But anyway, I decided to pretend I was asleep, so I never found out who was knocking at the door. Maybe that matters and maybe not. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Believe it or not, I got up the next morning in a wonderful mood. I was wide awake and alert and almost bouncy. It was five thirty, and the sun was just beginning to lighten the sky—normally, it depresses me to wake up in the dark, but today it was a wonderful experience. I was shaving when the phone rang.
“Good morning,” I said in my most cheerful voice.
“Good morning yourself, you slime-coated little bastard,” our producer replied. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that Greenblatt and Robinson were here?”
“Because I was told by Mr. Greenblatt not to tell you.”
“You’re lying. He never said anything of the sort.”
“Ask him,” I said, still cheerful. Nobody was going to ruin my mood that morning.
“I did,” Mann said, “and you’re fired. Start packing your bags. I want you on the next plane out of here.”
And he slammed down the phone.
Suddenly it wasn’t so cheerful anymore. I stood there with lather on my face and wondered what to do. Mann was the producer of the picture. Under normal circumstances, if he said I was fired, then I was fired. On the other hand...
The phone rang. “Jason,” Greenblatt said, “I think Charlie is going to call you in a few minutes.”
“He just did.”
In the background, I heard a girl yawn. I wondered which of the classy blonds Greenblatt had ended up with.
“And?”
“He fired me.”
“Well, you’re not fired,” Greenblatt said. “You’ve done a damned good job so far, Jason, let me tell you that. I’m very pleased with the job you’ve done. I’m going to see that you’re put onMadame Bovarywhen this is finished.”
The studio was doing a remake. It was a big production. The unit publicist would have steady work for well over a year. “Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t thank me. You deserve it,” Greenblatt said magnanimously.
“What about Mr. Mann?”
“I’ll worry about that. You just go about your job as always. By the way, where is Perkins? There’s no answer in his room.”
“He told me he had some early-morning business,” I lied.
“What kind of business?”
“He wouldn’t say. I thought it was something you and he might have discussed.”
“Oh yes,” Greenblatt said, as if he were remembering what it was. I knew he wasn’t remembering anything. “All right, Jason. Keep up the good work.”
So there I was, fired and hired before the sun got up, standing there with cold lather on my face. I went back and finished shaving. And wondered where Perkins really was.
* * *
Perhaps it was my mood, but the company at breakfast seemed peculiar that morning. I noticed several people as I walked into the room.
Al Chadney was eating alone at a corner table. He seemed very calm, almost in a trance, eating and staring into space. He was unshaven, but that was for the part he was playing, the grizzled bad man. He looked at me briefly but didn’t seem to focus on me at all. I didn’t wave. I just went to another table.
Tom Franklin was eating and listening to Paul Fox, who was talking a mile a minute. “It would be a perfect opportunity for you,” Fox said. “It’s really a parody of the Cain and Abel story, with mythic proportions. It contains the elements of Greek tragedy.”
