Second Honeymoons Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 6) Read online

“Perhaps it would be a good idea,” Mack said, opening his laptop and powering it up, “since Jim and Carol are new to the team, to give a little background information on the who, what and why of our audience. In fact,” with a nod to the other people at the table, none of whom had spoken yet, “it might be beneficial to everyone here. I’ve put together a knock-your-socks-off presentation for us to eyeball.”

  I confess that I zoned out of Mack’s presentation, even though it was punctuated by flashing lights, loud music, and short clips of impossibly happy people enjoying themselves in a variety of activities that made me tired. I already knew how many Boomers there were in the United States (78.2 million, in case you were wondering), what their average household income was (way more than Jim’s and mine), and what percentage of the buying market they were (the 55+ age group currently controls more than ¾ of America’s wealth). I had other things on my mind.

  “An American turns fifty every seven seconds,” Mack intoned, “and by the end of this year, adults aged fifty and over will represent forty-five percent of the U.S. population according to AARP. And Baby Boomer women spend $21 billion annually on clothing.”

  I snapped to attention with that statistic. I guess a lot of Boomer women don’t shop in consignment and thrift shops, the way I do. I gave Jim a sideways glance, but he had his poker face on and didn’t acknowledge me.

  King turned to an as yet unidentified person, and said, “Make a note that we need to go after a women’s clothing line for show sponsorship. Maybe Chico’s. It’s the right demographic.”

  Mack opened his mouth to continue his presentation, but King ignored him. “We all know who our market is, and why we’re targeting them,” he said, effectively bringing Mack’s presentation to a grinding halt and taking back control of the meeting. “As a matter of fact, our research shows that Boomers will control 70% of U.S. disposable income by 2017. That equals $3.4 trillion in buying power.”

  Note to self: Take extra good care of yourself to be sure you reach 2017. It would be a shame to miss that spending opportunity.

  “We’ve prepared a brief presentation about the show itself for you,” King said, looking directly at Jim and me. “Perhaps now would be a good time to show it.”

  Carrie jumped to her feet and positioned herself behind her father. “I’ll take this part,” she said. “After all, I put the presentation together in the first place. Although it’s pretty sketchy right now. I hope you can help fill in the blanks soon, Carol, since you’re typical of our target audience. Jim, too, of course.”

  Of course. Piece of cake. Especially since I had absolutely no idea what we were talking about.

  In a flash she’d cued up a presentation titled “TV Show Treatment: The Second Honeymoon Game.” I was so fascinated to find out how a show is put together that I actually put my glasses on.

  “Title,” Carrie said. “Well, we all know why we came up with the name. We’re aiming at the Boomer market, and most of them who are in committed relationships have already had a first honeymoon. Moving on.”

  Click.

  “Logline. This is a one or more sentence description of the show to sell sponsors and possible additional producers on the idea. Of course, we won’t have any additional producers,” she added, throwing a glance at her father.

  I heard someone whisper, “What a lame presentation.”

  Carrie flushed. I felt sorry for her. So, of course, I spoke up. “I think this is so interesting,” I said, giving Carrie an encouraging smile.

  “The logline is one of the things we’ll count on Gibson Gillespie to put together for us,” King said. Mack started to speak, but King steamrolled forward. “It takes Boomers to know how to appeal to Boomers,” he said, again looking directly at Jim and me. “That’s why I wanted you two on board. We need a logline that’s short and punchy, that will attract sponsors.”

  Short and punchy, that’s me. Or, maybe short and paunchy.

  “We’ll film the pilot episode in Florida,” Carrie said. “But now we’re putting together a short promo video about the show to attract sponsors. In fact,” Carrie checked her Smartphone, “we have two of the actors waiting in Studio B right now to shoot some preliminary footage.”

  Actors? Why not use real people who are also Boomers? I made a note to ask that question if time permitted. And I remembered it.

  Click.

  “Synopsis,” Carrie continued. “Proposed Contestants and Host.”

