Oberon's Gift

by Richard Dante

  Connor chuckled to himself. the entertainment capitol of the world was making ready to receive her new King. He looked over at his protégé. My god what a transformation with the beard gone. The unveiling had revealed an extraordinary being.

  He’s gorgeous! thought the impresario. Even if he could barely carry a tune, he had more going for him that most of the current pop idols. Connor watched the reactions of the stewardesses who served them. When George looked up to acknowledge the stewardess who brought his coffee, he gave her a smile and the girl almost dropped her tray. She struggled to keep her composure, but it would be an understatement to say the singer had made an impression on the young lady. Potter had the kind of handsome, good guy face that drew people to it. It was a rare blend of ruggedness with just a hint of sensitivity. Later, Paul saw their stewardess at the far end of the passenger compartment whispering behind her hand to her compatriots and looking their way. The agent almost broke out laughing when each gal came by on some pretext or other to get a closer look. Each went away with that ooo-la-la look on her face.

  Yet George Potter seemed oblivious to all the admiration he was receiving.

  Modest, too, Connor observed. That may not last.

  George was concentrating on the notation sheets he held on the portfolio in his lap, busily jotting down notes and words. From time to time, he’d lift his left hand slightly, and move his fingers as if he was playing the frets of an invisible guitar. His eyes would stare blankly ahead for a few moments, his lips parted; moving as if forming words. Then he would return to his composing.

  He’s got it all. Looks, humility, charisma and musical genius! thought Connor. George Potter, you are going to be my greatest achievement!

  He glanced at Lydia who was sitting between them. He really liked George’s wife. She was a very pretty girl with long naturally wavy blond hair that rested on her shoulders. She had a peaches and cream complexion that really didn’t need make-up. Her eyes, studying the Newsweek she held were a blue that matched the expensive pantsuit she wore.

  Connor suddenly felt the pang of a new emotion go through him as he looked at the young couple. Oh, shit! Not again! He recognized the symptoms. He was becoming just a little jealous of Lydia, the wife of his new star.

  ****

  Connor’s chauffeured limousine carried them quickly from the airport into Hollywood and to the door of NGM records.

  “Before we go in, I’ve got to tell you a little about Dick Baum.” cautioned the young impresario. He’s a unique human being. That much you and he have in common, George. He’s a business genius and can spot real talent in a minute. But he always keeps his cool, so don’t expect a great outward show of enthusiasm. You can tell when he’s impressed though. Just watch his cigar.

  Connor led them into the impressive building that housed NGMs offices and studios. The trio stood inside the lobby for a moment and took in the bigger-than-life posters of some of the worlds greatest pop recording artists. Connor then ushered them to the reception desk that sat like an island in a sea of deep red carpet. The receptionist recognized Connor immediately and pushed a button that connected her with Dick Baum’s secretary.

  “You may go right back, Mr. Connor. He’s expecting you.”

  As they moved by her, the receptionist gave George an admiring look and resisted the impulse to sigh. George carried his guitar and portfolio as he followed Paul and Lydia down a long wide hallway.

  Baum’s secretary waved them on into the office of a short baldheaded man with an immense cigar thrust in his mouth. He got up from his chair and seemed to move almost resignedly around the desk to greet Connor.

  “”Paul, what is all the excitement about?” he growled good-naturedly from the side of his mouth as he looked at the young couple with the Star Maker.

  “Dick, this is Lydia and George Potter. Potters, meet Dick Baum.”

  The men shook hands and Baum motioned Lydia to a chair, but kept George standing and walked around the singer, as if appraising a statue.

  Finally Dick Baum stepped in front of George. His round cheeks hollowed out for a moment as he took a big drag on his cigar. The tip glowed almost white hot. Then he stuck out his lower lip and sent a jet of white smoke shooting straight up toward the ceiling.

  Lydia was fascinated. George was spellbound. Paul Connor was delighted! So far, so good!

  “He looks okay, but can he sing?” demanded the recording executive.

