Brenda said, “I’m awfully chilled. Could I borrow a hot shower?”
“Sure,” Gabriel said. “Throw your clothes in the dryer and grab a couple of robes out of my closet. Brenda, you know where everything is. Show him around.”
Oxnard stammered, “Uh... we’re not... not together. I mean, not like that.” Dammit! he raged to himself. Why should I feel embarrassed?
With a grin, Gabriel led him to the guest room and took a terryplastic robe from a drawer.
“Gotta get back to work now,” he said.
“You’re in the movie?”
Gabriel’s grin broadened. “I’m an assistant groper.”
Brenda looked good with a rich brown robe pulled snugly around her, Oxnard decided. One glance in a mirror after his steamshower had convinced him that wearing a robe two sizes too small was better than prancing around nude. But not much. His hairy legs showed to midcalf. He had to be careful how he sat.
Brenda, Gabriel and Oxnard were sitting in the living room. It was furnished in old-fashioned Nineteen Sixties style, with authentic green berets and protest posters artfully arranged here and there. The walls were covered with paintings, drawings, sketches—all from stories that Gabriel had written.
The camera crew was in the process of stowing gear into the truck they had parked outside. Roscoe himself had borrowed Brenda’s keys to move her car out of the driveway. Now, as the three of them sat in the comfortable living room, they could hear the wind-whipped rain and the sounds of grunting people moving heavy pieces of equipment out into the wet.
Oxnard and Brenda had brandy snifters in their hands. Gabriel, still clad in only his bath towel, had graciously poured them the drinks while making dates with three of Roscoe’s starlets. He refrained from drinking, himself.
“When did you become a movie actor?” Brenda asked, a quizzical smile on her lips.
“Always been an actor, sweetie,” he replied. “You think sitting through a story conference with some of those assholes you call executives doesn’t take thespic talents?”
“I’ve seen histrionics from you....”
One of the starlets walked barefoot into the living room as far as Gabriel’s slingback chair. She was wearing a knit sweater that barely reached her thighs. Her cascading blonde hair was slightly longer. Her eyes didn’t seem to focus well.
“Hey Ron, honey, can I use your shower?”
“Sure, sure,” he said.
“Thanks.” She bent over and kissed him on the cheek. The sweater rode up and Oxnard found himself tugging at the hem of his borrowed robe, trying to make certain that he was covered adequately. The blonde plodded sleepily out of the room without rearranging her sweater.
“But I don’t understand why you’re performing in Roscoe’s movie,” Brenda resumed.
Gabriel made a sour face. “Money, kid. Why else? You have any idea how much it takes to keep this house going? My gardener makes more than that cutesy-poo does.” He jerked a thumb in the general direction of the partially sweatered starlet.
“But you’ve got so many books and filmscripts... you must make plenty on royalties.”
With a wave of his hand that took in all the illustrations on the walls, Gabriel said, “What books? You know what you get from books? Nickels and dimes. Unless you write a book about a veterinarian’s carnal lust for his customers. Nobody reads about people anymore. I write about people.”
Oxnard felt puzzled. “Aren’t you the Ron Gabriel who writes science fiction? I’ve read some of your stuff.” Gabriel’s eyebrows went up a centimeter. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Let’s see now...” Oxnard concentrated. “It was... oh yes, The Beast That Had No Mouth’ and ‘Repent...’ something about a watchmaker.”
Nodding furiously, Gabriel said, “Yeah. And you know how much money I made from those two books? Peanuts! The goddam publishers give you peanuts for an advance, then they sell a zillion copies and claim that they haven’t made enough money to start paying royalties yet!”
“I didn’t know....”
Gabriel leaped out of his chair. “Those humpers! You don’t know the half of it!”
He stomped out of the room. Confused, Oxnard got up and watched Gabriel duck down the house’s central atrium and into a doorway. He slammed the door behind him. “That’s his office,” Brenda said.
“What’s he....”
The muffled sound of Gabriel’s voice floated back to them. “Sue the bastards... I don’t care what it costs... get them for every nickel they owe me....”
Brenda stood up beside Oxnard “He must be calling his lawyer.”
“At this hour?” Oxnard glanced at his watch. It was after midnight.
“Ron’s friends and associates are accustomed to his late hours. He starts working when the sun goes down.”
“Must be part vampire.”
“It’s been suggested.”
Abruptly, the office door opened and Gabriel came stamping back into the living room. “We’ll get those mothers,” he was muttering.
As they all sat down again, Brenda asked, “What about the TV series you were doing? I thought....”
“Don’t mention it!” Gabriel snapped. “The less said about that, the better.”
For an instant the room was silent, except for the rain drumming on the roof.
