Her thoughts turned to the man who had called last night—what was his name? Julian Black. He had been a bit of a disappointment. In theory, anyone who called on her on the hop had to be interesting: for everyone assumed they would have to pass through a battery of security guards to get at her, and the duller sort of visitor never bothered to try.
Julian had been pleasant enough, and fascinating on his own subject, which was art. But it had not taken Samantha long to find out that he was unhappy with his wife and worried about money; and those two things seemed to sum up his character. She had made it clear she did not want to be seduced by him, and he had made no advances. They had enjoyed a couple of drinks and he had left.
She could have solved his problems as easily as she had solved Anita?s. Perhaps she ought to have offered him money. He didn?t seem to be asking for it, but it was clear he needed it.
Perhaps she ought to patronize artists. But the art world was such a pretentious upper-class scene. Money was spent with no clear idea of its value to real people: people like Anita and her family. No, art was not the solution to Samantha?s dilemma.
There was a ring at the door. She looked out of the window. The taxi was outside. She picked up her script and went down.
She sat back in the comfortable seat of the black cab and flipped through the script she was going to discuss with her agent and a film producer. It was called Thirteenth Night, which would not sell any cinema tickets: but that was a detail. It was a reworking of Shakespeare?s
The taxi stopped outside the Wardour Street office and Samantha got out, leaving the commissionaire to pay the driver. Doors were opened for her as she swept into the building, playing the role of a film star. Joe Davies, her agent, met her and ushered her into his office. She sat down and relaxed her public facade.
Joe closed the door. ?Sammy, I want you to meet Willy Ruskin.?
The tall man who had stood up as Samantha entered now offered his hand. ?It?s a real pleasure, Miss Winacre,? he said.
The two men were such opposites it was almost comical. Joe was short, overweight, and bald; Ruskin was tall, with thick dark hair over his ears, spectacles, and a pleasant American accent.
The men sat down and Joe lit a cigar. Ruskin of fered Samantha a cigarette out of a slim case; she declined.
Joe began: ?Sammy, I?ve explained to Willy here that we haven?t come to a decision on the script yet; we?re still kicking it around.?
Ruskin nodded. ?I thought it would be nice for us to meet anyway. We can talk about any shortcomings you might think the script has. And I?d naturally like to hear any ideas of your own.?
Samantha nodded, collecting her thoughts. ?I?m interested,? she said. ?It?s a good idea, and the film is well-written. I found it quite funny. Why did you leave the songs out??
?The language is wrong for the kind of film we have in mind,? Ruskin replied.
?Right. But you could write some new ones, and get a good rock composer to write tunes.?
??That?s an idea,? Ruskin replied, looking at Samantha with a surprised respect in his eyes.
She went on: ?Why not turn the jester into a loony pop singer—a kind of Keith Moon character??
Joe interjected: ?Willy, that?s a drummer with a British pop group—?
?Yeah, I know,? Ruskin said. ?I like this idea. I?m going to get to work on it right away.?
?Not so fast,? Samantha said. ?That?s a detail. There?s a much more serious problem with the film for me. It ?s a good comedy. Period.?
?I?m sorry—why is that a problem?? Ruskin said. ?I?m not following you.?
?Me neither, Sammy,? Joe put in.
Samantha frowned. ?I?m afraid the thought isn?t all that clear in my own mind, either. It?s just that the film doesn?t say anything. It?s got no point to make, nothing to teach anyone, no fresh view of life—you know the sort of thing.?
?Well, there is the thought that a woman can pose as a man and do a man?s job successfully,? Ruskin offered.
?That may have been subversive in the sixteenth century, but not anymore.?
?And it has a relaxed kind of attitude to homosexuality which might be thought educational.?
?No, it doesn?t,? Samantha said forcefully. ?Even television allows jokes about homosexuals nowadays.?
Ruskin looked a little resentful. ?To be candid, I don?t see how the kind of thing you?re looking for could be written into a basic commercial comedy like this.? He lit another cigarette.
Joe looked pained. ?Sammy baby, this is a comedy. It?s meant to make people laugh. And you want to do a comedy, don?t you??
?Yes.? Samantha looked at Ruskin. ?I?m sorry to be so down on your script. Let me think about it a little longer, will you??
Joe said: ?Yeah, give us a few days, okay, Willy? You know I want Sammy to do it.?
?Sure,? Ruskin said. ?There?s nobody better than Miss Winacre for the part of Viola. But, you know, I have a good script and I want to get a film off the ground. I?ll have to start looking around for alternatives soon.?
?I?ll tell you what, why don?t we talk again in a week?? Joe said.
?Fine.?
Samantha said: ?Joe, there are some other things I want to talk to you about.?
Ruskin got up. ?Thank you for your time, Miss Winacre.?
When he had left Joe relit his cigar. ?Can you understand how I might feel pretty frustrated about this, Sammy??
?Yes, I can.?
?I mean, good scripts are few and far between. To make life harder, you ask me to find you a comedy. Not just any comedy, but a modem one which will bring in the kids. I find one, with a beautiful part for you, and you complain it doesn?t have a message.?
She got up and went to the window, looking down upon the narrow Soho street. A van was parked, blocking the road and causing a traffic jam. A driver had got out and was abusing the van driver, who ignored the imprecations and went about delivering boxes of paper to an office.
?Don?t talk as if a message is something you only get in
?Not often,? Joe said.
?Who?s Afraid of Virginia
?None of them made as much money as The Sting.?
Samantha turned away from the window with an impatient jerk of her head. ?Who the hell cares? They were good films, and worth making.?
?I?ll tell you who cares, Sammy. The producers, the writers, the cameramen, the second unit production team, the cinema owners, the usherettes, and the distributors.?
?Yeah,? she said wearily. She came back to her chair and slumped in it. ?Will you get the lawyer to do something for me, Joe? I want a form of agreement drawn up. There?s a girl working for me as a maid. I?m going to put her through college. The contract should say that I will pay her thirty pounds a week for three years on condition she studies in the term and works for me in the vacation.?
?Sure.? He was scribbling the details on a pad on his desk. ?That?s a generous thing to do, Sammy.?
?Shit.? The expletive raised Joe?s eyebrows. Samantha said: ?She was going to stay at home and work in a factory, in order to help support the family. She?s qualified to go to university, but the family can?t do without her earnings. It?s a scandal that there should be anyone like that while there are people earning what you and I earn. I ?ve helped her, but what about the thousands of other kids in that position??
?You can?t solve the world?s problems all on your own, honey,? Joe said with a touch of complacency.
?Don?t be so bloody condescending,? she snapped. ?I?m a star—I ought to be able to tell people about this sort of thing. I should shout it from the rooftops—it is not fair, this is not a just society. Why can?t I make films that
