Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [73]
“Oh, no, we were in a nice neighborhood.” Well, except for the supernatural creatures that were running around at night. “Anyhow, I have the impression that things on the set just descended into panic and confusion when they realized the show’s star was having a heart attack right there and then.”
“Well, I’ve met Mike Nolan,” Thack said. “And, frankly, it couldn’t happen to a more deserving actor.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I said. “He expects to be back on set in a few days, but that seems a little unrealistic to me.”
“Either way, the D-Thirty team are saying they want you back to finish the episode,” Thack said. “You’ve made a good impression there. Congratulations!”
“Thanks. But it’ll probably only be another day or two of work. So is there anything else going on?”
“Not really. You know what the business is like in August. Quiet as a graveyard!”
I wished he hadn’t phrased it quite that way. “Uhhuh.”
He continued, “But I’ll call you as soon as anything turns up.”
I kept my tone professional as I said good-bye and hung up. Then I sighed and fought off a feeling of gloom, trying to look on the bright side. At least I was teaching some of Jeff’s workshops this month; practicing my craft—whether I was taking some classes or, on this occasion, teaching them—was always a good way to hone my skills, stay sharp, and keep improving.
The phone rang, and I answered it. As if summoned by my thoughts, the caller was Jeff, checking in from his day job as a gladiator. He wanted to make sure I knew what time I needed to be at the foundation today. I assured him I did, and we discussed what sort of exercises I would work on with the students.
Then he said, “And you’re not going to talk to them about . . . other stuff, are you?”
“Other stuff?” I poured myself another cup of coffee. “Are you saying I shouldn’t tell the kids that the foundation’s administrator has become a reanimated corpse and that I saw him being attacked by evil monsters the other night, right before I was arrested for prostitution? Do you mean that kind of ‘other stuff,’ Jeff?”
“Are you still sleep-deprived?”
“No.”
“Then knock off the sarcasm,” he said irritably. “I don’t want you getting either of us in trouble with Catherine or with parents by telling those kids about the crazy stuff that you were talking about yesterday. Is that so unreasonable?”
Actually, it wasn’t. So I said, “Okay. Got it. I know where the line should be drawn, and I’m not going to freak out—or amuse—a bunch of teens by talking about things that, believe it or not, I know better than to discuss in public.”
“Okay. Good. That’s settled, then.” It was clear from his tone that he still favored any theory except the one that the rest of us had agreed upon yesterday.
Nonetheless, I asked, “Have you talked to Frank Johnson yet?”
“He hasn’t called me back.”
“Call him again,” I said.
“Esther—”
“Please, Jeff. It’s important.”
“Fine. I’ll call him on my next break. Satisfied?” He sighed. “Now if we can move on to saner subjects before I have to get back to work, I’m also calling to thank you. I owe you.”
“For what?”
“For introducing me to Mike!” he said, as if that should be obvious. “What a great guy!”
“You like him?” I said doubtfully.
“He’s going to talk to the show’s casting director about me.”
Ah. In that case, yes, Jeff liked him. Jeff could bring himself to like Simon Legree, if the cruel slave master helped him get an acting job.
“He’s going to do that for you?” I asked.
“Yeah!”
“Great! I’m glad to hear it, Jeff.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I would bet real money against Nolan doing anything of the sort. For one thing, I knew from past experience that Jeff was perfectly capable of believing he had heard a verbal promise when, in reality, there had merely been a reluctant nod or noncommittal shrug in response to his asking someone for a professional favor. I also thought that baka would fly through