  “I’ll jump in here,” said a man who looked like he was barely old enough to shave. “I’m Kurt Armitage,” with a nod to Jim and me, “and I’ll be handling the talent portion of the show. In fact,” with a nod to King, “I also handled the talent for CKP’s last reality show, Gold Coast Confidential. I’m sure you saw it, right?”

  I started to answer, but Jim beat me to it. “I’m afraid Carol and I aren’t fans of reality shows,” he said. Of course, I am, but I didn’t dare correct Jim in front of everyone else. Especially my grammar school classmate.

  “Well, you don’t know what you’re missing,” Kurt said. “It was a great show. In fact, there was some talk of making The Second Honeymoon Game a reality show. But we discarded that idea.”

  “You mean like Jersey Shore, except for geriatrics?” I quipped. I couldn’t help myself. Jim gave my knee a warning squeeze and I shut up.

  Charlie, however, laughed at my feeble joke and, pretty soon, everyone else was laughing, too. “You always did have a good sense of humor, Carol,” he said. “And a tart tongue.”

  “You mean a big mouth, don’t you?” I said, smiling back at him.

  Well, now that I had the floor (sort of) and the implied blessing of the Big Boss to speak my mind, I had a few questions to ask. “I may not know much about putting together a television show,” I said, looking directly at Charlie, “but I wonder why actors are being used for the promo instead of real people? Not that actors aren’t real people. But you know what I mean, don’t you?”

  Kurt bristled at my intrusion into his territory. “Real people, as you call them, Carol, just can’t be depended upon to do the job for this promo,” he said. “Professional actors will learn their lines so they can play the game and deliver the performance we’re looking for. Kim and Tim already know the questions they’ll be asked, and they have their answers down pat. They’re in makeup now, to make them look like they’re really Baby Boomers.” He shook his head at my obvious lack of knowledge. “Using amateurs for a promo. What a ridiculous idea.”

  “They’re in makeup?” I repeated. “You mean, to age them? How old are Tim and Kim, anyway?”

  Notice that I didn’t make a crack about the actors’ similar first names. I hope I get points for that, because it took a lot of self-control on my part. Jim gave my knee another warning squeeze. This one was a little stronger.

  “Tim’s twenty-eight and Kim’s thirty-one,” Kurt responded, shifting a little in his chair. “What’s your point?”

  Now that really frosted my cupcakes. Hiring young people and making them look like they were in a more…mature…age bracket was just plain wrong.

  I cleared my throat. By this time, Jim was gripping my knee so hard that I was beginning to lose feeling in it. But I plowed ahead, anyway. I had a point to make. A very important point, on behalf of the millions of people over fifty who weren’t at the meeting to speak up for themselves. And, by golly, I was going to make it.

  Chapter 13

  I’m not disagreeing with you. I’m just saying that you’re wrong.

  “My point, Kurt,” I said, choosing my words with care, “is that, when people reach a certain age, they become invisible to the younger generation. Furthermore, that generation also assumes most people over fifty no longer have anything worthwhile to contribute to the world.

  “Fortunately, Charlie,” I continued, with a nod to my grammar school classmate, “being of the Boomer generation himself, realizes how unfair that is. Please, let’s not perpetuate that stereotype on the show. It sends e
ntirely the wrong message. And if you don’t think the audience and potential sponsors will figure out what’s going on, you’re mistaken. We’re a very smart bunch of folks.” I took a deep breath. My Joan of Arc speech was done.

  Charlie leaned back in his chair and looked pensive. Finally, he said, “Using real Boomers for a promo video may not be such a ridiculous idea. It certainly is unusual, though. And we’d be going out on a limb to use non-professionals.” He gave me a piercing stare that I bet brought his employees to their knees. “Convince me, Carol. If you can.”

  Sometimes my greatest accomplishment is keeping my mouth shut. But this was not one of those times. Especially since I figured that Charlie was already on my side. And he was the boss, after all. All he had to say was that the show’s promo video would use real Boomers and that would be that.

  But for some unknown reason Charlie wanted me to convince the rest of the folks. Go figure. Maybe he wanted to see if I still was the champion debater I was back in grammar school.

