Читать книгу Good Time Girl - Kate O’Mara - Страница 16

It was in fact Larry who had suggested Jim Dutton. Far from being immune to ‘crap TV’ as he had so contemptuously labelled it, Larry made a point of watching just about everything that was shown on television. It was his contribution to his job. He saw it as his duty to be informed on what the public wanted, who and what was popular, and to try to analyse that tantalizingly elusive quality that makes a person or a programme irresistibly watchable. In America it was known as the ‘Q’ factor. American TV researchers devoted hours of every day and days of every year to unravelling this mystery. A cross section of the citizens of the United States of America would be closeted in small viewing rooms with screens upon which were flashed mug shots of actors and actresses – some well known – some famous – some completely unknown. The captive audience was then instructed to press buttons to indicate its preference – and hey presto, another TV star would be born! Larry preferred to call it the ‘Ikon’ factor – the deliberate manufacture of a popular idol. It was the job he coveted most – Warwick the King Maker, the power behind the throne.

It was he who had put Claire’s name on the list of potential recruits for The McMasters. She and the glamorous American import would boost the ratings, so ensuring Martin’s, Hugh’s and his own tenure at the studios for at least a further two terms.

He had been idly flicking through innumerable channels on American TV whilst visiting some old friends in San Francisco, when his gaze had alighted on the undeniably attractive form of Jim Dutton. All his life a connoisseur of male pulchritude, Larry was impressed. Jim was almost impossibly good-looking and possessed a fine physique. Larry had happened to catch an episode in which Jim had been given a couple of emotional scenes, which he had handled well, not indulging in the usual Hollywood sentimentality. And he brought a wry humour to the part, which lifted the dialogue out of the prosaic and mundane.

After seeing the episode, Larry had contacted Meriel Brooks and requested photos of Jim. Her office had obliged, sending a selection, plus a curriculum vitae. Larry had returned home triumphantly after his vacation and had awaited his chance. At precisely the right moment, he had burst into Hugh’s office brandishing the pictures aloft.

‘There’s our new leading man!’ he had cried dramatically as he slung them onto Hugh’s desk.

Hugh had been startled but impressed. ‘What makes you think we can afford him?’ he had asked after surveying the array of male loveliness in silence.

‘He needs a job,’ replied Larry promptly. ‘He can’t afford to haggle.’

‘He certainly looks good,’ murmured Hugh doubtfully. ‘Can he act?’

‘Well, admittedly, I haven’t seen his King Lear, but he’s certainly up to the standard of this series,’ retorted Larry waspishly.

Hugh ignored this – he was used to Larry’s jibes. In any case, he had no illusions about the quality of programme he was producing. Of its own genre, as a drama series, it was top of the league, but it wasn’t exactly Shakespeare.

After a few further moments spent sifting through the pictures in silence, Hugh picked up a phone and said, ‘Deirdre, has Martin gone to lunch yet? … Good. Ask him to pop in here for a moment, will you?’

‘I knew you’d go for him,’ smiled Larry smugly. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’

‘Oh, and Deirdre, could you pop up to the canteen? … There’s a dear … Yes, sandwiches and coffee for three.’

‘A working lunch? I like your style,’ said Larry happily.

A few seconds later, Martin’s head appeared around the door. ‘What am I missing? And why am I being denied my lunch break, not to mention my lunch?’ he demanded cheerfully.

‘Here’s metal more attractive,’ said Larry enigmatically. He liked to quote at will from plays, just to make sure that no one forgot his theatrical pedigree. Martin had an idea that this was from Hamlet but as his only previous encounter with the play had been as one of The Watch at his prep school, he could not think immediately of a suitable response. Instead, he contented himself with, ‘Well, it had better be good – I’m starving.’

‘Then feast your eyes on this!’ said Larry, with a grand gesture towards the photographs strewn over the desk.

‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Martin in amazement. ‘Who on earth is this?’

Larry sighed dramatically. ‘Is that really all you can say?’ he asked despairingly. ‘This, my dear Martin, is none other than our new leading man – and, you must admit, he’s got what it takes.’