Agent to the Stars by John Scalzi (read me like a book .TXT) 📕
Chapter Two
I came out of the bathroom with 30 seconds left on the ticker, and started walking briskly towards the conference room. Miranda was trotting immediately behind.
"What's the meeting about?" I asked, nodding to Drew Roberts as I passed his office.
"He didn't say," Miranda said.
"Do we know who else is in the meeting?"
"He didn't say," Miranda said.
The second-floor conference room sits adjacent to Carl's office, which is at the smaller end of our agency's vaguely egg-shaped building. The building itself has been written up in Architectural Digest, which described it as a "Four-way collision between Frank Gehry, Le Corbousier, Jay Ward and the salmonella bacteria." It's unfair to the salmonella bacteria. My office is stacked on the larger arc of the egg on the first floor, along with the offices of all the other junior agents. After today, a second-floor, little-arc office was
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“Really,” I said.
“Yes. Well,” Roland ducked his head in what I suspected was his version of a shrug, “it’s not really a project yet. It’s just a script — came into our slush pile by a student at NYU, but it’s marvelous. It’s about a Polish poet, a Catholic, who is put in a Nazi concentration camp for helping Jews during World War II.”
“Krysztof Kordus?” I asked.
Roland looked surprised. “Yes, right, that’s the man. Again, Tom, I’m impressed. Most people in this business don’t know about anything they didn’t read in Variety. Anyway, this script is brilliant, really moving. They did a thing on this Kordus fellow a couple decades back on television,” — again, the word was almost spat — “but this script is far beyond what they did with that. The problem now, of course, is getting clearance to use the man’s works in the film. I’m going to have Rajiv chase down who’s in charge of Kordus’ literary estate, and see what we can come up with. Probably will charge us an arm and a leg for clearance. That’s the way these things work.”
“You don’t have to have Rajiv track anything down,” I said. “I can tell you who administers Krysztof’s literary estate. You’re looking at him.”
Roland slipped his arm off the couch and leaned forward. “Get out,” he said. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” I said. “My father was Krysztof’s agent. When Krysztof died, he named my father administrator of his literary estate. When my father died, I inherited the role. I tried to place Krysztof’s estate with a real literary agent, but his family asked me to continue on. They wanted to keep it in the family, as it were. I couldn’t very well say no, so I stayed with it. It’s really not very difficult, since the deals for his books are already in place. All I do is sign off on the current arrangements and mail his daughter a check every three months.”
“Tom,” Roland said. “I am so very glad you dropped by. Hold on a moment, and I’ll get you the script for this project. Read it and let’s talk.”
“Two scripts, if you don’t mind,” I said. “Remember why I came here in the first place.”
“But of course,” Roland said. “By all means, let’s set up the screen test. Will a week from today be good? Say, noon?”
“That would be just fine.”
“Brilliant,” Roland said, and got up. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a flash.” he went out to get the scripts from his assistant. I finished my scotch. It was very good scotch.
*****
I called Michelle with the good news as soon as I got home. She squealed like a happy pig, which in my mind didn’t bode well for her chances for the role.
“Thank you, Tom, thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said. “I’m so happy! I can’t believe it!”
“Settle down, Michelle,” I said, not unkindly. “All you’re getting at this point is a reading. You haven’t got the film yet. You could go in only to find out they hate you.” This was my subtle way of getting her ready for the disappointment.
It wasn’t working. “Oh, I don’t care,” she said. “I’m ready. I’ve been doing my reading. They’re going to be surprised. You’ll see. You’ll be there, right, Tom?”
“Uh…,” I said. “Oh, what the hey. I’ll be there.”
“Tom, I could just kiss you,” Michelle said.
“Let’s not try to ruin our client-agent relationship,” I said. Michelle giggled. I cringed inwardly and changed the subject. “Miranda tells me you called earlier with a problem with the Earth Resurrected folks. Something about a latex mask?”
“Oh, that,” Michelle said. “Tom, they want to pour latex on my head so they can make a standin dummy, or something. I don’t want to do it.”
“Michelle, it’s not that bad. They have to make those masks so they can get shots of your head doing things it doesn’t normally do, like having veins pop out or your eyes explode. Things like that. All the great action stars have to have them made. Arnold Schwarzenegger has done it. Really, you’re not an action star until you have one made.”
“But they pour goo on your head, and then you sit there for hours.” Michelle said. “How do you breathe through that?”
“As I understand it, they stick straws up your nose,” I said.
“No way,” Michelle said.
There was a scratching at the back door. I looked over and saw Ralph the retriever standing on the other side of the door.
“Michelle, hold on a second, I have to let my dog in,” I said.
“Tom, I can’t do the latex mask thing,” Michelle said. “I don’t want straws in my nose. What if I have a cold? What if they fall out? How am I going to breathe?”
“Michelle, let me just, oh, just hold on a sec.” I placed the phone down, ran over the door and slid it open. I ran back to the phone. Ralph walked through the door.
“Michelle, you still there?” I asked.
“I’m not going to do it, Tom,” she said again. “I’m claustrophobic. I can’t even put a blanket over my head without freaking out. I don’t care if they fire me or not.”
“Don’t say that,” I said. “Listen, when are you supposed to have your mask made?”
