine in
Amsterdam sends it to me. If you'd like, I'll ask him to ship
you a couple of cases."
"That's very kind of you, Stan." This was not the moment
to be indebted, so Lester countered. "Which reminds me, my
accountant brought me a half-dozen bottles of twenty-year-old
Scotch, and I never touch the stuff. I'll bring it in for you on
Monday."
"Thanks very much, Les."
"Not at all. I'm sorry I didn't think of it sooner." Lester's
wave was appropriately casual, and his manner became even
more relaxed as he said, "I happened to run into an old friend
of yours and mine yesterday. Malcolm O'Brien."
Stan had never pretended to be an artful dissembler. "You
happened to run into him?"
"Yes, on Park Avenue." Lester remained bland.
"Life is full of strange coincidences."
"Isn't it? Anyway, we had a very pleasant chat."
"I can imagine," Stan said, and paused. "What's his offer?"
Noel B. Gerson 257
Lester looked pained. "You know Mai isn't that crude!"
"The hell he isn't! have stolen the whole UBS
He would
sports staff a couple of months ago, but we managed to lock
the barn door just in time."
"I think you malign him. Mai has always been a very ethical

"He's so ethical," Stan said, "that he has every other net-

work trying to pull off the biggest talent raids of the past ten
years. I was afraid something like this would happen. How-
ever. Tell me in your own, inimitable way."
"Well, Mai had heard rumors, naturally. I guess everyone
in the business must know by now that UBS and I aren't
quite gazing at the stars through the same telescope these
days."
"Someday," Stan said bitterly, "the networks are going to
start working in tandem."
Lester's smile was polite. "But that day isn't yet upon us,
which is fortunate for the talent."
Stan gulped his beer too rapidly, and belched.
"I hope that wasn't an editorial comment."
"Get on with it, Les."
"Oh, we had a general chat about one thing and another."
"I suppose Mai would try to steal the Inquiry format, too."
"I can't imagine such a thing." Lester sounded shocked.
"Besides, we didn't go into that much detail. I have no idea
what the format of the Lester Corbett Show would be."
"That son of a bitch doesn't miss a trick. He'd even put
your name in the title, so it would appear in all the program
listings!"
"It's the kind of gesture that someone in my position
appreciates," Lester said.
"In this vague, general chat, did the nasty subject of money-
happen to come up?"
Again Lester stared up at the ceiling. "Well, I'll put it to
you this way, Stan. If the day ever came when I signed with
 258 Talk Show
O'Brien, I'd wind up richer than I'll be at UBS. Under the
terms of present and projected contracts, that is."

"What terms do you want?"

"Stan, I haven't come here to talk turkey with you. I just

thought you'd appreciate knowing that another network has

expressed an interest in me."
"When somebody is holding a gun to my head," Stan said,
"I don't ask him the caliber of the weapon, or whether it
happens to be an automatic. I assume he wants my money,
and if I'm carrying any, I give it to him. If my pockets are
empty, the worst he can do is put a bullet through me. Fire
when ready."
"Ibelieve it would be a strain on our friendship for you and
me to talk revised contract terms, Stan."
Friedlander went to the refrigerator for two more bottles of
beer. "Sure, you prefer to hide behind an even more profes-
sional bandit, Ab Brody."
"I pay him a juicy ten percent of my income to settle these
things for me. I think he ought to earn his money."
Stan reached for a telephone beside him. "Do you just
happen to know his home number?"
"Sure, but you won't get him there.He's sailing in Long
IslandSound over the weekend."
"Meaning I'll have to sweat it out until Monday morning?
You don't want to give an old pal a recurrence of his ulcer,
Les.So suppose you drop a few hints."
"Speaking of dropping," Lester said, taking his beer and
emptying it into his glass, "I wish the threat of dropping me
weren't being held over my head."
"Neither Malcolm O'Brien nor anyone else in the business
will touch you with a five-foot antenna if you fail to live up to
your contractual obligations." Stan became very firm.
"That been made clear to me. Like, a thousand
fact has
times." Lester knew he was in command now, and his smile
was lazy.
Noel B. Gerson 259
"So we'll assume you'll go through with Tuesday's show?"
"Assume nothing. You wanted to know about Mai
O'Brien's offer, and I guess it isn't a breach of confidence to
tell you this much. They'll put aside a good chunk for my
retirement each year I'm with them."
Stan made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to hide his
relief. "We'll match them."
"They'll give me a hell of a big annual increase, too."
"Nothing we can't beat." Stan went to him, and patted
him on the shoulder. "Les, you and I are a team, and I'm not
going to allow anybody or anything to break us up. You'll be
pleased— on Monday— when you hear about the package I'm
going to set up for you. You're not only number one with
UBS, you're number one with me, and I'm going to prove to
you that I'm your buddy."
 don't have any objection to working out a closer
married life, if that's what you want/' Lester said. "But you've
got to be reasonable."
Grace poured herself cup of coffee and returned
a fresh
with it bad enough that you work
to the kitchen table. "It's
crazy hours all week, so we can't have a normal life five days
out of seven. So I don't think I'm being unreasonable when I
want us to be together on weekends."
"We are," he said wearily, "and we will be. But this is
something special, and I've got to go into town for a few
hours."
"You told me. The Maynard woman and Governor Win-
ston's press secretary have been working out the details of
your new interview, and they want you to check it over with
them."
'That wasn't so hard to understand, was it, Grade?"
T don't see why you can't handle it by telephone."
"Because an interview isn't as simple as it appears on the
air. Because this new Winston appearance is loaded with
fissionable material. Because I have a principle at stake, and

260
Noel B. Gerson 261

Fm fighting for my entire vocational future, which means I

may or may not do the show. And the material they're putting
together is one of the factors that will help me reach a
decision/'
"But you never work on Sunday afternoons." Grace set her
jaw and folded her arms.
"Fm working today/' Lester said, "and if you wanted a
different kind of life, you should have married somebody with

a nine-to-five job. I don't earn my kind of money by punching

a time clock. So you can console yourself with the thought
that you're going to be a rich widow."
Her gaze was speculative. "Sometimes Fm tempted."
"You aren't the type," he said. "You don't have that kind
of nerve."
She lighted a but made no reply.
cigarette,
"Drive into the city with me, if that'll make you happy, and
go to a movie or a museum or someplace while Fm up at the
studio.Then I'll take you out to dinner. How's that?"
She shook her head. "You forget that the servants work on
weekends, and I'm not going to waste them. I've planned
dinner here tonight, so this is where we'll eat."
"You've got to grant that Fm trying/' Lester said.
"My alarm bells are ringing because you're going to meet
that Maynard woman."
"Jeri happens to be the chief writer and editor of Inquiry. I

don't imagine she likes working on a Sunday either, but she

has her job to do, just as I have mine."
"But you could find time for other things," Grace persisted.
"God Almighty!" His calm deserted him. "What do you
think I'm going to do—lay her on the studio floor?"
"It wouldn't be the first time," she said, "that you've put
on a pornographic performance in front of a camera." She felt
a deep satisfaction as she watched him deflate.
Lester tried to recover his dignity. "You seem to forget that
Governor Winston's press agent will be there."
 262 Talk Show
"From what I've been shown, the presence of other people
doesn't deter you."
"Grade, I can't take this kind of needling. You've made up
a new set of rules, and I'm going along with them—"
"Because you have no choice."
"—for whatever the reasons. I'm willing to do everything in
my power to rebuild our marriage along the lines you want.
But we aren't going to get anywhere if you continually
harpoon me."
Grace realized he had a valid point, but was still uneasy.
She hated to admit to herself, however, that no matter how
tight her surveillance, he could always find ways to avoid her
restrictions. Today's meeting might be legitimate, although
she couldn't be certain, but there would be other days and
other nights when he might try to double-talk. All the same,
she had forged a weapon, and intended to use it.
"The best way to avoid the consequences is to behave
yourself," she said. "Any time I find out you've cheated, no
matter what your excuse or the circumstances, you know what
I'll do."
"You've made it very plain." Lester finished his own coffee,
glanced at his watch and stood, and there was deep mockery
in his voice as he asked, "Please, Mrs. Corbett, ma'am, may I
go to work now? Will you give your permission for me to earn
my living?"
Grace's expression did not change. "I'll expect you to be on
time for dinner," she said.

Stan Friedlander turned the summerhouse air conditioner a

notch higher, poured himself a beer and walked to his tele-
phone with the air of an executioner about to pull the switch.
He dialed a number, then asked for Malcolm O'Brien.
"Speaking."
"Mai," Stan said, "you're a two-timing, double-faced, no-
good son of a bitch."
Noel B. Gerson 263

O'Brien laughed. 'That's the nicest thing I've been called

all day. Who knows me so well?"
"This is Stan Friedlander, and I'm just warming up in the
name-calling department."
"Stan, boy! This mental telepathy at work. I've been
is real
thinking about you all morning."
"Likewise, and I hope it makes you happy to know you've
spoiled my weekend. And the Bishop's. And the program
department's. And a half-dozen others."
"The Bishop and his cronies know what they can do with
their weekends, but I'm sorry if I've caused you distress,

Stan."
Stan opened a humidor with his free hand, and selected a
cigarette instead of his usual cigar. "I wish,"he said, "you'd
let us know you were planning to make a pitch. You owe UBS
that much."
"I owe UBS nothing," O'Brien said. "When they gave
Adam Evans a hike of twenty-five thousand a year and left me
out in the cold, that was the end of my loyalty!"
"Oh, I know you got the rough treatment, Mai," Stan said
hastily. "They jammed the
shaft up you and broke it off. But
I was thinking specifically of Inquiry. You started the show,
and you put the team together."
"Including giving you a promotion to producer," O'Brien
said. "Don't forget that."
"I'm not, believe me, and I'll always be grateful to you,
Mai. But it hurts me to see you doing a demolition job."
O'Brien chuckled. "How much has Les Corbett told you?"
"Damn little. He was cagey when he came out here yester-
day. All he let slip— on purpose— was that he'll get a bigger
slice annually, and a retirement cushion. I assume it's nontax-

able until he uses it."

"I knew you were a bright boy when I moved you into that
job," O'Brien said. "And Corbett's circumspection astonishes
me. I thought he'd run to the whole UBS hierarchy with a
 264 Talk Show
detailed breakdown of what must still be regarded as a very
tentative offer/'
"I'm not trying to pry, Mai. But just how tentative is it?
That'swhy I'm calling you."
"I told Les," O'Brien said, speaking slowly and distinctly,
"that I'd be in touch with him again the middle of the week.
After his show of this coming Tuesday night. Does that make
you happier?"
"It will, I hope, after I pick up a few more details from you,
Mai."
"Then the rumors I've heard on the street are right. He's
been giving you guys migraines."
"Even our ulcers have ulcers," Stan said bitterly. "Lester
Corbett is like all the rest who make it big. He becomes a law
unto himself. He makes the rules, and we're supposed to go
along with them, even if it means an FCC crackdown, a con-
gressional investigation and the dropout of a dozen major
sponsors."
"What you expect of an actor?" O'Brien sounded sympa-
thetic. "I could have predicted Corbett's reaction. In fact I

did, which is why I've been keeping a close watch on the

situation at your shop."
"Nobody has been able to clamp the lid on him, that's for
sure," Stan said."The Bishop read the riot act to him on
Friday morning, but I'm not certain that made an impression
on him. His agent almost had a coronary, but the Bishop says
Les didn't suffer a single muscle twitch. We still don't know
whether he's going to do the show on Tuesday, although I'm
hoping to get a better line on things later this afternoon."
"Following his meeting with Jeri Maynard and Abe Win-
O'Brien said.
ston's flak,"
"Jeez,you really do keep your UBS pipelines open!"
The rival network executive laughed.
"That's our situation, Mai," Stan said, "and as you can
imagine, we're sweating red corpuscles. Now you've come
Noel B. Gerson 265
along with an offer that will make it that much harder to
control Les."
"Not at all," O'Brien said. "I've made it plain to him— and
to his agent, separately, as a safeguard— that we'll make no
deal whatever unless he fulfills his contractual obligations. To
the letter."
"Thank God for that much."
"We may be bastards in our shop," O'Brien said, "but we
aren't cretins. Our network would break up, too, if we took a
maverick Corbett into the fold."
"I appreciate these assurances, Mai, I really do," Stan said.
"In some ways, it actually puts more pressure on him to do
what's expected of him."
"Of course. If we don't stand together in the crunch, we'll
all be out of business." O'Brien paused delicately. "So much
for what you've had on your mind, boy. Anything else?"
"That wraps it up, Mai."
"Corbett didn't tell you about the special gimmick I
dreamed up for him? The juicy bait I stuck on the hook?" It
was obvious that O'Brien was pleased with himself.
"I already told you, he kept his mouth zipped up. It was an
unusual experience."
"I told him," O'Brien said, "that he could be his own
producer."
Stan Friedlander was stunned. "You can't possibly mean
that, Mai. You've gone out of your mind."
"We bad connection. You aren't hearing right
must have a
on your end, Stan. Gimmick is what I said, and gimmick is
what I mean. I explained to our boy that he'd have an associ-
ate producer to handle the details. Somebody close to him,
but in our trust, too."
"Mmm," Stan said.
"For the right guy, it could be quite a challenge. Of course,
he'd have to take a step down in title, although everybody in
the industry would know he was in charge, so he wouldn't
 266 Talk Show
reallybe suffering any loss of face. And we figure we could
make up to him on his paycheck."
it

'That/' Stan said, "could compensate for a lot."

