byWhen I got to my bungalow-office that morning in the deep hand-sprinkled, artificial green of Beverly Hills, Wade was already there waiting for me, just sitting there waiting on the steps with a horrible kind of patience. Yes, I mean the Wade Manvell. The sight of him there in the sun like a gloomy clot made a warning ting-a-ling of nerves in my stomach. An egocentric actor, faced with the threat of not making it up the glory road, is liable to do anything.
the He had a beard stubble this morning and his long blond hair hadn’t been washed. That bony, off-center face had a pale wild look, and I had to tell him that as far as I was concerned he had rung up no-sale.
“Well, you’re out early,” I said. It was ten-thirty a.m.
“Skip the formalities, please, Max,” Wade said and stood up like h
