Page 72 of The Hanukkah Hoax
They peeled off each other, and Marisa stepped forward. “No, you weren’t interrupting anything. Welcome. I’m glad you stopped by. Would you like to try a specialty treat box from Sweetest Heart’s Desire? We’re a local gourmet confectionery, and we’ve put together an exclusive assortment for all the guests in attendance tonight.”
“Actually, my wife has already sampled the offerings. Quite good, I’ll say, including the, uh . . . uh . . .”
“Gingerbread fudge?”
The crimson in the man’s cheeks flushed all the way north to his receding hairline. “Yes, that’s the one. Actually, that’s what I came over to talk about.”
“Oh?” A deep V formed between Marisa’s brows as she jockeyed her gaze between Alec and the man. The latter had pulled out a business card and was offering it to Alec. But before Marisa could inquire further, a contingent of council members approached Eden and Cal looking for her. “Please excuse me.” Then she was off, leaving Alec alone with the bloke and his business card.
“I’m Martin Penhaus. Good friends with Arthur Doley. I was just speaking to him. I know he and Monica are so happy with the turnout you all have been able to garner for the event. Biggest numbers they’ve seen in years.”
“Ah, yes. Alec Elms,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Glad to hear it.”
“Oh, believe me, the pleasure is mine. Smart bit of advertising for Great Britain, as well.” Martin gestured toward the squares of face-fudge Cal was handing out at the far end of the booth.
“I can’t take credit for it. That was all Marisa’s doing. The owner of Sweetest Heart’s Desire. And my girlfriend,” he tacked on, loving the way the words felt on his lips.
“Well, whoever’s idea it was, they should be congratulated, and I also wanted to make your acquaintance personally. I’m an executive producer for the Global Sports Matrix in New York.”
Well, that made Alec’s antennae stand at attention. Global Sports Matrix was the premier international sports broadcasting network.
“I have to say, this turnout has led to more people talking my ear off about rugby sevens than anything.”
“That’s a good thing, I wager. More exposure for the sport is always appreciated.”
“Absolutely. Which is why I wanted to speak with you. I’ve been trying to bring more awareness to international sports Americans may not have learned to love yet and see whether there are opportunities for primetime coverage. I’m sort of on the hunt for the right candidates and whatnot. I’m thinking the sevens circuit might be a good option.”
Alec’s lips thinned, and whatever curious enthusiasm he had when Martin had introduced himself grew annoyingly threadbare.
Great. Another one of these blokes.
He’d had these conversations before, always to a room full of suits who still thought an eight-to-ten-o’clock evening airing window was the zenith of appeal for audiences and advertising dollars.
And just like before, he had his speech at the ready, though he made sure to round off some of the more aggressive corners lest his comments get back to Arthur and Monica and negatively impact Marisa in some way.
“Mr. Penhaus, I think I know where this is going, and I’d like to offer a different perspective, if you’d permit me.”
“Please. You don’t get to be my age without appreciating the value of a captive audience, whether on the giving or receiving end.”
Good. That was . . . good. A better start he’d received than most, at least.
Alec cleared his throat. “Rugby, and rugby sevens specifically, doesn’t play in what is commonly thought of as primetime in the domestic viewership markets, because it is an international game, played monthly for a weekend at a time in different countries all across the globe. Primetime markets, as you call them, are for an aging generation, not the sort that appeals to the streaming audience, who tune in on their terms. If you want people and advertisers to see rugby as appointment viewing, you’d be better served to meet the streamers where they are. Give them a reason to have the sport play in the background during the middle of a workday, or find broadcast opportunities that get to know the players more so that people will actually develop a fondness for the athletes representing their country and want to follow them. Doing so will make them actually want to watch a game that airs at five in the morning and even make it something they prioritize. It’s not a coveted timeslot advertisers are after, in my experience, but who they can advertise to that is more important. Give people a reason to show up on their screens, and they will. Once you accomplish that, I suspect the money will follow.”
Martin scratched beneath his chin. “Interesting take, I will say. It’s a hard sell in our markets, though, you’re right.”
Alec lifted a shoulder. “Always is. That’s why it’s just my opinion.”
“A valued one, nonetheless. You’ve given me something to chew over, even if it is a bit tougher than what I’m used to gnawing on.” Then Martin smiled and refunded Alec’s shoulder shrug before looking down at the sparse array of leftover face-fudge, which hadn’t been enough to fill any more treat boxes with. “And is this what you’d have in mind for developing player attention?”
“Maybe? Though you’d have to talk to the boss about that.” Alec gestured toward Marisa, who was still excitedly talking, if her hand gestures were anything to go by, with the council members.
“Perhaps I might.” Martin plucked a pack of fudge from the table and nodded down at the business card in Alec’s hand. “Great meeting you, Mr. Elms. Keep in touch.”
“Aye. It was a pleasure.”
As the older man got in line to make his purchase, Alec fidgeted with the corners of the card, one with information he’d ultimately pass off to Brennan when he spoke to the man next.
Which would be soon. He’d promised to sign and send over the Argentina contract once Christmas had passed.
