[Author’s disclaimer: The following is an original work of
fiction
based on the
television
series Sports Night,
created by Aaron Sorkin, and produced by Imagine Entertainment and Touchstone Television.]
SPORTS NIGHT
INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIES
Chapter One
We’re Still Open
Isaac Jaffee
knew Dana was coming. It was a little after two, he’d just
gotten settled
in behind the desk again, and he had a full day’s work ahead. So
naturally
Dana was coming. Frankly, he would have been a little
disappointed
if she didn’t. So he kept at the paperwork, signing off on the
latest
production notes and what-not, all the while waiting for the best
showrunner
in the business to burst into the room.
She surprised
him today. She barrelled in, instead. “So has it
happened?” Dana asked, half-slamming the door behind herself.
Four minutes
late, he mused. “It?” Isaac replied calmly, not looking
up. “Which
it?”
“You
know. It.” Dana shook as she spoke, frustrated with his coy
response. She just wanted him to say the words.
He still
didn’t look up. “Nothing’s official, you know. Things in
this business can and do change. You should know that by now.”
Dana
frowned. “Isaac….”
That was the
tone.
The mixture of plead and bleat that always made him meet her eye.
It
was infuriating and mysterious to him how this woman had figured out
the
one thing that made him feel the most guilty about evading her.
He set down
his
pen and met her gaze. His eyes softened when he saw hers.
There
was real confusion there, and real fear, just like when they’d gotten
the
news that Quo Vadimus had gone belly-up. That day was
significantly
worse, considering that they heard about the collapse from the
competition,
calling to verify the news.
Isaac decided to
say
it softly, so as not to agitate her. “They’re going with the
Stratosphere
bid.”
Dana was quiet
for a moment. “Stratosphere,” she finally whispered. “So
that’s
good news, right?”
“I don’t know
good
from bad anymore,” Isaac replied. “I just know that it means we’ll have
our
third owner in five years, and this one is notorious for its tinkering.”
Dana didn’t
respond
well to the sound of that. “Tinkering? As in fixing what
might
not be broken?”
“Yeah.”
Isaac
sounded a bit weary. He knew he shouldn’t have mentioned that to
her.
She chose her
next
question carefully. Tried to, anyway. “How notorious?”
“Enough for me to
mention,”
he replied, dropping his eyes back to his paperwork.
Dana
groaned.
“We’re doomed again, aren’t we?”
“No.”
Isaac’s
tone was firm. “As long as I am sitting at this desk, we are
never
doomed. And you should also know that by now.” He looked up
at
his protégé, and gave her a sweet half-smile. “So
this
sale is good news. We’re still open, and I have no intention of
closing.
And that better be your attitude, and everyone else’s, too. Now
go
run your three o’clock.” With that, he went back to work, and
hoped
she believed half of his bluster.
Dana watched
the
older man wave her away; not dismissively, but in a gentle shooing
motion,
as if to say, go away, kid, you bother me. It didn’t bother her
in
the slightest. Isaac was the best father-figure in the industry,
and
she was lucky to still have him to annoy.
She wasn’t
sure
if she trusted much of what he said, though. Isaac was the
proverbial
rock-and-shield around here, and sometimes that meant he had to protect
you
from your own worst imaginings. And those often flew thick and
fast
through her mind, even after his best counsel. Today’s mixed news
seemed
to point to the negative, but it seemed important to Isaac that
everyone
believe that wasn’t the case. She was determined to keep a
positive
mind-set about the whole thing.
And she did,
all
the way to the hall outside Isaac’s office, where Natalie was leaning
against
a wall, clipboard against her chest. Natalie read Dana’s
eyes.
“We’re doomed again, aren’t we?” she asked.
Dana sighed,
then
plastered a glass smile across her face. “Nope. We’re safe,
secure,
and sold. And that’s the attitude Isaac wants around here.”
At
that, she began walking down the hall.
Natalie stayed
on her hip. “Who owns us today?”
“The ink isn’t
dry, but we’ll be getting our checks signed by Stratosphere.”
“Stratosphere?”
Natalie’s voice went up an octave. “Don’t you mean our pink
slips?”
Dana shook her
head. “Wrong attitude, Natalie.”
“Sorry,” the
younger
woman said. “But am I wrong?”
Dana stopped
and
faced her friend. “Isaac seemed a little apprehensive himself
about
the news…”
Natalie’s jaw
dropped.