"I'm glad you agree my thinking is sound," O'Brien said.
"Solid," Stan said.
"You know, I've neglected old friends for too long,"
O'Brien said. "How are you fixed for lunch— on Wednes-
day?"
"I don't have my calendar here, but I'm sure I can clear the
decks for a date that day, Mai."
"Sold. We'll go to a quiet little joint I know— where we
won't run into mobs and have to spend half our time shaking
hands with schmoes who want jobs from us. I'll give you a
ring on Wednesday morning, Stan, and we'll settle the details
then."

At first glance the network was a deceptively busy place on

a Sunday afternoon. Receptionists were on duty, uniformed
pages conducted tours, and rehearsals— most of them for pro-
grams that would be aired later in the week— were taking
place in a half-dozen studios. Musicians roamed through the
corridors, muttering to each other and ogling pretty young
actresses who were heading for the canteen, where they could
buy packaged sandwiches and coffee.
Few of the offices were open for the day, however. The
executives' wing was dark, with the door closed, and no type-
writers clicked in the general offices or specialized depart-
ments. Monitors showed a live baseball game being telecast in
color, and the atmosphere was relaxed, almost sleepy.
overall
But tension was running high in Lester Corbett's office, and
he frowned as he dropped several pages of a script onto his
desk."There are big holes in this segment," he said.
Governor Winston's press secretary became flustered, and
bristled.
Noel B. Gerson 267

Jeri Maynard, who looked as though she would have been

more at home dining in a deluxe restaurant, silencedhim with
a surreptitious nudge. "We've tried to plug all the leaks,
Lester/' she said, "but we may have missed some. What do
you see?"
"At least half of what you've written hinges on the report
of the commission that's been investigating my son's death,
but I haven't seen the report. I'm forced to take your word for
it. Not that I mistrust Jeri or have any particular reason to

think that Governor Winston and his staff are trying to

engage in sleight-of-hand behind my back, but I can't conduct
an intelligent interview unless I've gone over the material on
which it's based."
"The report," Winston's press secretary said, "won't be
released until the governor is on the air with you on Tuesday
night. He'll read excerpts from it, as you've gathered, and the
full text will be made available to the press at the same time."

"The timing of a release is your problem, not mine," Lester

said. "I don't care when or how you turn it over to the news
media. All that concerns me is my end. Jeri, have you seen the
report?"
"No," she said, embarrassed because he had caught her
short. "Ken has given me the gist of it, and we've built the
interview from there."
Lester slumped in his chair and put his feet on his desk.
Experience had taught Jeri he was dangerous when he
simulated languor, and she braced herself.
"If somebody knows the gist of a report, there must be at
least a version of that report somewhere, in full. Right?"
Lester challenged the press secretary.
"The two members of the commission who are writing it
are polishing and putting in the finishing touches, so it
it

won't be ready before Tuesday night."

"All the same," Lester said, his manner becoming dogged,
"there must be some sort of version that's already on paper."
 268 Talk Show
"A rough draft. Very rough." The press secretary hadn't
anticipated such a display of firmness, and squirmed.
"I want to read it. I want
at home, tonight, and
to read it

then I'll morning and go over it

get together with Jeri in the
with her. She can meet you at noon, let's say, and you can
hash it out together from there. Fm not stunting, Ken, and
I'm not trying to pull a fast one on the governor. But both
participants in a dialogue must have access to the material
they're discussing, or they aren't engaging in a dialogue.
That's the way I see it, anyway. I have no intention of becom-
ing Governor Winston's straight man, or of acting in the
capacity of an announcer who introduces him when he's going
to make a speech."
'That certainly isn't what we want, either, Mr. Corbett!"
Lester glanced at the press secretary, then at Jeri, and his
smile was cold. "I can do one of two things. I can present
Governor Winston to my audience, and let him make a half-
hour address. But I won't do it on the Inquiry program, where
my audience expects me to play a different role. This forces
me into my second choice. I can conduct my usual program
until the time comes for the Winston segment. At that point
I can inform my audience that I've been denied the right to
read the material the governor plans to discuss, and I can turn
the show over Maxie Marx— or anybody else the network
to
wants to substitute for me."
Jeri shuddered and bit her full, lower lip.
The press secretary was even more upset. 'That would ruin
everybody involved in the program!"
"I don't suppose it would help the governor, although that
isn'tmy worry. I do know I'd find it much more difficult to
pursue my vocation, but at least I'd have the satisfaction of
knowing I'd been honest, and hadn't tried to fool my au-
dience."
The press secretary reached toward his briefcase, on the
floor besidehim, and then halted. "I was told," he said, "that
the proceedings had to remain confidential."
Noel B. Gerson 269
'Telephone the governor, if you like, and tell him the al-
ternatives. Jeri, show him to an office where he can make a
private call, would you?"
'That won't be necessary." The press secretary sighed. "I
guess they didn't mean you when they told me not to let
anybody see the draft of the report." He opened his briefcase,
removed a stapled sheaf of papers, and placed the folder on
the desk.
"You won't regret this, Ken," Lester said, "unless the tenor
of the report is off-key. The feel of it matters as much as the
substance, but I'm sure I don't have to give Abe Winston
lessons in preparing a document for public consumption."
The press
secretary laughed shakily.
was relieved, too.
Jeri
Lester looked up at the wall clock, and knew he didn't want
to go home for another hour or two. Spending the evening
with Grace would be difficult enough, but he had no valid
reason to prolong the conference. "Why don't you two go on
about your business? I think I'll get a head start on my
reading right now."
The press secretary rose at once. "Jeri," he said, "we've
earned some thick steaks and a few stiff drinks."
"Provided UBS foots the bill," Jeri said.
Lester appreciated her finesse; it was her way of telling him
she would merely be doing her duty by having dinner with the
press secretary, and had no intention of becoming involved
with him. Lester shook the man's hand with greater cordiality
than he otherwise would have shown. "I'll expect you here at
noon tomorrow, Ken."
Jeri waved the man out of the office ahead of her, calling,
"I'll be with you in a minute." Closing the door again, she
studied Lester. "I gather," she said, "you've had a change of
heart."
He looked innocent. "How do you mean?"
"The last I heard, on Friday, nobody was going to force you
to do Tuesday night's show."
 270 Talk Show
''Nobody is," he replied, and grinned.
"But you're going to do it?"
He tapped the commission report with his knuckles.
"Maybe, depending on what this says/'
"What caused you to change your mind, Lester?"
"I'm not admitting I've changed it."
"Please," she said. "I know you. And that's why I'm afraid.
I have a hunch you have something sneaky up your sleeve."

"According to a news story that hit page one of today's

Times," he said, "all America is awaiting Tuesday night's
showdown. Join the throngs of your eager fellow citizens,
baby."
Jeri knewbetter than to pursue the subject when he was in
a teasing mood, relishing the sense of power he could exert.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Lester."

"Meet me here at nine for breakfast."

She nodded, then hesitated, one hand on the door. "One
small favor? Stick around for a little while. Don't leave for at
least five or ten minutes."
"I have no intention of going anywhere. I'll start on the
report.But how come?"
She made no reply, and closed the door behind her.
Lester picked up the thick sheaf of papers, spot reading as
he leafed through the report, and quickly realized this was no
hastily constructed palliative, but appeared to be a study, in
depth, of the causes of deaths like that of Lester Corbett,
Junior. "Abe Winston," he said aloud, "is a shrewd bastard.
He's turning this whole fandango to his advantage."
Returning to the first page, he started to read carefully, and
soon was immersed in the report. He was so engrossed, in fact,
that he didn't look up until the door opened, then closed
again.
Dale Henry stood opposite him, resplendent in a snug-
fitting pantsuit of shiny white satin, with a matching shoulder
bag and shoes, and a thin, white line on her eyelids.
Noel B. Gerson 271

"Hi," she said.

"I guess said, "and I
I'm supposed to be surprised/' Lester
am. Did Jeri know you were here?"
Dale nodded.
He wondered, fleetingly, why Jeri had chosen to be so gen-
erous in dealing with someone who was at least a temporary,
potential rival, but there were more pressing matters on his
mind. "I thought you went underground," he said.
"I did, and I still am. But I— I made it my business to find
out you were going to be here today, so I came down to see
you."
"Looking inconspicuous," he said. Her breasts strained
against the thin fabric of her tunic, and her waist looked small
enough to encompass with his hands.
"Oh, I took a taxi down here, and I'll get another to go
back uptown. There are so many tourists and sightseers on the
street today that nobody will notice me."
"When a girl looks so luscious that she's practically inviting
rape," Lester said, "she's noticed. By everybody."
"I'll take that as the compliment of the day. But," she
added, her dark eyes clouding, "I know that I wasn't being
tailed, so I'm not worried."
"You still don't know who was so interested in you— and in
me?"
"No, and I have no intention of finding out. Which is easy,
up where I'm hiding."
"Don't me. Would you like a drink?"
tell

"If you'll joinme."

Lester hesitated, then told himself it didn't matter if he
went home with the smell of liquor on his breath. Grace's
orders didn't apply to bourbon, and regardless of whether he
had a belt or two, she'd find cause to bitch at him.
"I've developed a taste for gin lately," Dale told him,
watching as he reached for the bottles. "I discover it makes
me feel sexy."
 272 Talk Show
"Then you'd better have whiskey, vodka or rum."
"Make it gin," Dale said.
"You've come to the wrong place for that, baby," Lester
said. "I may have been stoned the other night, but there's too
much I can remember, and it gives me nightmares."
Dale rose and walked deliberately to the bar, her hips sway-
ing beneath the tightly cut pants that revealed the perfect
shape of her high, tight buttocks. Her hand brushing against
him as she reached past him, she poured herself a generous
quantity of gin. "You take care of the ice, honey," she said,
"and if there's a splash of tonic, I'll take that, too, but just
a little."
He tried to ignore her invitation by making light of it.

"What got into you?"

"Nothing, and that's my trouble. Underground life is dull,
honey. I spend a few minutes every day with my roommate,

but I have nothing in common with her, except that we went

to high school together. It'll be all right during the week, be-
cause I got myself a little job that'll keep me
busy enough.
But weekend has been deadly. I've
this done nothing but sit
alone,and I'm definitely not built for that." Hips undulating,
she returned to her chair, well aware of the fact that he was
watching her.
Lester poured himself a bourbon on the rocks.
stiff

"I heard on a newscast that Governor Winston's press man

was here," she said. "That's what made me guess you'd be in
town today, Les."
"Yeah." His desk offered him a barrier, and he retreated
behind it.
Dale's lips, glistening and soft, formed in a pout. "I didn't
think I'd get this kind of a reception."
"I'm sorry, baby," he said, deciding to tell her the truth,
"but I have a hangup with you. Because of the other night."
"I apologized, didn't I?"
"Sure, but I can't help thinking of the things that hap-
Noel B. Gerson 273

pened to me, and they make me feel about as tall as a dwarf."

"Don't let it bug you, honey/' she said. "It could have
happened to anybody. First we got you loaded, and then we
ganged up on you."
"Well, at least it gave you something to laugh about in that
dull hideout," he said, and his tone was bitter.
"I'm not laughing, Les. I wasn't even laughing the other
night, not really."
He raised his glass.

