Max closed the bathrobe that he had slipped on immediately after exiting the bed occupied by the stranger. “Yeah, that’s me, up and at it!” he chirped, his on-air personality taking over. “And I need to get going, hop in the shower.” Hint, hint, he thought, and scratched the cleft on his chin.
The gnome didn’t take the hint, but instead patted the empty space beside him on the bed. “C’mere, baby. I know what you need.”
O
n Fridays, the hosts gathered in a conference room for their weekly meeting with executive and associate producers to discuss any programming notes for the following week, as well as any other issues. Howard Toast was addressing the group. “As you folks know, Max Andrews has been released from his contract with us, due to an unfortunate incident during Slumber Sunday, the details of which I’m sure you’re all familiar with.”
A couple of the hosts exchanged glances. Trish Mission, who was never terribly fond of Max and all his air time, simply stared straight ahead. Peggy Jean hadn’t seen the need for a homosexual show host in the first place.
“As a result, we find ourselves with a total of six hours of air time to fill each week,” Howard said.
The slot Max had left behind included two hours every Sunday evening beginning at six P.M., two hours in the A.M. on Mondays (variable), and Wednesdays from noon to two P.M., all Eastern Standard Time.
“Therefore, I am pleased to announce that effective immediately, Leigh will be occupying the time slot previously held by Max.”
The hosts broke into applause. Don from the Good Morning Show whistled. Bebe Friedman reached across the table and touched Leigh’s hand. “You deserve it.”
Leigh smiled sheepishly, “Thanks, everybody.”
Previously a field reporter with WPBC in Philadelphia, Leigh Bushmoore had joined Sellevision two years ago, and had been hosting the overnight slot from two A.M. to five A.M., Monday through Friday. With the new slot, Leigh would have daytime exposure, even though she would be on air fewer hours. The exposure would no doubt boost the career of the intelligent and attractive twenty-nine-year-old. But because her new success was at the expense of her friend and former coworker’s career, the moment was not as exciting as it might have been under different circumstances.
Bob, the other overnight host, was to have his current five to seven A.M. hours extended to include the entire overnight slot, from two to seven A.M., an enormous windfall for the youngest Sellevision host. With twenty-five hours of total air time, it was ironic that the least experienced host now had the most on-air hours. Although viewership of Sellevision dropped nearly 85 percent during his hours, the experience in front of the camera was going to be invaluable. When Bob’s new hours were announced, the room broke into another round of applause.
But Howard was quick with his caveat. “Now don’t get a big head, fella, this is only temporary, until we’ve chosen a new host to split the overnight with you.”
With this out of the way, it was time to discuss the following week’s Today’s Super Value, or TSV items. There were 364 TSVs a year (Sellevision suspended broadcasting on Christmas day). Sometimes a kitchen appliance or an air purifier, sometimes a piece of jewelry, a TSV featured a very low price and its own bright red screen graphic. Many of the items, especially certain jewelry items, were in development for as much as nine months before their air date. A TSV was announced to viewers at midnight. Each of the hosts were required to be familiar with the TSV because it would be presented throughout the day, at prescribed intervals. If it was a piece of jewelry, all the female hosts were to wear it on air. The same was true of clothing. Often, a TSV would sell out before the next TSV could be introduced at midnight. In this event, the producers created a Just For Now Value to replace the TSV.
Amanda, the associate producer, passed around a six-page document detailing each TSV for the following six days. Peggy Jean noticed that on the day she would be introducing the TSV at midnight, it was not a Big ’N’ Easy comfort shirt or a perfume sampler set. It was a HandiMan table saw. Something just for the guys. She frowned and fluffed the silk scarf around her neck.
A
bsent from the hosts’ meeting because she was currently on air, Adele Oswald Crawley was stroking the cotton crotch of a pair of panties. “The moisture is literally whisked away, and that’s why they’re called Moisture Whik Control Panties. And as many viewers have told me on the air and in letters and E-mails, these are the most comfortable panties you can wear. As a matter of fact I have them on right now, and they really are truly comfortable.” Cut to a medium shot of Adele sitting on a chair in the bedroom set with a display of panties on a table before her.
