“But we can’t shoot your scenes in just a few hours,” Earnest protested.

“Sure ya can.”

Earnest grabbed the nearest thing at hand, a tissue box, and banged it viciously on the countertop. Dulaq opened one eye and squinted at him, in the mirror.

“Francois, you’ve got to understand,” Earnest said. “We’ve stripped your scenes down as far as we can. We haven’t given you anything more complicated to say than ‘Let’s go,’ or ‘Oh, no you don’t.’ We’re dubbing all the longer speeches for you. But you’ve got to let us photograph you! You’re the star, for goodness’ sake! The people have to see you on the show!”

“I ain’t gonna be a star of nuthin’ if I don’t start scorin’ and th’ team don’t start winnin’.”

Earnest’s mind spun furiously. “Well, I suppose we could use Fernando to stand in for the long shots and the reverse angles, when your back’s to the camera.”

“He still limpin’?”

“A little. That was some fight scene.”

“Dat’s th’ only fun I’ve had since we started dis whole show.”

The makeup man pursed his lips, inspected his handiwork and then said, “Okay, mon ami. That’s the most I can do for you.”

Dulaq bounded up from the chair.

“Come on,” Earnest said, “you’re already late for the first scene.”

As they left the makeup room and headed down the darkened corridor toward the studio, Dulaq put his arm around Earnest’s shoulders. “Sorry I gotta buzz off, but th’ team’s important, y’know.”

“I know,” Earnest said, feeling dejected. “It’s just... well, I thought we were going to have dinner tonight.”

Dulaq squeezed him. “Don’ worry. I’ll be back Wensay night. I’ll take d’early plane. You meet me at th’ airport, okay?”

Earnest brightened. “All right. I will.” And he thrilled to the powerful grip he was in.

“But you can’t walk out on us!” Brenda pleaded.

Mitch Westerly was slowly walking along the windswept parking lot behind Badger’s square red-brick studio building. The night was Arctic cold and dark; even the brilliant stars seemed to radiate cold light.

“It’s h... hopeless,” Westerly said.

His head was bent low, chin sunk into the upraised collar of his mackinaw, hands stuffed into the pockets. The wind tousled his long hair. Brenda paced along beside him, wrapped in an ankle-length synthetic fur coat that was warmed electrically.

“You can’t give up now,” Brenda said. “You’re the only shred of talent left in the crew! You’re the one who’s been holding this show together. If you go....”

Westerly pulled one gloved hand out of his pocket. Under the bluish arclamps the leather looked strange, otherwordly. The hand was trembling, shaking like the strengthless hand of a palsied old man.

“See that?” Westerly said. “The only way I can get it to stop... make my whole body shop shaking... is to pop some cat. Nothing less will do the trick anymore.”

“Cat? But I thought...”

“I kicked it once... in the mountains, far away from here. But I’m right back on it again.”

Brenda looked up at the director’s face. It looked awful and not merely because of the lighting. “I didn’t know, Mitch. How could....”

It took an effort to keep his teeth from chattering. Westerly plunged his hand back into his pocket and resumed walking.

“How can anybody stay straight in this nuthouse?” he asked. “Dulaq is bouncing in and out of the studio whenever he feels like it. Half the time we have to shoot around him or use a double. Rita’s spending most of her time with that snake from FINC... I think she’s posing for pictures for him. He told me he’s an amateur photographer.”

Brenda huffed, “Oh for god’s sake!”

“And when she’s on the set all she wants to do is look glamorous. She can’t act for beans.”

“But you’ve gotten four shows in the can.”

“In four weeks, yeah. And each week my cat bill goes up. Earnest is making a fortune off me.”

“Earnest? He’s supplying you with cat?”

“It’s all legal... he tells me.”

“Mitch... can you stay for just another three weeks? Until we get the first seven shows finished?”

He shook his head doggedly. “I’d do it for you, Brenda... if I could. But I know what I went through the last time with cat. If I don’t stop now, I’ll be really hooked. Bad. It’s me or the show... another three weeks will kill me. Honest.”

She said nothing.

“Earnest has a couple of local people who can direct the other three segments. Hell, the way things are going, anybody could walk off the street and do it.”

Brenda asked, “Where will you go? What will you do?”

“To the mountains, I guess.”

“Katmandu again?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I’d like to try Aspen, if Finger will let me off the hook. I owe some debts....”

“I’ll take care of that,” Brenda said firmly. “B.F. will let you go, don’t worry.”

He looked at her from under raised eyebrows. “Can you really swing it for me?”

Brenda said, “Yes. I will... but what will you do in Aspen?”

He almost smiled. “Teach, maybe. There’s a film colony there... lots of eager young kids.”

“That would be good,” Brenda said.

He stopped walking. They were at his car. “I hate to leave you in this mess, Brenda. But I just can’t cut it anymore.”

“I know,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. You’re right, the show’s a disaster. There’s no sense hanging on.”