Soap Opera Slaughters by Marvin Kaye

her in the room. Or anyone else from the cast, for that matter. You want to know what Eddie was presumably preoccupied with this past weekend?”
    “That’s right”
    “Well, it had to do with the new ‘Riverday’ ‘Bible.’ Do you know what I’m talking about?”
    “Sure. Has nothing to do with evangelism. The ‘Bible’ is the long-range plot synopsis of a soap opera, right?”
    “Yes. Eddie told me he’d be working on his latest one this weekend. I didn’t want to alarm Lara. Cast members aren’t supposed to know about it.”
    “But why would it alarm her?”
    “Because he is...was quite overdue in preparing it. He was supposed to turn in a draft of the ‘Bible’ by the beginning of this week.”
    “How bad does that leave off ‘Riverday’?”
    “It’s not good,” she replied grimly. “If we don’t get a new head writer fast, pretty soon it will be improvisation time for the cast.”
    She brooded on it for a moment. I asked her how come she knew so much about the ‘Bible’ if cast members are supposed to be kept in the dark about it. It was the absolute thousand percent wrong question. It provoked a filibuster on the way youth was exploited on TV to the detriment of maturer talent. I listened, puzzled, as “Mother Jennett” denounced producers, the network, sponsors, most of all her “loyal fans.”
    “The fickle bastards want your soul along with your autograph, but catch me giving perfect strangers the means to forge my signature!” In her agitation, she rose and stalked about the room, her swirling robes accidentally sweeping the program guide, scissors and Scotch tape off the phonograph dust cover onto the floor. She picked them up and replaced them. Seemingly calmer, she turned to me.
    “Lara said you watch ‘Riverday.’”
    “That’s right.”
    “Do you remember Kit Yerby?”
    “I ought to. She was on Friday’s episode.”
    “Well, that was practically the last time you’ll see her. Snippy little bitch, got arrested once for shoplifting, but that’s neither here nor there. Our ratings slipped two points last month and she happened to be up for contract renewal. They fired her so they could budget some young stud that the fat ladies in Duluth will doubtlessly drool over.”
    Why did she sound so grimly satisfied about it? I was going to ask her when an altogether different question popped into my mind. It wasn’t important to anyone but me, but I asked it, anyway.
    “Does this so-called stud happen to be named Harry Whelan”
    “Yes. I think so. You know him?”
    “Unfortunately.”
    “Oh? Thereon, I believe, hangs a tale.”
    “Irrelevant. Let’s get back to the original question.”
    “I forget what it was.”
    “How you happen to know so much about Ed Niven’s “Bible. ””
    “Oh. Yes.” She sat back down. ‘Years ago, when Joe Ames originally called to offer me the part of Martha Jennett, I knew all the risks involved. I told him if I took it, I’d be the first Emmy winner to turn down primetime for a soap opera and would expect certain concessions in return for the publicity that would bring. He argued a bit, but that was only a matter of form. He eventually agreed to most of my terms. One was that I see every new ‘Bible’ as soon as it’s written.”
    “They gave you story approval?” An unheard-of thing. “I’m impressed.”
    “Not quite. Officially, all I’m entitled to is a copy of every updated synopsis.” Her lips curved ironically. “But you know what they say about a little knowledge.”
    “So that’s what Niven was supposed to be busy with this weekend, writing a new ‘Bible.’ The old one’s practically used up?”
    “Yes.” She muttered something about ratings taking a suicidal plunge. “But not this week. His death will attract the vultures.”
    “Will Ames promote your other writer?”
    “Tommy Franklin?” She grimaced. “Extremely improbable.”
    “Why?”
    “His plotting ideas are idiotic.”
    “Oh? Can you give