Dale returned the gesture. "Here's to you/' she said, speak-

ing with deliberation.
"Why the pitch, baby?" he demanded.
"Why not? You came through for me just great the other
day, when needed help. In spite of the stinking trick I'd
I

played on you. And I kept remembering all weekend that you

and I always made out great together— not counting that one
night. I know you're up-tight because of this whole Governor
Winston mess, so I thought I'd do both of us a favor. Simple."
Lester sipped his drink and stared out of the window. "I
wonder if anybody has heard from Randy Warren."
"Apparently not. Jeri told me that Maxie Marx called her
this noon, and practically broke down in tears, over the
phone. He's been badgering the police, but they haven't heard
anything, and Maxie says they don't much care. I guess they
get tired of trying to track down gay boys who get into a snit
and leave New York."
"I can't say that I miss him." Lester felt the urge to tell her
that Randy had turned the video tape over to his wife, but
decided not to mention the matter. The less said about the
film, the sooner it would be By everyone. Except
forgotten.
Grace.
"When all the excitement dies down," Dale said, "I don't
think I want to go on to CBS. I'm going to ask Mr. Fried-
lander if he'll let me have my old job again. Which I'm sure
he will, if you'll put in a word for me."
 274 Talk Show
He forced himself to look at her, and stared at her in frank
curiosity. "Why in hell would you want to do that, when
you'd be going to another network for more money?"
Dale made no attempt to conceal the lust in her voice. "If
I'm here/' she said, "Pll be near you. You'll be near me. We
can fuck. You know." She laughed softly but with great
warmth.
His own laugh was strained. "Well, I walked into that
one."
She extended her empty glass to him. "More, please?"
"You're slugging it down in a hurry, baby."
"I'm impatient."
He finished his own drink, refilled both glasses, and then
lighted a cigarette for her. "There. Don't say you aren't get-
ting service."
"Not the kind I want. I want you to ball me, Les. I need to
feel you inside me."
He could not meet her steady gaze. "Forget it, baby. Find
somebody else."
"But I want it with you."
Lester braced himself, then spoke between clenched teeth.
"You're asking for it, so I'll let you have it straight. You might
as well have cut my balls off the other night. I just can't
produce."
Dale's eyes burned into him. "Want
honey?"to bet,
"No, thanks. I've had enough of your brand of love-making
to last for the rest of my life."
"But whole point. The other night wasn't my
that's the
brand, it was a put-on. What I want is your brand, Les. Be-
cause it sends me, and always has. As you know." Dale stood,
unzipped her tunic and pants, and, in a few deft motions,
removed them, then stood before him in her flimsy bra and
panties, her full breasts bulging, a tiny pulse throbbing in her
smooth, brown belly.
"Hey," Lester said, "somebody could walk in!"
Noel B. Gerson 275
Dale went to the door and locked it. "Better?" She re-
turned for her glass, and smiled at him as she sipped from it.

A sense of panic gripped him, and he gulped his own drink,

but felt none of its impact.
"You don't act like the Les Corbett I know," Dale said.
"He shriveled away in a pressure cooker down in the Vil-
lage one night this past week. As I've since found out, and
I've had enough embarrassment to last the rest of my life."
She came to him, sat on his lap, and, while unhooking her
bra with one hand, drew his head toward her with the other.
"You're going to find out how wrong you are," she said, her
voice husky.
The touch of her bare breasts against his face aroused him,
and he mouthed them, his desire momentarily overcoming his
fear.

Dale took his head in both hands, and guiding him, mas-
saged her breasts with his lips, his nose, his closed eyelids.
Lester's arms slid around her, and he held her firmly, his
tongue tormenting the nipples that responded almost im-
mediately to the moist caresses. But no matter how much he
wanted her, he told himself, this scene would lead nowhere,
and he released her, trying to push her from his lap.
"You lied to me," Dale murmured. "There's one part of
you that's no dwarf." She gave him no chance to reply, and
herlips met his, her teeth closing over his tongue when her
mouth opened.
Lester's kiss was urgent, demanding, but his fear that a
fresh humiliation awaited him was greater than his passion, so
he jerked his head free, managed to stand the girl on her feet
and rose to his. "That's enough," he said, "and I beg your
pardon for getting you worked up when I can't follow
through."
She tugged at his sports shirt. "You aren't going to stop
now, Les."
"I'm capable of taking off my own clothes!"
 276 Talk Show
"Then do it," she said, her voice barely audible.
He guessed she wouldn't be satisfied until he proved to her
that he had become a semieunuch. If she became too worked
up, he could find other ways of offering her relief. Still re-

luctant, he slowly removed his clothes.

Dale came to him at once, and ran her hands down his
chest.
Lester shrank from her touch.
The girl was determined. She reached out with one hand,
caressing with her fingertips.
Responding to her touch, he again became aroused.
Still manipulating deftly, she drew him toward her. "I want

you to make love to me, sweetie. That's the way I really like
it." Maintaining her hold, she backed against the wall, and

with her free hand drew his head down to her breasts.
Once more he wet and kissed them, until the nipples
hardened and grew, and the breasts became swollen.
Dale planted her feet apart, and he entered. "Now," she
said, "we'll have some real fun."
Lester responded when she initiated a bump-and-grind
movement, and sliding his hands around her, grasped her
buttocks and started a series of deep, hard thrusts. "This is
great, but I warn you, baby, I can't follow through."
"Not this way," she replied. "This is just games. To raise
the temperature in here. The air conditioning in this place has
always been too cold."
He increased the tempo and force of his thrusts.
Dale clutched him, her fingers digging into his back. Her
eyes became glazed, and she closed them. All at once she
shuddered. "Let's get to it. I can't stand any more, Les. I
want you to ball me. Deep. All the way. The right way."
They separated and moved to the couch, where Dale
stretched out, drawing him down on top of her.
His desire was becoming unbearable, but the niggling fear
remained. She'd have all the more reason to despise him when
Noel B. Gerson 277
she discovered that she had rendered him incapable of achiev-
ing an orgasm. Nevertheless, unless he collapsed, he supposed
he could take care of her needs.
She wrapped her legs around him, he slid his hands beneath
her, and their bodies moved in tandem, the smooth rhythm
slowly giving way to violent, convulsive jerks.
Lester realized he was sweating, but he didn't care. The girl
was perspiring, too, and the knowledge that, at the least, he
was giving her a workout, restored some small measure of his
self-confidence.
Dale gasped for breath. "More. Do it forever."
His desire became overwhelming, but he was still afraid
that he'd never come.
Her nails clawed him, raking his back, and her movements
became frenzied.
Lester caught a brief glimpse of her face, and saw that her
eyes were half-closed and unseeing, her lips parted, her fea-
tures contorting inan agony of desire.
Suddenly Dale screamed, and lost all control.
He knew he had brought her to a climax, that he had taken
her successfully, and a sense of triumph swept over him in a
great wave. Before he quite realized what was happening, he,
too, obtained release, a slow one, made more agonizingly
beautiful by Dale's refusal to stop moving, her seemingly
willful desire to suck every last drop from him.
Gradually their movements subsided, and they rolled onto
their sides, still locked together. Tenderness replacing the
passion that was spent, they kissed again, gently and at
length.
"That was Dale whispered.
just great,"
A sense of quiet elation possessed him, and he rejoiced
because his masculinity had been restored. "Not bad."
"There isn't another man in the world who can drive me
crazy the way you do. Or just plain drive me." She giggled.
A quarter of an hour earlier it would have been impossible
 278 Talk Show
for him to believe her, but now he could accept the assertion
at face value, and with equanimity. He laughed.
"If you ever decide to leave television/' she said, "you could
earn even more this way. Women would stand in line, and
would pay any price to have you as a stud."
The idea amused him, and again he laughed.
"When things quiet down around here/' Dale said, "I
think I'll ask Mr. Friedlander to give me back my old job. I
want to be near you, so I can get your brand of screwing
regularly."
After they separated Lester freshened their drinks and
lighted a cigarette for her. "What I still don't understand," he
said, "is why you framed me the other night."
"For somebody who's smart, you can sure be dense! It was
because you master a woman so completely when you take
her. You make her helpless. I was silly, and I resented the fact
that anybody could dominate me like that— all the way. But
it's what I want. My God— every woman who has ever lived
wants it!"

He thought about her remark when she went off to his

bathroom with her clothes and shoulder bag, and then relived
what they had just experienced together. She had no reason to
exaggerate, he told himself, and her actions, particularly hei
reactions to his love-making, confirmed her words. He dressed
and savoring the restora-
slowly, occasionally sipping his drink
tion of his manhood. He had not only conquered the girl who
had become his willing victim after humiliating him, but had
conquered his own feeling of inadequacy, which was far more
important. He was restored, whole, and could face the coming
crisis, that was racing to a climax, with renewed vigor and

courage.
Dale reappeared. "Thanks," she said, "for the matinee of a
lifetime."
Lester refrained from kissing her, knowing she had repaired
her makeup. "When will I see you again?"
"As soon as things around here simmer down to a normal
Noel B. Gerson 279
boil, and it'sme to be seen on the streets. I was taking
safe for
a big chance,coming here today, but the risk was worth it. So
don't worry, sweetie. You'll be hearing from me— so often
that you'll start thinking of me as a pest."
Leaving his office, she went from the executive wing to the
general offices, and made her way to the bullpen.
Governor Winston's publicity man was sitting at a corner
desk, studying a sheaf of papers, and didn't look up.
But Jeri Maynard had been keeping a watch through the
open door, and immediately went to the other girl. "I had to
invent reasons to delay going off for dinner with my hungry
friend over there, but I wanted to stick around. How did it
go?"
"We followed the script all the way," Dale said, and

smiled. "Les is okay again. His usual, obnoxious self."

"He should be grateful to you."
"He'll never know it, Jeri, but you're the one he really
ought to thank."

Karen Block sat with her back to the wall at the table in
the dim recesses of the elegant cocktail bar, pushed back a
strand of her long, red hair and waited for the man opposite
her to speak.
Arthur Sampson had planned his speech, and spoke with
such care that it destroyed his dignity. "Just for the record,"
he said, "I didn't call you for the obvious type of reasons. I'm
a happily married man, and I don't make a habit of dating
pretty girls, regardless of whether I know them, early on Sun-
day evenings. Or any other time."
"I'm glad," Karen replied, and a wiser man would have
recognized her quick glibness. "Because I don't play around
with anybody, married or single."
"I'm sure you don't." Sampson was soothing, yet firm. "I
not only have two daughters who are about your age, but after
spending my entire life in the advertising business, I know
something about human nature. The successful ad man, you
 280 Talk Show
know, needs to be something of a psychiatrist, and more than
an amateur."
The girl smiled, encouraging him, and sipped her gin and
tonic.
"I know you're something of a psychiatrist yourself," he
said. " Whenever I've sent visitors, people who are important
to my agency, to see the Inquiry program, youVe taken won-
derful care of them. And I'm delighted you've had a promo-
tion. But I figure that, even with a raise, you could use a little
extra money/'
'That depends," Karen said, ''on what I'd have to do for
it."
4

'Nothing unethical, or dishonorable, or even under the

table," he assured her.
"Good. Then I'm willing to listen."
"I dare say," Sampson said, "that you've been aware of
certain elements of high drama at UBS recently."
"Sort of. But I don't pay much attention to those things. I

believe in getting my job done and minding my own

business."
"Of and highly commendable," he said hurriedly,
course,
then paused. "Perhaps I've assumed incorrectly that the
whole Inquiry staff knows there's a strong possibility Lester
Corbett may not be willing to do the repeat interview with
Governor Winston this coming Tuesday evening."
"Oh, that." Her silk-encased shoulders rose and fell.
"Indeed. Just that. Will Lester do the program? And if he
does, what approach will he take? Believe me, Miss Block,
there are vast sums of money riding on the answers to those
questions.The accurate answers."
She nodded, but knew when to remain silent.
"A prominent advertiser— I'm not at liberty to mention
names— is particularly anxious to learn the situation. It will
determine whether he moves out of the Corbett-Inquiry orbit,
so to speak, or whether he becomes even more involved than
Noel B. Gerson 281

he may already be. He's a man of high principle, you under-

stand, and he wants to make his moves accordingly/
Karen realized she was expected to make some response.
"Uh-huh."
"Now, Fm not for a minute suggesting that you try to
influence Lester Corbett's decision. That would be absurd
and frivolous. But you do know him, you do see him regularly,
and since you make him up for the air, you do enjoy a mea-
sure of privacy, if not of intimacy, in your relationship with
him."
"You might say I know him pretty well." Karen hoped she
didn't sound smug.
She revealed more than she realized, and Sampson, who
knew Lester's reputation, considered the possibilities, briefly,
before rejecting them. "Not well enough to influence him."
The girl became demure. "I wouldn't try."
"No. But you're in a position to know what he intends to
do."
"I am?"
"Ifyou exert yourself. When you're making him up for
tomorrow night's program, for instance, it wouldn't take
much effort for ayoung lady who is clever and imaginative to
find out ahead of time if he's going to do his show. Or what
tack he'll take, if he decides to take on the governor."
Her green eyes were dubious.
"As I mentioned a few moments ago, this advertiser would
find this information a valuable guide."
"It might not be easy," Karen said.
"He believes an individual can accomplish anything, pro-
vided he has the right incentives."
"Well, I might be able to develop them."
"I'm sure he'd be willing to pay five hundred dollars,"
Sampson said.
"I wouldn't want Les to think I was nosy."
"A thousand."
 282 Talk Show
'Tor that much, I wouldn't care what he thought."
"It's a deal," he said, shook her hand and then continued to

hold it.
Karen sat passively.
Arthur Sampson rose to the bait. "If you aren't busy," he
said, "I know a colorful little place that's open for dinner on
Sunday evenings, and we could continue our chat there."
"Well, I have a date, but I guess I could get out of it."
"It's a deal," Sampson said.

