you down for?”
I supposed that if the star of a successful television show told the producer that he wanted visitors, then he got visitors. Even if we had to be bullied into it.
Since I was in Harlem anyhow, I said with resignation, “I’ll go today.”
“Afternoon or evening?”
“I don’t know. I’m a little bus—”
“Pick one,” she snapped.
“Afternoon.”
She was in good cheer again. “He’ll be delighted to see you!”
That seemed doubtful. But I wanted to stay on good terms with D30, so I would do my duty and go visit their star. “How are his nurses coping?”
“Mike wants to get out of the hospital as soon as possible,” she said. “And the nurses are, uh, trying to help him with that.”
I’ll bet they are, I thought. “But he’s going to be all right?”
“We sure hope so. He’s been ignoring the warning symptoms for months, ignoring his doctor’s advice, and refusing to modify his lifestyle or change his habits. Personally, I think what happened was inevitable, and he’s lucky it wasn’t worse. So let’s all hope this incident is a wake-up call, and that he listens to it. Or we’re going to lose a fine actor and special human being.”
Whatever.
“So what are they going to do about this episode of the show?” I asked. My unfinished scene wasn’t the only one that Nolan was scheduled to film.
“They’re talking about doing some rewrites that will eliminate him from the rest of this episode and account for his absence from the show for the next few episodes, too.”
“That makes sense.”
“But Mike is furious about that and refusing to agree to it.”
It came as no surprise to me that even a heart attack didn’t make Nolan willing to surrender the spotlight for a few weeks.
She added, “He says he can be back at work in a few days and continue shooting the show the way it’s been written. But the doctors are advising against it.” She sighed, slowing down now and starting to sound like someone who had indeed spent all night at the hospital. “We’re shooting around his scenes for the time being, but we’ll have to make a decision soon. So if you can just stand by, Esther? One way or the other, we’ll need to reschedule you, either to shoot the unfinished scene with Mike, or else to do a new scene the writers will draft—probably one where Jilly C- Note gives that same plot information to someone else in the Three-Oh.”
“Of course I can stand by,” I said. Because I am such a pro. “I’ve still got the costume, after all.”
“Oh, that’s right! The wardrobe mistress was asking a little while ago what to do about the missing costumes from last night.”
“I’ll get it cleaned.” Possibly fumigated. “And I’ll bring it with me to the next shoot.”
“Great. I will make a note of that.”
“Oh, and I’ve lost my cell phone,” I said. “Until I replace it, use my home number.”
As we ended the call, I realized that I had a lot of additional practical matters I needed to take care of, with regard to my stolen purse.
Meanwhile, it sounded as if I’d probably get at least one more day’s work on D30, which was good news, and it might be without Nolan, which was even better news.
When I returned to the entrance of the Livingston Foundation, I found Max alone.
He asked me, “Is all well?”
“Yes, no problems with the job. It’s all sorted out. But we’re going to have to go to the hospital later.” I explained the situation while lifting my hair off my damp neck for a few moments, in the doomed hope of catching a breeze. Then I asked, “Where’s Jeff?”
“He was concerned about being late for his meeting,” Max said, “so he went inside and left me with instructions. We are to ascend to the second floor and seek the office of Dr. Catherine Livingston.”
“Catherine Livingston?” I repeated, pulling the sweat-dampened Lycra away from my chest for a moment as a trickle of perspiration ran down between my breasts.
I supposed that if the star of a successful television show told the producer that he wanted visitors, then he got visitors. Even if we had to be bullied into it.
Since I was in Harlem anyhow, I said with resignation, “I’ll go today.”
“Afternoon or evening?”
“I don’t know. I’m a little bus—”
“Pick one,” she snapped.
“Afternoon.”
She was in good cheer again. “He’ll be delighted to see you!”
That seemed doubtful. But I wanted to stay on good terms with D30, so I would do my duty and go visit their star. “How are his nurses coping?”
“Mike wants to get out of the hospital as soon as possible,” she said. “And the nurses are, uh, trying to help him with that.”
I’ll bet they are, I thought. “But he’s going to be all right?”
“We sure hope so. He’s been ignoring the warning symptoms for months, ignoring his doctor’s advice, and refusing to modify his lifestyle or change his habits. Personally, I think what happened was inevitable, and he’s lucky it wasn’t worse. So let’s all hope this incident is a wake-up call, and that he listens to it. Or we’re going to lose a fine actor and special human being.”
Whatever.
“So what are they going to do about this episode of the show?” I asked. My unfinished scene wasn’t the only one that Nolan was scheduled to film.
“They’re talking about doing some rewrites that will eliminate him from the rest of this episode and account for his absence from the show for the next few episodes, too.”
“That makes sense.”
“But Mike is furious about that and refusing to agree to it.”
It came as no surprise to me that even a heart attack didn’t make Nolan willing to surrender the spotlight for a few weeks.
She added, “He says he can be back at work in a few days and continue shooting the show the way it’s been written. But the doctors are advising against it.” She sighed, slowing down now and starting to sound like someone who had indeed spent all night at the hospital. “We’re shooting around his scenes for the time being, but we’ll have to make a decision soon. So if you can just stand by, Esther? One way or the other, we’ll need to reschedule you, either to shoot the unfinished scene with Mike, or else to do a new scene the writers will draft—probably one where Jilly C- Note gives that same plot information to someone else in the Three-Oh.”
“Of course I can stand by,” I said. Because I am such a pro. “I’ve still got the costume, after all.”
“Oh, that’s right! The wardrobe mistress was asking a little while ago what to do about the missing costumes from last night.”
“I’ll get it cleaned.” Possibly fumigated. “And I’ll bring it with me to the next shoot.”
“Great. I will make a note of that.”
“Oh, and I’ve lost my cell phone,” I said. “Until I replace it, use my home number.”
As we ended the call, I realized that I had a lot of additional practical matters I needed to take care of, with regard to my stolen purse.
Meanwhile, it sounded as if I’d probably get at least one more day’s work on D30, which was good news, and it might be without Nolan, which was even better news.
When I returned to the entrance of the Livingston Foundation, I found Max alone.
He asked me, “Is all well?”
“Yes, no problems with the job. It’s all sorted out. But we’re going to have to go to the hospital later.” I explained the situation while lifting my hair off my damp neck for a few moments, in the doomed hope of catching a breeze. Then I asked, “Where’s Jeff?”
“He was concerned about being late for his meeting,” Max said, “so he went inside and left me with instructions. We are to ascend to the second floor and seek the office of Dr. Catherine Livingston.”
“Catherine Livingston?” I repeated, pulling the sweat-dampened Lycra away from my chest for a moment as a trickle of perspiration ran down between my breasts.
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