  “You want to hear for yourself? I refuse to have my word doubted for another moment!”

  Snorted Paul Connor with mock indignity. “George would be so kind as to show Doubting Dick here your stuff?”

  “Hold on a minute,” interrupted the recording executive as George started to remove his guitar from it’s case. “Let’s do this up right. I think studio three is vacant. Let’s hold the audition in there.”

  Lydia and Paul could see this strictly-business-man was beginning to soften. George, however, remained a bit awed by the little man.

  Baum escorted them to a spacious recording studio. An engineer was puttering around, apparently setting up for a session.

  “Charlie, would you mind helping us with a little audition?” Baum asked the man through another puff of smoke.

  “Sure, Mr. Baum--ready in a jiffy!”

  George was directed to a stool and a Telefunken mike was lowered into position. Another mike was placed near the mouth of his guitar. George watched all the preparations with great interest and then thanked the sound man as he made a last a last adjustment and said:

  “Good luck, kid!”

  Dick Baum had taken Paul Connor and Lydia into the booth across the studio from George, and they were seated in plush chairs behind the engineer. The sound man asked for a mike check and George played a few chords and smiled as he went la, la, la into the microphone that was practically touching his nose.

  George could see they were rolling a tape on him. It gave him a moments qualms, but when the engineer pointed to him, he began to play the intro of the new ballad he’d composed on the plane. He played and sang of forests and lakes and the beauty of the world. He closed his eyes through the last part of the song and could actually see the sights he told about in his song. He played a rising arpeggio as his voice went up and up and ended the song as if whispering into infinity.

  There was a heavy silence following the song. He opened his eyes and looked toward the booth. They were all standing and Dick Baum was puffing like steam engine going up a grade. Connor was watching the smoke cloud and suddenly he grabbed the little recording executive and the two of them tried to dance a polka, but the engineering booth wasn’t quite large enough.

  The engineer was beaming from ear to ear and gave the singer a big thumbs up!

  Lydia, Baum and Connor came out into the studio and rushed up to George. Lydia kissed him, Connor hugged him and Dick Baum puffed until he almost scorched his lips, the cigar burned so close.

  Connor was the first to speak. “Come on Dick--spit it out! He’s fabulous--right?!”

  “Right, Right, Right!” agreed Baum. “Where’d he get that song? I can’t tell which I liked best. The song or the singer--guess they’re all one!”

  George was grinning. “Just a little thing I knocked out on the plane.”

  “He has a suitcase full of them,” Lydia offered proudly.

  “Then let’s get together with the legal department and get things rolling,” Dick Baum was almost smiling. Later,Connor told the he’d never seen the recording executive so excited about a performer.

  “Paul, one suggestion,” Baum offered the Star Maker with an appraising glance at George. “I think you might get him some acting lessons. When Hollywood gets a load of your

  boy, he’s gonna need ‘em”

  FIFTEEN

  Old Mrs. Minor looked around at the crowd that packed the auditorium. She adjusted her glasses and settled back. The old lady hadn�
��t missed a Mike Griffin show in years. The host and guest comedians made jokes about her perfect attendance. She enjoyed the notoriety, but most of all, she loved the show. She adored the show biz razzle dazzle, a throw back to those glorious days of vaudeville. She’d been a hoofer in the early years; danced in the chorus of many a hit Broadway musical. Now she enjoyed the vicarious applause and glitter of America’s most popular variety show.

  Tonight there was an added pre-show tension in the air. She could feel the excitement. Something special was in store for the studio audience and the nation who would view the show the next night.

  Back stage, the usual last minute panic was having its effect on everyone. The assistant producer was particularly excited as he placed the first performer in position. He seemed to sense here was a future star of the first magnitude. The rehearsals had brought the entire cast, crew and orchestra to their feet when this George Potter performed. He couldn’t remember when there had been such a flutter over a newcomer.