The heavy odors of roasting duck seemed to fill the house

when Lester returned home, and he was surprised. Grace
knew that duck was too rich and upset his stomach, so she
hadn't served it though it was one of hei
for years, even
favorite dishes. He was flagellating him with her
realized she
new-found independence, and tried to keep silent. But it was
too much when the butler-houseman, who doubled as a
waiter, came into the dining room with a casserole dish con-
taining mashed, buttered sweet potatoes, topped with melted
marshmallows. The combination of duck and sweet potatoes
was too much.
"You reallyhad to work at it," he said, "to dream up this
disgusting a menu."
Grace regarded him with equanimity. "For at least ten
what you like, and I'm sick
years," she said, "we've eaten only
of steak, steak, steak. Now it's my turn. Brace yourself, be-
cause that's the way it's going to be."
Her expression told him she wanted an argument, but he
refused to give her the satisfaction, and silently concentrated
on token portions of duck and sweet potatoes. He was lucky,
he thought: the demands of his work made it necessary for
him to dine in town five nights each week, so he had to
tolerate Grace's menus only on weekends.
The butler-houseman-waiter returned to the dining room
with an uncorked bottle of wine, and filled their glasses, then
retired.
Noel B. Gerson 283

Lester glanced at the bottle before tasting his wine, and

told himself thatTokay wasn't too impossible a selection to
go with duck. Grace had been known to dream up worse.
"What's the celebration?" he demanded.
Her smile was tight. 'This is the night we're going to enjoy
our marital prerogatives."
He tried to speak.
But she gave him no chance. "I know what you're going to
say. You're tired after working in town this afternoon. Night
after night, if you remember to come home after your pro-
gram, you're tired. On Saturdays you play thirty-six holes of
golf. And you're tired. On Sundays you think about the

coming week's shows, so you're exhausted. Then you criticize

me and claim I'm not interested in sex."
Lester gulped half the contents of his glass, and reminded
himself that, under no circumstances, could he allow her to
see the scratches Dale Henry had left on his back that after-
noon. Hereafter he'd have to exercise greater caution in his
affairs, and would be wise to avoid other women on weekends.
"You don't look overjoyed at the prospect," Grace said.
"If you want the truth, Gracie, you've been a cold cookie
for a long, long time."
"A wife's reaction depends on her husband's enthusiasm.
At least, this wife's does."
He refilled his glass.
"If you need something special to get you into the mood,"
she said, "I can loan you one of my nighties."
His eyes became hard as he stared at her. "Some women,"
he said, "have to work at being bitches."
"Iknow," Grace replied wearily, "because you've told me
so often. To me it comes naturally."
He made no further attempt to eat, but concentrated on
the rich, full-bodied wine.
"If you won't sleep with me," she said, "I'm not going to
cry about it. But you will. It's either me or nobody."

The silence became heavier as they finished their meal.

 dgar cranmer arrived at his office via an elevator
and departed the same
reserved for the top level of executives
way. When he ate lunch in the building, he always enter-
tained in his private dining room, which enjoyed Sky Club
catering service. And unlike the highest paid of his subordi-
nates, he never had to fight for a taxi at the front door; his
chauffered limousine enjoyed the exclusive privilege of park-
ingall day a few feet from the entrance.

So there were many UBS employees, including some who

had worked at the network for years, who had never seen the
chief administrative officer in person. Consequently,when he
marched through the cafeteria toward the executive dining
room at breakfast time, flanked by Stan Friedlander, there
were scores who didn't recognize him. But word spread with
surreptitious speed, and virtually everyone in the huge room
watched him.
Cranmer seemed unaware of the stir his appearance cre-
ated, but the truth of the matter was that he enjoyed the
attention, and dreaded the day when he would no longer be
paid such flattering obeisance. Not that he was vain, but he

284
Noel B. Gerson 285
knew the spark that traveled through the cafeteria was a
direct outgrowth of the power he exerted, and the day he lost
his clout he would be ignored. He had no intention of
growing weaker.
He selected an isolated corner table, and other executives
who came into the room during the next few minutes as-
siduously avoided that part of the room. It was axiomatic that
the Bishop was to be avoided when he mounted the high
altar, and anyone who knew him realized at a glance that he
was delivering his own interpretation of the Lord's writ from
his own Mount Sinai.
Certainly the Bishop wasted no time. "Stan," he said as he
sipped his orange juice, "I hear that both you and your star
have been in touch with Mai O'Brien over the weekend."
Friedlander was startled. "Word gets around in a hurry."
"I have my own pipelines into the other networks," Cran-
mer said.
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Cranmer, I did call Mai. Yester-
day. After I learned he's been playing footsie with Lester
Corbett."
"He dangled a job in front of you, too."
Stan dismissed O'Brien's bait with a deprecating smile.
"That's par for his kind of course. It was worth listening to
him. I found out quite a bit about the terms they're willing to
give Lester." He outlined what he had gleaned.
"Exorbitant," the Bishop said, "and Corbett isn't worth
the money, although he will be if he pulls this Winston show
off in the right way."
"Precisely my thoughts, Mr. Cranmer."
"What interests me is the producer gimmick. Now, I'm not
going to make a mockery of the network by allowing Corbett
to become his own nominal producer, but we can use a
version of the idea. You've already approached Jeri Maynard
with the offer of an associate's status?"
"I have, and she seemed interested."
 286 Talk Show
"Go back to her, and up the ante. Tell her she'll become
the producer of Inquiry if she keeps Corbett in line. A woman
who goes to bed with a man weapon than the
is a stronger
promises of an opposition network." Cranmer was pleased by
his own sagacity.
"Ill see her first thing." Stan forced himself to remain
silentabout his own status, which would be rendered am-
biguous if Jeri should be promoted into his shoes.
The Bishop salted his soft-boiled eggs. "You're wondering
what we'll do with you."
"Frankly, Mr. Cranmer—"
"A hard-working executive producer can handle several big
programs simultaneously. And although I can't promise a vice-
presidency to go with the job unless the board approves, I

don't believe I'd have any trouble persuading the directors to

vote you a corporate title."

"I'd enjoy the challenge of a job like that," Stan said.

"Of course," the Bishop continued, his tone unaltered, "if
Corbett refuses to do tomorrow's show, or gets cute in ad-libs
with the governor, you'll be out in the street."
"I'm aware of the risks."
"And if he plays ball just enough to go over to Mai O'Brien,
don't expect to go with him. You've been in this business a
long time, Stan."
''Eighteen years, Mr. Cranmer."
"Plenty long enough to know the rumors of blacklisting on
the executive level aren't loose talk. Some of our directors are
banking or law partners of the directors at other networks, you
know. And they might want to warn their colleagues not to
trust a man who makes a mess of a property as valuable as
Inquiry."
Stan lost what was left of his appetite, but drank some of
the milk that, he hoped, would help prevent a recurrence of
his ulcer. "You can depend on me do everything in my
to
power to hold Lester in line," he said. "But I can't accept
complete responsibility for what he does."
Noel B. Gerson 287
"We don't pay you fifteen hundred a week for taking
partial responsibility/' Cranmer said, and his manner became
brutal. "When things are going right, you get the glory.
When they go wrong, you get the ax. Television is a high-risk
industry. The directors expect results from me, and I'll get
them, no matter how many necks I've got to break. Do you
get me?"
"You're coming through loud and clear, Mr. Cranmer."
Stan tried in vain to force a smile.
"Good. That's settled. And before I forget it, we're expect-
ing you and Ellie to join us at a little dinner party we're giving
for Governor Winston tomorrow night, before he goes on the
air."

Jeri Maynard relieved herself of all routines for forty-eight

hours, and, after a talk with Stan Friedlander behind closed
doors, went straight to Lester Corbett's office. She was there,
waiting for him, when he arrived shortly before noon.
"You're just in time," she said. "You and I are going up to
the Sky Club, and we're going through the cue cards for
tomorrow night's circus."
was appreciative, but quizzical. "Do you
Lester's expression
alsohave Abe Winston's answers to the questions you've
worked out for me?"
"Hardly." She wanted to humor him, but had to lay facts
on the line. "You know we never work out the answers for
lesser people,much less somebody of the governor's stature."
"I don't see why the cards should be stacked in his favor,"
Lester said. "If I don't know what he's going to say, why
should he know my questions?"
"You're scheduled to interview him, not engage in a con-
testwith him." There were times, Jeri knew, when he re-
sponded only to a display of firmness, and she trusted her
instincts.
"Very funny. You should take up gag writing." He re-
treated behind his desk.
 288 Talk Show
"Inquiry has had one format ever since the program
started," Jeri said.
"Then the time has come to change it."
"But not when we're dealing with a guest as important as
Governor Winston. And not when we're going to be pulling
the biggest audience in the history of talk shows."
"My sense of showmanship/' Lester said, "tells me this is

exactly the time for a change."

Jeri lost patience with him. "Stop being difficult"
"I mean it, baby," Lester said. "I'm tired of being pushed
around by people who are trying to predigest Abe Winston's
repeat show. I haven't even agreed to do tomorrow's pro-
gram!"
"We'll discuss it upstairs, over a drink— and the cue cards."
He eyed her. "Go ahead, if you're thirsty. I'll join you."
Jeri seated herself on the couch. "I'll wait for you."
"Our electronic masters have ordered you not to let me out
of your sight," Lester said.
"Something like that," she admitted.
"In that case, we might as well enjoy ourselves." He stood
and started toward her.
"Not now, Lester."
He ignored her protest.
"Please," Jeri said.
"Do you think I've picked up a dose of the clap, or
something?"
"I'm just not in the mood."
"I can put you in the mood fast enough." He sat down
beside her and put a hand on her thigh.
"I'm sure you could, but I'd rather you wouldn't." She
made no attempt to move away from him.
"Why not?"
"Because there are times when a woman— this woman,
anyway— doesn't want sex for its own When you and I
sake.
go to bed together, it's because we really want each other. Not
because we're seeking an outlet for our nervous tensions."

4
Noel B. Gerson 289

"I see. You're in a mood for business. You've got tomorrow

night weighing on you."
Jeri nodded.
Lester removed his hand. "Then you ought to play fair.
The next time you're turned off, don't show up without a

bra."
She glanced down, involuntarily, at her close-fitting dress.
"Sorry."
"Score one small point for me."
"Lester," she said, "you can score the biggest points of your
career you play it right tomorrow night. I'm not going to
if

rehearse the arguments in favor of your appearance, or why

all

I think you'd be wrong not to show up. You know the stakes
as well as I do."
"Better." He hadn't yet told her about Mai O'Brien's offer.

Standing abruptly, he grinned at her. "Okay, baby. The Sky

Club and a session with the cue cards it is. you under-
Just so
stand that I'm making no commitment to anyone by going
this far."

There were circles beneath Max Marx's eyes, he was pale

under the suntan he cultivated so assiduously, and his hand
trembled as he accepted a cigar from the box that Stan Fried-
lander offered him. "I know how busy you are, Stan," he said,
"and I hate to bother you. But I need help from someone
with your influence."
"In most circles I know," Stan said, "I have none."
"But you're the producer of one of the biggest shows on the
air, so the police would be sure to listen to you."
Stan raised an eyebrow.
"I'm worried sick about Randy Warren's disappearance,
and I can't persuade the police to do anything."

