Richard Deming - Death Spins the Platter

JIM LAYTON Lanky Los Angeles Bulletin reporter, he planned only to cover the final show of The Kings Session, but had to ad lib as romantic lead

WAYNE MISSION Loyal president of the Los Angeles Tutter King fan club, Kings devoted subject suddenly found his allegiance without an object

NORA PERKINS Chubby vice president of Kings fan club, the infatuated youngster furthered the plot through a revealing scene played in the ladies room

TUTTER KING Popular disc jockey accused of accepting payola, the incorrigible bachelor gave his greatest performance but didnt get to read the reviews

LOLA ARKWRIGHT Kings curvy redheaded girl friday and every other day she was tired of playing second fiddle in a lengthy marital opus

GEORGE HATHAWAY Handsome, white-haired station manager, the former silent-screen star made his acting comeback and couldnt think of anything to say

HUBERT STANDER Tall, distinguished Chairman of the Board, he was a man of action most of which was performed without an audience

NANCY KING Svelte, expensive brunette, Kings beautiful wife was already out of the castle but didnt intend to abdicate the throne

SERGEANTS HARRY TRIMBLE and Ed Winterman Tough homicide team, they entered after the climax and tried to untangle the plot

Layton engineered his lanky frame from behind the wheel of his battered six-year-old coupe. He had parked in the middle of a long line of racy little foreign cars, most of them convertibles, and he half-expected some flunky to come rushing out of the building and order him to get his proletarian heap the hell off the premises.

The fantasy in white stucco that housed the TV station was only one story high, but it monopolized an entire block along Sunset Boulevard. The entrance from the parking lot brought him into the reception room of a dream world. It was presided over by a glittery blonde who looked as if she had stepped out of a time machine from the year 8162.

The futuristic blonde looked him over in a crystalline sort of way, and he said, Im Jim Layton of the Los Angeles Bulletin.

Oh, yes, she said, thawing. Youre covering The Kings Session final show. But it doesnt start for over an hour.

I thought Id interview the two principals beforehand.

Whatever youd like, the receptionist said. Whatever? Layton thought. She looked good enough to eat. Mr. Hathaway said youre to have the run of the station. Would you like to talk to Mr. King first?

Is he here?

I think hes in his dressing room. Number 2. She pointed a long platinum-colored fingernail toward a corridor to the left. Go past those offices and turn right at the end of the hall. Or... Swiveling in her chair, she indicated another hallway. Everything swiveled with her. This one takes you around to the main entrance to Studio A, where Kings Session is telecast. You might like to see it before you talk to Mr. King. If youll go on through Studio A and out the opposite door, youll find yourself at the same turn in the hall as if you went the other way. She smiled at him. Get it.

Id sure like to, Layton said regretfully, but, baby, Im working. He decided on the official studio route.

The door marked Studio A opened into a big functional room with a naked floor. Spotted about were three unmanned TV cameras, three overhead microphone booms, and, off to one side, a record turntable. The Kings Session had the 3 P.M. time slot and it was only ten of two, but already about fifty teenagers of both sexes were clustered like grapes around the dance floor, and others were lying all over the folding-type chairs lining the walls.

As Layton moved past one of the clusters he heard a boy say, After he opens the show, at my signal everybody start clapping and whistling and yelling and dont stop, and I mean dont. Let em all know what we think of this crummy deal.

Layton paused curiously. The boy was thin and serious-faced, wearing horn-rimmed eyeglasses with thick lenses. He was about seventeen. This might be as good a time as any to get a typical Tutter King fans viewpoint about the disc jockeys troubles.

Edging into the group, he said to the boy, Im from the Bulletin. If I get your pitch, youre organizing a claque for King

A what? the boy said.

Well, its a kind of rooting section, only it gets paid.

A rather ominous quiet fell. The bespectacled boy said, You mean, mister, you think Tutter Kings paying us or me to whip up a storm today?

Is he? Layton asked.

No, the boy said. He turned away.

Wait a minute, kid, Layton said. No hard feelings. If its not for dough, then why are you doing it?

The boy turned back. To show the viewers and the brass of this station were still behind Tut a hundred per cent. They were all around Layton now, making multiple sounds of approval. Absurdly, he began to feel uneasy.

You dont think King should have been fired?

A plain-looking girl, no more than sixteen, thrust her plump face toward Layton. Tutters done more for us kids than anybody on television. Theyre always yacking about juvenile delinquency, but when a good, clean program like the Kings Session comes along, they kill it!

You think the station had any choice? Layton asked. In the face of public opinion?

They were probably pressured into it, the boy with the glasses admitted. But the publics all wet. What did Tut King do that was so bad?

Layton said dryly, He admitted to a congressional investigating committee that hed accepted more than a hundred thousand dollars a year under the table to plug second- and third-rate records, thats all. He took a notebook out of his pocket. Mind giving me your names?

I dont mind one dam bit, the boy said. Im Wayne Mission, and Im president of the L. A. Tutter King Fan Club. And you can quote anything I say.

Me, too, the plump girl said. Nora Perkins. Im vice president.

Others in the group volunteered their names, and Layton dutifully wrote them all down. He turned back to the boy with the glasses. Wayne, dont you think Tutter King was morally wrong in accepting payola to plug inferior records?

Morally, shmorally, the boy retorted. He paid his taxes, didnt he? Who isnt on the take these days? Cops organizing burglary rings. Politicians on big lobbyists pay rolls. Labor leaders robbing union tills and selling out their own members. Industry in price-fixing conspiracies, doing phony advertising, mislabeling. And all those great big marvelous TV giveaway shows a while back all fixed. Payolas everywhere, mister. So why all this jazz about Tutter King plugging some records for a fee? Whod he hurt?

You, Layton said.

Me? Young Mission was astonished.

Arent you sore, having bad music crammed into your ears just to line a disc jockeys pockets?

Aaah, you squares all act as though Tutterd violated a sacred trust or something. Whats the difference what records we go for? Its the beat we dig, anyway. Youd think Tutterd been selling us dope.

One of the other boys said mockingly, Yeah! and they all laughed.

The kids got a point, Layton thought. Maybe in a morally anesthetized society the only sin was to be caught.

Theyre all out of step but me, he thought.

Whats your opinion, Nora? he asked the girl.

Tutters the dreamiest she replied. I wouldnt care if hed robbed the Bank of America.

Thanks, both of you. If nice kids like these thought that way, what hope was there?

The reporter shook his head and drifted toward the other studio door, the one lettered Studio Employees Only. He pushed through and found himself at the joint of an L-shaped corridor. At the end of the branch to his right he could make out the fluid glitter of the receptionist Straight ahead, dressing rooms lined both sides of the Ls other arm. At the far end of this hall gleamed the glass of a control booth to another studio.