Frank asked.
“Maybe he didn’t want to be recognized,” Iola suggested. “Though who’d be around to recognize him this late, I don’t know.”
“The studio’s not going to like this,” Pekar said. He called security, and security called Webb and O’Sullivan, both of whom quickly arrived on the set.
“We’d better not tell the studio execs tonight,” Webb said.
A very sleepy Sandy O’Sullivan nodded. “No need to wake them with bad news about the show. We can alert them in the morning.”
“We really should call the police,” Joe said.
Sandy shook her head. “If the police get involved, it’ll slow production further,” she said.
“And attract the attention of the news media,” Webb added, suppressing a yawn. “We don’t needreporters poking around. We’ve got enough trouble meeting our schedule as it is. If we’re not careful, this could be the end of the show.”
“Let’s not overreact,” Sandy said. “We’ve gotten through some tight spots before. What we really need is to get some rest and start fresh tomorrow.”
“You mean later this morning,” Pekar said, correcting her.
She sighed. “Later this morning, then.”
Security locked the place down for the night and posted guards outside the soundstage. Webb, O’Sullivan, and Pekar went home to catch what sleep they could before reporting to work in the morning. Pekar refused to go to the hospital to have his head looked at. “Who has time?” he said.
The Hardys and the Mortons were escorted back to their trailer by the studio guards.
“How bad do you think the studio situation really is?” Iola asked when they were alone.
“Pretty bad, I’d say,” Frank said. “Webb and O’Sullivan took the damage to the sets in stride, but it’s sure to hit the show in the pocketbook.”
“Boy,” Iola said, “things sure have been messed up since we got here.”
“At least Sandy and Webb aren’t blaming us for the troubles,” Chet said.
“Not yet, anyway,” Joe countered. “But they could. After all, Frank and I are the only ones who saw this intruder we fought.”
“How did the real culprit get past the guards?” Chet asked.
“Clearly he knows the studio better than we do,” Frank said. “We were lucky to catch him at all on the soundstage. If there’d been only one of us, he’d have gotten away scott free.”
“And security isn’t great at the studio,” Joe said. “Probably that’s one of the areas where they’re saving money.”
“Everything they’re saving there, they’re losing in sabotage and stolen goods,” Iola said.
Frank and Joe both nodded. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight,” Frank said. “Maybe we’ll have some new ideas in the morning.”
“I’d settle for some old ideas,” Chet said, “just so long as they explain what’s going on around here.”
• • •
The morning was gray and overcast. Chet woke up early for his makeup call, only to find that Peck Wilson had returned from the hospital. Chet’s stint as the Slayer from Sirius was over.
Chet returned to the trailer and moped. “I’m out of showbiz before I’ve hardly begun!” he said.
“Go back to bed,” Joe said sleepily. “You’ll feel better after some more rest.”
Neither Joe nor Frank could sleep after Chet came back and decided to get up. They ate a quick breakfast in the commissary, then headed to the set.
If the pace around the show had been heatedpreviously, this day it could only be described as feverish. Stagehands and technicians worked frantically to repair the damage to the sets.
Rod Webb had come up with a scheme to shoot around the damaged sets, and Sandy had rewritten some scenes to accommodate the changes. The dark-haired writer/creator looked as if she’d gotten little or no sleep.
Iola got made up as a different character again and did some more walk-throughs during scenes set in the ship’s corridors and infirmary.
The show’s actors had put aside their
“Maybe he didn’t want to be recognized,” Iola suggested. “Though who’d be around to recognize him this late, I don’t know.”
“The studio’s not going to like this,” Pekar said. He called security, and security called Webb and O’Sullivan, both of whom quickly arrived on the set.
“We’d better not tell the studio execs tonight,” Webb said.
A very sleepy Sandy O’Sullivan nodded. “No need to wake them with bad news about the show. We can alert them in the morning.”
“We really should call the police,” Joe said.
Sandy shook her head. “If the police get involved, it’ll slow production further,” she said.
“And attract the attention of the news media,” Webb added, suppressing a yawn. “We don’t needreporters poking around. We’ve got enough trouble meeting our schedule as it is. If we’re not careful, this could be the end of the show.”
“Let’s not overreact,” Sandy said. “We’ve gotten through some tight spots before. What we really need is to get some rest and start fresh tomorrow.”
“You mean later this morning,” Pekar said, correcting her.
She sighed. “Later this morning, then.”
Security locked the place down for the night and posted guards outside the soundstage. Webb, O’Sullivan, and Pekar went home to catch what sleep they could before reporting to work in the morning. Pekar refused to go to the hospital to have his head looked at. “Who has time?” he said.
The Hardys and the Mortons were escorted back to their trailer by the studio guards.
“How bad do you think the studio situation really is?” Iola asked when they were alone.
“Pretty bad, I’d say,” Frank said. “Webb and O’Sullivan took the damage to the sets in stride, but it’s sure to hit the show in the pocketbook.”
“Boy,” Iola said, “things sure have been messed up since we got here.”
“At least Sandy and Webb aren’t blaming us for the troubles,” Chet said.
“Not yet, anyway,” Joe countered. “But they could. After all, Frank and I are the only ones who saw this intruder we fought.”
“How did the real culprit get past the guards?” Chet asked.
“Clearly he knows the studio better than we do,” Frank said. “We were lucky to catch him at all on the soundstage. If there’d been only one of us, he’d have gotten away scott free.”
“And security isn’t great at the studio,” Joe said. “Probably that’s one of the areas where they’re saving money.”
“Everything they’re saving there, they’re losing in sabotage and stolen goods,” Iola said.
Frank and Joe both nodded. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight,” Frank said. “Maybe we’ll have some new ideas in the morning.”
“I’d settle for some old ideas,” Chet said, “just so long as they explain what’s going on around here.”
• • •
The morning was gray and overcast. Chet woke up early for his makeup call, only to find that Peck Wilson had returned from the hospital. Chet’s stint as the Slayer from Sirius was over.
Chet returned to the trailer and moped. “I’m out of showbiz before I’ve hardly begun!” he said.
“Go back to bed,” Joe said sleepily. “You’ll feel better after some more rest.”
Neither Joe nor Frank could sleep after Chet came back and decided to get up. They ate a quick breakfast in the commissary, then headed to the set.
If the pace around the show had been heatedpreviously, this day it could only be described as feverish. Stagehands and technicians worked frantically to repair the damage to the sets.
Rod Webb had come up with a scheme to shoot around the damaged sets, and Sandy had rewritten some scenes to accommodate the changes. The dark-haired writer/creator looked as if she’d gotten little or no sleep.
Iola got made up as a different character again and did some more walk-throughs during scenes set in the ship’s corridors and infirmary.
The show’s actors had put aside their
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