Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [33]
“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. Jilly C- Note’s push-up bra was starting to feel like a form of torture: ordeal by undergarment.
“Dr. Livingston is the founder’s widow, according to Jeffrey,” Max said. “Shall we go inside?”
“Wait. First tell me what’s bothering you about this.”
“Oh. Well, it may be nothing . . . but I’m wondering why the substitute teacher has ceased to come to work.”
That hadn’t even occurred to me. “It probably is nothing, Max. At almost every job I’ve ever worked, there’s a problem with employee attendance. A lot of people are flaky and unreliable; and actors are flakier than most. Like Jeff, the replacement might have gotten an acting job that conflicted with his teaching schedule. Or maybe he just didn’t like this job and, instead of quitting, he simply stopped showing up. People do that sort of thing all the time.”
“You are no doubt correct. Nonetheless, without further information, I am somewhat troubled by the fact that an employee has stopped coming to work, without explanation, precisely when—we currently suspect—another employee is roaming Harlem after dying and being reanimated.” He concluded, “It’s troubling.”
“Well, put like that, it’s certainly troubling,” I said.
“If you become an employee here,” he said, “you should maintain an alert attitude and take no risks. And I, of course, will be vigilant on your behalf.”
“Agreed.” I turned to enter the building. “Now let’s go inside.”
After my initial surge of relief at feeling the