The door behind him opened swiftly, and he turned with his fists clenched as it slid shut again.
“I thought I told you not to...”
The girl standing there was not Lizbeth. She was tall, with her red hair pulled to one side of her neck, trailing down over one bare breast. Her breasts were firm and high, concentrically ringed in various hues. Her stomach was bare and flat, etched with a deeply-shadowed navel. Her skirt was shorter than a good many skirts he’d seen, and she wore six inch spikes with ankle straps.
He stared at her for an instant. “Who the hell are you?” he shouted.
“Lois.”
“Who?”
“Lois Sylvan.”
“Do you know what doors are for, Miss Sylvan? They keep people out. I told my secretary I wasn’t to be disturbed; I wasn’t kidding. Now if you’ll swing your keester out of here, I’ll be much obliged.”
“I thought you’d be interested,” she said archly.
Van looked her over again. “You dress Vike,” he said, “but your talk is strictly Ree. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“We’re even; I’m not selling.”
He looked at her again. “Am I supposed to know you or something? I’m not good at guessing games.”
“Lydia Silverstein,” she said quickly.
“Lydia wh...” He closed his mouth fast and looked her over again. Yes, the red hair was certainly hers, and the long legs, and... but...
“Well. You’ve changed.”
“My name, too. Not legally yet. I’ve assumed it by common law, and I’ve already got a shyst to bring it to court.”
“Good. So?”
“I’ve bared my... I’ve taken off my blouse, and I’ve shortened my skirt. I’m using cosmetics, and I tried... morphine today. I did just what you said.”
“So?”
“Well... I... I’m ready to begin.”
“Begin what?”
“You said...”
“Miss Silverstein, or Sylvan, or whatever-the-hell, this is not a Ree Convertorium. I run a business, and I don’t have to...”
“But you said...”
“I know what I said. I also told you to kick out your mate. Did you do that?”
His eyes began to cloud, and her lower lip trembled a little. “I... I didn’t have one!”
“Fine! You had nothing to lose then, did you? The fact remains that I can’t play father-confessor to every Ree who decides to chuck it all. Miss, I’m right now in the middle of something...”
She started to cry. Just like that. It had been such a long time since he’d seen any woman cry, that he almost didn’t believe it.
“Hey!” he said.
“Oh, shut up,” she blubbered.
“Well, look...”
“Don’t talk to me,” she said between sobs.
“Well, don’t cry,” he offered lamely. “Save that for the stereo-soaps. Come on now, Miss. Miss, you shouldn’t...”
“I did what you said,” she blubbered. “I did just what you said. Now I’m here, and I feel so cheap and so... so... naked, and you don’t even... you don’t even...”
He walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulder comfortingly. “Look, Miss, please don’t cry; there’s no need for that, really. Please, now, please.”
“I feel awful,” she whimpered. “I even got thrown out of my apartment.”
“There, there, I’ll help you. Don’t worry. I said I’d help you, and I will.”
“You will?”
“Of course I will. We can use good female scribes. I said I’d help, and I’ve never gone back on my word. I was just feeling sort of grumpy, that’s all.”
“You’ll really help me write?” she asked. She looked for a pocket in which she undoubtedly hoped to find a handkerchief, found none, and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.
“Yes, I’ll help you write,” Bran said. “Yes, I most cert...” A thought hit him. Full-blown. It dropped right out of the air and into his head, and his eyes opened wide, and his mouth fell open. “Yes, by God,” he said. “Yes, I will!”
The thought had concerned a certain twenty gee being paid a certain Walt Alloway to scribe the show. And Hayden was looking to cut costs. Van grinned amiably and said, “Miss Sylvan... Lois... how would you like to earn a cool five gee?”
She blinked her long lashes, stared at him incredulously. “Five... five...?”
“Five gee. Five thousand skins. All yours. All for your hot little hands. How about it?”
She gulped hard. “For writing?”
“What else?” he asked.
For a moment, he thought she would faint. Instead, she gulped again, and her eyes were incredibly green and incredibly wet behind their thick lashes. She opened her mouth to answer, but when no words came, she simply nodded her head weakly.
“Fine!” Van shouted. “Terrific.”
He stabbed the button on his desk, and Liz came on.
“Sir?”
“Liz, honey,” he said warmly, “I want you to call Hayden Thorpe for me.”
“Sir?” Her voice brightened.
“I want you to call him, sweetness, and tell him I’ve got the two scribes he wanted. Tell him one of them is Walt Alloway, and reel off Walt’s credits to him... mention the After Dark thing, Liz. That was really big.”
She sounded quite happy now, almost as if she were smiling. “Yes, Van.”
“And then tell him I’ve discovered a fabulous new female scribe. Tell him she’s the greatest thing since transundies...”
“Van!”
“...the best damned scribe since Shakespeare, the biggest discovery since Corradon. Tell him she’s starting at once, and that I’ve had to go to five gee, but that she’s worth every penny. Tell him I’m clearing up the other details now, and that we’ll be ready to roll on Sunday.”
“Yes, Van.”
“And tell him, Liz; tell him her name is...” He snapped his fingers, and the redhead fluttered her eyelashes.
“Lydia,” she said. She sat up abruptly. “No, Lois! Lois Sylvan.”
“Lois Sylvan, Liz.”
“Lois Sylvan,” Liz repeated.
“Remember that name, Liz; remember it well. This little lady is going to have that name in lights soon. Lois Sylvan.” He tasted the words. “Magnificent.” He stood with his head cocked to one side for a brief moment, and then snapped, “Make that call now, will you, Liz, and double it!”
“Grooved.”
She clicked off, and Brant turned to the redhead.
“Well, Miss Sylvan,” he said, “this is the beginning. You’re on your way.”
Miss Sylan did not answer. Miss Sylvan was too busy holding her breath and giving herself a great big healthy mental pinch.
Hunt Laker was a literary agent who specialized chiefly in paperbacks. He had been drawn into the June thirtieth benefit strictly by chance, when one of his scribes — a recent addition to Lake’s stable — decided to write a bit for a chick with more frontage than brains. The chick stopped the show cold with the material Lake’s scribe had provided. Lake, as the scribe’s agent, had his name listed on the program, along with the other agents who’d contributed to the show. That listing had not added any moo to his dusty coffers, because the show was a benefit, and no one was paid for his services. The listing had, however, enabled Laker to become the reluctant recipient of something other than moo. And that something was a Suzy Q from Dino Pelazi.
He sat next to Van Brant on the hard wooden bench now, alternately belching and complaining. Van listened because there was nothing better to. do. He knew Laker only slightly, and he considered a man who specialized in paperbacks something of a pariah.