Agent to the Stars, John Scalzi [paper ebook reader .TXT] 📗
- Author: John Scalzi
- Performer: 1596060204
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“Isn’t that the name of your friend that’s always calling?” Miranda said.
“It is. Oddly enough, they look a lot alike, too. When am I supposed to be at the set?” I asked.
“You’re supposed to go as soon as you can,” Miranda said. “Which, I’d guess, means right now.”
“Fine,” I said. “Miranda, I’m going to need you to do something for me. You need to take Michelle to have her face done.”
“I’m kind of busy here,” Miranda said.
“Really,” I said. “Doing what?”
“Answering phones?” Miranda ventured.
“Who’s going to call? Carl isn’t going to call, because I’m transporting his dog to the set. Michelle isn’t going to call because she’s going to be wrapped in latex. The only person who might call is Van Doren, and I don’t want to talk to him, anyway.”
“Hmrph,” Miranda said.
“Is there a problem here, Miranda?” I asked.
Miranda scrunched up her face. “No. It’s just that now that she’s all depressed, I feel guilty for not wanting her to get the part. I forgot that she’s a real person sometimes, and not just this thing that makes 12 million dollars for being perky. It annoys me to have pity for someone who makes more in a day than I’m going to make in a year.”
“Try,” I said. “I’m supposed to go with her, but I can’t. You saw her, Miranda. She’s definitely not in any condition to be by herself at the moment. She’s certainly not in any condition to drive. I’m afraid in her state she’ll zonk out on the 60, drive into opposing traffic and mangle herself on a semi. Look, as soon as I’m done with this other thing, I’ll be there. And anyway, Michelle likes you. Thinks you like her too, for some strange reason. Could be a big bonding moment for you two.”
“Hmrph,” Miranda said again.
“Come on, Miranda,” I said. “You’re my assistant. Assist.”
“Can I expense lunch?” Miranda asked.
“By all means. Expense dinner, too.”
“Whoo-hoo,” Miranda said. “Taco Bell, here I come.”
*****
“So,” Joshua said. “Can I have my own trailer yet?”
“Not yet,” I said. “but, look, you have your own water bowl.”
“Man, that’s the problem with being a dog,” Joshua said. “The perks are just not there.”
Joshua and I were waiting as the second unit crew of Bruce Willis’ latest action spectacular set up their next shot. The first unit crew was in Miami, shooting on location with Willis and his costars. The second unit crew, meanwhile, was roaming around Los Angeles, shooting all the scenes the first unit didn’t want to deal with: cut scenes, establishing shots, and, of course, scenes with dogs. Joshua was, in fact, the biggest star on the set that day.
In the space of less than one week, Joshua has become the most requested dog in Los Angeles film. It was the Mighty Dog commercial that did it: Joshua nailed it on the first take, no small feat in an industry where 30 seconds of animal action is often stitched out of twelve to fifteen hours of raw footage. This so stunned the director that he filmed the commercial twice just to cover his ass. Even with the extra take, the commercial was wrapped in two hours flat, saving the ad company about $200,000 in fees. The ad company tried to lock Joshua down to an exclusive contract before the commercial was done. I politely declined. Joshua peed on the company rep’s shoes.
By the time we got back to the house, Al Bowen had gotten ten phone calls asking to get Joshua for a commercial. We let Bowen pick and choose the assignments; I got the distinct feeling that Bowen was using the opportunity to rack up some long-term favors. He wasn’t such a genial hippie after all. Not that it bothered either Joshua or me. Joshua was having fun and I didn’t mind hanging around a set, grazing off the craft service table and catching up on my reading.
Joshua especially liked hanging around with dogs now that he was one — when we weren’t at a commercial set, we’d go to the beach or a park where he could go off, tail wagging, to meet and greet other members of the species. I suspected that his enthusiasm for other dogs probably came from poor Ralph, who had spent most of his life not in the company of other dogs, and was now making up for lost time. But then, since Joshua had been on Earth, most of his time had been spent alone as well. So maybe they were both making up for lost time.
The tendency for vicious gossip, however, was pure Joshua. “See that dog over there?” Joshua pointed out a German Shepherd with his muzzle. “It’s my understanding that he was almost fired off the last set he was on because he just would not stop licking his genitals on camera.”
“Stop it,” I said. “What a horrible thing to say about your costar.”
“Hey, I didn’t start the rumor,” Joshua said. “And anyway, it’s true. I heard his trainer talking about it to another trainer while I was on set. From what I hear, off-camera, he runs through his paces perfectly. You couldn’t ask for a better-trained dog. As soon as he hears the cameras running, though — bam, nosedive into the crotch. It’s the sound of the cameras, I think. Such a good-looking dog too, you know. It’s a real shame.”
“You know, your gossip would be much more interesting if it were actually about human beings,” I said.
“Maybe for you,” Joshua said. “But I’m in the canine universe, Tom. It’s a whole different ballgame down here. See that poodle? She’s a tick carrier. Saw one on her when we were doing that scene near the trees. It was the size of a Jeep Cherokee, Tom. I was scared for myself.”
