“You were saying?”

“Our analysis shows that the optimum choice for producing the show....”

“This is just a stall, isn’t it? What you’re really saying is that you can’t stand the sight of me! Right?”

“...would be outside the U.S., away from the high rates that all the unions here charge.”

“Okay, kid. Maybe you’re protecting me. But I think it’s a Pearl Harbor job and I don’t like it!”

“And where do you want to put it?”

“Goodbye!”

“In Canada.”

“Canada?”

“Canada!” Gabriel leaped off the desk corner. “Who the hell’s going to Canada?”

“We are.”

“You are?”

“No, you are.”

Morgan said calmly, “He wants to shoot the show in Canada.”

Gabriel looked as if he was ready to lead a bayonet attack. “Canada! I can’t go to Canada! What in hell is there that you don’t have more of here? And better?”

Sheldon sank back in his chair. It was going to be just as rough as he had feared. Only the friendly stare of Uncle Murray’s steady blue eye gave him the courage to go on.

Two hours later, Sheldon was still in his desk chair. His jacket was crumpled on the floor and had Gabriel’s boot-prints all over it. His suppshirt was soaked with sweat. Morgan hadn’t moved at all during that time, nor hardly spoken; he still looked calm, relaxed, almost asleep.

But the walls were still ringing with Gabriel’s rhetoric. Two chairs were overturned. Both couches had been kicked out of shape. One of the holographic pictures was sputtering badly, for reasons unknown. The Bay Bridge kept winking and shimmering... or maybe, thought Sheldon, it was merely cringing.

“This is the dumbest asshole trick I’ve ever heard of!” Gabriel was screaming. “I don’t want to go to Canada! There’s nothing and nobody in Canada! All the good Canadian directors and actors are here, in California, for Chrissakes! We’ve got everything we need right here. Going to Canada is crazy! With a capital K!”

He was heading for the phone again when Morgan lifted one hand a few centimeters off the armrest of his chair. “Ron,” he said quietly.

Gabriel stopped in midstride.

“Ron, the decision’s already been made. It’s a money decision and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Gabriel frowned furiously at his agent.

“That’s the way it is,” Morgan said blandly.

“Then I want out,” Gabriel said.

“Don’t be silly,” Morgan countered.

“I’m walking.”

“You can’t do that!” Sheldon protested.

“No? Watch me!”

Gabriel started for the door. Halfway there, he stopped and turned back toward Sheldon. “Tell you what,” he said. His face still looked like something that would stagger Attila the Hun. “If I have to go to Canada, I’m going first class.”

Sheldon let his breath out a little. “Oh, of course. Top hotels. All the best.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What then?”

“I’m not going to let this show get stuck out in the boondocks, with no pipeline back to the money and the decision makers.”

“But I’ll be there with you,” Sheldon said.

Gabriel made as if to spit. “I want personal representation from top management, right there on the set every goddamned day. I want one of Finger’s top assistants in Canada with us.”

“Ohhh.” The clouds began to dissipate and Sheldon could see a Canadian sunrise. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I could get Les Montpelier... or Brenda Impanema....”

Gabriel pointed an index finger at him, pistol-like. “You’ve got the idea.”

Nodding, Sheldon said, “I’ll ask B.F. tonight, at the party....”

“Party?”

That was a mistake! Sheldon knew. Backtracking, “Oh, nothing spectacular. B.F.’s just giving one of his little soirees... on the ship, you know... just a couple of hundred people....” His voice trailed off weakly.

“Party, huh?” was all that Gabriel said.

After he and Morgan left the office, Sheldon went to his private john and took a quick needle shower. Toweling himself off, he yelled through the open door to Murray:

“Well, what do you think of our star writer and creator?”

The computer hummed to itself for a few moments, then the screen lit up:

SUCH A KVETCH!

5: THE DECISION MAKERS

Sheldon was dressing for the party. It had been a long, exhausting day. And it wasn’t over yet. Bernard Finger’s parties were always something of a cross between a long-distance marathon and being dropped out of an airplane.

After Gabriel and his agent had left, Sheldon spent the rest of the morning recuperating, popping tranquilizers and watching Murray run down lists of Canadian production companies. There weren’t very many. Then the computer system started tracking down freelance Canadian directors, cameramen, electricians and other crew personnel. Distressingly, most of them lived in the States. Most of them, in fact, lived in one state: California, southern, Los Angeles County.