  The warm-up was over and the countdown began. The video tapes were rolling. there was the cue for the overture, a dance number with the Troy Devane Dancers. The opening dance was followed by a short scene change that would be edited out later. There was a fanfare and a voice from somewhere announced:

  “And...Now...HERE”S MIKE GRIFFIN!”

  The applause signs flashed and the audience responded. Mike Griffin smiled and welcomed his audience. He listed the stars who were to appear.

  “...But first, ladies and gentlemen, we have a young mean who is making his first appearance anywhere. He has not been heard on record or radio, or been seen on television, stage or screen. But he will be...believe me...he will be!”

  During the introduction, George stood a little nervously off in the second set. Behind him, on the cyc, a spotlight formed a crescent moon and there were tiny twinkling lights for stars. Blue plastic sheeting was blown buy fans to represent the ripples on a lake. George was wearing a simple white silk shirt and tight white pants. He stood in the shade of a giant plastic weeping willow.

  He could barely hear the host intro, but then the expectant applause began and the orchestra took up his introduction. A historic moment was unfolding. As in rehearsal, George stepped from under the willow. He was playing a guitar completely inlaid with white mother of pearl to match his costume. he played and smiled and sang one of the songs from his first, yet unreleased album. It was a song that was both happy, the sad. A song that made one think, and consider the condition of all mankind. The voice that flowed through the crowed pulsed with feeling.

  Mrs. Minor felt all goose bumpy. My goodness, what a voice! What a song! What a face! She thought to herself. A face that every woman, child and many men would love. The face belonged to George Potter. She glanced around her the rest of the audience sat transfixed as he sang, a dazzling flame that burned so brightly on the stage before them.

  When the song ended, the audience sat spellbound in silence for several long moments.

  Another pause that would have to be edited before air time. They they jumped to their feet, almost as one. Screaming, whistling, hollering, crying for the George Potter who bowed and blushed and smiled. That Smile! He was simply adorable!

  Mrs.Miner’s eyes were shining with tears as she stood applauding with the rest of the worshippers. Never in all her hears as a Mike Griffin devotee had she seen or heard anyone like George Potter. Yes it was an historic moment and she was proud that she was there to share it.

  Mike Griffin stood to the side of the stage as the applause went on and on. The audience screamed for more. The ovation would have to be cut down later of they would have to eliminate one of their other acts. Mike Griffin didn’t care. He was absolutely beaming with pride as if he had been the one who had discovered this new, future ruler of American hearts.

  As the waves of applause poured over him, George felt a surge of love and happiness. This was it. This was where he belonged! At length, Mike Griffin shook George’s hand and motioned for him to leave the stage. After a while they were able to get the audience calmed down enough to continue the show.

  Word leaked out and George’s performance was reviewed in all the major papers the next morning, before the program was aired to the nation. It was rating month and the result of the advance publicity was unprecedented. That night, the Mike Griffin show grabbed the highest ratings in its history.

  By Sunday morning, the whole country was buzzing with news of the new singer. Those who had missed the show were chided for their misfortune. Radio stations were deluged with requests for song by George Potter. Most of the D.J.s had never heard of him, And on Monday, N.G.M. records was flooded with requests for demo records. The record stores suffered a similar fate. From teenyboppers to grandmothers, mobs jammed the stores, screaming for records by George Potter.

  “Who is George Potter?” some wanted to know. The public demand added to the the pandemonium at N.G.M. Night crews were put on in the pressing plant to work around the clock in order to fill the orders that poured in. Within a week there was little doubt in the minds of Americans that George Potter was the new King of show biz. D.J.s were forced to play at least one Potter selection for every other artist they featured. If they didn’t, their listeners would spin the dial to a station that was playing one of his new songs. There were solid hours set aside to play the entire disc. Local advertisers bid extravagant sums to sponsor George Potter Hours.

  In the meantime, George and Lydia sat in Paul Connor’s living room and listened to Paul take one call after another requesting George to appear coast-to-coast again. Manufacturers wanted his endorsement for their products and Hollywood was calling with film offers. Finally Connor had to install a switch board with young ladies to filter the calls. Outside, fans clamored at the gates for a glimpse of the new idol.