“We’re done for.”
Dana frowned.
“…but
he’s not giving up the ship. And neither do we.”
Natalie chewed
on that for a moment, then said, “Okay. Isaac was apprehensive,
how?”
Dana took a
breath,
and picked a word from the conversation that wouldn’t send the other
woman
into convulsions. It surprised her that she could find
one.
“He said they like to tinker.”
“Tinker?”
Natalie said the word like she’d never heard it before.
“His word.”
“He said ‘tinker’.”
“Yeah.”
Natalie though
about that for another moment. “That might not be all bad.
Them
tinkering? It might even be good for us.” A smile appeared,
then
disappeared. “Who am I kidding? We’re doomed again.”
At
that, she took off down the hall, leaving Dana behind.
Jeremy tried
to
be subtle. He finished reading from his computer screen, casually
shut
down the browser, and pretended to find a file on his desk. When
he
‘found’ what he wanted, he headed for Dan and Casey’s glassed-in
office,
carrying it in front of himself, and walking with purpose and
direction.
The walking was not pretend.
Casey finished
typing as Jeremy entered. He was about to ask why the younger man
was
coming in, but then he saw the look behind the eyes, and knew.
CSC
had an offer.
“It’s
Stratosphere.
Quo Vadimus, or whatever’s left of it, signed us over as of noon
today.
Stratosphere’s owners offered forty-two, and that won the bidding war,”
he
said to no one in particular.
Dan sauntered
in
behind him, opening a bottle of water. “Forty-two?”
“Per share,”
Jeremy
replied.
“Is that
good?”
Dan asked, taking a swig.
“Good enough
for
the creditors of QV’s estate, I guess,” Jeremy said.
Dan slipped
past
Jeremy and sat on the edge of his desk. “So we’re under new
management.
Again. Just when I was starting to not hate the old
management.”
He grabbed the foam football off his desk and tossed it at Casey.
“Stratosphere?
They’re the ones we wanted, right?” Casey asked, snatching the
ball
out of the air.
“Sort
of.
They’ll keep us alive for a while, that’s a given.”
“What do you
mean,
‘a while’?” Dan asked.
“They’ll
infuse
the company with cash, they’ll keep the team together, they won’t move
us
out of New York. But they won’t guarantee that any of it will
last.”
Jeremy’s voice darkened toward the end.
Casey looked
at
Jeremy, and lobbed the football back to Dan. “Excuse me?”
Jeremy lowered
his voice, and leaned closer to them. “I was just chatting on-line with
a
friend of mine who worked for a regional sports channel Stratosphere
bought
about four years ago. She was telling me about the change in
attitude
the ownership had after the ratings didn’t grow. Simply said,
they
gutted the staff, including on-air talent and their best producers,
replaced
only the most essential employees, then cut budgets to the bone.
And
when that didn’t work, they shut the channel down and sold it off,
piece
by piece.”
“So they’re
scavengers?”
Dan asked, passing the ball over to Casey again.
“Sounds like
it,”
Casey said, sending the ball to Jeremy.
Jeremy seemed
surprised
to be playing receiver, and not unhappy about it. But his
pleasure
at being included in the game dissolved rather quickly. “Any way
you
look at it, this is the last hurrah for us. If CSC doesn’t fly
for
Stratosphere, it won’t fly for anyone,” Jeremy said.
Dan spread his
hands, indicating that he was wide open. Jeremy sent the ball in
his
direction. As he plucked the ball from over his shoulder, he
said,
“I’ll just start hating them now.”
By five after
three,
the bullpen was abuzz with the news. Dana had to fight her way
through
a maze of questioning staffers and production assistants and
technicians
to reach the conference room, where most of her Sports Night crew were
sitting,
quiet, but not docile. Natalie was next to Casey and Dan,
ostensibly
showing them research notes for a story they’d been writing, but as
soon
as the showrunner was through the door, they lost all interest.
She
dropped her show folder on the table, and sat down. “How’s the
show
look tonight?” was all she had to say before the room exploded in
voices.
“Stratosphere
fire
us yet?” Dave asked.
“I heard that
the
staff’s being cut by twenty percent,” Kim said. “Is that true, Dana?”
“Twenty?
Try thirty,” Tony muttered.
“Are they
honoring
QV contracts?”
“Are they
honoring
QV health insurance?”
“What happens
to
the West Coast Update?”
