could be sort of a cross between Sixty Minutes and West Fifty-seventh."
Brenton had been working on a hard-news magazine format he was calling The Spencer Report. He started to say something but Wallace waved him off. "If I'm goin g t o do all of this for you, especially in the face of your slipping ratings, I'm going to need you to do something for me, and the favor I am going to ask might impugn your journalistic integrity."
"Integrity is simply a line that gets moved around to fit events," he said lightly, wondering what the billionaire had in mind.
"Have you heard that Haze Richards is going to run for President of the United States?"
"The governor of New Hampshire?" Brenton said, grasping for the right state.
"Rhode Island."
"He's got no national Q. He'd be a hopeless long shot."
"I want to get him elected. So you go on television the day after he announces, which will be tomorrow. I want you to start attacking him. Israel will give you the copy."
"I attack him and that gets him elected?" Brenton was smiling.
"I want you to be all over him. Beat him up . . . for two or three days. You ask America, What do we know about Haze Richards? What qualifies this man to be President? And we'll give you some negative facts about his tenure as governor. They're going to be slanted facts and very unfair to him. Really pile it on."
"If you're trying to get him elected, why would I attack him?"
"I've arranged for you to be the moderator of the Iowa Register-Guard debate from the floor of the Pacific Convention Center. We carry it live, and we'll script it for you to ask him something unfair and absurd like what qualifies him to run for the highest office in the land? How could he think he had the 'stuff' to run the country? Then he is going to come back with a demand that you apologize not only to him, but to the other candidates on the stage, for your attack. And then you're going to lose it--you're going to walk off the stage, right there, in the middle of the debate, outgunned by this little governor. It's going t o m ake every local news break, every network lead story, it's going to put him in the race."
"But Mr. Litman . . . Wallace . . . You can't ask me to humiliate myself on TV. If I lose respect on television, I'll have no constituency. I can't do this. It's out of the question."
"In that case, it's been nice having you at UBC. I'm sorry we won't be able to continue our relationship." C. Wallace Litman went to the door and opened it. "Good night, Brenton."
Brenton didn't move. "I'm an asset to the network. You don't want to destroy an asset."
"You'll have two years to recover from one night and a prime-time magazine show to help you do it. The public forgets. By next Christmas, most people won't be able to recall exactly what happened and you'll still be in charge of the nightly news. All you have to do is have one bad moment, one public failure. Bush did it to Rather and he's still on the air. Only difference is, we're going to script it.
"Please, Wallace . . . don't make me do this."
"This is not a negotiation. You make this deal now, or I replace you." He looked at Brenton sadly as if he were calling up the memory of a dead friend. "I'd still rather have you, Brenton."
Wallace led him out into the entry hall, where they waited for the elevator. Wallace looked past the anchor to the elevator door as it opened.
"I need an answer, Brenton."
When Brenton finally spoke, his voice sounded as if he were on life support. "Can we call the new show The Spencer Report?" he asked, weakly.
C. Wallace Litmanpatted him on the shoulder but didn't answer the question. "Nice having you up. I'll have Business Affairs pick up the two-year option. Give my best to Sandy." And he reached in and pushed the down button.
As the door closed, Brenton looked at himself again in the antique mirror.
He looked older.
Chapter 15.
SOLOMON'S JOURNEY
SOLOMON KAZOROWSKI HAD BEEN IN NEW JERSEY FOR two days. He'd been sleeping in a
Brenton had been working on a hard-news magazine format he was calling The Spencer Report. He started to say something but Wallace waved him off. "If I'm goin g t o do all of this for you, especially in the face of your slipping ratings, I'm going to need you to do something for me, and the favor I am going to ask might impugn your journalistic integrity."
"Integrity is simply a line that gets moved around to fit events," he said lightly, wondering what the billionaire had in mind.
"Have you heard that Haze Richards is going to run for President of the United States?"
"The governor of New Hampshire?" Brenton said, grasping for the right state.
"Rhode Island."
"He's got no national Q. He'd be a hopeless long shot."
"I want to get him elected. So you go on television the day after he announces, which will be tomorrow. I want you to start attacking him. Israel will give you the copy."
"I attack him and that gets him elected?" Brenton was smiling.
"I want you to be all over him. Beat him up . . . for two or three days. You ask America, What do we know about Haze Richards? What qualifies this man to be President? And we'll give you some negative facts about his tenure as governor. They're going to be slanted facts and very unfair to him. Really pile it on."
"If you're trying to get him elected, why would I attack him?"
"I've arranged for you to be the moderator of the Iowa Register-Guard debate from the floor of the Pacific Convention Center. We carry it live, and we'll script it for you to ask him something unfair and absurd like what qualifies him to run for the highest office in the land? How could he think he had the 'stuff' to run the country? Then he is going to come back with a demand that you apologize not only to him, but to the other candidates on the stage, for your attack. And then you're going to lose it--you're going to walk off the stage, right there, in the middle of the debate, outgunned by this little governor. It's going t o m ake every local news break, every network lead story, it's going to put him in the race."
"But Mr. Litman . . . Wallace . . . You can't ask me to humiliate myself on TV. If I lose respect on television, I'll have no constituency. I can't do this. It's out of the question."
"In that case, it's been nice having you at UBC. I'm sorry we won't be able to continue our relationship." C. Wallace Litman went to the door and opened it. "Good night, Brenton."
Brenton didn't move. "I'm an asset to the network. You don't want to destroy an asset."
"You'll have two years to recover from one night and a prime-time magazine show to help you do it. The public forgets. By next Christmas, most people won't be able to recall exactly what happened and you'll still be in charge of the nightly news. All you have to do is have one bad moment, one public failure. Bush did it to Rather and he's still on the air. Only difference is, we're going to script it.
"Please, Wallace . . . don't make me do this."
"This is not a negotiation. You make this deal now, or I replace you." He looked at Brenton sadly as if he were calling up the memory of a dead friend. "I'd still rather have you, Brenton."
Wallace led him out into the entry hall, where they waited for the elevator. Wallace looked past the anchor to the elevator door as it opened.
"I need an answer, Brenton."
When Brenton finally spoke, his voice sounded as if he were on life support. "Can we call the new show The Spencer Report?" he asked, weakly.
C. Wallace Litmanpatted him on the shoulder but didn't answer the question. "Nice having you up. I'll have Business Affairs pick up the two-year option. Give my best to Sandy." And he reached in and pushed the down button.
As the door closed, Brenton looked at himself again in the antique mirror.
He looked older.
Chapter 15.
SOLOMON'S JOURNEY
SOLOMON KAZOROWSKI HAD BEEN IN NEW JERSEY FOR two days. He'd been sleeping in a
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