Vera turned toward Bernie. Their gazes met, unmet, then met again. “Cutting to the chase,” Vera said, “the may-”
“Cutting to the chase,” the mayor said. “That’s a good one, considering what we’re about to discuss. So- what’s the expression I’m searching for, Vera? Foreign, maybe?”
“A propos,” said Vera. “The mayor believes that with proper planning and incentives, the Valley could be a mecca for movie production.”
“Isn’t half the nation’s porn already shot in South Pedroia?” Bernie said.
“Thirty-seven percent,” said Vera. “But the mayor is targeting mainstream Hollywood movies.”
“Like Wild Horseman,” said the mayor.
“Don’t know that one,” Bernie said.
“Because it’s not out yet,” the mayor said. “Not even in production. But the whole world’s going to know about it in a year or two. Guess who plays the horseman.”
“John Waters,” Bernie said.
Vera laughed her harsh laugh again. The mayor blinked. I watch for that. When Bernie gets them blinking, it’s usually a good sign.
“Tell him who’s starring,” the mayor said.
“Thad Perry,” said Vera.
The mayor chuckled. Suddenly all sorts of different laughs were in the air. Did it mean anything? I waited to find out. “Heard of him?” the mayor said.
Bernie nodded.
The mayor leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. His pinkie ring caught a ray of brassy light coming through the window and glittered in a dull sort of way.
THREE
Thad Perry? Didn’t ring a bell. There was Mad Thad Thatcherton, who’d hijacked a beer truck that turned out to be full of empties and was now wearing an orange jumpsuit at Central State Correctional-Bernie made him recycle them all before we took him in-but other than that no Thads came to mind.
“Hottest action hero in Hollywood,” the mayor said, “and that’s Variety talking, Bernie, not me. Familiar with Variety?”
“No,” Bernie said.
“Don’t worry about it. Neither was I. We’re on a learning curve here, lots of hard work ahead of us. But think of the payoff!”
“What’s the payoff?” Bernie said.
The mayor gave Bernie a long look. Then, over his shoulder, he said, “You were right, Cal.”
“About what?” Luxton said.
“Didn’t you tell me I’d love how his mind worked?”
“Something like that.”
The mayor pointed a pudgy finger at Bernie. “I love how your mind works,” he said. “Loop him in, Vera.”
“I’m sorry?” said Vera.
“The payoff, for Christ sake. Tell him about the payoff.”
Humans can sometimes squeeze their mouths into very small puckered shapes, which Vera did now. “You already did,” she said.
“Huh?” said the mayor.
Vera turned to Bernie. “If the studio has a successful experience producing Wild Horseman here in the Valley, then-”
“The mecca thing?” Bernie said.
The mayor smacked his desk again. “Exactly! Hollywood West!”
Then came a long silence. Vera gazed down at the floor. Bernie’s mouth fell open a bit, not a good look on most humans, but just fine on him.
“Think of the revenue,” the mayor said. “And all those jobs-carpenters, electricians, drivers, cooks, waiters- what are the latte people, again?”
“Baristas,” Vera said.
“Baristas, et cetera, et cetera,” the mayor said. “Too many to list. But you catch my drift, Bernie?”
“Voters,” Bernie said.
The mayor laughed. He laughed and laughed, his face kind of jiggling. “I’m getting a real good feeling about this,” he said. “Welcome aboard, Bernie. I have complete confidence in you.”
“What am I doing?” Bernie said.
“Finger on the button,” the mayor said. “Just what we need around here. Walk him back, Vera.”
“Starting where?” said Vera.
“The money,” the mayor said. “Where else?”
“The budget for Wild Horseman is one hundred million dollars,” Vera said, “excluding advertising and promotion. The studio-Paragon-and the producers-Rapscallion Entertainment-need to protect that investment. The success of the movie depends to a great extent on the performance of Thad Perry. He’s in every scene.”
“Give Bernie the script,” said the mayor.
“I’m not sure we can do that,” Vera said.
“Then just slip it to him on the side.”
Vera opened her briefcase, handed Bernie a thick sheaf of papers. Bernie set it down on the couch without a glance.
“Ever read a screenplay, Bernie?” the mayor said.
“No.”
“It’s easy. And way quicker than a book, although I didn’t get through the whole thing. Want the elevator pitch?”
“Why not?” said Bernie.
“Vera?” the mayor said.
“A man in a present-day big desert city-” Vera began.
“Like let’s all guess which one,” said the mayor.
“Wakes up in the night,” Vera continued, “and finds a beautiful white horse in his yard. He gets on and rides back to 1839, where he ends up a prisoner of the Apaches and, guided by a beautiful female shaman, decides to change the whole future of the West.”
Another long silence. Then the mayor said, “That shaman is hot. Check out page thirty-five, I think it was. At your convenience. But what Vera’s trying to say is that there’s no way we can let Thad Perry screw this up. Which is where you come in.”
“I don’t get it,” Bernie said. “You want me to teach him how to ride?”
Hey! Bernie could ride? Just when you think he’s done amazing you, he amazes you again. That’s Bernie. I thumped my tail on the mayor’s nice soft rug.
“Hell,” said the mayor, “never thought of that. What if he can’t ride?”
“They’ll have stuntmen for that,” Vera said. “Thad Perry’s problems are behavioral. We have to keep him out of trouble for the duration of the shoot.”
“You want us to babysit him?” Bernie said.
“We’ve got way more respect for you than that,” the mayor said. “And who’s us?”
“Chet and I,” Bernie said.
The mayor glanced down at me. “Where’d that chew go?”
Where did it go? Was that the question? I had no answer.
“Crazy,” said the mayor, “but from the way he looks at you, you’d almost think he knows what’s going on.”
“Crazy,” said Bernie.
