Syrup

  Then we can’t find the rushes.

  I’m on the phone to Visuality, checking that Jerry isn’t having any problems with the film, and he says, “What film?”

  “Uh, Jerry,” I say. “The rushes we couriered to you yesterday. Everything we’ve shot from halfway through last week.”

  “I haven’t got any rushes,” Jerry says.

  I force him to put down the phone and talk to everyone at Visuality to make sure no one’s received our rushes, and I pace back and forth across the sand while he does it. “Sorry, no rushes. You’d better check with your courier.”

  It takes me an hour to find the person who organized the courier and learn which company they used. By the time I get on to them, it’s midafternoon and I’m seriously panicking.

  The couriers are prompt and helpful, but they can’t get in contact with the right driver for two hours. When they finally inform me that they’ve found my film and will deliver it within the hour, I just about fall over with relief. Then I get angry and demand to know where the hell my rushes were all this time. The woman says, “I’m not allowed to tell you that, sir.”

  I’m able to breathe again, but I’ve burned a day. I haven’t got back in touch with Event Marketing and I’ve completely forgotten to ask Jerry if we can hire them for twenty-four hours straight starting Friday afternoon.

  I’m not feeling so excited anymore.

  more meetings

  On the way home we stop at a Mexican restaurant, deserted at this hour, and eat burritos in silence. I want very badly to ask 6 if she thinks we’ll finish in time, but I’m scared of what her answer might be.

  “Apparently we have a meeting,” she says, almost offhand. Her eyes scan the drinks menu. “At Coke tomorrow morning.”

  I wipe away a rogue blob of salsa. “Oh? Who with?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes rest on me. “Pam left me a ‘reminder.’ This is the first I’ve heard of it.” She shrugs. “By the time I called her back, she’d gone for the day.”

  “So who’s going? You or me?”

  6 frowns at her burrito. “Both of us.”

  I blink. “Can we afford to spend that time—”

  “I don’t know what this meeting is about, or who it’s with. But if it’s been kept secret from us, it’s important. We’re both going.”

  “Oh.” I wonder how I can possibly fit everything I’ve got to do, plus this meeting, into Thursday, Friday, and half of Saturday. “If you say so.”

  6 bites into the burrito. “I do.”

  thursday

  We’re at Coke by seven-thirty, to give ourselves time to find out about this meeting before it starts at eight. Except the first thing we find out is that it doesn’t start at eight. We sit alone in the meeting room as instructed until quarter past, then 6 stalks out to see what’s going on. I amuse myself by spinning my pen around my knuckles until she returns.

  I pick the pen off the floor. “What’s going on?”

  “A ‘mix-up,’ ” 6 says. Her face is dark. “We’re an hour early. It starts at nine.”

  “Oh.” I consider. “Do we know who it’s with?”

  6 looks at me. “According to Pam,” she says, “it’s with Sneaky Pete.”

  we love sneaky pete

  Naturally, @ is there, too. She’s wearing a startling red jacket across a body-hugging black top, which nicely offsets the muted tones of Sneaky Pete’s suit. She’s seated by his side and as 6 and I enter, she turns to watch me. I look for any special gesture—maybe not a wink and a smile, but at least a scowl—but there’s nothing. Like Sneaky Pete, her expression is unreadable.

  Pam is there, too, taking the minutes. Her chair is against the wall, away from the table, as if to remind everyone that she is of no importance here. The players are all seated at the table.

  Jamieson sits at the head.

  When 6 sees him, I hear her exhale slowly. She sounds almost satisfied, as if this is finally starting to make sense. I hope that’s a good thing.

  We take our positions at the table’s foot, greeting Jamieson and nodding perfunctorily to Sneaky Pete and @. @ says warmly, “6, Scat—how are you?”

  I’m ready to give her the cold shoulder, but 6 surprises me by responding, “Very well, thank you @. And yourself?” She actually sounds friendly, and again I am impressed by 6’s talent for deception.

  “Thanks for coming,” Jamieson says, leaning forward. “I suppose you know what this is about.”

  “Actually, no,” 6 says carefully. “We only found out about this meeting last night.”

  Jamieson glances at Sneaky Pete, who cocks his head. I have no idea what that gesture means, but I get the impression that Jamieson does. And if that’s true, it implies that Jamieson and Sneaky Pete have had a conversation about us before now, and that scares me a great deal.