“Adele, double X just sold out,” the producer said in her ear.
“Okay, my producer just told me that extra-extra large has just sold out. We still have small, medium, large and extra large available.” Adele looked at the Teleprompter and saw that there was a caller, Lona from Connecticut, who ALREADY OWNS the panties. “Let’s take a call and say hello to . . . Lona from Connecticut. Good afternoon, Lona, how are you today?” Adele said, fingering the crotch of the panties.
“Hello, Adele, it’s so nice to speak with you.”
“Thank you so much, Lona. I’m glad you could be a part of our show today. So you already own Moisture Whik Control Panties, is that right?”
“Yes, I do. And let me tell you, Adele, I’m a nurse so I’m always running around, working double shifts. And boy oh boy, do I feel fresh.”
Adele smiled. “That’s wonderful, Lona. So you feel fresh all day long?”
“Oh yes, I really do. I wouldn’t wear any other panties—even if you paid me.” The caller chuckled and continued. “And let me just say, the waistband is so comfortable. Because with some of the other panties I’ve tried, I sometimes get a rash because the elastic is really binding, but these are a treat.”
“You bring up an excellent point, Lona, and I really should have mentioned that. The waistband of Moisture Whik Control Panties is a full inch in diameter, so it’s wide and comfortable and doesn’t pinch or bind. Thank you so much for calling, Lona, and you have a great, fresh day.”
“I will, Adele, and you have a great day too. Can I say hello to my dog?”
Adele laughed. “Of course you can. What’s your dog’s name?”
“Her name is Nermal. Hi, Nermal, hi, baby,” cooed the caller.
“Hello, Nermal,” Adele chirped. “You be a good girl and stay off the sofa.” Lona laughed.
“Adele, we’re going to cut to the Di promo, mention the choker,” the producer said.
“All right, and if you’ve been admiring this beautiful pearl choker I’m wearing”—Adele touched her necklace as Camera One zoomed in for a closeup—“you’re gonna want to tune in to Sellevision this evening when Trish Mission hosts ‘England’s Rose: Jewelry Inspired by Princess Diana.’ This particular piece is the Diana Triple Strand Simulated Pearl Choker, and it’s item number J-5212. It’s introductory-priced at just twenty-five ninety-nine. Take a look at this.” The producers in Control Room 2 cut away from Adele to a prerecorded thirty-second promotional commercial.
The commercial was a montage of footage featuring the Princess. The clips were purchased from various news services and stock-footage agencies and assembled by Sellevision editors. The spot featured shots of Diana exiting a limousine as flash bulbs fired, Diana smiling with her eyes lowered, Diana sitting at an official engagement, Diana hugging her two sons on a ski slope. The promo ended with the heartbreaking shot of the crumpled black Mercedes inside the Alma Tunnel in Paris.
Intercut with the footage of Diana were beauty shots of various pieces of fashion jewelry: a simulated-sapphire ring surrounded by faux diamonds, the choker that Adele was wearing, assorted bracelets, and a twenty-inch beaded necklace. There were also pins, a lariat, and the most affordable item in the showcase: a key fob.
A voice-over romanced the upcoming program. “She was England’s most beautiful rose, Princes
s Diana. Loved by millions and suddenly, tragically, taken from us at the height of her beauty and freedom. Join Sellevision this Friday at eight P.M. Eastern Standard Time for a full hour of our first ‘England’s Rose: Jewelry Inspired by Princess Diana’ showcase. This extraordinary show features beautiful fashion jewelry created in loving memory of the most famous princess the world has ever known. If you love Diana, this is your chance to add her legacy to your own jewelry wardrobe. Don’t miss ‘England’s Rose,’ this Friday evening, only on Sellevision.”
Cut back to a medium shot of Adele and the Moisture Whik Control Panty display.
“Y
es, please,” Bebe told the waiter at Café Sonzero, when he asked if she would care for a sprinkling of freshly grated parmesan cheese on her Rhode Island field greens and grilled calamari salad. Bebe had taken Amtrak into Manhattan to do some shopping and have lunch with her friend, Amy, a children’s book editor with Depretis Books. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and after lunch the two friends would head uptown to shop on Fifth Avenue.
