“There’s more,” Sheldon said. “The show’s creator, Ron Gabriel, doesn’t get along with B.F. at all. I’m in the middle on that, too. And Gabriel wants to put on the most extravagant space opera you’ve ever seen, while I’ve got to stay within a budget that won’t even buy peanut butter!”
AGAIN IN THE MIDDLE.
“Exactly.”
SO? WHAT ELSE?
Sheldon pondered for several moments, while the sickly greenish letters glowed on the screen.
“I guess that’s about all,” he said at last. “I’ve got a meeting with Gabriel and his agent later this morning. I know Gabriel’s going to make impossible demands... and he... he’s so... loud! He shouts and screams. Sometimes he hits!”
SO SUE HIM.
“I don’t want him to hit me!”
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
For the first time since he had become acquainted with Murray, Sheldon felt some slight impatience. “What do I want? I want to get rid of Gloria without a fight that’ll ruin my career. I want to make a hit of this stupid idea of Gabriel’s without driving the company broke. I want to get out of the middle!”
ALL RIGHT. ALL RIGHT, DON’T GET SO WORKED UP. HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE AND ULCERS NEVER SOLVED ANY PROBLEMS.
“But what can I do?”
I’M SEARCHING MY MEMORY BANKS FOR A CORRELATION. AND AT THE SAME TIME USING MY ANALYTICAL PROGRAMMING TO ATTACK THE PROBLEM. AHAH! THAT’S IT.
“What?” Sheldon leaned forward in his chair hopefully.
GET OUT OF THE COUNTRY.
“Get out...” He sagged back.
IF YOU PRODUCE THIS SHOW OUTSIDE THE U.S., YOU CAN TELL GLORIA THAT YOU’LL BE AWAY FOR SEVERAL MONTHS. CAN’T BE HELPED. BUSINESS. CAREER. ALL THAT SORT OF STUFF.
“But she’ll see through...”
CERTAINLY SHE WILL. SHE WILL UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE REALLY TELLING HER. BUT SHE WON’T BE ABLE TO DO MUCH ABOUT IT. AND IF SHE’S THE SORT OF GIRL YOU TOLD ME SHE IS, SHE’LL SEE THE WISDOM IN PICKING UP SOME OTHER MAN TO SUPPORT HER.
Wearily, Sheldon asked, “But who in his right mind would let an eight-months-pregnant woman grab him....?”
YOU’D BE SURPRISED. THERE ARE LOTS OF MEN RIGHT HERE IN THIS COMPANY WITH ALL SORTS OF HANGUPS.
“You think she’d really find somebody else?”
CERTAINLY. IN THE MEANTIME, YOU CAN FIND A REALLY CHEAPO OUTFIT TO PRODUCE YOUR NEW SHOW AND GET OFF THE FISCAL HOOK THAT WAY. PRODUCTION COMPANIES OUTSIDE THE U.S. WORK MUCH MORE CHEAPLY THAN OUR OWN UNIONIZED PEOPLE.
“Where?” Sheldon asked, suddenly eager to travel. “Yugoslavia? Argentina? New Zealand?”
NONE OF THE ABOVE. YOU’VE GOT TO BALANCE YOUR TRAVEL EXPENSES AGAINST THE EXPENSES OF PRODUCTION. CALCULATIONS ARE THAT CANADA WILL BE THE CHEAPEST BET.
“Canada?” Sheldon felt his enthusiasm sinking.
CANADA. MEXICO LOOKS CHEAPER ON THE SURFACE, BUT MY SUBROUTINES TELL ME THAT YOU’VE GOT TO BRIBE EVERYBODY IN THE GOVERNMENT, FROM THE CUSTOMS INSPECTORS TO THE TRAFFIC COPS, IF YOU WANT TO DO BUSINESS DOWN THERE. RAISES THE COSTS BEYOND THOSE OF A CANADIAN OPERATION. THE CANADIANS ARE HONEST AS WELL AS PRETTY CHEAP.
“Canada?” Sheldon repeated. His mind filled with visions of snow, sled dogs, pine trees, Nelson Eddy in a red Mounties jacket.
“Canada,” he said again.
Fad’s office wasn’t very large, considering he was an executive producer on the rise. Merely a couple of leatherite couches, a few deep chairs scattered here and there across the fakefur rug, his own desk and keyboard terminal and a few holographic pictures where windows would normally be. Sheldon preferred the holographic views of Mt. Shasta, San Francisco’s Bay Bridge and Catalina Island to the view of a tinted smog that he could see through his window. He wasn’t high enough in Titanic’s hierarchy to be above the smog level.
When his secretary told him that Gabriel and Morgan had arrived, Sheldon carefully clicked on the record button on Murray’s controls. A friendly blue light glowed steadily at him, from an angle that could be seen only from behind the desk. Sheldon felt as if he had a silent ally standing beside him.
His visitors were ushered into the office by his secretary, who discreetly went no further than the door. But Gabriel was already jotting down her phone number in the little book he always carried. She was giving him her most dazzling smile; he had apparently already turned the full force of his charisma on her.
Morgan was still wearing his same tired old red zipsuit; it had been out of style for a year or more. Gabriel, who was a style setter, wore tight black leather slacks and what looked like a genuine antique motorcycle jacket, complete with studs and chains.
Sheldon got up and came around the desk, arms outstretched. “Fellaaas... how are you?”
Morgan, who was tall enough to be a laughable contrast to the smaller, stockier Gabriel, backed away automatically. Gabriel aimed a mock punch at Sheldon’s stomach. They ended up shaking hands.
“Isn’t it great to be starting something new?” Sheldon enthused. “This is going to be the best series Titanic has ever done. I just know it!”
“Great. Great,” said Gabriel, with something of a scowl on his face. “Where’s Brenda? I thought she’d be here.”
Retreating back to his desk chair, Sheldon answered, “Why no, she’s not part of this project. She works directly for B.F., you know.”
Morgan had taken the nearest deepchair and started to say, “We got all the financial arrangements ironed out with Les Montpelier last week. He says the legal department is drawing up the contracts.”
