"It says 'Offer interesting. Will only deal gross.' '
"Deal gross?"
"That's it, sir."
"Did the sender mean big or large or ugly or what?" Smith asked.
"I don't know. Only deal gross, it says."
"Who will only deal gross?"
"He didn't send the message properly," the technician said. "We didn't get a name or frequency or anything."
"All right. We're going to transmit again."
"During a storm again, sir?"
"No. Continuously. Around the clock," said Smith. "Sun and rain, storm and clear. Sent it all over."
"I certainly hope the stockholders of Analogue Networking Inc. don't find about this, sir," said the technician.
"Why should they?" asked Smith. What was this? Some kind of blackmail?
124
"It would just be terribly costly," the technician said.
"That's right. And I'm telling you to do it and don't you worry about the stockholders," Smith said. "That is not your concern. You understand?"
"Yes sir," the man said.
"Just do it," Smith said.
In Beverly Hills, Barry Schweid informed Bin-die and Marmelstein that he had found a producer who would give him a percentage of the gross profits. He was taking all his screenplays to the other producer.
So Hank Bindle and Bruce Marmelstein called an urgent meeting. If there were a producer out there willing to give gross points, that meant he was sure the screenplay was dynamite. He was sure it would make money.
Therefore, the screenplay was good. But which screenplay? There had been a half-dozen. Bindle and Marmelstein owned four Schweid treatments.
Was it the dynamite box-office blockbuster?" asked Marmelstein.
"No, I don't think so. The dynamite box-office blockbuster was so boring people fell asleep when they read the title."
"What about the new-wave film that was going to bury all the other producers?" asked Bruce Marmelstein.
"Nobody could understand that," said Hank Bindle.
"The assassin thing?" said Marmelstein.
"Right," said Bindle. "I bet that thieving producer wants the assassin thing."
125
"We don't own the assassin thing," Marmelstein wailed. "That was the screenplay we didn't buy."
"Why not?"
"We didn't have anyone to read it," said Marmelstein.
"Where was the creative director?"
"She quit when she found out she was getting less than the secretaries."
"What about the secretaries?" asked Bindle. "Couldn't they read it to you?"
"It came in on a Saturday."
"So you just rejected it?" said Hank Bindle, angered.
"Why not? It looked like any other Schweid script to me. How should I know it was a good script? There wasn't a picture in it."
"What do you mean, picture? You mean you can't read?" said Hank. He stood up from the table. "I have been beating my buns off for months now trying to get a picture off the ground and now my partner tells me he can't read."
"Why didn't you read it?" said Bruce. "You could have read it."
"I was giving meetings."
"You could have read it. It wasn't long. It was less than half an inch thick. Read it now," said Bruce, bringing a carton of manuscripts from behind a large marble statue of a girl holding a lamp of wisdom.
"Okay," said Hank. "I'll have it read by midnight. Give it to me."
"What do you mean, give it to you?" said Bruce, his neck jewelry clanking with rage.
"Give me the script and it'll be read by morning."
126
Marmelstein reached into the box. There were three scripts about a half-inch thick each.
"It's one of these," he said. "The epics are three-quarters of an inch."
"Do I have to take all three?" asked Hank Bindle.
"No. Just the assassin one."
"Is that the one with the coffee spot on it?"