"That is breach of protocor. You not directing this firm. "
"Here's a flash, Jiro, baby." Bronzini sneered. "Neither is Kurosawa. In fact, he never heard of Red Christmas. Not only that, but he sounded pretty fucking vague about the concept of Christmas all by itself."
"Ah, I understand now. There was a probrem. Kurosawa unabre to direct Red Christmas. Have been meaning to inform you of this unhappy act. So sorry."
"Don't 'so sorry' me. I'm sick of 'so sorry.' And I'm still waiting for that explanation."
"I was assured by Mr. Kurosawa's representative that he wourd be abre to direct firm. It appears we were misinformed. Serious breach of etiquette, for which satisfaction wirr be demanded and aporogies no doubt tendered by the responsibre persons."
"Satisfaction! My only satisfaction would have been working with Kurosawa. He's a master."
"This very regrettabre. Mr. Nishitsu himserf wirr no doubt convey his regrets to you when he arrive."
"I can hardly fucking wait," Bartholomew Bronzini said acidly. He threw up his hands. "So who is directing?" Isuzu bowed.
"I have that honor," he said.
Bronzini stopped dead. His droopy dachshund eyes narrowed, if that was possible. His wildly gesticulating hands paused in the air, as if captured in amber.
His "You?" was very tiny but very, very vehement. Jiro Isuzu took an involuntary step backward.
"Yes," he said softly.
Bartholomew Bronzini stepped up to him and leaned over. Even leaning, he towered over the Japanese. And Bronzini was not very tall.
"How many films have you directed, Jiro, baby?"
"None. "
"Then it's real sporting of you to offer to pick up the pieces." Bronzini said airily. "After all, this is only a fucking six-hundred-million-dollar epic. It's only my comeback film. It's not even important. Hell, why bother with a director at all? Why don't we all just jump in the sand and play until we get enough footage to edit down into a cartoon? Because that's what this is developing into--a fucking joke."
"I wirr do good job. I promise."
"No. No chance. I'm putting my foot down now. Production stops. We do a search. We find an experienced director. Then we start. Not before. You read me?"
"No time. Camera rorr tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is the day before Christmas Eve," Bronzini told him as if speaking to a very slow child.
"Mr. Nishitsu move up schedule."
"Let me see the shooting schedule."
"Not avairabre. So sorry."
"Fine. Excellent. It's not available. There's no shooting schedule, no director. All we have is a star, more tanks than Gorbachev, and you. Wonderful. I'm going back to the hotel and ask the head chef to help me hold my head in the oven, because I'm so blind pissed off, I'd probably screw it up."
Fists clenched, Bronzini started for the tent flap. "No," Jiro said. "We need you."
Bronzini halted. He whirled. He couldn't believe Isuzu was pressing the point. The guy had nerve. "For what?" he asked flatly.
"Talk to Marines and Air Force."
"About what?"
"Because we start earry, not arr extra arrive from Japan. We wirr ask to use American servicemen. Arso, equipment. Big parachute drop shoot tomorrow."
"I don't remember a parachute drop."
"Parachute drop in new draft. Written rast night."
"Who put that in?" Bronzini asked in a suspicious voice.
"I do so."
"Why aren't I in the least surprised, Jiro? Tell me that. Why?"
Isuzu coughed into his hand. "Script mine," he said defensively. "Mine and Mr. Nishitsu's."
"Let's not forget who wrote the first draft," Bronzini said bitterly. "You remember the pre-tank draft, the one set in Chicago?"
"You will receive proper screen credit for contribution, of course. Come. Prease to forrow me."
"You want my help, you gotta help me in return."
"Beg pardon?" Isuzu said.
"This union thing. I want it solved. By tomorrow. That's my price for my cooperation."
Jiro Isuzu hesitated. "Union dispute wirr be sorved before camera rorr. Acceptabre to you?"
Bronzini blinked. "Yeah. It is," he said, taken by surprise.
Jiro Isuzu stepped from the tent smartly. Bronzini followed him with his volcanic blue eyes. With a grunt of surprise, he wrestled his Harley up from the ground and pushed it from the tent.
On his way out, he nearly ran down Sunny Joe Roam, who was trailed by several Japanese extras and one American.
"I got them to corkscrew just like you said, Mr. Bronzini," Sunny Joe rumbled.
"Fine. Now go learn Japanese," Bronzini said as he mounted the bike and kicked the starter. "Because you're going to need it."
Roam laughed. "Once you get to know him," he whispered to Remo, "he's a great kidder. Here, let me introduce you. Bart, I want you to meet Remo. He's' our stunt American. He'll be doubling for you."
Remo put out his hand, thinking that if he was going to watch over Bronzini, he'd better swallow his dislike for the man and make friends.
"I'm a big fan," he lied.
"Then why don't I feel a breeze?" Bronzini sneered, ignoring the offered hand. He roared off after a Nishitsu production van.
"Wonder what's eating him?" Sunny Joe said.
"He always acts like his jockstrap is too tight," Remo said. "I read it in a magazine."
The base commander of the Yuma Marine Air Station was stoic when Bartholomew Bronzini stepped into his office. Jiro Isuzw hung unobtrusively behind him.
"Let me say from the start," Colonel Emile Tepperman said brusquely, "that I've never seen one of your films." Bartholomew Bronzini allowed a sheepish expression to settle over his hangdog face.
"It's not too late," he quipped. "They're all on video."
His crooked grin was not returned. He wasn't sure if that was because the Marine officer was a no-nonsense type, or that this was further proof, if any was needed, that Bartholomew Bronzini's strong suit was not standup comedy. He also wasn't sure why he was playing along with this dog-and-pony show. As angry as he felt, he was a professional. He was going to finish this movie on schedule-whatever the schedule was-and get the hell out.
"Sit down and tell me what it is you want the Corps to do for you," Colonel Tepperman suggested.
"We'd like the use of your base for a day or two," Bronzini said. "Starting tomorrow."
"Funny time to be starting a film. So close to the holidays. "
"We'll be shooting through the holidays," Bronzini told him. "Can't be helped, sir. I figure it might be less disruptive with your soldiers on leave."
"I don't have the authority to grant such permission," the colonel said slowly, eyeing Isuzu. "We have an ongoing signals intelligence operation at this base."
"Who does have the authority?" Bronzini asked coolly.
"The Pentagon. But I hardly think they'd entertain-"
"So far, we have received great cooperation from your State Department, Congress, and rocal raw authorities," Jiro Isuzu broke in urgently.
The colonel considered the Japanese's words.
"I suppose I could make a phone call," he said reluctantly. "How many days would this entail?"
"Two," Isuzu said. "Not more than three. We would also require the use of uniformed personnel."
"For what?" Colonel Tepperman asked suspiciously.
"As extras."
"You want to use my people in your movie?"
"Yes, sir," Bronzini said, catching the ball. "I did it all the time in the Grundys. Hollywood extras don't move or act like real soldiers. They don't know how to handle weapons realistically."
The colonel nodded. "I stopped going to war movies years ago. Couldn't stand the imbecilic things I saw. You know, in one film they had some idiot running around with an U. S. M-120 grenade launcher attached to a Kalashnikov rifle."
"That will never, repeat, never happen in this film," Bronzini promised. "We know our weapons."