time in front of the camera.â
For Marty Corbin, this Linnean lingo of genus, species, and cultivar was the last straw. He looked in despair at Joel Greene. The young associate producer nonchalantly murmured to the producer, â No problema. â Her producer was going to give in.
âSure,â said Marty, âwe can tape a scene with the three of you. You can talk over your business and how you do it.â A tight little grin and he continued, âGod knows itâs a big enough business to be worth talkinâ about.â The producer looked at Anne Lansing standing there, ignoring Christopher Bailey. âBut donât forget what your boss saidâyou might end up on the cutting room floor.â
Anne Lansing smiled demurely and said, âIâm sure your cutting room floor is an interesting place to be.â
7
Thursday evening
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M arty Corbin looked like a big, angry bear as he sat on the hotel terrace and drank his Lava Flow. Though bears, Louise realized, did not perspire like Marty did. He was muttering something to Steffi and Louise was just as glad that she couldnât quite hear it.
Steffi reached over and grabbed her husbandâs hand in hers. âNow, dear,â she advised him quietly, âdonât be profane. Youâre just making it worse.â She turned to Louise and smiled indulgently. âHe goes to St. Thomasâs almost every Sunday with me, you know. But he does lapse into profanity. I donât know why he puts a middle initial in Jesusâs name.â
Louise sipped her tonic water. âMaybe he has a right to be upset.â She looked around the dimly lit terrace and noted the dress code hadnât changed from last night. It was a little bit of everything: a woman or two in coif, jewels, and stylish gown; most people in laid-back sports outfits; and quite a number of couples in ponchos and rough shorts. These last had probably blown in from all-day boat and snorkling trips to the rugged northwest Na Pali coast. Louise felt she was dressed up just the right amount in a sleeveless navy blue pantsuit trimmed in white, worn with a bulky white necklace.
As if he were talking to himself, Marty growled, âThat man Bouting, who does he think he is?â
âMillionaires think differently,â calmly retorted Louise.
âAnd how would you know that?â grumped Marty.
âFrom reading the business section of The Times .â She added, âAnd certain books. The Smartest Guys in the Room. Confederacy of Fools . Itâs in their genetic code to think they can get away with things. Thatâs why so many of them are being prosecuted.â
âAll I know is that now I got three goddamn segments to tape tomorrow and a whole flock of last-minute logistics. Where the hellâs Joel when I need him?â He frowned out at the world, as if the young man were lurking about. âNo, he had to go home. Probably having his mother change his diapers, heâs so young.â
âMarty,â she cautioned him, âJoelâs twenty-three; he told me. And heâs acting like a real pro and you know it.â She didnât know why her producer was still upset about having his shoot disrupted. The cutting room floor seemed a fine solution to her; it wouldnât be the first time the crew had deliberately taped demanding people who were summarily cut from the tape during editing. Instead of talking about this ad infinitum, she looked at her producer and ran a hand across her throat and made a gutteral noise.
âHuh?â he said and then smiled. âOkay, Lou. So I just cut âem out.â
âWhatever. Letâs order. Iâm hungry.â
It wasnât the way Louise had pictured a luau, complete with roasted pig in a pit. This one was in hotel style. It commenced immediately after the holy moment of sunset, with the trio of ukuleles, a singer, and two hula dancers performing as the torches
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