Stan held no brief for homosexuals, but felt sorry for Max.
"Maybe they don't know where to look. There are so many
places Warren could have gone. Out to Fire Island to visit
friends—"
 290 Talk Show
"Not without letting me know!" Max couldn't conceal his
anguish.
"Have you considered the possibility that he might have
found new interests?" Stan wished he could have worded the
thought more delicately.
"Never! Randy isn't fickle, and no one could have changed
so fast. Wewere on the very best of terms the night before he
vanished, so I know that something horrible has happened to
him!"
Stan had far more pressing matters on his mind than the
emotional problems of his announcer and audience warmup
man. "I wish I could do something for you, Max, but Warren
cleaned out his locker and didn't show up for work, so we've
had to strike him from the payroll."
"The auditing department tells me he didn't stop in to pick
up his last paycheck." Max was grimly triumphant. "So that
proves he wasn't planning to skip off somewhere."
"Maybe so, but wherever he's gone and whatever he's
doing, he's no longer an employee of UBS. So I have no
reason to put pressure on the police. Regardless of what may
have happened to Warren, it isn't the business of the Uni-
versal Broadcasting System."
"You may be more involved than you know," Max said,
and puffed hard on his cigar.
Stan's interest quickened, but the other's face was half-
hidden by smoke.
"Randy had some sort of a wild idea that Lester Corbett
was going to resign, and that I'd step in as the host of
Inquiry."
Stan was so startled he laughed. "Come off it," he said.
"I told him he was mad, and I've never— for a single
instant— entertained the notion that I could replace Les. I've
reached my limit, and I'm lucky to be where I am." Max was
so earnest he achieved a measure of dignity. "The whole thing
is ridiculous, Stan, and I repeat it for just one reason. Randy
Noel B. Gerson 291

was absolutely convinced that Les was going to quit. I tried to

find out what made him so sure, but he wouldn't tell me. All
the same, I couldn't shake his story."
Stan leaned back in his swivel chair and looked up at the
ceiling.
"So what bugs me/' Max said, "is why he was so sure!"
"Are you intimating that Les may have had some connec-
tion with Warren's disappearance?"
"Well, not necessarily. I went to Les, but he didn't seem to
know what I was talking about."
"I wouldn't think so. And I can't imagine how an assistant
makeup artist would have any knowledge of the plans that
one of the biggest stars in the business might or might not be
making."
"Neither can I. Unless—" Max broke off, leaving the
thought unexpressed.
But his meaning was and Stan shook his head.
clear,
"You're tuning in to the wrong channel, Max. Les Corbett
isn't gay. His hangup is girls. Any girl who has a face or a
figure."
"I know, but I couldn't help thinking—"
"Don't." Stan suddenly became firm. "There's enough hell
popping around here without adding complications to Lester
Corbett's life. I'm sorry your boyfriend walked out on you
without warning, and for your sake I hope he shows up again.
But keep your personal troubles to yourself, and don't spread
any stories about a possible connection between Les Corbett
and Warren. I'll do anything that's necessary to prevent Les
from blowing up— and destroying all of us in the explosion!"

It was early evening when Grace Corbett reached the UBS

Building, and following Jeri Maynard's instructions, she went
straight to a conference room on the floor where the executive
offices were located. Her manner hesitant, but her hostility

showing in her eyes, Grace paused in the entrance.

 292 Talk Show
"Please come in, Mrs. Corbett" Jeri put her clipboard and
pen on the table and stood.
Grace studied the stylishly dressed, exceptionally attractive
younger woman, and told herself she had been a fool to re-
spond to the telephone call asking her to come in to the city.
Jeri gave no indication of the rebuff she suffered when her
extended hand was ignored. Continuing to smile, she closed
the door, then led the way to a pair of easy chairs, separated
by a small coffee table, that stood near the windows. "You
have no idea how glad I am to see you."
"That's a switch," Grace said, and her voice was dry.
Sitting opposite her, Jeri knew that candor would be her
best approach. "You have no reason to like me, Mrs. Corbett,
and I'm the first to recognize it."
"Then you admit that you and Lester—"
"I wouldn't think it necessary to make admissions of any-
thing after all this time, and I certainly didn't bring you all
the way into the city so I could relieve any guilts I might have
by making confessions to you."
The girl's sincerity struck Grace with such force that she
remained silent. Jeri Maynard, with whom she had exchanged
an occasional, distant nod, seemed to be an extraordinary
person, and Grace felt a surge of her own feelings of in-
adequacy.
"I asked you here," Jeri continued, "because of Lester."
"I see."
"You don't yet, but I hope you will. I think you and I have
the same goal, Mrs. Corbett. We want to prevent him from
doing stupid things that could ruin his career and drive In-
quiry off the air."
"Fm interested exclusively in my husband," Grace said, a
hint of venom in her voice. "Frankly, I don't care what hap-
pens to his program."
"He's walking a dangerous tightrope, and if he slips, it can
mean the end of his career."
Noel B. Gerson 293
"My husband is very resilient. He always bounces back."
Jeri wished Grace weren't being defensive on Lester's be-
half, but didn't know how to induce her to relax. "He's in a
situation now that permits no bounce. He'll either go higher
than he's ever been, or he'll be out of television."
"Perhaps you don't know that another network is inter-
ested in him." Grace realized she might be making an in-
discreet remark, but couldn't resist the temptation to gloat.
"I'm not surprised. But he slips tomorrow night, no one
if

else will want him. It won't be a matter of playing off one

network against another. Every door in show business— with
the possible exception of summer stock— will be closed to
him."
Grace stared at her.
"If I were in your place— and you must believe me, Mrs.
Corbett, I have no desire to be— I can think of nothing worse
than having Lester sitting around the house day after day and
month after month. He'd be utterly impossible."
Grace's slow smile was grudging.
"I can't pretend I know him as well as you do," Jeri said,
"but I think I've taken a fairly accurate inventory of his
strengths and his weaknesses. The list of both is impressive."
Grace looked at her curiously. "I've always assumed that
you— were in love with him."
Jeri shook her head. "Not exactly."
"I can tell, just listening to you." Grace took a deep breath.
"What is it in him that you—"
"I'm not sure I can put it into words." Jeri hadn't intended
to let her candor carry her this far, but she could not back
away from had created. "He needs
a confrontation she herself
to be sheltered. Like a complicated puppy that has no under-
standing of its own charms and vitality. Most of all, he needs
to be protected from himself."
Grace took a package of cigarettes from her handbag, and,
on sudden impulse, offered one to the girl.
 294 Talk Show
Jeri accepted it, lighted Grace's and her own, and then sat
back again.
"You really do know him better than I thought," Grace
said. "Of all the women who seem drawn to him, there aren't
many who see that side of him."
"So I've gathered."
"It doesn't pay to be jealous." Grace suddenly became
"That's something I discovered a long time ago. But I
bitter.

have to keep learning it, over and over. The lessons won't
stick."
Jerileaned forward again, and started to reach out a hand of
comfort. But she became aware of the absurdity of the situa-
and drew back.
tion in time,
Grace was conscious of the abortive gesture, however, and
their eyes met.
Each seemed to gain from the unspoken exchange, and the
tensions began to dissipate at a more rapid rate.

"What you want of me?" Grace asked, sounding weary.

is it

"When Lester is as up-tight about tomorrow's program as

he is, there's no telling what he might do after he gets off the
air tonight. He has an uncanny ability to get himself into
mischief. And he ought to hold down his liquor consumption,
too. He simply can't afford to be hung over tomorrow. I'm
hoping that your presence at tonight's program will solve a
great many problems. He'll be forced to go back to Westport
with you instead of staying in town."
"I wouldn't bet on it, unless I really put my foot down,
Miss Maynard. He's a great escape artist."
"Then you'll have to be firm with him, Mrs. Corbett."
"I happen to be in a position that's rather unusual these
days. He listens to me. Because he has no choice. I think I can
guarantee that he'll come home with me."
"Good! And keep him there all day tomorrow, if you can."
"I can." Grace spoke with emphatic force.
"We don't want him to see Governor Winston prema-
Noel B. Gerson 295
turely, because we're afraid of a blowup if they start having
unpleasant words. I've been told that Mr. Cranmer is giving a
little dinner party for the governor before the show, but you
and Lester aren't being invited."
"That's wise. He'd show off in front of a small, private
audience by baiting the governor, and he'd create such hard
feelings they'd be certain to feud on the air."

"Which would be Lester's purpose," Jeri said. "He'll do

anything to create an exciting program, but he can't distin-
guish between a debate with an author over his new book or
with an actor over his new film portrayal, and a dramatic,
specious argument with a man who may become the next
President of the United States. The drama, for its own sake,
satisfies him, and he what he's done.
cites ratings to justify
Oh, it's easy to condemn him as irresponsible, I know, but the
system is to blame, not Lester. The networks want men with
mellow, resonant voices and personalities that are jam-packed
with charisma— how I hate that word! A commentator's
background, his knowledge of national affairs and world rela-
tions, is far less important than the personal impact he makes
on the home viewer. Television not only gives us instant
entertainment, but instant wisdom. Served on a sizzling
platter."
"Miss Maynard," Grace said, "you force me to revise my
opinions of you."
"I take that as a compliment." Jeri's smile was fleeting.
"Because I can imagine what you thought of me."
"But there's one thing I don't understand. I hope you can
enlighten me."
"I'll try."

"I don't know why you've come to me for help. Surely you
could keep him occupied tonight and tomorrow."
A strange expression crossed Jeri's face.
Grace saw pain there, a suggestion of sorrow, and a touch of
something else— irony, perhaps?— that eluded her.
 296 Talk Show
"I have only one hold over him/' Jeri said, forcing herself to
say the words. "And in this situation it isn't enough, because I

can't live up to any promise I might be able to hold out to

him."
Grace was perplexed. "I don't want to embarrass you, Miss
Maynard. But I'm not sure I know what you're saying."
"Lester doesn't want companionship from me, but that's
allI'm prepared to offer him right now."
Grace wondered whether the girl knew about his orgy, and
whether she, too, had seen the incriminating film.
"I'm not saying I might not regret feeling as I do. Someday.
But that's where I stand right now." Jeri realized she could
not explain that she had been responsible for the seduction of
Lester by Dale Henry, and that her own pride, her own self-
respect made it impossible for her to share in the restoration
of his masculinity. She had humbled herself by summoning
Dale, and she was not prepared to make an additional sacrifice
for Lester's wife.
Grace didn't know whether her feeling of gratitude
stemmed from her sudden relief, or whether it grew out of a
recognition of the younger woman's integrity. Whatever the
cause, Lester was an idiot if he failed to recognize that here
was someone who could be far more than a mistress, someone
capable of contributing far more than either of his wives had
ever given him.
"I'm glad," she said, "that you aren't my rival, Miss
Maynard."
"I was never that, Mrs. Corbett" Jeri told herself this was
not the moment to become sentimental. "All that counts is
that we're on the same team."
"Until we've crossed the barrier of tomorrow night," Grace
said. "And that brings up a point. If I stay with Lester until
it's time to get ready for the program, he'll be a raving

maniac. He'll fight with me so hard that he won't be fit to

interview anyone."
Noel B. Gerson 297
'Then I suggest you deliver him to me here, at the studio.
"Good. Then 111 go back home and watch the program
from there/'
"I can insist that we eat at the Sky Club, where I can
control the amount of liquor he drinks. And he won't make
too much of a scene. Everybody there knows him, including
people whose respect he wants."
Grace was silent for a moment. "What irritates me," she
said, "is that Lester is going to believe that he alone was
responsible for whatever success he enjoys as a result of all

this."
"But that doesn't matter, does it? The results count, noth-
ing else, and I'm sure you knew from the start, as I did, the
sort of man he is."

