Then Gabriel said, “We had the whole goddam series set up. Worked my tail off for six months; fights with the producers, fights with the network, the director, the actors. Finally they began to see the light. It’s all starting to go right. I could feel it! We had it all in the groove....”
“What was the show about?” Oxnard asked.
“Huh? Oh, it was going to be a series based on a short story of mine, about a giant pterodactyl that attacks New York City.”
“I heard about it,” Brenda said. “And then it was cancelled, just before shooting began. What happened?”
“What happened?” Gabriel’s voice went up several notches. “Those lumpheaded brain-damage cases that run the network decided they couldn’t do the show because it wasn’t in three-dee!”
“No!”
“Oh no? Those maggotheads are turning everything into three-dee shows. Everything! I thought, great. The series will be even more spectacular in three-dee. But we’d need a bigger budget and a couple weeks to work out some of the technical problems. Wham! Nothing doing. They cut us off. Done. Finished.”
Oxnard felt vaguely guilty about it. He stirred uneasily in his chair, started to cross his legs, but remembered just in time and stopped himself.
“Know what they put into our timeslot?” Gabriel was still fuming. “A cops-and-robbers show. Some idiot thing about a robot and a Polack cop. Ever see an animated fireplug doing Polish jokes? Arrgghhh.”
Roscoe suddenly called from the front doorway. “Hey superstar! We’re leaving!”
Without moving from his chair, Gabriel bellowed, “So leave already! Just make sure you send the check tomorrow morning!”
“Will do,” Roscoe hollered back. “Oh, Rita and Dee-Dee said they’re too tired for the drive back to Glendale. They flaked out in your guest room. Okay by you?”
“Yah, sure. I’ll unflake ‘em later on.”
“Good luck, buddy.”
“Break a leg, C.B.”
The door slammed.
Oxnard cleared his throat. “Do you mean that they really cancelled your show because it wasn’t going to be shown in holographic projection?”
“That was their excuse,” Gabriel answered. “They wanted to castrate me. I’m too honest for those Byzantine bronze nosers.” He glowered at Brenda. “And I still say that Finger had something to do with it.”
Brenda returned his gaze without flinching.
“But still,” Gabriel grumbled, “I’d like to meet the jerk who started this three-dee crap and....”
“What about that other project you were talking about?” Brenda broke in. “The historical thing. Was it going to be a musical?”
Gabriel scratched at his stubbly chin. “That thing! I got the shaft on that, too.”
“What was it going to be?”
“I was going to do ‘Romeo and Juliet’ in modern terms. You know, instead of Italy in the old times, make it L.A., here, today. Make the two feuding families a pair of TV networks that are fighting it out for the ratings.” He grew more animated, expressive. Getting to his feet, gesticulating: “Then the star from one show on the first network falls in love with a girl from a show on the other network. Their shows are on the air at the same time... they love each other, but their networks are enemies. Then when the executive producers find out about them....”
It took nearly an hour before Gabriel calmed down enough to sit in his chair again. He ended his monologue with:
“Then some jerk says that it’s just like some old opera called ‘West Side Story.’ I looked it up... wasn’t anything like that at all.”
“So that’s fallen through, too?” Brenda asked.
“That’s right,” Gabriel said, slumping back in his soft chair, looking exhausted. “Every goddam thing I’ve touched for the past year has turned to shit. Every goddam thing.” He sat bolt upright. “It’s gotta be Finger! He swore I’d never work for anybody in this town again. He’s living up to his name, that no-good...”
“That’s not true, Ron,” Brenda said. “He wants you to work for him. He needs you. He’s desperate.”
Gabriel stopped in mid-sentence and stared at her.
“He needs me?”
Brenda nodded gravely.
“Good! Tell him to go engage reflexively in sexual intercourse.”
It took Oxnard a moment to interpret that one, although Brenda giggled immediately.
“No, Ron. I’m serious. B.F.’s really in a bind and you’re the only one who can pull him out.”
“Got any rocks? Heavy ones?”
“Wait a minute,” Oxnard heard himself say. They both turned toward him. “Before we go any further, you ought to know... I invented the holographic projection system.”
Half expecting Gabriel to leap for his throat, Oxnard sat tensed in his chair, ready to defend himself verbally or physically.
“You invented it?” asked Gabriel incredulously.
“I’m Bill Oxnard. The jerk who started this three-dee stuff.”
