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.
At a discreet lunch with Montpelier, Sheldon dropped the barest hint that he would have Titanic money to shoot the show in Canada. Montpelier scratched at his beard for a moment and then asked:
“What about Gabriel? What’s he think of the idea?”
“Loves it,” exaggerated Sheldon.
Montpelier’s eyebrows went up. “He’s willing to leave that sex palace he’s got in Sherman Oaks to go to the Frozen North?”
“He wants the show to be a success,” Sheldon explained, crossing his ankles underneath the table. “When I explained that we’d be able to make our limited budget go much farther in Canada, he agreed. He was reluctant at first, I admit. But he’s got a huge emotional commitment to this show. I know how to lever him around.”
With a shrug, Montpelier said, “Fine by me. If Gabriel won’t screw up the works....”
“He, eh... he wants one favor from us.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not back breaking; don’t get worried.”
“Tell me about it.”
