The bell rang and Trang Ho rose to answer the door. “Just sit back and relax. Compared to the people you’ve met so far, these guys are going to seem strange to you. They just flew in from the Coast.”
“How should we act?” Apu Tupa was feeling slightly light-headed and very relaxed indeed.
“Confident, wealthy, and not too bright. Just like any other executive producers.” She opened the door.
The two men who entered were dressed in short-sleeved shirts and open jackets. One wore slacks and loafers, the other jeans, sneakers, and dark sunglasses. Apu Tupa whispered to Fewick.
“Why does the short one cover his eyes? The sun is not harsh in here.”
“It’s part of his tribal costume,” the archaeologist explained. Apu Tupa nodded understandingly.
Brief introductions identified the pair as Danny and Sid. The former unholstered a microcassette recorder while his partner placed a laptop computer on the dining table, plugged it in, and booted it up.
Danny was lean, blond, and possessed of incredible energy. Though he addressed himself to Trang Ho, he kept glancing in the Contisuyuns’ direction as he spoke.
“All right: what kind of show are we talking about here?” As his partner spoke, Sid waited with fingers poised over the laptop’s keys. Straight black hair fell to his shoulders and his expression almost as far. More than anything else he looked like a mortician preparing to record the vital statistics of the recently deceased.
“Come on, gimme some help here,” Danny urged his hosts. He had an irritating habit of snapping his fingers as he talked. “I mean, are we talking comedy, drama, what? We’re running on your time but I’m not one of those schmucks who get off on wasting other people’s money. Of course, if you’re not sure what you want to do,” he said eagerly, “we have some interesting original concepts of our own that—”
“Dramatic,” Trang Ho told him, interrupting. “And we want to do it live.”
“High concept.” A facile faux fey whistle of appreciation emerged from Danny’s lips as his partner tap-tapped on the laptop. “Feed me specifics, sugar.” He hesitated. “I mean, not that we don’t like doing originals, but to tell the truth we’re actually better at reworking and adapting than at coming up with new stuff. It’s a special talent, you know?”
The general had sat quietly for about as long as he was able. Ignoring Trang Ho’s warning look, he launched into the conversation with his heavily accented English.
“I am Pucahuaman. This is my advisor, Apu Tupa.”
“Right,” said Danny attentively.
“We come from another world to which our ancestors fled to escape death and torture.”
Trang Ho shut her eyes while Fewick inhaled sharply. As for the two writers, neither blinked.
“Death and torture, right. Good stuff.” The blond didn’t miss a beat. “You getting all this, Sid?”
“Yo.” The cadaver’s fingers flew in eerie silence over the laptop’s keyboard.
Encouraged, the general continued. “We have returned to take our revenge upon our ancient enemies, the Spaniards. All who try to stand in our way will suffer.”
“Good, good, go with it, you’re on a roll, man!” The blond’s enthusiasm was boundless. Though concentrating on Pucahuaman’s laborious speech, he still managed to notice the tension building in the room.
“Hey, why’s everybody looking so uptight? Relax! We can work with this. Can’t we, Sid?”
“Yo.”
“High concept, yeah. C’mon, don’t stop now.” Danny rose and began pacing like a hyperthyroidal rat. “What else you got?” He started to sit on the coffee table only to find that it was already occupied. Moe meowed warningly and the blond resumed his pacing, keeping his distance from the ticklish aroma of residual tuna fish which enveloped the table and its single four-legged occupant in a contented feline halo.
Pucahuaman straightened on the couch, ignoring Trang Ho’s frantic semaphoring. “There is a device which if properly utilized can influence entire populations. It will be used to turn Spain’s allies against her.”
“Fantastic,” Danny insisted. “A sci-fi soap opera! We can do wonders with this stuff. You must’ve been sitting on the treatment for years.”
“No. We have been forced to improvise,” the general told him.
“I’m impressed.” The writer’s face contorted as he focused on a vision beyond the range of mere mortals. “I see sort of a cross between the Bond flicks and Days of Our Lives, with maybe a touch of Monty Python. You got anybody in mind for the principal roles?”
“No,” said Trang Ho before Pucahuaman could further complicate matters.
“Just as well. Sid and I can handle the casting. With your approval, of course.” The way he paused showed that he expected objections. Upon hearing none he rushed onward, lest they surface.
“And we can set one of the primary roles right now.” With a flourish he whirled and pointed at the startled Da Rimini, who almost reached reflexively for the gun she didn’t have. “You’ll be the perfect love interest, sweetheart. We’ll pit the two main protagonists against each other for your favors.”
“Qué?” was all Da Rimini could mumble, more than a little lost.
“Oh yeah. A tall new face like yourself, put you in some tight uniforms or something. You’ll knock ’em dead, especially the Hispanic audience. I mean, the demographics are now, baby. Your people are happening.”
Slightly dazed, Da Rimini looked to her companions for assistance.
“Why not?” said Apu Tupa, astute observer of human nature that he was.
“Indubitably, my dear,” Fewick murmured. “Go with the flow.”
“Then it’s settled. Man, this is gonna be great! We’ll play it absolutely straight, I mean, like it’s really happening. Putting it out live’ll make it a sensation. This has Emmy written all over it. We’re talking primetime breakthrough here.” He poured himself a drink.
“Okay, now: time. What are we talking here? Half hour, hour, miniseries? Give me some parameters.”
“Whatever you think would persuade the largest number of people to watch,” said Apu Tupa in measured tones.
“Hey, I like the way you think, sir.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s try for an hour, Sid. Open with a two-hour made-for-TV movie, set up the basic situation, describe the invasion, intro the main characters … the usual. Not neglecting your input, of course,” he added hastily to his attentive audience.