“A week from today,” she said. “3 in the afternoon. I have to go to Pomona.”
“Damn,” I said. “That’s the same day as your reading.”
“Well, then,” Michelle said. “I can’t get the mask made.”
Ralph walked over to me and sat. I started knuckling his head, absently. “How about this,” I said. “I’ll go with you to both. I’ll pick you up, we’ll go to the reading. Once the reading is done, we’ll go to have the mask made, and I’ll make sure the straws stay in place. Okay?”
“Tom…,” Michelle began.
“Come on, Michelle,” I said. “We’ll go to Mondo Chicken afterwards. I’m buying.”
“Oh, all right,” Michelle said. “You always know the right thing to say, Tom.”
“That’s why you love me, Michelle,” I said. I hung up, set the phone down, and knelt down to rub Ralph’s ears and coat.
“Hey, there, Ralph,” I said, in the goo-goo voice you use with dogs,.“Where’s your little friend Joshua? Yeah? Your little friend? The one that I’m gonna kill for heading off into the woods when I told him not to go? Huh? Where is the little bastard, Ralphie?”
“Why the hell are you asking me?” Ralph said. “I’m just a dog.”
I screamed for a really long time.
“Eeyow,” Ralph said, after I stopped hollering. “That hurt. I would have been happy with a simple ‘Welcome back.’”
“Joshua?” I asked.
“Of course,” Ralph/Joshua said. “But I’m also Ralph now, too. Ralphua. Joshualph. Take your pick.”
“Joshua,” I said, “What have you done?”
“Tom, snap out of it,” Joshua said, irritably. “It’s obvious what I’ve done. Look, I’m a dog!” Joshua barked. “Convinced? Or do you want me to hump your leg?”
I know what you are,” I said. “Now I want to know why you did it. I thought you liked Ralph. I thought he was your friend, Joshua. And now look what you’ve done.” I gesticulated, looking for the right words. None came. I used the next best. “You ate him, Joshua!”
Joshua laughed, which sounded unbelievably bizarre coming from a dog. “I’m sorry, Tom,” he said, finally. “Now I know what you’re getting at. You make it sound like I was waiting for the right moment to body-snatch Ralph. It didn’t happen that way. I told you before that the Yherajk don’t do that sort of thing. Tom, Ralph was dying. And this was the only way to save him.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Well, if you promise not to yell at me anymore, I’ll tell you. All right?”
“All right,” I said.
“Good,” Joshua said. Let’s go into the living room. Could you do me the favor of getting me a beer?”
“What?”
“A beer, Tom. You know. A brew. Oat soda. Suds. I don’t have any tendrils to open things with anymore. And just because I’m a dog doesn’t mean I couldn’t use a drink every now and then. I’ll meet you in the living room.” He padded out. I went to get him a beer, a bowl to drink it out of, and a couple of aspirin for myself, and then joined him in the living room, taking a seat in my lounger.
I downed the aspirin, took a slug of the beer to chase them down, and put the rest of it in the bowl. Joshua lapped it up. I reached over to pet him, but then I stopped. It didn’t seem appropriate anymore. You don’t pet thinking things.
“That’s better,” Joshua said. “Thanks, Tom.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Now, what happened out there?”
“Ralph had a heart attack,” Joshua said, and I watched his mouth as he spoke. His mouth hung open as the words came out — it was like he had swallowed a radio. “We were a couple of miles from here, going up a hillside. Ralph had been fine up until then. But on the way up the hill, I heard him give a little whimper. I looked back and he had collapsed. I went back to see if there was anything wrong, but I didn’t see any cuts or bone breaks. So that’s when I entered his brain, and found out he had a heart attack.”
“How could you tell?”
“I could read where he was feeling pain,” Joshua said. “His whole chest felt like it was being squeezed. Ralph was confused, of course; he’s just a dog, after all. He didn’t know what was going on.”
“Why didn’t you call me then?” I asked. “I would have come back and taken Ralph to the vet.”
“Think about it, Tom,” Joshua said. “You were in Venice Beach at the time, remember? By the time you got back here and hiked out to where we were, Ralph would have been long gone. And even if you had got back in time and had taken him to a vet, the vet would’ve just told you there was nothing to be done. And besides, he’s not really your dog. You couldn’t have done anything.”
That stung. Joshua must have picked up on it. “I don’t mean to imply that you had done anything wrong, Tom,” he said, gently. “Just that there wasn’t time. Even if there was, this was a better way. Ralph deserved better than to die on a vet table with strangers over him.”
“So Ralph had a heart attack,” I said, my voice slightly husky. “What did you do then?”
“The first thing I did was I cut off the pain,” Joshua said. “I didn’t want him feeling any pain. I also cut off his motor control, so he wouldn’t go bounding off because he was feeling better. Then I sent a tendril into his chest to see how bad it was, and whether or not we could make it back to the house. As it turned out, it was pretty bad. Ralph was old and his heart was in bad shape.
“By this time, Ralph was pretty much out of it — his little brain was blipping all over the place, Tom. I didn’t want him to die, so I did two things. First I called your assistant and told her that we’d be late. And then I inhabited Ralph.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Well, look at me,” Joshua said.
“I mean, how it that different from Ralph just dying?” I said. “After all, it’s not Ralph in there,
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