“Which is why you need Harry’s help,” put in Ed.
“Point taken,” said Sarah. “Do we talk fees, or percentages?”
Harry Shakespeare laughed. “Who said you needed an agent?”
Havelock Sloane’s production team assembled for the first time on Tuesday, June 3, 1980, in the RCA Building in Rockefeller Plaza, where NBC has its headquarters. Sarah arrived in the lobby at nine-fifty A.M. and reported to the reception desk. They put through a call and told her to wait, as someone was coming down for her. She took a seat where she could watch the elevators. It would be exciting if she could spot one of the Today show performers coming off duty.
There was a familiar face that she could not place for a moment. For sure it wasn’t Tom Brokaw.
He walked right up to her and said, “Hi, Spider Girl. Isn’t this terrific?”
He wore tight-cut black denims and a pink shirt unbuttoned to the waist. From his neck were suspended a stop watch and a silver ingot.
She got up. “Hi. For a moment I wasn’t sure—”
“—if this is the jackass who upset your spiders? Tough luck, Sarah — it is.” Rick Saville put his arm firmly around her and guided her to the elevator. “You want to know what I’m doing on Havelock’s team? When I heard they’d signed you up, I zeroed in. Greg squared it with Havelock. So I get my chance to make amends.”
They entered an elevator with five other people. He kept his arm around her.
“So, do I?”
She didn’t want to talk in front of these people. She shrugged.
“Get to make amends, I mean.”
“If you like.”
They got out of the elevator, and she gently but firmly removed his hand from her shoulder. “Thanks, but I can stay upright without your aid. I’m generally sober at this time of day.”
The rehearsal studio was full of people in groups drinking coffee and snatching looks at other groups. Rick took her straight to Havelock Sloane, conspicuous in a white cashmere sweater, holding court with several senior-looking people with clipboards, including Greg Laz. Sloane stopped in midsentence and said, “Ah, Sarah is here. Friends, I want you to meet Spider Girl.”
It was not a flattering introduction. It could have thrown her completely if Rick had not already greeted her in the same way. But it was pleasing to see the way these people looked at her. She knew how it felt to be somebody.
“Her name is Sarah Jordan, and she has an agent named Shakespeare who might just be a descendant of the guy who wrote The Merchant of Venice. This morning he zapped NBC for more ducats than they knew they had.” He made the introductions. “And now that my leading lady is here, I’m going to get started.”
A general movement began toward the end of the room where some chairs were arranged. Sarah was between Rick, who had brought coffee, and Greg Laz.
Havelock fired a question at his audience that got down to basics. “Anyone here react badly to spiders?”
A tense silence.
“Liars! There ain’t a guy in this room hasn’t been scared shitless by a big one sitting in an empty bathtub. They are shit-ugly creeping bastards that show up when you least expect them. Anyone disagree? Okay, we’re straight on that. Now some facts. Archaeologists tell us that man may have inhabited the world for a million years. Spiders have been around at least three hundred million, so maybe they have more right to that tub than we do. The human population of the world is a little over four billion; you could find that number of spiders in a few fields one quarter the size of Manhattan. For each man, woman, and child in the world there are approximately seventy thousand spiders. Would you like to look under your chairs?”
There was some nervous laughter.
“We’re going to shoot a fifty-minute feature on spiders without showing one of the goddamned things. We scale up their world to man size and use people. No costumes. Just people in plain clothes. That way we break through the aversion barrier. Then we can show America some sensational things which not even most scientists have realized. Did you know that the infant spider is the greatest hang-glider pilot in the world? Or that the way a spider grows is by striptease? Or that their mating has more ritual than high mass in St. Peter’s? I want to simulate all this. I want to film an orb web being built with nylon rope against the New York skyline; we’re working on the idea of slinging it between those spikes on the Statue of Liberty’s headgear, but there are certain technical problems.”
More stirrings of amusement in the audience.
“I’m serious, for Christ’s sake,” said Havelock. “Sure, it’s a terrific stunt, but so is every orb web ever built. Spiders are brilliant climbers. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if we find webs up there on the Statue already. This is just a way of showing people spectacular things that happen in their own backyards. If we can’t get a public building, we’ll use a tower crane. The climber is already hired. We also have some beautiful sets being built in Studio Eight in this building. Giant webs where we can show how the spider catches and binds its prey. And the mating. We start rehearsals in there tomorrow. That’s all on the production schedule you’ll get in a few minutes. Before we look at details, I want to make one thing clear. This is going to be difficult and demanding. We’re breaking new ground in documentary TV and the problems are manifold. That’s why I picked you guys: look around you and you’ll see more talent than you ever met on one production before. I’m not just confident; I’m one hundred percent certain you can perform the miracles I demand. One thing I guarantee — no spiders.”
Havelock had won total support. They laughed and then they applauded and kept applauding.
“This has got to be the one that wins Havelock his third Emmy,” Rick told Sarah.
“Name-dropping time,” Havelock announced. “My associate director, Gregory Laz, who made that highly praised series Who’s Master? and has just completed a sequel that is better than that. On your feet, Greg.”
Laz turned and gave a wave.
“Greg will supervise the location work. Pete Shapiro, designer, whose sets you must see...”
As the introductions proceeded, Sarah only vaguely recognized most of the names. But it was nonetheless a thrill to be working among such talent and experience. She had a shock when Havelock said, “Finally, the young lady who will narrate the show. I predict that she will do for spiders what Roone Arledge did for ABC Sports — our Spider Girl, Sarah Jordan.” She stood up and said, “Hi,” and someone said, “Hi, Spider Girl,” and there was some laughter and then the meeting broke up.
A small, white-haired woman touched her arm and said, “I’m Billie Shulman, Costume, and I know everyone is crazy to meet you, so I’m going to grab you right now and take you off for fitting.”
“But I don’t think I need a costume. Isn’t it plain clothes?”
“Correct, honey, but Sarah Jordan plain isn’t Spider Girl plain.” She turned to Rick. “If she’s needed, you know where to find her, okay?”
In a very short time Sarah was standing in bra and panties in the fitting room, having her measurements taken. “You’re easy,” Billie Shulman told her, “but you have to be right. Havelock wants everyone in black — and that sounds simple, doesn’t it? But, honey, it’s a disaster if the fabrics aren’t right. The cameras are sensitive to the smallest differences in shade. And black’s a godawful color to work with. So it’s no use telling me you have a beautiful black leotard at home that you’d like to wear. You have to settle for the NBC garments. The only things we let you provide for yourself are these” — she tapped Sarah’s panties — “and they must be black bikini-style without trim. You won’t be wearing a bra.”