Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“I don’t understand,” David said. “Why can’t we do it?”

“Tickets,” Harrigan said.

“But it’s a good show. You just said—”

“Yes, but one man in the show is a lawbreaker, and the other is a policeman who actually condones his lawlessness.”

“He doesn’t do that at all,” David said. “He understands it. The whole point of the show is... is... it’s a plea for understanding. Why, even the title of the show is ‘The Brothers.’ Don’t you see what—?”

“Oh, yes, I see, Mr. Regan. And you see. But will our viewers see?”

“Of course they will.”

“We think not. We think they will associate our product with an attitude which seems to condone lawlessness.”

“That’s nonsense,” David said.

Harrigan stiffened slightly in his chair. “Yes, of course it’s nonsense. But if our product becomes associated with—”

“The possibility is extremely remote,” David said, “if not nonexistent. We’re not dealing with a bunch of boobs, Mr. Harrigan. The message is as clear as—”

“Mr. Regan, if we allow this show to be done, and if it is misunderstood, we will never sell another ticket as long as we’re in business.”

“How can anyone misunderstand it?”

“The show seems to condone murder.”

“The murder has nothing at all to do with it! If it’s the murder that bothers you, we’ll change it. We’ll—”

“To what? To another crime? How would that be any different? Mr. Regan, I have gone over this quite thoroughly, believe me.”

“Look, it’s a good show,” David said, a surprised tone in his voice. “It’s a really good show. Now look, we’ve... look, we’ve got two big stars, you couldn’t ask for bigger names, they’ll play beautifully together. Look, Mr. Harrigan, we’ve got one of the best directors in television. And those remote pickups’ll knock the viewer right on his—”

“I’m sorry, we’ll have to substitute another show for it.”

“We’ve already paid for the script,” David said in desperation. “We’ve signed contracts with the actors. The network—”

“We will honor whatever commitments you have made,” Harrigan said, “but we will not do this show.”

“What are you afraid of? The network’s continuity section has approved it already. A judge has read it and is willing to introduce it. I don’t see what you’re worried—”

“None of those people have to sell tickets, Mr. Regan.”

“Your own advertising agency approved it!”

“Yes, and I’ll be talking to them as soon as I leave this office.”

“Really, Mr. Harrigan, this is silly. With all due respect, sir, I think you’re being overly sensitive.”

“Yes, and with all due respect, I really feel the decision is ours to make, and not yours.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t agree with you.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to talk to Mr. Sonderman himself.”

“If you think that’s...” David paused. “Why does he have to be brought in? This is my show.”

“This is his company.”

“I have full authority over any show I handle.”

“Yes, but apparently you’re refusing to exercise it.”

“You’re asking me to kill a good show! You’re telling me our viewers are morons! That they won’t understand what we’re driving at, that they’ll come away thinking we’re asking them to go out and shoot people. Well, damn it, I disagree. They will understand it, they will know what we mean, and they’ll applaud us for our stand. Look, the hell with it. Go see Curt. Let him handle it.”

“Very well. Is Mr. Sonderman in now?”

“I think so. I’ll have my secretary buzz him.” David reached for the phone.

“I’m sorry this is causing so much trouble,” Harrigan said. He glanced at his watch. “I had hoped it would be a simple matter.”

“It’s a simple matter of knowing what’s good for your product,” David said. “This would get your product talked about. It’s a good show, Mr. Harrigan!”

“Would you call Mr. Sonderman’s office, please?” Harrigan said.

David picked up the phone.

“I’m sure he will see this my way,” Harrigan said.

David hesitated.

“And while I’m in there,” Harrigan said, “I might as well discuss that new package with him.”

David buzzed Martha. “It’s a good show,” he said to Harrigan, his voice low.

“Ah, but I know it is, Mr. Regan. You misunderstand me completely.”

Martha’s voice came onto the line.

“Yes, David?” she asked.

“Martha, would you...” He paused. He looked at Harrigan.

“Yes?” Martha said.

“Nothing,” he said. “Never mind.” He put the phone gently into its cradle. He stared at his hand covering the receiver. “We’ve got a script being rewritten,” he said. “It’s about a second honeymoon. We’d planned it for three weeks from now. I suppose I can speed up the writer.”

“I suppose you can.”

“There may be casting problems. We may not be able to get a star on such short notice.”

“I’m sure you will surmount whatever problems may arise, Mr. Regan.” Harrigan rose and extended his hand. “I’m not a stupid man, Mr. Regan. I know what’s good for our company, and I know what’s bad.” He paused. “The same way you know what’s good or bad for yours.” He shook hands briefly and firmly. “Good day. I’m glad we were able to work this out.”

David nodded and walked Harrigan to the door.

“Goodbye,” he said.

Then he closed the door and walked back to the window and looked down at the street where autumn raced.

His decision annoyed him all that afternoon.

It seemed to him that he had broken faith with a great many people by agreeing to cancel the show. He had certainly broken faith with the writers and the actors, and possibly Curt, too. He tried to visualize the scene in Curt’s office, Harrigan indignantly marching down the corridor to the end of the hall, stamping into Curt’s paneled sanctuary, and stating, “I have just had a discussion with Mr. Regan about canceling our Thursday-night show two weeks hence. Mr. Regan disagrees with me. I would like you to handle the matter personally.”

What would Curt’s reaction have been?

Would he have politely but positively told Mr. Harrigan to go to hell? Would he have reminded him that Mr. Regan was a full-fledged producer with full authority over his own shows and that the final decision would have to be his alone? And would he have also told Mr. Harrigan that he, Curt Sonderman, believed in this particular script and would back Mr. Regan all the way on whatever decision he finally made?

Sure, he would.

The president of Sonderman Enterprises, Inc., would have listened to Harrigan and nodded his fat head and thought about the new package deal being dangled before his eyes, and then he would have gone out to shoot his own grandmother if Harrigan suggested it. And then Martha would have buzzed David and said very quietly, “Mr. Sonderman wants to see you,” and David would have gone down that long hall and into the paneled office, and had his ear chewed off about client-producer relationships and the importance of maintaining a cordial liaison with the sponsor. But would that have been the end of it? Possibly, and possibly not.

He had always thought the stories about Madison Avenue head-rolling and back-stabbing were slightly exaggerated until he found himself in a spacious corner office at Sonderman Enterprises, Inc., on Madison Avenue, until he found the word PRODUCER discreetly lettered in gold on his door, and then suddenly knew that if success rarely arrived overnight, it almost always departed that way. Too many familiar faces, too many men and women vanished from the scene, if not the industry, as soon as they committed the single error too many. Antagonizing Harrigan would have been a monumental error. For all David knew, even his initial reluctance to cancel might still bring repercussions. No, defending a single unimportant — well, it was important to somebody , it was important to the man who’d written it, and the director who’d pulled it apart line by line, and the actors who were already studying their parts — still, defending a single unimportant show in a successful continuing series would have been taking the silliest sort of risk. Yes, he had done the right thing.