around Earnest’s shoulders. “Sorry I gotta buzz off, but th’team’s important, y’know.”
“I know,” Earnest said, feeling dejected. “It’s just… well, I thought we were going to have dinner tonight.”
Dulaq squeezed him. “Don’ worry. I’ll be back Wensay night. I’ll take d’early plane. You meet me at th’ airport, okay?”
Earnest brightened. “All right. I will.” And he thrilled to the powerful grip he was in.
“But you can’t walk out on us!” Brenda pleaded.
Mitch Westerly was slowly walking along the windswept parking lot behind Badger’s square red-brick studio building. The night was Arctic cold and dark; even the brilliant stars seemed to radiate cold light.
“It’s h… hopeless,” Westerly said.
His head was bent low, chin sunk into the upraised collar of his mackinaw, hands stuffed into the pockets. The wind tousled his long hair. Brenda paced along beside him, wrapped in an ankle-length synthetic fur coat that was warmed electrically.
“You can’t give up now,” Brenda said. “You’re the only shred of talent left in the crew! You’re the one who’s been holding this show together. If you go…”
Westerly pulled one gloved hand out of his pocket. Under the bluish arclamps the leather looked strange, otherwordly. The hand was trembling, shaking like the strengthless hand of a palsied old man.
“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.
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.’”
“
Dulaq shook his head and muttered to himself, “Stabilize. Stabilize. Stabilize.”
