Breaking Hollywood Read Free Page A

and plenty of deliberately choreographed humility for the cameras, he was getting back on track. He’d be on screen on a Tuesday night with
American Stars
, and then on Wednesday
through to Sunday with
Here’s Davie Johnston.
The only maverick taking talk shows into the weekend. World domination was just around the corner.
    Mellie’s voice was barking instructions in his ear again. ‘OK, Davie, are you ready? Cutting to camera one. Jenny and Darcy are in the wings. People, listen up and don’t fuck
up. Just don’t dare. We’re going live in ten. Stand by, studio . . .’
    A cramping sensation took hold in his stomach, while an irrepressible grin hijacked his face. This was it. The network had trailed this show to death, and the advertised guests would have
viewers clicking on in their millions. And of course, it helped that there was a bit of cross-pollination.
    The first half of the show was finally going to deliver the interview the TV fans of the world had been waiting for: Davie Johnston, his ex-wife, Jenny Rico, and her current lover, Darcy
Jay.
    The second half was switching it up, with Jizzo Stacks and Carmella Cass, the stars of
Beauty and the Beats.
With any luck, they’d have stopped on the way to do a few lines and a
bottle of Jack, and they’d be as messed up and unpredictable as always.
    Viewers lapped that stuff up. Those two were the more outrageous versions of the Osbournes. Think love children of Oliver Reed and Jim Morrison. On steroids. After a three-day bender.
    Davie adjusted his shirt collar – pale blue, no tie; it was the outfit that had scored highest with the test audiences. The lights in the studio dimmed and a ripple of anticipation ran
through the audience.
    This was it.
    Three, two, one and cue the announcer’s bellow of ‘Heeeeeeeeeeeere’s Davie Johnston!’
    The spotlights flooded the stage, then settled on Davie, standing front and centre against a midnight backdrop of stars. To his left, Cain Canning fronted his band, singing a funked-up soul hit
that had been top of the
Billboard
chart for the last week. None of the standard, cop-out, house-band crap for this show. Davie wanted stars. Stars playing the opening, stars on the sofa,
stars begging him for screen time. Whatever it took, he was going to make this the one show no one wanted to miss. And he wanted the two Jimmys, Fallon and Kimmel, to form a posse and kill for his
ratings.
    Cute grin, feigned modesty, gracious acceptance of applause. ‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Welcome to the show.’
    More thunderous applause. The warm-up guy had them practically sliding off their chairs – a plus-factor in getting them up on their feet for the mandatory standing ovation. They liked
those in this town. A waiter making a great job of reciting the specials could get a whole room on its feet.
    Davie rolled straight into the introductions: another stipulation when they were planning the show. There was to be no self-serving, ego-stroking, bullshit opening monologues. Let’s face
it, nobody cared. No one wanted to listen to some overpaid host telling shit jokes his writing team had spent three days coming up with. Nope, straight into the action.
    ‘Later, the stars of
Beauty and the Beats
, Jizzo Stacks and Carmella Cass, will be joining us.’
    A pause for applause.
    ‘But first, I’m thrilled to welcome two very special ladies . . . And incidentally, this appearance will be deducted from this month’s alimony cheque . . .’
    The laughter was loud and genuine.
    ‘Please welcome the stars of the sexiest cop show on TV, my beautiful ex-wife, Jenny Rico, and her gorgeous partner, on and off screen, Darcy Jay!’
    With flair, elan and a beaming smile, he stepped to the side, right arm stretched to welcome his first guests. He could see Jenny, just off stage, smoothing down the front of her leather
trousers and adjusting her cleavage to the point of voluminous perfection. Darcy was dressed in a more tailored style,