“I can’t believe you, Bebe. What if you meet some psycho who tries to tie you up or something?”
Bebe laughed wickedly. “Who says I don’t want to be tied up, huh?”
“I’m serious, you could meet a lunatic,” Amy said firmly. “What on earth possessed you to write a personal ad and place it on the Internet?”
Bebe stabbed a piece of calamari with her fork. The emerald-cut Diamonelle on her ring finger sparkled as she lifted the morsel of deep-sea predator to her lips. “Amy, I know lots of people who have placed personal ads. You know Trish? Trish Mission from the show?”
Amy nodded, having just seen Trish on the England’s Rose show. She’d even ordered the key fob.
“Well, she placed an ad last summer and yeah, she met a couple of bozos, but she also met her boyfriend, Steve. And believe me, he’s no psycho, he’s an analyst with Price Waterhouse.”
Amy remained skeptical. “I don’t know, Bebe, maybe I’m old fashioned, but I’d rather meet somebody through friends, or just by chance in the supermarket.”
Bebe took a sip of wine. “Amy, the only people I meet at the supermarket are housewives who come up and show me all the Diamonelle they’re wearing and ask for my autograph, while their kids whine and tug at their legs.” She leaned in. “Look, I’m forty-two and single. This calls for desperate measures.”
Amy smiled and rolled her eyes. “Fine. So what’d you say in your ad?”
Bebe rested her fork on the plate, clasped her hands in front of her on the table and recited: “Aging Jewish Princess, forty-two, seeks her prince, or at least a guy who walks upright. I’m attractive, successful, with a down-to-earth nature and an unfortunate passion for Rocky Road ice cream. Healthy, active, and fit, I enjoy the outdoors as well the occasional night on the town. I’m very spontaneous, and love to travel. You should be likewise. You should also be devastatingly handsome, filthy rich, outrageously funny, prone to extreme lapses of common sense, and humble. What else did I say? Oh yeah—the sense-of-humor impaired need not apply.”
Amy clapped. “Well, well, well, you could make a living doing that.”
The two laughed and Amy raised her glass in a toast: “May the princess meet her Homo-erectus.”
Bebe smiled and they clinked glasses.
After lunch, the friends took a cab uptown to Henri Bendel. The store was filled with chic Manhattanites carrying dark green shopping bags from Gucci, trademark blue bags with Tiffany & Co. printed in glossy black ink, Banana Republic totes, and navy blue plastic drawstring Gap bags. “I really need a couple of new suits,” Bebe said as they ascended the grand staircase. “I saw a darling Calvin Klein two-piece in Vogue last week—beige scoopneck with these wonderful, gigantic lapels.”
As the two passed through accessories, Amy fell in love with, but simply could not afford, an Hermes scarf depicting mermaids, starfish, and dolphins.
“Maybe you should splurge,” Bebe suggested. Then she glanced at the tag in her fingers, read the $399 price, and added, “Or maybe not.”
Amy sighed. “I’ll have to wait until I’m a rich and famous children’s book author instead of just a poor and invisible children’s book editor.”
Bebe tried on four different suits, took none of them, but instead left the store with a $1,400 sheer black cocktail dress by Michael Kors. “It’s for Mr. Homo erectus,” she said as the two stood on the curb. “You know, for our second date.”
Amy raised her arm to hail a cab to take them to the train station, but Bebe quickly moved it back to her side. “I just need to do a little more shopping,” she told her. “I feel like I’m forgetting something. I really ought to pick up a new bag; let’s just run over to Coach.”
O
utside the CVS Pharmacy, John Smythe and the three Smythe boys sat in the Acura Legend waiting for Peggy Jean. Ricky, Robbie, and Richie, though not triplets, were dressed in identical outfits of jeans, long-sleeved blue-and-white striped shirts, and baseball caps, each featuring a Family Circle logo. The oldest Smythe boy at thirteen, Ricky was dividing the package of red licorice whips between himself and his brothers. John sat at the steering wheel, the sports section of the Philadelphia Examiner folded over in half, hiding his copy of Tasty Teens magazine.