“Who’s
in charge?”
“What
are we going to do?”
As the voices crescendoed, Dana stuck a thumb and forefinger in her
mouth and whistled for quiet. It was an old trick that usually
never accomplished anything, just added more noise to talk over.
Except this time.
The room fell to a hushed silence. Natalie looked over at her
boss and
gave her an approving nod, and Dana took the floor. “I know we’re
back
at square one, and for the second time in less than two years. I
know
that everyone’s on edge. I know that this is something we thought
we’d
never have to do again.” Dana looked from face to face around the
table.
“I don’t have any real answers for you, or for myself. I only
know
that Isaac says we’re still open, and he’s absolutely right. We
have
a show to do tonight. And probably tomorrow, and the night after
that.
We need to stay focused on our jobs right now, and put the things we
don’t
control aside for the moment. In this room, and in the studio,
Sports
Night is all that matters.” Dana took a breath and exhaled.
“So,
once more, how’s the show look tonight?”
Casey watched Dana work the room like she always did – the show
mattered to
her, sometimes even more than it seemed to matter to anyone else.
It
was amazing to him how cool she could remain when skirmishes broke
out. All business, a true pro.
And easy on the eyes, too, a little voice whispered
mischieviously
in his ear. Always liked that white blouse. And that
skirt
just shows off those legs –
Damn. He blinked hard to clear that burst of reverie from his
mind.
Dan was looking at him. “You okay?” he asked, under his breath.
Casey nodded. Of course he was.
“’Cause you were staring at Dana again.” Dan’s voice was pure
junior-high mockery.
Casey tried his best to sound perturbed. “No, I wasn’t.”
“You sure?”
“Danny, I’m trying to pay attention here.”
“Yeah, to Dana.”
“Danny….”
“Casey….”
“Hey, guys,” Dana said. “If you don’t mind, we’re trying to have
a
meeting here, unless you’ve got something to share with the class.”
“It’s nothing,” Dan said. “Casey’s just hungry again.”
Casey shook his head. “I’m fine. What did Dan make me
miss?”
Dana didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, so can we switch Cleveland
to
the forties, and move Dallas up to the twenties?”
“That’ll work,” Casey said, which earned him more confused looks
from
the room.
“Thanks for your approval, Mr. Co-Anchor,” Dana said.
Dan stifled a chuckle.
Casey stood up. “I think I’ll get a sandwich. Anyone
else
want anything?”
The voices rose as one. “No.”
Casey forced a smile. As he started for the door, he
flicked
a finger against the back of Dan’s neck, and bolted from the room.
“What was that all about, Danny?” Dana asked, after he’d gone.
Dan smiled. “I don’t have the faintest idea.” He
tsk-tsked. “Casey’s such a bad influence on me.”
Isaac heard the knuckles rapping on his door. It was the classic knock-knock-knock,
polite and professional, so he knew he was about to have a visitor who
didn’t work in this office. “Come in,” he said.
The visitor walked in, and closed the door behind himself. “Isaac
Jaffee?”
“That’s me,” Isaac replied. He looked up from his paperwork again
to see who owned the voice.
It belonged to a younger man in a tailored suit. Isaac didn’t
even have
to hear him say it to know this was another corporate drone.
“Brian O’Rourke, from Stratosphere. We spoke this morning,” the
drone said in that same smooth manner they all had.
“Of course,” Isaac lied. In the back of his mind, though, he knew
he’d heard that name before. Where he’d heard it, he couldn’t
remember. He rose from his desk chair, and indicated the chairs
positioned across from him. “Have a seat, please.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jaffee.” O’Rourke settled on the chair off to
Isaac’s left. “Or may I call you Isaac?”
“Either is fine,” Isaac said, his tone polite.
“Isaac, then.” O’Rourke offered a smile.
Isaac returned the affectation. Somehow, the older man knew the
drone would begin their working relationship like that. They were
all pretty much the same. It had to be in their nature.
Either that, or it
was a college seminar that counted toward their MBAs.
“First off, I have to tell you how excited all of us at Stratosphere
are about
this acquisition. Your channel has a lot of fans over at
Corporate. When we had a chance to bring it into the fold, no one
had to think twice about making an offer. We firmly believe that
Quo Vadimus blew every chance they had with this channel, and we don’t
intend to make the same mistakes.”
“That’s good to hear.”