On Tuesday morning Stan Friedlander summoned the en-

tire staff of the Inquiry program to a council of war in his
office. "We have just one purpose today," he said. "It is the
duty of everyone connected with our show to see to it that
Lester Corbett doesn't lose his cool. he ignores you, pretend
If

you didn't notice the snub. If he tries to argue with you, keep
your mouth shut and smile. If he makes outrageous demands,
tolerate them.
"With luck, he won't be coming into town until this eve-
ning, and then Jeri Maynard will take command. I want
everyone else to stay out of his way. Karen?" He searched the
group that filled his office. "Where's Karen Block?"
The redhead pushed forward. "Here, Mr. Friedlander."
"Stay away from Lester's dressing room tonight. Jeri will
attend to his makeup."
Karen was outraged as she thought of the one thousand
dollars in easy money she would earn from Arthur Sampson if
she could tell him Lester's intentions. "Don't you trust me,
Mr. Friedlander?"
"I don't want Lester distracted or upset. Besides, I'll want
 298 Talk Show
you to stand by, and wait for the governor. A careful time-
table has been worked out, and we'll be bringing him to the
studios from Mr. Cranmer's house. We expect to arrive on
the button at ten thirty. Take your time making him up, and
then I'll keep him occupied until we go in front of the
cameras. I don't want Lester and the governor to see each
other until they meet on the air."
Dick Hubbel scowled. "How can I make skin-color tests of
the governor if he isn't in the studios?"
"I'm getting you a stand-in, Dick," the producer told him.
"Someone who has Abe Winston's hair, skin tones and
clothes of the same colors. Everything is arranged."
"But we'll have to shoot blind with all three cameras when
Winston goes on the air." Hubbel made it plain that he
didn't like the situation.
"Mr. Cranmer outlined the procedures we're to follow.
And we're permitted no exceptions." Stan glared at the di-
rector. "You'll have to make your final picture and voice
settings on the fly."
Hubbel refused to yield, and returned the stare of his nom-
inal superior. "I'll take care of my end."
Stan remained firm. "Air factors We
may be critical. might
not know whether Corbett will show.
until we're ready to roll
And if he does, his actions well might be unpredictable. Mr.
Cranmer has ruled that the program must not be hauled off
the air without his personal, specific approval. But there are
certain techniques we can follow short of a cutoff. If Corbett
climbs a soapbox, I want all three cameras to focus exclusively
on Governor Winston, who can take care of himself. If
Corbett acts up, we don't want to give him any more exposure
than is necessary."
Jeri Maynard interrupted him. "Lester has had two thor-
ough briefings with the cue cards, Stan, and I'm going to run
him through them again at dinner. I've revised them to meet
his objections, so I'm not anticipating trouble from him."
Noel B. Gerson 299
Stan's grin was sour. "But you can't guarantee that he'll
behave himself."
"Not even Lester himself can do that."
Stan consulted his notes. "We're making a slight change in
the format this evening. Because of the fantastic national
interest in the Winston interview, we're opening with the
governor, and we'll run him as long as he and Corbett hold
up. If they use the entire air time, okay. The other guests
tonight are strictly fillers, and all them understand they
of
might not go on the air until another evening. So no member
of the production staff need be concerned with carving the
time for their segments. Abe Winston is tonight's show."
A liaison officer from station relations raised his hand. "I
think your staff ought to know that we've added seventeen
stations for tonight's program, Mr. Friedlander," he said.
"And if the program lives up to expectations, we should be
able to keep at least five or six of them as Inquiry affiliates."
"Everyone is aware of the importance of tonight's telecast,"
Stan said. "Let's have the latest press report."
Mort Driscoll of the UBS public information staff moved
to the desk. "We've had more requests for press coverage
than we get for a championship football game," he said. "And
we've requisitioned the big visitors' booth for the reporters.
There'll be at least forty of them, and we're going to feed
them dinner before the show."
Jeri was alert. "Where?"

"The Sky Club, of course. Where else is there?"

"Take them to any one of a dozen restaurants in the neigh-
borhood," Jeri said, "but don't come near the Sky Club.
That's where Lester will be eating, and if the press sees him,
he'll be peppered with questions before air time. I want to

keep him as isolated as possible."

Driscoll wanted to argue the point. "A few reams of prepro-
gram news won't hurt, Jeri."
Stan intervened. "The Sky Club is out of bounds. Take the
 300 Talk Show
press anywhere else you please. And that reminds me. Secu-
rity is tripling the usual guard details tonight, and nobody—
absolutely nobody— will be admitted to the office or studio
floors after 6 p.m. without a pass. We've been rather slipshod
and lax about security lately, but it'll be harder to get into
Inquiry tonight than it is into the Pentagon's war room. So
don't show up without your passes. If anyone has left his pass

at home and can't pick it up later in the day, apply to my

secretary for a new one. Any other problems?"
"I have a question about the press photographers," Driscoll
said. "They're clamoring for the right to use the first three
rows in the studio audience. I've already turned them down
on roaming around backstage and in the wings, but I think it
would be reasonable to let them operate from out front.
Okay?"
"I'll defer to Dick Hubbel on that one," Stan said.

"I can't function on the air if the press is out front," the
director said. "Their damn flashbulbs will upset my color
balances, and the home viewers will spend half the night
fiddling with their sets."
"But the sight lines from the visitors' booth aren't very
good for still pictures, Dick."
"That," Hubbel said, "is just too goddam bad. I'm paid to
put clear pictures on the air."
Stan decided to intervene. "If the governor and Corbett are
still on speaking terms by the time the show ends," he said,

"I'm sure I can persuade them to pose for press photos."

Driscoll grumbled, but had to accept.
"Is Harrison Talbert here?" Stan called, scanning the crowd.
The musical director, who stood near the door, raised his
hand. "I'm here in body only, boss. I haven't been awake and
out of the house this early in years."
Stan waited for the nervous laughter to subside. "No tricky
musical introductions or interludes tonight, Harrison. Keep
your approach straight, solid and pure."
Noel B. Gerson 301

"And a little pompous, maybe?" the musical director asked.

"Like the old March of Time show/'
Stan nodded. "You get the pitch. Maxie," he continued,
turning to the morose warmup man, "no jokes with the studio
audience tonight."
"Don't worry," Max said. "I'm not in a very joke-making
mood."
Those who had been wondering whether he had heard from
Randy Warren knew better than to ask.
'Tonight's program will generate its own excitement, so we
don't want the studio audience getting out of control. Put
them in a quiet, receptive mood, Max. And Dick, have audio
keep a sharp monitor on the house. Tune them out com-
pletely if they start to get raucous."
"They'll sound like they're in church,"Hubbel told him.
"That's it and girls," Stan said. "I'll
for the essentials, boys
be right here all day if anyone needs me, and my secretary will
be on tap through dinner, so you'll be able to reach me at Mr.
Cranmer's house if an emergency develops. Stay on the alert,
and everybody pray."
As the staff members began to file out of the office, Jeri
moved to the producer's telephone, dialed a number and held
a brief conversation.
Stan watched her apprehensively.
As Jeri replaced the instrument in its cradle she glanced at
the wall clock. "As of 10:43 a.m.," she said, "Lester Corbett
is still in his bed, at home, alone, sound asleep. Mrs. Corbett
has locked up the liquor, and won't let him out of the house
until she drives him
town this evening."
into
Stan's hand trembled as he reached for a cigar. "At 10:44
a.m.," he said, "the earth continues to spin on its axis, but
how much longer it'll keep turning remains to be seen."

Governor Abraham Winston sat alone in the curtained

forward section of the Boeing 727 that had been converted
 302 Talk Show
into an office. When Bill Blaisdell joined him, he looked up
and frowned.
The assistant waved some
papers, and appeared jubilant.
"We can he said. "Our troubles are over, at least
relax, sir,"
for now. We've got Corbett where we want him, regardless of
whether he agrees to this new confrontation with you."
Still frowning, the governor raised an eyebrow.

"That detective agency has finally paid off. They've located

a girl in Scandinavia." Blaisdell consulted his notes. "Stock-
holm or Oslo or Copenhagen— it doesn't matter which. Any-
way, she was in an orgy with Lester Corbett and the black girl

who went underground. I don't have the details yet. They're

being sent by airmail, and the guy who found her says they're
juicy."
Winston listened, his eyes guarded.
"Right there we've got enough to hang the bastard." Blais-
dell was grimly triumphant. "But that's the least of it. The
orgy was recorded. On film. By a makeup man from UBS by
the name of Randy Warren." He glanced at his notes. "And
Warren disappeared several days ago. He's officially listed as
missing by the New York police. How do you like that, sir?"
"You like it, obviously," the governor replied. "Why?"
"Just think about it for a minute. Suppose Corbett knew
about this film. Maybe he killed Warren!"
"And maybe he didn't," Winston said.
His assistant stared at him for a long moment. "Regardless,
he'll have some fancy explaining to the police! If something
has happened to this Warren character, Lester Corbett will
be a prime suspect. We've fallen into a gold mine."
"Or a rat's nest," the governor said.
"Governor," Blaisdell said patiently, "this is a bigger can of
worms than you realize. The agency people in New York say
that this Warren is a screaming fag who lives with the
number two Inquiry master of ceremonies, Max Marx. The
implications are endless."
Noel B. Gerson 303

Abraham Winston scanned some cumulus clouds beneath

hiswindow. 'The girl in Scandinavia/' he said. "Is she an
American?"
"Apparently not. She's either Swedish or Norwegian. The
phone wasn't too clear on the point."
call

The governor removed the wrapping from a cigar, clipped

the end and applied a match with great deliberation. "We'll
hold this whole story in reserve/' he said. "We won't touch it
unless we face an emergency worse than anything I can
imagine. We won't even let Corbett know the cards we're
holding."
Blaisdell thought he had gone mad. "The very least we can
do/' he said, his voice anguished, "is to tell him we know the
Then we know there won't be any emergency."
score.
"Unless he happens to be innocent, in which case we get
him so annoyed with us that he's sure to attack. And even if

he's guilty of an orgy— and who knows what else— he might

attack first, as the best line of defense."
The assistant started to protest.
"Hear me out," Winston said. "One. We
have Corbett,
one of the biggest, most respected names in the country. Two.
We have a sexy black girl, and no matter how we connect her,
we raise the color issue. Three. There's this foreign gal, about
whom we know nothing, and no matter how we tie her in,
there could be international repercussions that could compli-
cate my entire image on foreign policy. Four. In comes a
homosexual who allegedly has taken some kind of pictures of
an orgy, and then vanishes, raising the question of foul play.
In all, the makings of a frightful scandal. I'm sure you have
enough information right now to start one hell of a fire. But
we don't know how the winds will blow, and we could be
badly scorched. There are too many unsavory angles, and we
aren't sure of any of them."
Blaisdell continued to fight for his cause. "We can still
scare Corbett into playing ball with us," he said grudgingly.
 304 Talk Show
"Maybe so, maybe not. A candidate for the presidency of
the United States doesn't engage in blackmail. He doesn't
admit the existence of an interracial sex orgy, or of the role
played by a homosexual who has since disappeared. The po-
tential harm we can do ourselves is greater than any benefits
we might gain."
"Ill grant you it may be a tricky business, Governor, but all
the same—"
"No," Winston said firmly. "Read the agency report that
comes in from Scandinavia, of course. But we take no action
unless Corbett proves impossible. We can always discredit
him later, if we must, by tipping off the police and turning
them loose on a full-scale investigation. Unless that happens,
though, we drop the entire approach, here and now, and we
let Corbett stew in his own orgy."

Tension rose through the day. UBS vice-presidents moved

in and out of Edgar Cranmer's office, and, after conferring
briefly with him, gathered in informal sessions to speculate,
exchange rumors and worry. Activities in the legal department
were frenzied, and a final polish was applied to the various
documents that were being prepared for any eventuality. Pub-
licity was equally busy, and last-minute touches were added to

statements that might or might not be released, depending on

later developments.
The network's affiliates kept station-relations' telephones
humming, and the concerned local general managers were not
comforted by the stock reply to their queries: "We've been
given no reason to believe that Inquiry won't go on the air, or
that there will be any trouble on the show."
A crowd of fifty reporters and a score of photographers met
Abraham Winston's plane when it landed at Kennedy Air-
port. Demonstrating consummate political artistry, the gov-
ernor parried all questions, and made it clear that he was
reserving comments of substance until he appeared on the air
that night.
Noel B. Gerson 305
Both of the unlisted telephones at the Corbett house in
Westport rang so frequently that the butler-houseman spent
the entire morning answering calls, and could get none of his
other work done. Grace refused to accept any calls except the
few that came in to her from the network, but one of her
neighbors, who couldn't resist dropping in for a cup of coffee,
marveled at her calm.
Lester Corbett slept until noon, then ate a hearty breakfast
and quarreled viciously with his wife, who refused to permit
him to leave the house, and exerted her will only after she
swore she would hand over the incriminating video tape to
Bishop Cranmer before the day ended.
That afternoon the neighborhood was treated to a rare
spectacle. For the first time in more than six years, Lester
Corbett weeded the flower and vegetable gardens in his yard,
trimmed the hedge and removed deadwood from his bushes.
When he returned to the house at 4:00 p.m., Grace allowed
him to drink one can of beer, and her husband's associates at
UBS would have been surprised to learn she had been telling
the literal truth when she had said she had locked away all
hard liquor.
Lester shaved, showered and dressed, and promptly at 6:00
p.m. he and Grace climbed into his car for the drive to the
city. By this time relations were so strained they abandoned
the amenities, and there was no conversation on the drive.
Lester parked in the garage under the UBS Building, and they
went together to the lobby, where they changed elevators.
A crowd of sightseers and fans had gathered in the inner
plaza of the building, and made a concerted rush when Lester
was recognized. His equanimity restored, he spent ten min-
utes signing autographs, and on the ride up to his office he
spoke civilly to Grace for the first time that day. They reached
his office at 7:13 p.m.

