"Two days!"
"Production on tight shooting schedule. Must hurry. Wirr you come now. Prease?"
"Lead the way," Bronzini said, kicking the bike stand up. "This is bogus."
A brief flash of anger showed in Jiro Isuzu's eyes. For a moment the Japanese looked as if he were going to say something, but he only bobbed his head repeatedly and slid the van's side door closed.
Bronzini followed the van into the city. His initial impression of Yuma was that it was flat. The highway leading into town was dotted with fast-food restaurants and discount stores. He saw very few cacti.
But when they turned into a residential area, several stubby cholla cacti decorated front yards. Most homes had Christmas decorations up. But to Bronzini, the warm desert air and lack of snow made it seem not like Christmas at all.
"How the hell are they going to film a Christmas movie in this godforsaken place?" he muttered as he passed a Pueblo-style home with the inevitable flagstone patio. There was a cow skull by the front door. It wore a Santa Claus cap.
Bronzini was still turning the question over in his mind when the van pulled up to Yuma City Hall. "What are we doing here?" he demanded of Jiro when the latter emerged from the van.
"We have appointment with mayor. I told him you would come. Now, forrow, prease."
"The mayor?" Bronzini muttered. "I hope this isn't another key-to-the-city deal. I already got enough to open up a store."
Basil Cloves had been mayor of Yuma for nearly six years. He was very proud of his city, which was one of the fastest-growing desert communities in the West.
He was proud of its three TV stations, its important military bases, and its crystal pure air.
He would never knowingly surrender it to a foreign aggressor.
But when his press secretary ushered in representatives of the Nishitsu Film Corporation, who were accompanied by the world's number-one film superstar, Bartholomew Bronzini, he broke into a baby-kissing smile.
"Mr. Bronzini!" he gushed, taking Bronzini's hand in both of his. "Wonderful of you to come. I've seen every one of your movies."
"Great. Thank you," Bronzini said quietly. Everyone in the room interpreted his comment as bored disinterest. The truth was that Bronzini was embarrassed by the sunglasses-and-autographs side of his business.
"I loved you in Conan the Mendicant. You were so... so ... muscular!"
"Nice of you to say so," Bronzini said. He decided not to mention that that was Schwarzenegger. He hated when people confused him with that Austrian water buffalo.
"Well, Mr. Bronzini," the mayor of Yuma said as he gestured everyone into seats. "Mr. Isuzu tells me that you want to film a movie in my beautiful city."
"Yes, sir," Bronzini said, and everyone in the room assumed he was being condescending when he used the word "sir." He was not.
"You can understand that when folks I don't know, no offense, gentlemen"-he indicated the representatives from Nishitsu, who sat with straight backs and stiff necks-"come to my city and apply for permits and things of that sort, I have to secure certain assurances. We don't see many flicks made in Yuma. So I told these fine gentlemen that if they could offer proof of their sincerity and good intentions, I would do what I could to get it past the city council."
Here it comes, Bronzini thought. As an occasional producer, he had gotten used to being strong-armed. You contacted the local government for permission to film on public streets and they never thought about the revenue that would be brought into the local economy, the local people who would be employed. They only wondered what was in it for them. If it wasn't the politicians, it was the teamsters or the Mafia.
"So when Mr. Isuzu told me that you'd be willing to come here and allay our fears," Mayor Cloves went on, "I said, well, that might just do it."
At that moment the press secretary put his head in the door. "They're here, Mr. Mayor."
"Wonderful," said Mayor Cloves. "Come, let's go meet them."
Bronzini caught Isuzu's arm on the way out. "What is this?" he hissed.
"Quiet. This wirr be over soon."
"Oh," said Bronzini when he saw the news crews setting up their video cameras. Newspaper reporters stood with pencils poised over notepads.
"Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen of the press," the mayor said in a booming voice. "As you can see, the illustrious Bartholomew Bronzini, star of such modern classics as Conan the Mendicant, is in my office today. Bart's come to Yuma to ask me personally for permission to film his next blockbuster. With him is Mr. Jiro Isuzu, who is a producer with the Nishitsu Corporation. I see from the brand names on some of your video equipment that you probably know more about Nishitsu than I do."
The mayor laughed heartily, and alone. He went on. "They have selected Yuma out of dozens of American cities as the location for Bart's new film. You may now ask questions, if you'd like."
There was an embarrassing silence. The print press looked at their notebooks. The TV crews hesitated. Bronzini had seen it all over the world. His reputation intimidated even the usually bold TV crews.
"Maybe I should be asking the questions," Bronzini quipped. "Like, how hot does it get this time of year?" No one even smiled. He hated it went they didn't smile.
Finally a pert blond who identified herself as the entertainment reporter for one of the TV stations piped up. "Mr. Bronzini, tell us about your new film."
"It's a Christmas movie. It's about-"
"And what do you think of Yuma so far?"
"It's hard to form much of an impression when all you've seen is the airport and the mayor's office." Bronzini beamed sheepishly. He waited for a follow-up question, but they shifted their attention to Jiro Isuzu. "Mr. Isuzu. Why did you pick Yuma?"
"It perfect for our needs," Isuzu said.
"Mr. Isuzu, do you think that Americans will go to see a Japanese-made movie?"
"Mr. Isuzu, how do you feel about the current Japanese economic dominance in the Pacific?"
"Mr. Isuzu . . ."
And so it went. The press rattled on about every conceivable angle that had to do with Yuma and several that did not. When their stories ran, some within hours, they would all play up the banal local angle. Nowhere would it be mentioned that this role was a significant departure from Bartholomew Bronzini's flex-and-pecs screen roles. Nowhere would it be mentioned that he had written the script. He was lucky if his two declarative-sentence comments would be reported accurately.
He hated it when they did that, too.
Finally the TV people began packing up their equipment and the print reporters shuffled out of the room, casting curious glances at him over their shoulders. He overheard one woman tell another, "Can you believe it? He's going to make over a hundred million on this movie and he can barely speak three words in a row."
After the reporters had gone, the mayor of Yuma came up to him and shook his hand again.
"You were wonderful, Bart. Mind if I call you Bart?"
"Go ahead. You're already in practice."
"Thank you, Bart. I'm up for reelection next year and this is going to kick off my campaign like a football."
"You have my vote," Bronzini joked.
"Oh, are you registered in this city?"