The Remake by Stephen Humphrey Bogart Page B

hips, around back, and then softly coasted to the front again. “In Los Angeles,” she said.
    R.J. fell off his elbow. “What?”
    “Associate producer on a feature is a step up from what I’m doing,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding him. “A big step up.”
    “But it’s in Los Angeles,” he said, knowing how stupid that sounded.
    Casey knew it, too. “That’s where they make movies, R.J.,” she said.
    “But, but—It’s three thousand miles away.”
    “I know,” she said. “I saw a map once.”
    R.J. took a deep breath and pushed her hand away. “Tell me about this job.”
    She gave a half shrug, all she could manage lying down on her side like that. Her breasts shimmered and R.J. had trouble concentrating. “It’s a major feature at a major studio. What’s to tell? Professionally, it could really make me. It’s what I’ve been wanting for ten years. I’d be a giant step closer to the top. Also, it’s the only first-class production facility in the world where a woman can get a top job based on ability.”
    R.J.’s stomach had been slowly sinking. Now it lurched straight up in the air, did a double somersault, and smacked at his heart before flopping down like a soggy pancake. “What picture, Casey?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. “What studio?”
    “Andromeda Studios,” she said. “The remake.”
    All the breath left him. He felt like he might never breathe again. “Jesus Christ, Casey.”
    “It’s my career, R.J. It has nothing to do with you.”
    “It damned well does have to do with me.”
    “R.J., it’s my life. If I have a shot at improving it a friend won’t stand in my way.”
    “But you know how I feel about that movie.”
    Now she came up on one elbow. “No, I don’t. You haven’t said a word to me. About that or anything else.”
    It was true. He had been churning the whole thing around in his guts, but he hadn’t talked to her about how much it was bothering him. But still—
    “Casey, wait a minute—”
    “No, damn it, you wait. This isn’t about you, it’s about my career. This is what I’ve always wanted, R.J. If you had said anything to me about how much it bothered you it might have been different—”
    “Casey, you were there. You heard what I said.”
    “To me, R.J. You never said anything to me. ”
    “I’m saying it now, Casey.”
    “Now is a little late, R.J.”
    He looked into her eyes. They were the same beautiful eyes they had always been, the ones he found it so easy to get lost in, but there was something new going on in there, something she wasn’t saying because he was supposed to get it, and he didn’t get it. He didn’t get it at all.
    “From what I said to the reporters you might have guessed what I thought about that goddamned remake, Casey.”
    “Maybe I thought I shouldn’t have to guess,” she said.
    R.J. felt the whole thing slipping away from him—as if he’d ever had a handle on it at all. “Listen,” he said, “the only reason that goddamned harpy offered you a job is to get at me. You—”
    “Really,” said Casey, suddenly very cold. “So besides sleeping with you I’m just no damn good for anything, is that it?”
    “Casey, goddammit—”
    “Because I know it will surprise you, but there are plenty of people who think I’m pretty good at what I do.”
    R.J. took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Casey, I don’t want to have this argument.”
    “Well then,” she said.
    “You are very goddamned good at what you do. I know that, everybody knows that. But there’s two things going on here. First, the timing on this job offer is kind of suspicious, don’t you think? And second, there’s the way I feel about this picture.”
    “The job offer was for me, R.J. I’m sorry about your feelings, I really am. I didn’t think they were that overwhelming—”
    “They’re not over—”
    “—and if I’d known, if you’d only told me, I would have considered that when I made my