Jeri Maynard was waiting for them, and Lester peered sus-
piciously at the two women. "I can see that I'm being pro-
vided with constant baby-sitting services," he said.
 306 Talk Show
Jeri laughed, but did not deny the charge.
"I've got to leave right now/' Grace told the younger
woman, "if I'm going to catch the seven forty back to West-
port."
"You aren't staying for dinner, Mrs. Corbett?"
"No, I prefer to watch the program at home, so I'd rather
eat at home, too." She turned to Lester and raised her face for
a token kiss.
He deposited a vague peck on her cheek.
"Good luck," she said, and, smiling at Jeri, departed
quickly.
"If do the show," Lester called after her.
I

"You can't back out now," Jeri told him.

"Why the hell cant I?"
"Because it isn't professional." She had no intention of
becoming embroiled in an argument. "Let's go upstairs, shall
we?"
"I had no idea you and Grace had gotten chummy."
She steered him toward the door and the corridor beyond
it. "Tonight's program is enormously important to a great

many people," she said, and refused to dwell on the subject.

"You know about the change in the format."
"How would I? Nobody ever tells me anything."
Jeri explained in detail that the interview with Governor
Winston would open the program, and would continue until
both parties decided they'd said enough.
The technical problems absorbed Lester, and for the mo-
ment he forgot to feel simultaneously neglected and over-
protected. "Do you have enough fillers if we start to drag?
Repeat appearances tend to become anticlimactic."
"You could do two complete programs with the other
guests," she assured him. "But it will be better to drag, if we
must, than to cut the governor short."
"God forbid."
"Stan will get word to you via the control room if he thinks
Noel B. Gerson 307
the segment is going too long. Keep the interview running

until you get the signal from Dick Hubbel."

'Tor years," Lester said, "I've been using my own judg-
ment. I don't see why I've got to rely on someone else."
He was more sensitive than she had ever seen him before a
program, but she couldn't blame him. On the other hand, she
would be courting a certain explosion if she tried to defend
Stan's position, so she squeezed his arm to indicate sympathy.
At that moment the elevator door opened for her, making it
unnecessary to reply.
The maitre conducted them to Lester's usual corner table,
and Jeri noted that there were more diners than usual in the
place tonight.
There was a stir as Lester followed the girl across the
restaurant, and he responded to it. On stage in the presence of
an audience, he walked jauntily, his smile self-confident and
his expression faintly preoccupied. He was a very important
man whose mind was concentrated on very important matters.
Their waiter had no need to ask their drink orders.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking about tonight," Lester
said.

"I dare say."

"And until this minute I hadn't made up my mind on
whether I'll do the program. I'll go ahead with it, but on one
condition."
Jeri tried to look unflustered as she took a cigarette from a
pack she had placed on the table.
"If Abe Winston and I are going to have what the boys in
the newsroom call a confrontation, I want it to be a real one.
So I don't want to see him before air time, and I refuse to
swap polite, jovial remarks with him in the wings. I insist we
make it a real confrontation, and that we meet for the first
time in front of the cameras."
She didn't know whether he had an ulterior, dramatic
motive in mind. "Sounds reasonable," she said.
 308 Talk Show
"It's either that— or no show."

"I'm sure arrangements can be made the way you want

them," Jeri said.
He grinned at her as the waiter deposited their drinks in
front of them. "That's my girl," he said, and placed his hand
over hers.
Jeri gently disengaged herself.
"You don't pick up syphilis in hand-to-hand contacts, baby."
"There are a lot of people in the room, and they're watch-
ing you, Lester."
"Since when did we ever let that stop us?"
She remembered countless intimacies exchanged in the
dark recesses of countless night spots. "This is different. You
know half the people here, and do I." so
He raised his glass in a mocking, silent toast, then became
thoughtful. "You've changed lately."
She wanted to deny his charge, but could not. She knew,
however, that this was the worst of all possible moments to
discuss their future relationship, so she became evasive. "All
of us have been under a lot of pressure lately."
"That isn't what I mean. I'm talking about you and me."
"We're together right this minute, Lester."
"No, we're sitting a hundred miles apart. Have we had it?"
He stared hard at her.
"I can't imagine why you'd think so." Under no circum-
stances, ever, could she explain that her physical desire for
him had ebbed after she had summoned Dale to restore his
masculinity.
"There could be all kinds of reasons, but to hell with them.
Kicking dead horses isn't my idea of fun."
"Any time I think we've had it," Jeri said, speaking with
care, "I promise you'll know it. If I'm the first to quit, I won't
keep it a secret from you. Okay?"
There was no real choice, so he agreed.
Their attentive waiter saw that he had drained his glass,
and hurried off for fresh drinks.
Noel B. Gerson 309

Jeri knew
it would be a mistake to mention, or even hint,

that might be wise to limit his liquor consumption tonight.

it

So, when their drinks were placed in front of them, she

reached for a menu. "I'm just starved tonight," she an-
nounced. ''Nervous tension always does this to me."
Lester had no idea he was being handled. "I don't know
about Abe Winston— or anybody else— but I'm going to
enjoy myself tonight."
Again Jeri felt uneasy, but knew better than to press him
too hard. "After we eat," she said, "we'll make a final dry run
with the cue cards." Before he could reply, she gave the waiter
her dinner order. "Gazpacho, a small filet, baked potato and a
salad with blue-cheese dressing."
"Make mine the same," Lester said.
Ordinarily he relished the ordering of a meal, inquiring
about the quality and cooking of various foods, so his easy
acquiescence indicated to Jeri that he was suffering far more
from preprogram strains than his surface manner indicated.
She knew she was right when he scarcely touched his meal.
Time began to drag, so she tried to be bright and amusing as
she repeated various anecdotes about the day's frantic activi-
ties, and at last, after they had consumed several cups of

coffee, it was time to make final preparations for the program.

"Let's go over the cards downstairs," she said. "There are too
many possible eavesdroppers here."
A surreptitious glance at her watch told her it was 10:00
p.m. She was adhering to the schedule that she and Stan had
worked out with such meticulous care.
They returned to Lester's office, where Karen Block was
sitting on the couch, a white mini-smock over her dress.
Karen's smile was intended for Lester alone.
Jeri stiffened. "I'm attending to Mr. Corbett's makeup
tonight," she said.
Karen looked her up and down. "I thought Lester might
prefer to haveme do it."
Jeri was familiar with the type: the girl was sneaky, am-
 310 Talk Show
bitious and, with one weapon in her arsenal, very much on the
make. "According to Mr. Friedlander's instructions, your post
is in the main makeup room. You have guests to attend, and

you've got to be on hand when Governor Winston arrives.

Karen wasn't going to lose Arthur Sampson's one-thousand-
dollar offer without putting up a battle, and held her ground.
"I'm just doing my job."
Lester, misinterpreting the cause of the conflict, was en-
joying himself, and grinned at them impartially.
Jeri knew how to handle aspiring interlopers, even though a
glance told her that Lester was more familiar with the girl
than she had suspected. "Honey," she said, "if you know
what's good for you, you'll get your cute little tail to hell out
of here."
Karen debated whether to fight harder, but decided the
opposition was too strong. However, she thought, it didn't
matter. It was apparent that Lester would appear on the pro-
gram, so she could tell Sampson that much, and it would be
easy to make up the rest. She would pass along word that
there would be no trouble on the show, and that the Great
Man would behave himself.
"If you need me," she said as she sauntered to the door,
"I'll be back before you can hang up the phone."

Jeri waited until the door closed, then led the way to
Lester's dressingroom. "You have a real talent for getting
acquainted with some people. In a hurry."
He sat in his makeup chair, and his smile was unrepentant.
"Can I help it if I'm friendly?"
Jeri covered him with an oilcloth sheet and fastened it

around his neck, feeling sorrier for Grace Corbett than she
could have imagined possible a week earlier. "No," she said,
"I don't believe you can help it." The same qualities that won
him such popularity on the air were liabilities in his private
life, and she couldn't help wishing he exerted less charm.

Lester submitted to her ministrations, and did not speak

until she was done. "When did you learn theatrical makeup?"
Noel B. Gerson 31 I

Jeri's smile was enigmatic; it would have been too provoca-

tive to tell him there were many things about her that he
didn't know. "We've just got enough time to do a scrub job
on the cue cards/' she said.
They returned to his office and spent a half-hour going over
the cards. Lester studied each of them, occasionally pausing to
learn her reasons for including a particular question. He was
brisk and thorough, his attitude completely professional, and
Jeri could find no reason for her persisting uneasiness, which
she could attribute only to his malleability.
They were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone, and
Jeri picked up the instrument, then made a face. "Donald
Murtaugh," she said, one hand over the mouthpiece, "calling
long distance."
Lester took the telephone from her. "Corbett," he said, his
voice crisp.
"Well, it's good to hear your voice." Murtaugh sounded far
younger than his seventy years. "I've just heard from our
mutual friend, Arthur Sampson, and I hope he's mistaken
when he tells me you're going along with Abe Winston."
"Artie Sampson has no idea what I intend to do, Mr.
Murtaugh." There was a savage quality in Lester's voice, and
Jeri looked at him in surprise.
"I'm glad to hear it," Murtaugh replied. "Once you've seen
the evidence my people have uncovered on Winston, and I'll
gladly show it to you, I know you'll realize he's providing
cover for one of the biggest Communist conspiracies ever
perpetrated on the American people."
Lester shuddered. "What's this to do with me?" he de-
manded rudely.
"I'm urging you to keep up the good work you started last
week, Corbett," the old man said. "Expose Winston as he
deserves, and you won't regret it. I'm not impugning your
patriotism by offering you a bribe, but I can promise you that

my companies will pick up a bigger slice of the Inquiry tab if

you do your duty as a citizen."

 312 Talk Show
"How I deal with Governor Winston is my own preroga-
tive, and I'll do it as I see fit," Lester said. "I'm very much
aware of my duty as a citizen, Mr. Murtaugh. And that's what
impels me to tell you you can take every segment of Inquiry
you can buy— and stuff it!"
He slammed down the receiver and turned to Jeri. "Thank
God he's brainless, or he'd be a menace to society!"
"Congratulations," she said. "Murtaugh has had it coming

to him for a long time, and so has Artie Sampson."

"And to hell with the sales department. What I don't
understand is how Sampson thought he had the poop on what
I intend to do. Just about everybody around here is a goddam

spy for somebody. I'd like to clean house."

"Why don't you? Stan will go along with you."
"He's as bad as all the rest." Lester began to pace. "I wish I

could get some satisfaction out of telling off Murtaugh, which

I've wanted to do for years. But I don't get a lift out of
anything anymore."
was ten forty-five, and a page appeared with a glass of hot
It

tea, lacedwith honey. Jeri picked up the telephone and called

the control room, but cut her conversation short when Lester
walked to the bar at the far end of the office.
He grinned sourly at her.
To her infinite relief he continued
to sip the tea and honey,
and made only one drink, which he handed to her. "There
have been many nights in the past nine years," he said, "when
it would have been a pleasure to get stoned before going on

the air. But I've always stayed sober, and this is no night to
change that routine."
She raised her glass. "Here's to tonight, which will keep
Inquiry in the number one slot for another nine years."
Their conversation became even more desultory, and both
were conscious of the clock. At ten fifty-six Jeri adjusted his
breast-pocket handkerchief, straightened his necktie and
kissed him lightly on the lips. "Ready?"
Noel B. Gerson 313

"I'm always ready. For anything." He dropped the cue

and opened the door for her.
cards into his jacket pocket
They made their way down corridors filled with pistol-carry-
ing security guards, and when they reached the Inquiry studio
they entered by an inconspicuous backstage door.
it

Max Marx was completing his audience warmup, and Gov-

ernor Winston, if he had already arrived, was concealed by
the stage set.

Lester glanced up at the large visitors' booth, which was

filled with newspapermen, and raised a hand in a half-salute.
Jeri squeezed Lester's arm and relinquished him to an as-

sistant director, who moved off beside him into the wings. She
watched them for a moment, then climbed a flight of stairs to
the executive observation booth, where all three rows of
armchairs were occupied by network vice-presidents and mem-
Never had so many members of
bers of the board of directors.
the UBS hierarchy been in attendance at any one program.
Stan Friedlander, who was flanked by Edgar Cranmer, had
saved a seat on his other side in the front row, and beckoned.
Tensions in the booth eased momentarily as the assembled
men watched Jeri take her seat.
Stan waited apprehensively for her report.
"So far," she said, "the joint is intact."
A red light flashed on, indicating that Inquiry was on the
air, and the familiar strains of the program's theme came over
the speakers. Max Marx's introduction was somewhat sub-
dued, and Jeri had trouble lighting a cigarette.
Lester Corbett looked debonair and at ease as he moved
onto the set, but his customary smile was missing. "Good
evening," he said. "Tonight's program is unusual— I might
say unique— so we'll dispense with the ordinary formalities.
And I'd like to ask master control not to interrupt our first

interview with commercials."