  “Well…” I began. Brilliant, Carol. Just brilliant.

  I looked around at the other five people at the table, all of whom knew far more about public relations, marketing, and television production than I did. In their eyes, I was just a suburban wife and mother with a flair for writing and an extra big mouth.

  Mack looked like he was about to have a coronary. And as for Jim, well…I didn’t have to look at him to know the expression on his face. I’d seen it many times before, when I “acted up,” as he so quaintly put it. It was a cross between apoplexy and disbelief.

  I started again. “I’m sure it’s difficult for some of you to identify with, but as I said before, being in the over-fifty category can be a mixed blessing. Our life expectancy is much longer than our parents’, but what do we do with all the extra years we’ve been given? Many of the younger generation think that we are no longer useful. And, dare I say it, unemployable. That we have nothing more to contribute, but instead should sit at home, rocking on the front porch and waiting for the grandchildren to arrive.”

  I took a deep breath. That part about waiting for the grandchildren was a particularly sore spot with me, but I wasn’t about to air my personal gripes with this crowd.

  “This television show is an opportunity to show the world how important and intelligent the Boomer generation is. I suggest using real Boomers, not just for the promo but for the show itself, and give them the chance to show what they’ve accomplished in their lives.”

  “We were always going to use real Boomers on the show,” Kurt interrupted. “We just hired the actors for the promo.”

  “And we’ve signed a contract with Gene Richmond to be the show’s host,” Carrie added. “He’s definitely in the right age category.” She looked at me. “You know who he is, right?”

  “Of course I do,” I said. “I loved him when he hosted Funtastic Trivia. That was an intelligent game show. Too bad it was cancelled so quickly.”

  Charlie beamed at me. “We produced that show, Carol. Unfortunately, it only lasted one season. Everyone thought we were only doing another version of Jeopardy!, and the show never really found an audience. We’re going to do a lot better with The Second Honeymoon Game.”

  “Well, I can tell you that Jim and I watched every episode of Funtastic Trivia,” I said, with a quick glance at my husband who nodded in agreement, for once.

  “In fact,” Jim added with a grin, “if I caught a late train to Connecticut and ended up arriving home in the middle of the show, Carol made me wait for my dinner until it was over.”

  Everyone had a good laugh about that, even me.

  “And I bet that she’s thrilled about the chance to meet Gene Richmond at last,” Jim added. “Aren’t you, Carol? I always thought you had a little crush on him.”

  I blushed. Busted! Truth to tell, I had more than a little crush on the television game host back in the Eighties. Not that I ever actually wrote him a fan letter or anything, mind you. I just admired him from afar. And, every now and then, allowed an innocent fantasy or two to bubble up in my mind.

  A man who, up to now, had remained so quiet that I hadn’t even noticed him, stood and took a mock bow. “It’s always nice to meet a fan,” he said to me.

  “A fan?” I repeated, not quite getting his meaning.

  “Why, yes,” he said. “I’m Gene Richmond.” He twinkled at me, then said, “I bet you don’t recognize me without my hair.” He brushed his hand over his head, which was almost completely bald. “I used to get loads of fan mail asking me who my barber was. It was a closely guarded secret that I was wearing a hairpiece.”

  For the second time in less than ten minutes, I blushed. One of the things that I’d found most attractive about Gene Richmond back in the day was his lush locks, which always looked perfect. Unlike Jim’s locks which, even then, were waging a battle with his forehead. And losing. It never dawned on me that Richmond was wearing a wig. Excuse me, a hairpiece.

  “I’m looking forward to working with you, Carol,” Gene said. “Jim, too, of course.”

  “Yes, well, moving along,” Carrie said, “let’s get back to the presentation, okay?”

  I was still trying to process the fact that I had met the object of one of my long-time crushes. This day was turning out to be filled with more surprises than Christmas.

  “One of the secrets of a successful game show is identifying unique contestants or lifestyles,” Carrie said in a loud voice, sensing that she was losing her audience. “That could be an opportunity to publicize what each of the Boomer contestants have so far accomplished in their lives. As Carol has suggested,” with a nod to me.

