David Sunshine
A Novel of the Communications Industry
by
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T.J. heard the door open and turned around in time to see David Sunshine charge into the office, loosening his tie with one hand and slinging his suit coat on the sofa with the other. Jane Hollow stood in the doorway. "T.J. Brinkman," she said, "meet David Sunshine." The hand rushed in and out of T.J.'s grip, and David Sunshine swung himself into his chair and crashed his feet down on his desk and snatched up a telephone and held it to his shoulder with his chin while he rolled up his sleeves. "Who! Who!" he demanded, shouting into the phone. "William Morris?" He gave a little grin at Jane Hollow, who was now sitting down on the sofa. She grinned back at him, the way she must have been expected to. "Get me MCA! William Morris. Are you kidding? MCA.” He slammed down the phone. The buzzer gave a buzz and David- Sunshine grabbed at another phone. "Who! Who!" Then he pushed a button on that phone. "Bullets? How are you, Bullets? Eva Marie Saint? Jesus, Bullets! Have you gone bananas? Bullets, Eva Marie--" He gave T.J. a frown and cupped a hand over the receiver. "Hey, what do you think of Eva Marie Saint?" he asked him in a deep, confiding voice, but very fast. "Well-- well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Sun.— "Like making love to your own sister, Bullets. Are you kidding? Forget it, Bullets." He slammed down the phone so hard it gave a little jingle, and he scrambled to his feet. "It's a con," he said and fixed his eyes on T.J. "All con." David Sunshine made both his hands into fists and he leaned over his desk and he brought those fists down – wham! -- on the desk to emphasize his words. “It’s a dirty business. It’s a crummy business. It’s an incestuous business. It's a dirty, crummy, incestuous business. And it's all con." "But don't you think," asked David Sunshine "that the divorce rate is a sign of the decay of our society?" The fat psychiatrist wiped his face with a white handkerchief. "Yes," he said. "I think it is. I think it is only one of a number of signs of that decay. But the point is: it is decaying." "But is that the point?" said the thin psychiatrist. "I think it is, yes," said the fat psychiatrist. "Well, I don't," said the thin psychiatrist. "Well, I do." "Well, I don't." "Well, you're wrong." "Well, that is a matter, to state it mildly, of opinion." "Well, what is it if it's not the point?" "It's beside the point, and there's no if about it." "I wonder," said the bald psychiatrist, getting himself into the conversation. "I don't know why you should," said the thin psychiatrist. "Neither do I," said the long-haired psychiatrist, speaking out for the first time. "Yeah, well, I don't happen to think the decay of society is any small matter," said the fat psychiatrist fiercely. The thin psychiatrist looked down his nose at him and said, "I'd like you to document this decay of society you're alleging so freely." "You don't think there is one?" "No." "Well, where have you been?" "I might ask you the same question." "With Jung and Adler, for one thing." "I'd like to know what that proves," said the thin psychiatrist. "Speaks rather poorly for Jung and Adler,” said the long-haired psychiatrist, and he snickered. "How dare you, sir!" demanded the fat psychiatrist. "Oh, why don't you just shut the hell up?" said the thin psychiatrist. “Oh, yeah: Well, why don't you just try and make me:" “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said David Sunshine. "Gentlemen, please. Can't we confine ourselves to--?" "Well, he started it," said the fat psychiatrist. "That's a matter of opinion," said the thin psychiatrist. "He did, too. He made fun of Jung and Adler." "I did not!" "He did, too. Didn't he, Mr. Sunshine?" "Gentlemen, please," said David Sunshine. "You did, too." "I did not." "Yes, you did," "No, I didn't." "Gentlemen, Gentlemen. Please." "Did too." "Did not." "Gentlemen, the topic is divorce." "Did too," muttered the fat psychiatrist. "Did not." The thin psychiatrist barely moved his lips when he said it. "Did too." "Did not." "Did too." "Not!" "Too!" "Not!" "Did!" "Not! Did not, did not, did not!" "Gentlemen, gentlemen. The topic is divorce." "Well, divorce is too a sign of society's decay," said the fat psychiatrist in a pouty sing-song voice and folded his arms across his chest. "And that's all I have to say." He nodded once and turned his mouth down and scowled at the floor. ****************************************************************************** David Sunshine frowned a slow, sad, faraway kind of a frown. "When you get to my age, T.J.," he said quietly, "you slow down." "Well, you haven't slowed down any," said T.J., thinking to himself how it surely must be something, to have fame and fortune, and to have done as many things to be proud of as David Sunshine had, and still only be forty years old. Why, that was just wonderful! But David Sunshine’s face was getting sadder-looking. "Television will always be a business for young men," he said. "Only young men can survive in this fantastic pressure cooker, this cancerous jungle of monsters, hustlers and sycophants." He looked at his reflection and squinted at his gray hair and then closed his eyes for a minute. "I'm slowing down," he said. The make-up man made a final pass with his sponge, and David Sunshine turned to T.J. and looked him right square in the eye, steady and sad. "T.J., T.J.," he said, making both hands into fists and holding them up. "Talent is a curse. No, no; it is, T.J. You're lucky. You don't have any. Otherwise, you'd know." He shook his head, more melancholy than ever. "Talent is a curse," he repeated sadly.
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About the Book
When blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, college football hero T. J. Brinkman leaves Sweet Dreams, Arkansas, to make his name and fame in the world of big city television, he is lucky enough to find employment with the industry’s most prominent and highly regarded producer, David Sunshine, widely considered the brightest hope for television’s future. A media darling considered the best in the business by people who accept his public image, David Sunshine in real life immediately proves himself a far cry from the public’s, the media’s, and T.J. Brinkman’s naive and gullible assessments of him. What happens when T.J.’s innocence and idealism clash with David Sunshine’s egotism and opportunism is at times hilarious, at other times heart-breaking. Filled to overflowing with characters who range from fragile to cruel to beautiful to eccentric, David Sunshine re-creates a world gone by and tells the story of how it really was as television began to decline from its Golden Age into a far more cynical industry. David Sunshine is best described as “a comedy of substance.” In depicting the American television industry of the 1960’s, it is as accurate as it is funny.
About the Author
Morrow Wilson received his first rejection slip at age 14 and his first payment for his writing at 17. Since then his occupations have included novelist, playwright, columnist, reviewer, actor, singer, producer, broadcasting, publishing and advertising executive. Plus the survival jobs associated with being a Renaissance Man centuries after the Renaissance. In the world of television he was the first associate producer of David Susskind’s talk show; then an independent producer of high quality TV, radio, stage and cabaret; and finally served as production chief of the CBS Cable Television Network. In the world of acting, he has won numerous awards and been cast in more than 100 New York City stage productions as well as in feature, independent and TV films, primetime television, six New York soap operas, many commercials and he has played the Algonquin’s supper club to friendly reviews. He is a Lifetime Member of The Actors' Fund of America, this country’s oldest theatrical charity and a Board Member of The Players, this country’s oldest theatrical and literary social club. A widower, he currently makes his home in New York City with two cats, both named after Shakespearean heroines. David Sunshine is his second published novel.