Dying to Be Famous, published in January, is the third of David Hiltbrand's mysteries to feature Jim McNamara, the rock-'n'-roll detective. McNamara has been contacted by network executive Mitch Reynolds to work on Star Maker, TV's smash-hit singing competition, much like American Idol. In this chapter, McNamara debates taking the job: If I was willing to go the TV route, I didn't think I'd want to work for a schlockmeister like Reynolds.
A few years ago, he was universally regarded as a Hollywood bottom feeder. He hadn't changed. The rest of the world had descended to his moronic level.
He started as the producer of crappy clip specials like When Pets Attack and America's Stupidest Robbers, filler programming put together from security camera and home video footage.
Then he came up with a colossally stupid concept, Beauty and the Beast, a hybrid between a dating and a game show in which a dozen supermodel types schemed and connived to be selected by a lumpy-looking schlub as his dream date. The prize was $100,000, but the real inducement was weeks of network face-time.
Mitch's great discovery - one that pitted the complexion of prime time - was that nowadays people will engage in any kind of degrading behavior in order to be on television. To paraphrase Randy Bachman: Any fame is good fame.
Of course, Beauty and the Beast's winner, a honey-haired, leggy Southern beauty with a dazzling smile, dumped the bum as soon as the cameras were turned off.
But it caused a quantum shift in network programming. The series did only moderately well, but it was made for next to nothing. In TV land, that's a grand slam.
Mitch followed that up with Fatal Fiance, in which a bevy of very attractive young women competed to be the chosen one of a guy in the final throes of a mysterious but not contagious disease. Like Beauty and the Beast, it was a catfight masquerading as a romance.
But it was bizarrely morbid.
The guy made a deathbed proposal. If the girl accepted, she won a big cash prize. Then came the twist: He wasn't really sick.
He had been faking the symptoms. Would she agree to marry him now for double the prize money, knowing that he would live? She enthusiastically said yes.
How could she not? Deception was such a good foundation on which to build an engagement. But oddly enough, they never made it to the altar.
That made the batting average for these TV will-you-marry-me shows roughly 0-for-forever.
McNamara is plied with a number of gifts to convince him to take the job. Finally a liveried limo driver shows up at his home with an envelope.
Standing in the foyer, I ripped open the envelope. As I unfolded the letter within, a piece of blue paper fluttered to the ground, landing face up. It was a certified check for $50,000.
Please consider this check a retainer, read the letter. Because time is of the absolute essence, I will double this bonus if you will pack a few things and let this driver take you directly to the airport. I will also double your going rate for every day you work for me.
Looking forward, Mitch Reynolds.
I opened the door. Be with you in a jiffy, I said to the chauffeur.
Then I set about packing. As usual, I spent more time sifting through my CDs than I did on my wardrobe.
And yes, I'm aware of what slutty sorority my acceptance put me in.
In fact, as I was digging clothes out of my closet, I thought of George Bernard Shaw's quip: We've already established what you are, ma'am. Now we're just haggling over the price.
So don't start with me.
I have bills to pay. Same as you. And I don't want to be following snot-nosed punk rockers around when I'm fifty.
From the book Dying to Be Famous by David Hiltbrand. Copyright 2007 by David Hiltbrand. Reprinted by permission of Harper, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
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