CHAPTER 6
“Seven o’clock, Mr. West,” the voice whined through the hotel phone. He saw she was gone. After a quick shower and some coffee and toast, he paid his hotel bill, bought a newspaper, and then sped off in a dirty, dented cab to the airport. He hoped, more than ever, that California might redeem him.
*
“Clara, I swear to you, A.J. has no production plans… No, your script’s very good. Well, tell me, who do you see in the lead? … But, Robin’s retired… Well, A.J. might take a look at it, I suppose, as a favor to me… yes, darling, you, too. ‘Bye.”
Dr. White wondered, could he talk A.J. into grinding out one last film? He lit another cigarette. A.J. was dying; his job was near its end. He’d had to cut his expenses; people would just have to understand. No, not people, one pers
