around?"
Her stare was incredulous.
He motioned toward the television screen. "I should be supervising that broadcast right now. Anyone else hauled out here to replace me would also have to drop work to accommodate you."
She started to speak, but began to laugh so hard she could not.
He was growing angry. "Your idea of humor and mine are very different."
Her head was nodding, but she was still laughing too hard to speak. He stared at her, waiting. Finally, she regained control of herself.
"All right," he wanted to know. "Exactly what was so funny?"
She dabbed the tears of laughter from her mascara. "They said someone from the station was being sent to pick me up at six-thirty, so I naturally thought you were a driver."
Greg laughed, too.
"Look, I'm sorry," she added, her laughing face far from contrite, "I must have sounded like a bitch."
"Let's start again. My name's Greg Lyall . I'm executive producer of that news broadcast."
"And you drew the short straw and have to take the boss's daughter to dinner. Would you rather I went by taxi and told them I asked you not to bother?"
"No, I'd enjoy taking you to dinner." And meeting your father, he silently finished.
As he opened the door out of the bungalow, she halted for a moment to take a good look at him. "You're young to be executive producer."
Greg placed a faint frown on his face. "I was a few decades younger when I took the job."
Sally Foster arrived at the Ivy a couple of minutes late, only to find none of the others had yet arrived. This dinner was important to her. She would go crazy if she had to stay another year in Heritage Hall . Although the series was still popular, it put her career on hold; she was one among half-a-dozen actors sharing the show's limelight.
The role had been the godsend she had prayed for when she was struggling for a break after her arrival from Alabama. She had been surviving on bit TV roles, the occasional modeling assignment that required her sultry looks, and, when she was really in a hole to pay the rent, some light hooking through an escort service. She felt no nostalgia for those years of struggle; her strongest memories were of always scrambling for money and always trying to move past the latest demoralizing rejection for a part. That was five years ago. Now she was a star with money a plenty. But no decent theatrical film roles had come her way and only one forgettable TV movie. A TV series of her own would be a big move upward; it would put her on a different level in town: millions a year in salary and a piece of the show. And the movie scripts would be on a different level, too.
A writer-producer on Heritage Hall was pitching a new series to FBS that was built around her character on that show. Everyone knew that Barnett Roderick made the final decision as to what shows went on the air. For weeks Ev Carver had hinted that he would soon be having dinner with Roderick. She had screwed Carver's brains out, enduring his occasional cruelty, in order to coax him into taking her. She was hoping to convince Roderick that she had the personality to carry a show of her own. If he seemed interested in something more from her to clinch it, she would have to figure out how to arrange that without Ev's catching on. Ev Carver was a very shrewd man.
Sitting at the large table alone, everyone watching her, knowing who she was, Sally felt like a beggar until Barnett Roderick arrived a few minutes later and took the seat beside her. She gave him a dazzling smile, warming herself with the thought that those glances were now green with envy. He immediately complimented her work in Heritage Hall and asked about her plans for the future. That gave her the opportunity to mention the show FBS was considering for her. She was careful to sound interested, but not eager.
"It could be an exciting show, but I'm very happy in Heritage Hall ,” she said.
"We're very happy with your contribution to it," he replied with courtly
Her stare was incredulous.
He motioned toward the television screen. "I should be supervising that broadcast right now. Anyone else hauled out here to replace me would also have to drop work to accommodate you."
She started to speak, but began to laugh so hard she could not.
He was growing angry. "Your idea of humor and mine are very different."
Her head was nodding, but she was still laughing too hard to speak. He stared at her, waiting. Finally, she regained control of herself.
"All right," he wanted to know. "Exactly what was so funny?"
She dabbed the tears of laughter from her mascara. "They said someone from the station was being sent to pick me up at six-thirty, so I naturally thought you were a driver."
Greg laughed, too.
"Look, I'm sorry," she added, her laughing face far from contrite, "I must have sounded like a bitch."
"Let's start again. My name's Greg Lyall . I'm executive producer of that news broadcast."
"And you drew the short straw and have to take the boss's daughter to dinner. Would you rather I went by taxi and told them I asked you not to bother?"
"No, I'd enjoy taking you to dinner." And meeting your father, he silently finished.
As he opened the door out of the bungalow, she halted for a moment to take a good look at him. "You're young to be executive producer."
Greg placed a faint frown on his face. "I was a few decades younger when I took the job."
Sally Foster arrived at the Ivy a couple of minutes late, only to find none of the others had yet arrived. This dinner was important to her. She would go crazy if she had to stay another year in Heritage Hall . Although the series was still popular, it put her career on hold; she was one among half-a-dozen actors sharing the show's limelight.
The role had been the godsend she had prayed for when she was struggling for a break after her arrival from Alabama. She had been surviving on bit TV roles, the occasional modeling assignment that required her sultry looks, and, when she was really in a hole to pay the rent, some light hooking through an escort service. She felt no nostalgia for those years of struggle; her strongest memories were of always scrambling for money and always trying to move past the latest demoralizing rejection for a part. That was five years ago. Now she was a star with money a plenty. But no decent theatrical film roles had come her way and only one forgettable TV movie. A TV series of her own would be a big move upward; it would put her on a different level in town: millions a year in salary and a piece of the show. And the movie scripts would be on a different level, too.
A writer-producer on Heritage Hall was pitching a new series to FBS that was built around her character on that show. Everyone knew that Barnett Roderick made the final decision as to what shows went on the air. For weeks Ev Carver had hinted that he would soon be having dinner with Roderick. She had screwed Carver's brains out, enduring his occasional cruelty, in order to coax him into taking her. She was hoping to convince Roderick that she had the personality to carry a show of her own. If he seemed interested in something more from her to clinch it, she would have to figure out how to arrange that without Ev's catching on. Ev Carver was a very shrewd man.
Sitting at the large table alone, everyone watching her, knowing who she was, Sally felt like a beggar until Barnett Roderick arrived a few minutes later and took the seat beside her. She gave him a dazzling smile, warming herself with the thought that those glances were now green with envy. He immediately complimented her work in Heritage Hall and asked about her plans for the future. That gave her the opportunity to mention the show FBS was considering for her. She was careful to sound interested, but not eager.
"It could be an exciting show, but I'm very happy in Heritage Hall ,” she said.
"We're very happy with your contribution to it," he replied with courtly
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