O’ Rourke smoothed some imaginary wrinkles in his pant leg.
“Anyway, the reason I’m here. We terminated Bob Epperson as of
today.”
Isaac felt the hairs on the back of his neck shoot up. “Our
executive producer?”
O’Rourke nodded. “Creative differences. Stratosphere wants
to build CSC into the powerhouse of sports television. Bob didn’t
feel the same.”
“I see.” Gee, Isaac thought, so Bob was just pretending to sweat
blood over the tiniest programming details. “Who’s going to fill
the slot?”
The drone smiled his best fake smile, like he’d heard what enthusiasm
was supposed to look like, but hadn’t practiced it. “Chris
Murphy,” he said.
Isaac chuckled humorlessly. “Him? You’re joking.”
The drone had an answer at the ready. “Not at all. Chris
joined Stratosphere eighteen months ago as a programming consultant,
and when the CSC deal was in its early stages, he stated quite clearly
that he wanted the
executive producer post, should it become available.”
“And then it did.” Isaac was out of his chair again, this time
over to a window.
“We couldn’t help it that Bob wouldn’t work with us to determine
Stratosphere’s long-term plan for CSC.”
Isaac couldn’t believe his ears. “You forced Bob out, which will
almost certainly throw my people for a loop, and now you want to dump
gasoline onto the fire by replacing him with an unstable element like
Chris Murphy?” The older man frowned, and his voice turned
icy. “No.”
The smile was gone from the younger man’s face as well.
O’Rourke’s brow
furrowed. “Excuse me, Isaac? No?”
“You heard me right. And it’s Mr. Jaffee, if you please.”
“Fine. Mr. Jaffee.” O’Rourke’s plastic friendliness
vanished, replaced by a cruel calm. “Stratosphere is looking to
keep the CSC team
intact, so we can move forward with our grand plan.”
Isaac set his jaw. “And keeping the team intact means firing Bob
Epperson, an award-winning, twenty-year veteran of cable sports.”
O’Rourke shrugged. “We at Stratosphere have a vision for this
channel. Bob didn’t share that. Chris Murphy does. We
hope the remaining employees of CSC will stand with Chris.” He
stood up, and re-buttoned his coat. “It would be a shame to lose
any of them. Especially you, Mr. Jaffee.” The last words
were pitch-black and each syllable stung.
Isaac turned and his dark eyes met O’Rourke’s light ones. It was
then he remembered hearing the man’s name. For the first time in
their conversation, Isaac believed he wasn’t talking to just another
suit who tossed around company lines like a middle-manager pretending
to be a big shot. O’Rourke was the big shot: the newly-minted
president of CSC. Isaac finally broke eye contact, turning back
to the window.
The younger man looked at his watch. “I’m late for an
appointment. Chris will be coming by to meet with you and your
people at five. Welcome him.” At that, he turned and walked
out.
Isaac felt a
shiver
in his bones, but he stifled it until O’Rourke was long-gone. He
sat
in his chair once again, but had no urge to get back to his
paperwork. The message was clear: CSC’s new owners were only
interested in the sound of their people falling into lockstep.
That idea chilled him much more.
Dana’s phone rang. That wasn’t unusual, especially after four on
a weekday.
It also wasn’t unusual that Isaac was calling her to his office; he
usually wanted to know how the three o’clock meeting went.
But today, his voice was weak, just like it was right after his stroke,
and hearing that weakness scared Dana to the deepest part of her soul.
“Are you all right?” she asked him, barely aware of what he was saying.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“No,” he replied. “Just you, Dan, and Casey, in my office, right
now.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you when you get here,” he replied.
Dana rapped on Dan and Casey’s door, which drew Casey’s attention away
from his
computer.
Casey caught a
flash
of her pale expression and motioned her in. “What is it?
Are
you sick?”
Dana looked at him blankly. “What? No. Isaac wants us in
his office
right now. Where’s Dan?”
Casey cocked his head at her. “Dan’s cutting footage in Edit Bay
2. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Casey. Just go get him, and I’ll meet you both at
Isaac’s.” With that, Dana walked out, and Casey set off for the
editing room.
When the men arrived at the office, they found Dana and Isaac huddled
behind his desk, speaking in hushed tones. Dan cleared his
throat. “Excuse me, you two, but nobody like whisperers,” he said.
Isaac looked up, but not Dana. She looked a bit stunned.
“Close the door, Danny,” Isaac said.