The vice-president in charge of sales looked wounded.
 314 Talk Show
But Bishop Cranmer approved. "Damn smart/' he mut-
tered.
Stan Friedlander could only wish Lester had taken him into
his confidence.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Honorable Abraham Winston,
governor of Ohio."
Winston came onto the and they shook hands warily,
stage,
like fighters before the beginning of a championship match.
Then Lester led the way to his desk, waved his guest into a
seat opposite his, and helped Winston place the small cord
around his neck.
"Governor," Lester said as he moved to his own chair, "I've
been severely criticized in some quarters because of the way I
treated you on your last appearance here just one week ago. I
intended you no personal discourtesy at that time, and I cer-
tainly had no intention of depriving you of the opportunity to
express, in full, your side of our controversy."
Jeri and Stan exchanged stricken glances. "He's paying no
attention to the script," he muttered.
"The members of your staff and of mine," Lester con-
tinued, "have worked hard few days, establishing
in the past
the outlines for tonight's interview. Without
detracting from
their efforts, I don't believe either of us wants to be bound by
formulae."
"This is your program, Mr. Corbett," the governor said.

"I'll be happy to go along with any method you choose."

Lester took the cue cards from his jacket pocket, and, in
full view of the cameras, tore them into small pieces.

"Oh, God," Stan said.

"He's playing games," Cranmer muttered. "But we can't
stop him now."
Jeri covered her face with her hands, then recovered.
"I made certain strong charges against you, sir," Lester said.
"If I was mistaken, I'll retract them— tonight, on this pro-
gram—and will offer you my apologies. But I must ask you,
Noel B. Gerson 315

sir, to prove to my and that of a great many

satisfaction
viewers who agreed with me, that you were in no way respon-
sible for the death of my son, who killed himself taking an
overdose of drugs. Governor Winston, our time and facilities
are yours, to say what you please, and to take as long as you
wish to say it."

There were murmurs of approval in the executive observa-

tion booth, and Cranmer was relieved.
Stan remained apprehensive, however, and Jeri was still
worried, too.
"Thank you, Mr. Corbett," the governor said, taking a
sheaf of papers from an inner jacket pocket. "Ladies and
gentlemen, I'd like to read to you a report just submitted to
me by a special commission I appointed to look into the
death of Lester Corbett, Junior. I am making these findings
public for the first time."
Taking his time, Winston read in the rich, resonant voice
of a polished orator. The report was concise, but he needed
twenty minutes to read it in full, then spent another quarter
of an hour discussing its highlights.
Lester took extraordinary care not to detract from the
other's performance, and sat back in chair, his face devoid of
expression, his hands and body unmoving.
"Inquiry's clients," the vice-president in charge of sales
said, "are going to scream down the walls."
Cranmer half-turned in his seat. "Let 'em scream. This is

public service at its best. Corbett thought of an angle that not

one person in this room was capable of dreaming up."
"It looks okay," Stan whispered to Jeri.
it yet," she said. "The going may get rough."
"Don't bet on
When Winston was finished, Lester leaned forward. "If
our viewers and I understand you correctly, sir," he said,
deftly associating himself with his audience, "the drugs my
son took were traced to a reputable Cleveland pharmacy, and
had been issued in response to a legitimate prescription writ-
 316 Talk Show
ten by a Cleveland physician of impeccable reputation. They
were taken— that is, stolen— by the daughter of the man for
whom the prescription was written, and then passed through
the hands of six other young people before my son obtained
them. By purchasing them. So I must ask you this: where
does the blame lie?"
"Every one of those young people who handled the drugs
must share the blame."
illegally

"But you don't consider yourself or your administration in

any way responsible, sir?"
'The government of my state has administered and en-
forced the law, Mr. Corbett. To that extent, I'm satisfied."
"But you haven't really answered me, Governor."
Abraham Winston was just as shrewd as his interrogator.
"If I understand the ultimate sense of your question, Mr.
Corbett, and of what some people regarded as an accusation
last week, perhaps I am in part to blame for your son's death,
and so is every other public official in Ohio, and in the United
States. I intend to submit to our state legislature, within the
next forty-eight hours, a new, comprehensive bill on drug con-
trols. More stringent laws will help to rectify a situation that
has become one of America's greatest concerns. And I have
reason to hope that other states will use the Ohio Method, as
we're calling it, as a model."
"Certainly the closing of loopholes in the laws everywhere
in the country an important and helpful step, Governor,"
is

Lester said, and looked directly into the camera facing him.
"But I propose to go much further. You see, I hold myself
equally to blame for my son's death."
The studio audience buzzed.
Stan Friedlander mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.
"The boy's mother and I were divorced many years ago,"
Lester continued, "and saw very little of my son in the
I

following interval. Perhaps, if he had enjoyed whatever bene-

fits I might have been able to give him, he would have been
more stable."
Noel B. Gerson 317
Governor Winston fielded the ball handily. "You mustn't
berate yourself toomuch, Mr. Corbett."
"Ah, but I don't/' Lester said quickly. "I feel I must share
the blame with you— and with everyone else in public life.
Elected and appointed officeholders. Commentators and col-
umnists. And the hosts of programs like Inquiry. It is we who
set the moral tone of the nation, Governor, and if we're
derelict in our codes of morality and ethics, we have only
ourselves to blame when our children develop bad habits, evil
habits."
"Brilliant," Jeri whispered, her eyes shining. "Keep it up."
"Do I understand correctly," Governor Winston demanded,
"that you're absolving the young people themselves of all

blame?"
"No, sir! Emphatically not! Anyone old enough to go off to
college knows right from wrong. The selling of many drugs is
forbidden by law. The consumption of those drugs by un-
authorized persons is prohibited by law. So a young person
who sells, buys or uses such drugs knows he's breaking the
law. Many young people use the specious argument that their
parents broke the law by purchasing liquor in the days before
the repeal of the Eighteenth Amendment, and they claim
that what they're doing is no worse. I say it's no better, that
two wrongs don't make a right, never have and never will!"
The studio audience spontaneously applauded.
"He's actually stealing the show from Abe Winston!"
Bishop Cranmer said. "Stan, we'll tear up his contract and
give him anything he asks."
Jeri thought that Lester had hit his peak, but she was
mistaken.
"Governor Winston," he said, "we're simplifying one of
the most complex and puzzling problems in the world, and
that's a mistake."
"Indeed it is, Mr. Corbett," Abraham Winston said. "We
could spend the rest of the night discussing the alarming rise
in drug addictions, whether or not the use of marijuana
 318 Talk Show
should be made legal— and so forth. But we'd barely scratch
the surface of something that is more than a rebellion
far
against constituted authority, far more than the acquisition of
extremely dangerous habits by people who, in view of their
personal, home backgrounds and their education, ought to
know better."
"It seems to me," Lester said, "that what the United States
urgently needs is a national volunteer committee to study the
problem in depth. Fm not denigrating the work being done
by many groups already making studies, recommending action
and taking action. Some of them are government sponsored,
some are operating completely in the private sector, some are
organized under the auspices of churches, labor unions, and so
forth."
"But you're proposing a truly national committee, Mr.
Corbett." The governor spoke with great force. "A group that
will represent all sectors of the population, public and private,
black and white, medical and legal."
"Yes, sir, including representatives of the young. They must
be given a voice in their own future."
"I heartily endorse such an undertaking, Mr. Corbett,"
Abraham Winston said.
"Governor, on behalf of Inquiry's millions of viewers, I'd
like to ask you to act as chairman of the National Drug
Abuse Correction Committee."
Winston recognized an exceptionally valuable political
prop when he saw it. "I'm honored and pleased to accept, Mr.
Corbett. I can promise the American people a complete and
impartial study that will fear no one and act without favor to
any special interest group. Representatives of all major politi-
cal groups will participate, as will distinguished citizens from
many fields. As my first appointment, Mr. Corbett— will you

serveon the committee with me?"

"It will be my great pleasure, Governor," Lester said. "If I
can do any good, I'll know that my son didn't die in vain."
Noel B. Gerson 319

"Nobody could have written this good a script/' Bishop

Cranmer said. "Stan, all promotions go into effect imme-
diately."
Stan glanced in the direction of the press booth, where the
reporters were writing rapidly. "Amen."
"It would be hard to convince anyone in the business that
this wasn't aplanned love feast/' Jeri said. Her mind racing,
she blocked out the exchanges of exceptionally cordial ameni-
ties marked the conclusion of the Winston interview.
that
Lester, she thought, had an instinct for survival that en-
abled him to overcome any crisis. No matter how much those
around him might worry, sweat and suffer, he would emerge
triumphant from every ordeal. Certainly he didn't need her to
soothe and pamper him; now, as always, there would be
others eager to take her place.
The worst of her situation was that, in a year or two, she
would be only dimly remembered, just as her predecessors
were forgotten. But he had left a permanent mark on her, and
although she promised herself she would do everything in her
power to put him out of her mind and affections, she knew in
advance that she would fail. Never again would she know a
man who combined his brash confidence with a wistful,
seemingly helpless appeal.
She slipped out of her seat in the observation booth, and
during the commercial interval before the next guest came
onto the set tobe interviewed, she made her way down to the
control booth. There she waited until Dick Hubbel set his
cameras for the chat between Lester and a musical-comedy
who had just written her autobiography.
star
The director twisted in his padded chair as she came up
beside him, and grinned at her. "Fantastic, huh? You had to
see it to believe it."
"I've seen enough to last me a long time," Jeri said.
"You've just hired yourself a writer-editor for your new show."
Hubbel stared hard at her for a long moment, and, like Jeri,
 320 Talk Show
momentarily forgot the program being televised on the far
side of the glass partition. 'This calls for a real celebration/' he
said. 'Tonight, as soon as we go off the air/'
"Sure," Jeri said, and smiled. "Why not?"

Grace Corbett sat behind the closed door of her husband's

den, the color console television set on one side of the room
turned so low that the voices of Lester and his guest were
barely audible. The tangible proof that he was on the air was
enough to satisfy her. She knew he was in the studio, working,
and during this brief two- to three-hour period it was impos-
sible for him to be off somewhere, making love to another
woman.
Her complete attention was devoted to the portable tele-
vision set,which she had plugged in on the opposite side of
the room, and she watched avidly as Randy Warren's video
tape told its now-familiar story on the screen. She would
never tire of seeing Lester degraded as a man, and his hu-
miliation gave her renewed vigor, an increased zest for life.
She leaned forward in her seat as her favorite part of the
tape came onto the screen, the portion in which the two girls
took turns using Lester as a sex object. Her eyes shining, her
lips parted, Grace absorbed every detail, while the live Inquiry
telecast provided a comforting counterpoint in the back-
ground. She had him now.
 (continued from front flap)

guished guest, the Governor of Ohio and

his party's nearly unanimous choice for
President: Lester Corbett accuses Governor
Winston of a ghastly crime.

Public reaction to this startling accusa-

tion is swift, and little of it is favorable.
Pressure is exerted on Lester Corbett in nu-
merous ways. By the Governor himself, who
puts a detective on him in the hope of un-
covering enough about his private life to
discredit him. By a right-wing sponsor, who
couldn't be more pleased at the blow lev-
eled at the Governor's career. And by Lester
Corbett's own network bosses, who promise
him permanent obscurity unless he delivers
an on-the-air apology and retraction, neither
of which he is about to make.
In his attempt to emerge first man and
alive, Lester Corbett must face and deal
with the whole power structure of the tele-
vision industry, with blackmail that threat-
ens to make public the most perverse night
in his life, and with a murder that is certainly
among the most perfect ever perpetrated.
Here, then, is the novel about the world
of television and those men who sit upon
its thrones, on stage and off.

NOEL B. GERSON was born in Chicago

and now lives in Connecticut. Before he
devoted his full time to books, he worked
in radio and and wrote hundreds
television
of plays for each. He
now among Amer-
is

ica's most popular writers, his works in-

cluding Jefferson Square and Mirror, Mirror.

WILLIAM MORROW & CO., INC.

105 Madison Avenue
New York, N.Y. 10016