  “And what they hope to accomplish in the future,” Kurt threw in, finally getting into the proposed spirit of the show. “I like it.”

  “I have another question,” I said, snapping back from fantasyland and ignoring the all-too-familiar groan emanating from the direction of my husband. “How are the contestants going to be chosen?”

  “I was getting to that part in my presentation,” Carrie said, now clearly annoyed. “We’re going to have online auditions for potential contestants, with a registration form, and ask them to submit a short video about themselves. That way, we can see how articulate they are, and how they’d look on camera.”

  I nodded. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “I’m relieved that you approve, Carol,” Kurt said with just a touch of sarcasm, which I chose to ignore. I hope you’re all proud of me.

  “But what’s the criteria for applying to be a contestant?” I asked. “Have you set one?” I know, at this point I should have zipped my lip. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  “Well, of course, they have to be the right demographic,” Kurt said, clearly uncomfortable. “What more do you want? We’re looking for variety here, not cookie cutter contestants.”

  “Well, if the show is going to be called The Second Honeymoon Game, I would think that the ideal contestants would be married or be in a long-time committed relationship. Doesn’t that make sense?” I asked, with a quick glance at Charlie.

  “Why don’t we just re-name it The Carol Andrews Show and be done with it?” I heard someone mutter. Kurt? Or, horrors, Mack?

  Oops. Better be careful, Carol. You don’t want to lose this job. Mack’s your boss on this project. And, more important, he’s Jim’s boss.

  “I know I’m asking too many questions,” I said. “It’s one of my worst faults. Jim adds that to my ‘Honey Don’t’ list every week.”

  “ ‘Honey Don’t’ list?” Charlie repeated. “I’ve never heard of that. I know what a ‘Honey Do’ list is, of course.”

  Jim rushed in to explain, upstaging me before I could open my mouth again. “Carol and I have been married for more than thirty-five years,” he said. I couldn’t tell from his tone of voice if he was bragging about the longevity of our marriage or nominating himself for a medal for putting up with me for so long.

  “That’s longer than I’ve
been on this earth!” Kurt exclaimed.

  “Exactly my point,” I said, not wanting Jim to completely take over the floor from me.

  “One of Carol’s most annoying traits,” Jim said, glaring at me, “is that she interrupts. All. The. Time. Just like she’s doing right now.”

  Humph.

  “We came up with the idea of the ‘Honey Don’t’ list few years ago,” Jim continued. “It’s a pretty simple concept. We make a list of the personality traits the other person has that really get on our nerves.”

  “The list of my own faults is very short,” I put in. Well, you didn’t think I was just going to sit back and let Jim talk, did you? And the ‘Honey Don’t’ list was entirely my idea, but in the interests of long-time family harmony and wedded bliss, I didn’t correct him…on that point.

  “It’s funny how some of the traits that attract one person to another in the beginning of a relationship can start to grate on a person after a while,” I said. “Even my own.”

  “Carrie’s mother and I never had the chance to have that happen to us,” Charlie said with a glance at his daughter. “Hope and I were only married two years before she died.”

  “I had no idea,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” Poor Charlie. He looked so vulnerable and sad.

  “Maybe we should take a break,” Carrie suggested, realizing her father was getting too emotional. “Kurt, those actors are still waiting in Studio B. What should we do about them?”

  “Dismiss them,” Charlie said, snapping back into professional mode. “We’re going in a whole new direction, thanks to Carol’s input.” He flashed me a big grin.

  “We have to pay them, anyway,” Kurt objected. “Since they’re here already, why don’t we shoot the scene as originally planned and then we’ll have it in case things don’t work out with Carol’s idea? Which will probably happen, since she has absolutely no experience putting together a television show. No offense, Carol.”

  “None taken, Kurt,” I lied.

  “I said to dismiss the actors, Kurt,” Charlie said. “What part of that sentence don’t you understand? Pay them for one day’s work, so we don’t have any trouble with the actors’ union, and dismiss them. Is that crystal clear?”