“See that?” Westerly said. “The only way I can get it to stop… make my whole body shop shaking… is to pop some cat. Nothing less will do the trick anymore.”
“Cat? But I thought…”
“I kicked it once… in the mountains, far away from here. But I’m right back on it again.”
Brenda looked up at the director’s face. It looked awful and not merely because of the lighting. “I didn’t know, Mitch. How could…”
It took an effort to keep his teeth from chattering. Westerly plunged his hand back into his pocket and resumed walking.
“How can anybody stay straight in this nuthouse?” he asked. “Dulaq is bouncing in and out of the studio whenever he feels like it. Half the time we have to shoot around him or use a double. Rita’s spending most of her time with that snake from FINC… I think she’s posing for pictures for him. He told me he’s an amateur photographer.”
Brenda huffed, “Oh for god’s sake!”
“And when she’s on the set all she wants to do is look glamorous. She can’t act for beans.”
“But you’ve gotten four shows in the can.”
“In four weeks, yeah. And each week my cat bill goes up. Earnest is making a fortune off me.”
“Earnest? He’s supplying you with cat?”
“It’s all legal… he tells me.”
“Mitch… can you stay for just another three weeks? Until we get the first seven shows finished?”
He shook his head doggedly. “I’d do it for you, Brenda… if I could. But I know what I went through the last time with cat. If I don’t stop now, I’ll be really hooked. Bad. It’s me or the show… another three weeks will kill me. Honest.”
She said nothing.
Earnest has a couple of local people who can direct the other three segments. Hell, the way things are going, anybody could walk off the street and do it.”
Brenda asked, “Where will you go? What will you do?”
“To the mountains, I guess.”
“Katmandu again?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I’d like to try Aspen, if Finger will let me off the hook. I owe some debts…”
“I’ll take care of that,” Brenda said firmly. “B.F. will let you go, don’t worry.”
He looked at her from under raised eyebrows. “Can you really swing it for me?”
Brenda said, “Yes. I will… but what will you do in Aspen?”
He almost smiled. “Teach, maybe. There’s a film colony there… lots of eager young kids.”
“That would be good,” Brenda said.
He stopped walking. They were at his car. “I hate to leave you in this mess, Brenda. But I just can’t cut it anymore.”
“I know,” she said. “Don’t worry about it You’re right, the show’s a disaster. There’s no sense hanging on.”
He reached out and grasped her by the shoulders. Lightly. Without pulling her toward him. “Why are you staying?” he asked. “Why do you put up with all this bullshit?”
“Somebody’s got to. It’s my job.”
“Ever think of quitting?”
“Once every hour, at least.”
“Want to come to Aspen with me?”
She stepped closer to him and let her head rest against his chest. “Its a tempting thought. And you’re very sweet to ask me. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Reasons. My own reasons”
“And they’re none of my business, right?”
She smiled up at him. “You’ve got enough problems. You don’t need mine. Go on, go off to the mountains and breathe clean air and forget about this show. I’ll square it with B.F.”
Abruptly, he let go of her and reached for the car door. “Can I drop you off at the hotel?”
“I’ve got my own car.” She pointed to it, sitting alone and cold looking a few empty rows down the line.
“Okay,” he said. “Goodbye. And thanks.”
“Good luck, Mitch.”
She walked to her car and stood beside it as he gunned his engine and drove off.
It’ll look like Orson Welles, Gregory Earnest told himself as he strode purposefully onto the set. Script by Gregory Earnest. Produced by Gregory Earnest. Directed by Gregory Earnest.
He stood there for a magnificent moment, clad in the traditional dungarees and tee shirt of a big-time director, surrounded by the crew and actors who stood poised waiting for his orders.
“Very well,” he said to them. “Let’s do this one right.”
Four hours later he was drenched with perspiration and longing for the safety of his bed.
Dulaq had just delivered the longest speech in his script:
“Oh yeah? We’ll see about dat!”
He stood bathed in light, squinting at the cue cards that had his next line printed in huge red block letters, while the actor in the scene with him backed away and gave his line:
“Rom, we’re going to crashl The ship’s out of control!”
Dulaq didn’t answer. He peered at the cue card, then turned toward Earnest and bellowed, “What th’hell’s dat word?”
“Cut!” Earnest yelled. His throat was raw from saying it so often.
“Which one?” the script girl asked Dulaq.
“Dat one… wit’ de ‘S.’”
“Stabilize,” the girl read.
Dulaq shook his head and muttered to himself, “Stabilize. Stabilize. Stabilize.”
This is getting to be a regular routine, Brenda told herself. I feel like the Welcome Wagon Lady… in reverse.
She was at the airport again, sitting at the half-empty bar with Les Montpelier. His travelbags were resting on the floor between their stools.
“I don’t understand why you’re staying,” Montpelier said, toying with the plastic swizzle stick in his Tijuana Teaser.
“B.F. asked me to,” she said.
“So you’re going to stick it out until the bloody end?” he asked rhetorically. “The last soldier at Fort Zindemeuf.”
She took a sip of her vodka gimlet. “Bill Oxnard still comes up every weekend. I’m not completely surrounded by idiots.”
Montpelier shook his head, more in pity than in sorrow. “I could ask B.F. to send somebody else up here… hell, there’s no real reason to have anybody here. The seventh show is finished shooting. All they have to do now is the editing. No sense starting the next six until we get the first look at the ratings.”
“The editing can be tricky,” Brenda said. “These people that Earnest has hired don’t have much experience with three-dee editing.”
“They don’t have much experience with anything.”
“They work cheap, though.”
Montpelier lifted his glass. “There is that. I’ll bet this show cost less than any major network presentation since the Dollar Collapse of Eighty-Four.”
“Do you think that there’s any chance the show will last beyond the first seven weeks?” Brenda asked.
“Are you kidding?”
“Thank god,” she said. “Then I can go home as soon as the editing’s finished.”
The P.A. system blared something unintelligible about a flight to Los Angeles, Honolulu and Tahiti.
“That’s me,” Montpelier said. “I’d better dash.” He started fumbling in his pocket for cash.
“Go on, catch your plane,” Brenda said. “I’ll take care of the tab.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Give B.F. my love.”
“Will do.” He grabbed his travelbags and hurried out of the bar.
Brenda turned from watching him hurry out the doorway to the three-dee set behind the bar. The football game was on. Honolulu was meeting Pittsburgh and the Pineapples’ star quarterback, Gene Toho, was at that very minute throwing a long pass to a player who was racing down the sideline. He caught the ball and ran into the endzone. The referee raised both arms to signal a touchdown.