Hard Pressed

Chapter 4-1

Chapter 4

The read-through proved to be amazingly boring, and the reason had nothing to do with the script. Phillip had attended a couple before, but this one proved the most tedious. Maybe because previously, he hadn’t quite the—he hated to say it—‘celebrity’ status he’d acquired since those early occasions.

A read-through consisted of everyone—cast and some prime crewmembers—sitting around a table, reading from the script. Gary was guest starring in a television science-fiction series in a role that involved a few, though fleeting, appearances throughout the season. While he might not have been able to join in with some of the in-house comments and jokes, usually enough humour came across at these things to allow for a few rounds of laughter. This read-through was markedly absent of mirth.

During a break, Gary hissed at him, “Can’t you appear to be a little more friendly?”

“I thought my place was to sit in the corner and observe.”

“Observe me, not everyone else.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Really? Because those eagle eyes of yours can’t seem to keep from flicking around, taking everything in. Couldn’t you have said more than hello and smiled a little when we arrived? And by smile, I don’t mean grimace.”

Phillip stared at Caldwell, blinking. Was he truly affecting everyone in the room? Phillip could only think the cast was afraid he’d mention them, but he had signed the necessary secrecy forms, promising not to leak the story or discuss anything unrelated to Gary. He didn’t care to. His interest wasn’t a sci-fi show—no matter how long-running.

“Look,” Gary sighed. “Do us a favour, man. Please wait outside. You know enough about how this is going to go. You won’t learn much more about me except how often I trip over my lines.”

Banished to a waiting area, Phillip went over his notes. Gary seemed full of contradictions. He came across as almost too human, invariably relaxed. He liked freshly brewed coffee, but was happy to drink instant. He preferred real butter to a blended spread, but consumed these things in an establishment with decor that hadn’t changed since the fifties. The red and grey vinyl chairs could probably fetch a small fortune under a designer retro label, once someone washed away the dirt.

Gary had donned an almost all black outfit—jeans, jacket, and shoes—breaking it with a jumper so brilliantly blue, the colour made Phillip reach for his sunglasses. He’d failed to realise, until they sat down, that the garment’s shade matched Gary’s eyes.

Gary had no doubt chosen the jumper for effect, an idea made even more concrete when Phillip observed everyone’s reaction to Gary as he entered the meeting room earlier—the same one Phillip had just left. People did that unconscious ‘check Gary out’ glance. Granted, mostly the women, but a few of the men, even the definitely straight, seemed to assess Gary; within minutes, they were all his ‘chums’. Those who had clearly met Gary previously greeted him as if welcoming an old friend. Gary’s relaxed attitude infected others…except when they realised Phillip Drake was in the room.

The warmth that Gary received contrasted so greatly to the chilly greeting Phillip met with that he shivered.

He looked forward to leaving here. Better to get Gary back on home ground. Maybe there, he could regain his equilibrium and gain an upper hand—something he’d lacked all day.