Dan did as he
was
asked, then sat next to Casey on the couch. “What’s the hubbub?”
Dan
asked.
“I’ve already told Dana what I’m going to tell you. Bob Epperson
is out as executive producer of CSC,” Isaac said.
Casey frowned. “No way. He was fired?”
“He might say fired, they definitely say resigned – but it’s all the
same. Bob’s out as of today.”
“Who did they pick to replace him?” Dan asked.
It took some effort for Isaac to say the name. “Chris Murphy.”
The color drained from Dan’s face. “Murphy?” he fairly shouted.
“You tore me away from cutting my marathon runner piece to tell me that
we’re getting
stuck with Murphy?”
“Shouting at Isaac isn’t going to change anything, Dan,” Dana said.
Dan leaned toward Isaac’s desk. “Just tell me that you’re
fighting them
on this, Isaac. Tell me that we’re going to dig in against this
horrible
decision, and that we’re going to work to keep that train wreck from
plowing
into us,” Dan said.
Isaac shook his head. “I met with the new network president
today. He’s made it abundantly clear that Stratosphere has a plan
for us, and that Chris Murphy is the man for the job.”
“This is such – Isaac, he’ll ruin us. We all know that,” Dan said.
Casey spoke up, but his voice was soft. “No, we don’t.”
The other three were speechless. Especially Dan.
Isaac found his voice first. “Casey? You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I think Chris is a good choice.”
“Based on what, Casey?” Isaac asked.
“Based on the fact he’s a hell of a producer, a great judge of talent,
and he fights for his people when he believes they’re right.”
“And he bullies them the rest of the time,” Dana said.
“When he isn’t hitting on every body in a skirt, or leaving his staff
high-and-dry while he disappears on a bender,” Dan said. “Don’t
forget, I worked with that jerk at Pacific Sports for seven months, and
the day he left was the happiest day of my life.” Dan frowned at
his friend.
“I also remember that he went to the mat for you when Pacific Sports
said you didn’t have the on-camera presence, or the off-camera skills,
to be an anchor,” Casey countered.
“One good turn doesn’t erase all the nonsense I had to put up with,”
Dan muttered.
“That was also more than ten years ago,” Casey said. “Didn’t he
get married and have a kid?”
“Guys like Chris Murphy don’t settle down,” Dan replied. “They
just find other excuses to get loaded and screw other people
over.” He looked away from Casey again.
“Regardless, he hasn’t produced or executive-produced anything in five
years. That’s my official line of complaint,” Dana said. “Is
Stratosphere serious about bringing him in?”
“They’ve already hired him,” Isaac said. “I tried to voice concerns
with O’Rourke
– that’s the new head of our channel – and he basically said that if
anyone
had a problem with Murphy being hired, then those people wouldn’t have
to
work at CSC anymore.”
There was another long silence.
It was Dan who finally broke it. “So we just have to take it?”
Dan asked.
“Except for his best friend Casey, that is.”
Casey snorted.
Isaac took a note of that, but then turned his attention back to
Dan. “This is not a time for us to be fighting. Right now,
being supportive of each other is the name of the game. And we
need to keep our personal prejudices about the new boss to
ourselves.” Isaac looked at the other three. “Unless, of
course, you plan on explaining to everyone why they shouldn’t want to
keep their jobs.”
Dan’s eyes softened, and found the floor. “Right.”
“When does he take over?” Casey asked.
“As of five o’clock today. He’s going to come in, introduce
himself. I don’t know what his plans are beyond that.”
Isaac smiled sadly. “So everyone buck up. Get back to work,
put on your best smiles, and burn these words into your minds: we’re
still open. No matter
who the boss is.” At that, he returned to his work. “Get
going,”
he said.
Dana was the first to go, with Casey right behind her. Dana was
oddly quiet as she left. Casey shook his head at his partner as
he walked out. Dan noticed it, and felt his stomach fall a
bit. He looked at Isaac again. “Sorry, Isaac.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now go save your piece,” the older man
replied.
“We’re still open,” Dan said.
“There you go,” Isaac said.
Dan pulled up the corners of his mouth, forming something like a smile,
and walked out.
When he was sure he was alone again, Isaac’s demeanor
deteriorated. “We’re still open,” he said again, trying to sound
pleased, but not sure that
he’d succeeded.
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copyrighted 2000-2003, by The Beaumont Group.