  SIXTEEN

  Impatiently, John J. Prentiss jabbed at the intercom for the umpteenth time and shouted into the box.“Miss Lovely, what the hell is taking so long to get me Paul Connor?!”

  “Please Mr. Prentess, we’re doing everything we can. The lines are jammed,” came the reply.

  THE NBC vice-president winced and put a hand to his stomach as he groaned in desperation. “Keep trying, Miss Lovely. Keep trying!”

  He switched off the intercom and reached with trembling hand for the right top drawer of his desk. He extracted a bottle of Mallox. He didn’t even bother to measure--just opened the bottle and took a healthy swig of the chalky liquid. He made a face and returned the bottle to the drawer, then lay back in his high back chair and tried to relax. Impossible! He’d barely slept since Saturday night; since he’d seen this George Potter on ABC’s Mike Griffin Show. NBCs Friday night was slipping and he needed a summer replacement that would bolster the ratings and hopefully keep at least the puny audience they had.

  Never before had he been struck by a performer like Potter. The young man possessed the most electrifying personality he’d seen since Elvis, and Potter appeared to have a lot more going for him than the swivel hipped rock star.

  Printess watched his family as they watched Potter. His wife was all ga-ga and the younger Printess’, a teenage boy and girl had com pletely flipped over the singer. They’d been talking about nothing else all weekend. They and their friends were already forming a George Potter fan club.

  Printess himself might have discounted the response of the young singer if he hadn’t felt the same way. The new find was a spellbinder if there ever was one. He was a throwback from those great revivalists who could mesmerize their congregations. George Potter came across the television like no entertainer before him. His charisma poured forth and enclosed the viewer in a private world of enchantment. Printess laughed, then winced again at the sharp pain in his stomach. It was almost as if Potter was some sort of faith healer with poetry and music and with the soothing, inspiring power of his voice . Printess recalled how he’d felt during
the several hours following the Mike Griffin Show. The pain in his stomach had been forgotten. His children had been almost respectful; a miracle in itself. That night, he and his wife had enjoyed a tender scene reminiscent of their honeymoon.

  The next day the kids had gone out to buy all the George Potter records they could find. This time, dad was treating, which surprised the hell out of them. Butt none of the record stores had any records by the new sensation.

  Fortunately, one of the reviewers had mentioned that this George Potter was the newest discover of the star-maker, Paul Connor. All weekend he’d tried to get the NBC policy makers together for a meeting. He’d been in the business long enough to know that the other networks wouldn’t let any grass grow when it came to such an obvious money maker as Potter. Unfortunately, everyone with any NBC clout was incommunicado.

  Finally at this mornings eight o’clock meeting,he’d played back the Minimax video tape he’d made of the future super star. Then he’d demanded one million dollars to get the ball rolling. NBC needed Potter, must have Potter or they were all doomed to oblivion!

  He’d painted a gloomy picture of what would happen if someone else got their hands on the boy. It was his greatest sales pitch, he smiled at the memory. He’d been positively inspired. God, now if he could only get through to Connor. he groaned and was about o reach for the Mallox again when the phone on his desk rang. He made a lunge for it sending himself and his chair crashing to the floor. Finally he righted everything and grabbed the phone.

  “Heh...hello,” he gasped, P...Printess here!”

  The voice at the other end sounded youthful and exuberant. “John--John? that you? this is Paul.”

  “Great Hercules! it’s about time,” Printess said struggling to get back into his chair. “I’m not going to mince words, Paul. You haven’t sold that boy to anyone else, have you? Don’t you dare say you have. I have a razor blade poised at my juggler vein!”

  Paul laughed. “Jesus, John, don’t do anything desperate! I know George is the greatest thing since the hydrogen bomb, but he’s got a long life ahead of h im. There should be enough to go around.”