“I don’t think any of the other dogs would like you if they knew how you talked about them behind their backs.”
“Well, that’s just the point,” Joshua said. “I can’t very well tell any of them, now, can I? Language capability is a bitch, Tom.”
“Pun intended, I’m sure.”
“But of course.”
Al Bowen picked that moment to walk up. “You sure spend a lot of time talking with that dog,” he said.
“Well, I see you talking with your dogs, too,” I said. “And with your other animals.”
“I’m talking to my dogs,” Bowen said. “You, on the other hand, talk like you’re having a conversation. I can see you jabbering at Joshua from the other side of the set. I don’t know how to break this to you, Tom. You may have the smartest dog in the world, but he still doesn’t speak.”
“Doesn’t speak?” I said, feigning incredulousness. “Doesn’t speak? Joshua, what’s on top of a house?”
Joshua barked a bark that could have sounded like “roof,” if one had enough to drink.
“And what’s the bottom of a tree?”
This time, it could have been “root”.
“And who’s the greatest baseball player of all time?
The bark, with a little help, could have been a “Ruth.”
“There you are,” I said. “A talking dog.”
“Very cute,” Bowen said. “Could you please bring your talking dog to the set? It’s the last shot of the day. We need him as the strong, silent type, if you don’t mind.” He walked away.
“Hmmmm,” Joshua said. “Guess I should have said ‘DiMaggio.’”
“I can’t believe you actually knew the joke,” I said.
“Between my brain, Ralph’s brain, and Carl’s memories, you’d be amazed at the stuff I’ve got up here,” Joshua said. “Now, let’s go. I do so love those tasty liver snacks I get whenever I do a scene right.” He bounded off to the set, towards the German Shepherd he had been backstabbing mere moments before. The German Shepherd, oblivious to Joshua’s treachery, greeted him with a sloppy canine grin.
It was a happy moment. As much as anything else, I remember that fact.
I answered the cel phone on the second ring. “Michelle can’t possibly be done with her latex job,” I said. “It’s barely five o’ clock.”
“Tom, you have to get out here,” Miranda said. Her voiced odd, strained. “We have a problem. A big problem.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“It’s not something I think you’d want me to talk about on a cellular phone,” Miranda said.
“It’s a digital phone, Miranda,” I said. “Virtually snoop-proof. Now what is it?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Miranda?” I said.
Suddenly Miranda was back. “Michelle’s in the hospital, Tom. It’s bad. It’s very bad. They think she has brain damage. They think she might die. They have her on a respirator right now, and they’re trying to figure out what to do next. You have to get out here now, Tom. She’s at Pomona Valley Hospital. It’s right off the 10. Hurry up.”
“All right,” I said. “I’m on my way, Miranda.”
“Hurry up, Tom.” Miranda said.
“I will,” I said.
“Hurry,” she said again, and then hung up.
After she hung up I realized her voiced sounded odd because she’d been crying.
This much we knew.
Michelle and Miranda arrived at the workshop of Featured Creatures, Inc., one of the special effects houses working on Earth Resurrected, at 3:15. Miranda said that she and Michelle barely talked on the way out to Pomona, or during the brief lunch they had at the El Loco Taco drive-in before heading out. Michelle would answer questions asked her, but that was about it; after about ten minutes of this, Miranda stopped trying to converse and switched the radio on to a light hits station.
They were met at Featured Creatures by Judy Martin, the technician who was going to plaster goo over Michelle’s face. Miranda said that Martin looked somewhat dazed right from the beginning. As it turned out, Martin’s husband had picked that day to announce to his wife that he was divorcing her, and that he intended to marry her younger sister Helen, who, if she really had to know, was the one he’d always been in love with, anyway. Martin had spent most of the day on the phone with her lawyer, her traitorous sister, her mother, and the Ford dealership at which she and her husband had just jointly purchased an Explorer. She wanted to send it back.
Martin took Michelle and Miranda back through the workshop to a room where the latex was to be applied. The room, fairly small to begin with, was stuffed to the ceiling with monster body parts, motor equipment for creature models, and two gallon cans of latex. In a corner of the room was what looked like a dentist’s chair, in which Michelle was to sit as the latex was applied to her face. Michelle sat in the chair and was ready to go, when the workshop intercom paged Judy to the phone. It was the Ford dealership. Martin went to the phone in the room, punched the flashing line button, and immediately began screaming into the receiver. Miranda looked over at Michelle to roll her eyes. Michelle was just staring out, blankly.
Ten minutes later, Martin slammed down the phone, hollered an obscenity at no one in particular, and stalked back over to the chair to prepare Michelle. As she was doing so, she spoke to Miranda.
“You’re going to have to leave,” she said. “You’re going to get in my way.”
“I’d rather stay,” Miranda said.
“I don’t care,” Martin said “Get out.”
Miranda flushed, a bad sign for whomever it was who caused the reaction. But before she could fully get her dander up, Michelle spoke. “I want her
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