Roy cast about wildly. "Drumm, do something!"
Too late. Whatever blitzkrieg strategy sprang to Drumm's mind, Eddie Veigle was already sweeping through the doors, the double-breasted, brusquely confident point for a flying squad of BSTV technicians, some shouldering cameras, others paying out cable for a makeshift monitor control, grips and makeup people in their wake, Nancy Noncommit bringing up the rear.
"Well, well, well," Veigle purred. "Everybody's here. Who's minding the revolution? Char, the mystery star and Florence Bird." Veigle couldn't resist a chuckle of pleasure. "Perfecto. A fifty share. Even Topside won't be watching anything else."
"HOLD IT!" Drumm tried in vain to stem the stampede of technicians around him. The guards weren't much help. Hoping for some more television exposure, they started straightening uniforms and hats. "You can't do this, Veigle. This is an official government rescue."
"My Polish grandmother had such a rescue," Essie muttered. "One kiss from the magic mamzers, she turned into soap."
"Oh, this is a class act," Milt sighed. "History as drama: what do we get? Reruns."
A camera focused on Drumm; a light meter flirted near his mustache. He was becoming spastic. "THE LEADER FORBIDS THIS!"
"How?" Veigle chortled from his monitor. "This is news, lovey. Ratings, I told you Char couldn't move without me. You don't want to work with Veigle? Okay, Veigle works without you. Cue Nancy."
Freshly primped by her hovering makeup woman, Nancy Noncommit spiked herself beside Florence and turned to the camera with blank-eyed authority. "This is Nancy Noncommit at the Club Banal. The suspected other-woman scandal shadowing Roy Stride broke here a few minutes ago when, acting on an anonymous tip - "
With malicious emphasis, Veigle mouthed it to Drumm: Me, Drumm-bum.
" - BSTV news broke the story in a deluge of disclosures. We found the Leader, his fiancee, Char Stovall, and the other woman, Florence Burns - "
"That's Bird, y'little git." Florence moved firmly into frame, nudging the smaller anchorwoman aside, flashing a toothy smile at the camera. "Florence Bird from Lambeth, and lor yes, we been together ever so long."
In the backwash of the storm, Woody and Char stuck close together. "Char, who is this Veigle guy, anyway?"
Charity's expression was not easily decipherable. "Whatever he is, he just hit the fan."
32 - Blossoms and thorns of the media culture
Despite the media cyclone whirling about them, Roy and Drumm fought a brief, sibilant battle.
"Leader, you have to make a statement. The whole thing is out."
"Not if we shut them up good and quick."
"We can't arrest everybody. It's bad press."
"We're getting that now or maybe you din't notice."
"The scenario."
"What?"
"The scenario. I wrote it out. We talked about it as a contingency plan."
Roy found it difficult to think fast at bay. "Oh. Yeah, I remember."
"And you must weep, my Leader. For the camera."
"No." Roy was adamant. "I can't do that."
"Why not?"
Roy fidgeted; Drumm pried at the bedrock of deep beliefs where his icons were enshrined. "Ain't what a man would do."
Drumm's little eyes blinked behind their thick lenses. "Why do you think all this is news in the first place? Because you have transgressed? Rather that they recognize it. Not a real man Below Stairs who won't identify with you. Not a woman who won't sympathize: he's human, he's like us. They will know you for a man of large appetites as powerful men always are."
Still not convinced: "But why do I have to cry?"
"Because, my Leader, with the macho comes the marshmallow. The emotional response of people conditioned to believe anything they see on television as truth. The camera giveth and the camera taketh away. They will believe your repentance: the good man strayed but anguished for the pain he's caused. A man gone wrong, but a man throughout."
Roy began to like the image. "Yeah . . ."
"Leader, you'll be more popular than ever, Topside as well as here. Not a dry eye in the cosmos. You heard the Jew Veigle: no one will be watching anything else. We can deal with him anytime; meanwhile we must turn this to our advantage."
"But I can't cry."
"It's simple. Pull the short hair in your nose, right . . . there. If that doesn't work, we have glycerin."
Roy surrendered to the imperatives of destiny. "Ah, shit. Let's do it."
Nancy Noncommit turned to the monitor. "That's it on the Bird."
"Okay, where's Char?" Veigle took center stage, an impresario committed to producing a miracle whatever the cost. "Hey, Stovall! You're on."
"No, she's not. Leave her alone," Woody fended him off. "Get away from her. She doesn't want to talk to anybody."
True: Charity struggled with every appearance of distress. "I - I can't talk now, honest." She collapsed in a chair at Leon's table. "Now, now ..."
"Okay, cue the Leader." Veigle spun around, pointing at Roy. Drumm nudged the reluctant subject forward.
"From the left side only," Drumm ordered the cameramen. "Cameras three-quarter angle from the left only. Your best angle, sir."
Thrust into the glaring lights, nose hair tortured into yeoman service, a tearful Roy Stride went on camera - incoherent with shame for a watching cosmos, struggling with the demands of honor. Nancy Noncommit pushed the hand mike close to his face. Hushed, expectant silence.
"I can't - I don't know how to say this," Roy choked. Suddenly he turned away, hands to his face. At the monitor, Veigle talked into his headset.
"Close-up. Get the sweat and tears. I want his pores."
One more furtive yank at the nose hair filled the monitor with Roy's moral agony. "What I did - I can't undo. I just wish - " He stopped, swallowed hard, then went on. "I can only ask the forgiveness of the good people who - who believe in me."
Once into his role, Roy was surprisingly good. Even Essie was stirred. "It's sad, Milt. Look at that big English bummerkeh and tell me who's really to blame."
"Essie, you make me wish I were alive again. I could be sick all over you."
"What are you talking? Look at Char."
Under Woody's soothing hands, Charity's shoulders heaved tragically; from the hollow of her cradling arms came the strangled sound of deep emotion.