Inside the store, Peggy Jean was selecting a calcium supplement with iron, because a commercial she saw the other night warned of the dangers women face as they mature, namely osteoporosis and bone loss. After choosing a supplement, Peggy Jean paused in the aisle and wondered if perhaps there was something homeopathic she could try in order to clear up her possible estrogen/superfluous hair condition. Recently she’d read an article that said a lot of Hollywood celebrities swore by homeopathic remedies.
Although the names were completely technical and unhelpful, she saw that each of the boxes displayed a visual illustration of what the remedy was for. One of the boxes featured a head with lightning bolts coming out of it: headache. Another box showed the lower back with jagged marks zigzagging across it: lower back pain. Then Peggy Jean saw a box with an illustration depicting a uterus, fallopian tubes, and two ovaries: female troubles.
She took this box off the shelf and headed for the checkout counter. A new issue of Soap Opera Digest was displayed on a rack next to the register, so Peggy Jean placed this on the counter along with her other purchases.
Ever since high school, she’d been a die-hard Guiding Light fan. Peggy Jean felt that Guiding Light had a wonderful spiritual subtext, unlike The Young and The Restless, which was just smut.
“Shoot!” Peggy Jean cried as her husband pulled out of the parking lot. “I forgot the Spray ’N’ Wash.”
L
aurie Greenberg, of Greenberg, Kirshenbaum & Partners, enjoyed being a talent agent, especially when she had good news for one of her clients. And she had good news for Max. The E-Z Shop Channel was looking for a new host.
“It would mean leaving Philly and moving to Florida,” she told him.
“I have no problem with that,” he replied. “What do you think my chances are? Do they know about the . . . incident?”
“I spoke with Bob Shriber. He’s the head of broadcast production. I told him that I represented you, that up until recently you were a host on Sellevision and that you were now open to new opportunities.”
“Yeah, what’d he say?” Max asked impatiently.
“Well, he um, well . . .” Laurie hedged.
“C’mon, Laurie, what did he say? Tell me the truth.”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Has he started wearing underwear yet?’ ”
“Oh Christ, I’m fucked. I’m totally screwed, my career—”
“Hold on, hold on, I’m not finished,” Laurie interrupted. “He was just joking. He also said that he would be happy to meet you in person.”
“He did?” Max asked, warily.
“Yes, Max, he did. He’d like to arrange something for next week. He’s out of town all this week on vacation, but
we’re going to speak at the beginning of next week and set something up.”
Max exhaled loudly into the phone, feeling great relief.
“But don’t get your hopes set too high. They’re meeting with a few other candidates, and there’s a chance they might want to go with an Asian or an African American, so we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“No, I understand, it’s just that, well, at least it’s something. I really would hate to end up at Denny’s as a waiter.”
“Oh, Max, no matter what, you won’t end up at Denny’s,” Laurie reassured him. “Discovery Channel is always looking for new people, and KRON in San Francisco might be looking for an entertainment correspondent, so don’t panic quite yet.”
“Thanks, Laurie, thanks for not dropping me immediately.”
“Sweetie, I would never drop you. I’m your agent and friend, for better or for worse, through sickness and in health . . . with pants or without.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
After she hung up, Laurie scribbled a note on Max’s file: Reevaluate in three months.
three
“Knock knock,” Leigh Bushmoore said, leaning in the doorway of Executive Producer Howard Toast’s office.
Looking up from his desk and seeing Leigh standing there in her two-piece beige cashmere sweater and skirt (A TSV from last month), Howard smiled. “Knock knock right back at you. Care to, uh, join me on the casting couch?” He winked and glanced in the direction of the leather sofa against the wall.
Closing the door behind her and pushing the lock button on the doorknob, Leigh walked around Howard’s desk and stood in front of him, smiling seductively and fingering the eighteeninch strand of freshwater pearls around her neck. “Well, I guess I really should thank you for my recent promotion. Or is it Max I should be thanking?”