Read Online The Cooperman Variations by Howard Engel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Howard Engel
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shareholder of NTC. Owns about forty-two per cent of the voting shares. Nice for Hamp. Renata, on the other hand, worked her passage up from the mailroom and typing pool. Mostly at CBC. She did time at CITY and Global too. Back then, you moved fairly freely back and forth between the networks looking for somebody who’d let you try out new things. She knew about numbers, so she came out the other end here at NTC as budget manager of different shows.”
“Friends? Enemies?”
“She dated two budget chiefs—I can give you their names—an actor or two— they’ll give you their names, and for a brief moment she was the lover of the one and only Dermot Keogh. Remember I told you that her book show had one listener? It was Dermot. He watched it wherever he went. But their affair didn’t last long. She started as his bookkeeper and worked her way through from the office to the bedroom. I thought she’d made the gravy train at last, but it didn’t stick. It never did with Dermot. Of course, this time it was his death that got in the way.”
“How long was it before he drowned?”
“Oh, they were at it hot and heavy for about two months. He died in the last week of April last year.”
“Which lake did he drown in?”
“Muskoka. What other lake have we been talking about? Benny, a lot of people around here have places in Muskoka. Have you ever heard about the Bradings Trust?” Her face was about a foot away from mine by now, and she had been talking a mile a minute.
“Tell me about it.”
“Ernest Miller Bradings left a huge property on the lake to a trust, which has, for reasons I don’t think are relevant, sold off pieces to people in the industry.”
“TV people, you mean?”
“Closer than that. Many of the top people here at NTC have bought lake lots from the trust. It’s not exclusive, of course, but the Bradings properties are worth avoiding if you’re trying to get away from it all.” She got to her feet. “There, Benny, that’s all for now. We can have another go when your writing hand stops tingling.”
“Could you ask Sally to give me a list of the people I saw at that production meeting, Vanessa? And if there’s a rundown on each of them, I wouldn’t mind seeing that as well.” I tacked on this request as a bid for elbow-room.
“I’ve already instructed Sally to get you anything you want—short of old videos of movies from the forties. (This isn’t a joyride, Benny.) You may find Sally reluctant to be your pal on things. Just tell me if she drags her heels or gives you excuses. She’ll try that, but don’t take it from her. I mean it. If you say please too often, you’ll never get her to find you a postage stamp.”
“You seem skilled in the ways of the Sallys of this world.”
“Yes, the Sallys, the Jack McKellars, the Rod Sinclairs and the rest of them.”
Vanessa was still standing up under the pressure of a non-stop day. Her Armani suit was looking a little wilted around the edges, but I guess that’s part of the look. She shot me a wan smile and sat down to work again. She asked me to leave the door open. I was dismissed.
Someone had set up a dull wooden desk in a corner near one of the windows. It had a black leather inlay on the top surface and nothing in the IN and OUT baskets. The drawer offered paperclips in metal and colourful plastic. There were a couple of pink erasers and a clutch of sharp yellow pencils. When I worked briefly for a lawyer, a cousin of mine, he issued new pencils on an “as needed” basis: show him a stub shorter than one and a half inches, and he would replace it happily with a longer one. The same scene-shifters who had brought my desk had moved Vanessa’s out of the line of fire. It made the whole deal more sporting.
A fresh noise exploded in the corridor. It came with the sound of the elevator doors opening in a sort of cushioned groan. I heard the sharp crack of Vanessa’s coffee cup hitting wood and the name “Devlin” hissed
“Friends? Enemies?”
“She dated two budget chiefs—I can give you their names—an actor or two— they’ll give you their names, and for a brief moment she was the lover of the one and only Dermot Keogh. Remember I told you that her book show had one listener? It was Dermot. He watched it wherever he went. But their affair didn’t last long. She started as his bookkeeper and worked her way through from the office to the bedroom. I thought she’d made the gravy train at last, but it didn’t stick. It never did with Dermot. Of course, this time it was his death that got in the way.”
“How long was it before he drowned?”
“Oh, they were at it hot and heavy for about two months. He died in the last week of April last year.”
“Which lake did he drown in?”
“Muskoka. What other lake have we been talking about? Benny, a lot of people around here have places in Muskoka. Have you ever heard about the Bradings Trust?” Her face was about a foot away from mine by now, and she had been talking a mile a minute.
“Tell me about it.”
“Ernest Miller Bradings left a huge property on the lake to a trust, which has, for reasons I don’t think are relevant, sold off pieces to people in the industry.”
“TV people, you mean?”
“Closer than that. Many of the top people here at NTC have bought lake lots from the trust. It’s not exclusive, of course, but the Bradings properties are worth avoiding if you’re trying to get away from it all.” She got to her feet. “There, Benny, that’s all for now. We can have another go when your writing hand stops tingling.”
“Could you ask Sally to give me a list of the people I saw at that production meeting, Vanessa? And if there’s a rundown on each of them, I wouldn’t mind seeing that as well.” I tacked on this request as a bid for elbow-room.
“I’ve already instructed Sally to get you anything you want—short of old videos of movies from the forties. (This isn’t a joyride, Benny.) You may find Sally reluctant to be your pal on things. Just tell me if she drags her heels or gives you excuses. She’ll try that, but don’t take it from her. I mean it. If you say please too often, you’ll never get her to find you a postage stamp.”
“You seem skilled in the ways of the Sallys of this world.”
“Yes, the Sallys, the Jack McKellars, the Rod Sinclairs and the rest of them.”
Vanessa was still standing up under the pressure of a non-stop day. Her Armani suit was looking a little wilted around the edges, but I guess that’s part of the look. She shot me a wan smile and sat down to work again. She asked me to leave the door open. I was dismissed.
Someone had set up a dull wooden desk in a corner near one of the windows. It had a black leather inlay on the top surface and nothing in the IN and OUT baskets. The drawer offered paperclips in metal and colourful plastic. There were a couple of pink erasers and a clutch of sharp yellow pencils. When I worked briefly for a lawyer, a cousin of mine, he issued new pencils on an “as needed” basis: show him a stub shorter than one and a half inches, and he would replace it happily with a longer one. The same scene-shifters who had brought my desk had moved Vanessa’s out of the line of fire. It made the whole deal more sporting.
A fresh noise exploded in the corridor. It came with the sound of the elevator doors opening in a sort of cushioned groan. I heard the sharp crack of Vanessa’s coffee cup hitting wood and the name “Devlin” hissed
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