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

viewing audience as a giant maw-a maw that had to be fed, and constantly. If it wasn't fed the right programs, people-even programming chiefs-might have to be sacrificed.

`What held Jordan's pity in check was the knowledge that Martinson had overseen more than a few of those sacrifices himself.

"All right," he said reluctantly. "I'll think about it."

He started for the elevator again as soon as Martinson, looking pleased, ambled off. He was reaching for the button when a hand closed on his wrist.

"What did Martinson want?" Sharon asked in a low voice.

The location residents, who never saw her in anything other than the tailored suits she called her business uniforms, wouldn't have recognized her tonight. Dressed in clinging wisps of an iridescent fabric that revealed more than it concealed, her pale gold hair falling free to her waist, she looked more like a starlet than a director.

"He wants to extend the contract."

yd? "

"And what?"

"What's the official party line?"

"I told him I didn't think it was a good idea."

He watched her face for a reaction, but there was none. She'd released his wrist. He pressed the button, and the elevator doors opened.

"Going home already?"

He nodded. For a second he thought she was
going to offer to go home with him. For another second he thought of asking her. When she'd asked him about Martinson, she looked very young. Uncertain. Vulnerable. But the moment hadn't lasted. He was too much in awe of her ability to understand people better than they understood themselves. He'd been attracted to her as long as he'd known her, but five years ago the age difference had held him back. Now it was too late. How could you take a resident wizard to bed?
He said good-night. She was turning back to the party before the elevator doors closed.

Knowing that he would be free much of November and December, Jordan had begun mentioning, as early as August, that he'd be interested in producing a documentary. War had broken out between Chile and Bolivia; he'd let people know that he was following the situation. But he met with no response: The network apparently wasn't going to give the war anything more than the standard news coverage. He was disappointed, but he'd made other plans, just in case.
There was a vacation in Mexico, then three days in Chicago at a national conference of social scientists. He'd been delighted when he was asked to speak, not least because Sharon was jealous, convinced the invitation should have been extended to her. He spent Thanksgiving with relatives in Massachusetts. In early December he was back in Los Angeles. A friend was teaching at UCLA's film school, and

Jordan had promised to be a guest speaker. It didn't turn out the way he'd expected. The students weren't impressed by his title or salary. They wanted to talk about artistry, and they brushed aside everything he'd learn about the sociological merits of CV television in Chicago two weeks before. They hit him with the same questions he'd been asking himself at 3 a.m., the nights he couldn't sleep. He left for Aspen four days earlier than he had originally planned.
He was still there December 20, when Sharon called him.
"How's the skiing?"
"Terrific. We had two inches of powder last night, on a forty-inch base. But I thought you hated snow."
"I do. I'd still rather be there than here."
He looked more closely at the phone's tiny picture screen, examining the office behind her. She was at the liaison center. "What's the problem?"
"One of the locals isn't following the script."
There was a trace of indignation in her voice. It was hard not to smile. "Who is it?"
"Marianne Fisher. And she won't talk to me. She won't talk to anyone on my staff. She says she'll talk only to the person in charge."
Despite himself, he laughed. She frowned but said nothing.
"I'm sorry. It really isn't funny."
"No, it isn't." _
"You could just pay her off and ask her to leave." There was a clause in the contract providing for such cases, though they'd never
had to use it.

Sharon laughed. "She'd love that, after we told her that we couldn't offer the town the contract unless she stayed. No." She shook her head. "There are too few locals in her age bracket now. We'd risk losing viewer identification if she left. We'll have to think of something else." She hesitated, frowning again. "Should I tell her you're too busy to see her?"