"Morgan, Cynthia - The Hitmaker" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morgan Cynthia)

Ten years from now, Jordan thought, the

locals would be running the show. But he wouldn't be doing television then. This was only a steppingstone.

He fed -a dollar into the machine. The can of pop that rolled out was warm; he set it on top of the machine without opening it. The light breeze didn't reach him here, but the shade gave some respite from the heat. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and looked around. A van bearing the ATN logo was parked two blocks away, where a technician was installing a camera beneath the eaves of a house. Jordan watched for a few minutes before he became aware of someone staring at him from inside the station.

It was a girl, eighteen or so. Long, dark hair. Tanned, but so lightly she seemed pale in comparison with the other natives. Pretty, in a way. Maybe a bit stocky. It was hard to tell, since she wore heavy coveralls.

He gave her his best smile while he ransacked his memory for her name.

By the time he found it, he realized there was nothing friendly about the way she was staring at him. He dropped the smile.

Marianne Fisher.

She'd been one of the five who'd voted against letting the town accept the network contract. Usually dissidents moved away after the contract was signed; it made things easier for all concerned. Sometimes, though, they couldn't leave-not if the town was to keep the contract, and the millions of dollars it meant. Certain key people, identified by the
preliminary studies, had to stay, but surely that didn't apply to her. Of the general population, a certain percentage was free to leave. He wouldn't have thought that five people were too many, but the town was very small. He'd have to ask Sharon about this.

Her gaze hadn't wavered. He studied the tense, unyielding set of her shoulders and jaw and decided it would be a waste of time to try talking to her. He shook his head and went back to the limousine.

The driver had opened the door, and Jordan was ducking inside before he realized Sharon was already there, talking to someone on the phone. She said goodbye and hung up, then smiled at Jordan.

"I see you've changed your policy about mixing with the locals."

"Mixing?"

"I saw you come out of Joe Meyer's house."

"Oh. I was just helping him carry a TV inside."

She nodded, still smiling. Her amusement nettled him. He wondered again whether it had been such a good idea to let her supervise all dealings with the locals. He'd sensed resentment beneath her mockery before this; she'd come to regard the territory as her own. But he couldn't deny that she handled the area better than he ever could. It had been three years since he'd heard any Wunderkind remarks from industry people, success finally silencing the same comments it had inspired. But the locals didn't know his reputation. It didn't help that he

looked younger than twenty-seven.

Sharon had no such image problems. She looked several years younger than her actual age, thirty-five, but her demeanor was so thoroughly professional that not even the oldest locals had ever been heard referring to her as a ', girl. She was treated with more respect than that. And she was liked. The most frequent comment was, "She understands us."

She should, Barrett reflected, thinking of her doctorate in psychology and six years' experience as a clinical psychologist. She'd never e worked with actors, but that had not proved to be a handicap when it came to directing a CV series. Jordan's director for the first CV series, a man with more than twenty years' experience in television, had quit after a few months, leaving the producer working blind. He didn't delude himself about how much of that first year's success had been due to the novelty of R continuous viewing. Matters had changed completely after Sharon arrived, with her ability to prepare a CV script, an in-depth study that delineated the locals' relationships and forecast their development. The other networks, entering the game later, had learned from his mistakes, and Sharon's four counterparts were also psychologists. Resident wizards, a rival producer had labeled them. Jordan suspected that the man, like himself, was often baffled by his director.

The limousine's engine came to life quietly. A :minute
put the town behind them. Jordan
stared out at the drab west Texas landscape. There was something he'd meant to ask Sharon, but he couldn't remember it now.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," Sharon said.

"It's okay."

"The last interview was going so well, I hated to end it. It's the third marriage I've run across that's breaking up. Two of the couples don't know it yet, but the signs are there."

"You don't think that's too much?"

"It might be, if they all broke up at the same time, but they won't. The couple I interviewed this morning works the night shift."