  6 is on it immediately. “As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, we’ve been completely consumed by Backlash. It’s probably hard to reach us at the moment.”

  I don’t know what 6 is trying to imply, but Jamieson nods. “Of course.”

  “We’ve tried very hard to keep the lines of communication open,” @ interjects. Her face is pure sincerity, hangdog honesty. Except, of course, she’s lying through her teeth. “I hope you haven’t had any problem getting in touch with us when you’ve needed support. Although, of course, you’ve had the committee for support, as well.”

  “Oh, sure,” I start. This is the perfect opportunity to tell Jamieson exactly what sort of support we’ve been getting from Sneaky Pete and his committee. “They’ve been very helpful. They’ve excelled at getting in our w—”

  “We have received total support from Sneaky Pete and the committee,” 6 interrupts. “Everyone has shown complete commitment to Backlash.”

  I choke, but Jamieson is nodding again, and @’s eyes narrow. I am therefore forced to confront the possibility that 6 knows what she is doing.

  “We have had a couple of communication breakdowns,” 6 admits, “and these have been our fault as much as anyone’s. We do need to work harder to make sure that everyone involved in Backlash is fully informed of what’s going on.”

  “I see,” Jamieson says slowly. “So your working relationship with Sneaky Pete is satisfactory?”

  “Absolutely,” 6 says, as if she is surprised by the question.

  “I see,” Jamieson says again. He frowns, then turns to me. “Would you agree, Mr. Scat?”

  hmm

  An interesting question.

  My immediate reaction is to say, “Actually, I’d say Sneaky Pete has been about as helpful as salt at a slug convention.” As well as not being particularly good at lying, I’m also kind of petty. It’s difficult for me to suppress my immediate reaction.

  But I do. Because, in the end, I trust 6.

  and so

  “Yes, I agree completely,” I say. “In fact, I think it would be hard to find a more supportive, encouraging, honest—”

  The sarcasm is starting to leak through, so 6 jumps in. “We’re very happy with Mr. Pete,” she says, and under the table she steps on my foot with her heel.

  “Good,” Jamieson says, and there’s no doubt: he is surprised. It seems that Sneaky Pete has told him we would rant and sling accusations, and instead we’re singing his praises. “That’s very good to hear. I was concerned that you may have been having difficulties.”

  “We’re very busy,” 6 says, frowning, “but I wouldn’t say we’ve had difficulties.”

  “Well,” Jamieson says, blinking. “Excellent.”

  Sneaky Pete glances across at @, and as if on cue, she asks us, “Are you confident, then, that the premiere will be a success?”

  “Will be a ... ?” 6 says, looking flabbergasted. “Well of ...” She looks at me for a second, weighing me up. “Would you like to answer that, Scat?”

  “Mr. Jamieson,” I say, spreading my palms, “with our skills and determination, plus all the support that Sneaky Pete has thrown behind us, how could it not???
?

  a momentary reprieve

  “Okay,” I say, when we’re safely in the cab, “you want to tell me what the hell all that was about?”

  “You did good, Scat,” 6 says. “You laid it on a little thick, but it was good enough.”

  “Well, great. So why didn’t we tell Jamieson what’s really going on? Now we’ve promised him that the film will be ready for Saturday and made it clear that if it’s not, it’s all our fault. Is that about right?”

  “Yes,” 6 says. “That’s all we could do.” She turns in her seat. “Nothing’s changed, Scat. Complaining about Sneaky Pete now—which Jamieson clearly expected us to do—makes it look as if we’re trying to blame someone else for our screwup.”

  I bite my lip, unconvinced. “I still feel like we’re being backed into a corner on this.”

  6 frowns. “Well,” she says, “of course we are.”

  on set

  I can’t believe it’s Thursday.

  In fact, it’s not just Thursday, it’s Thursday lunchtime. We have today and tomorrow to finish the filming, then less than a day to get everything finalized for the premiere. This is starting to look very, very bad.

  With some help from Tina, 6 and Kline are struggling to bring the filming under control. Although it’s going to be difficult, it’s almost conceivable that when everyone walks off the set Friday night, we will have everything we need. But I’m way, way behind.

  The first thing I do is get myself a coffee and hunt for a place in the hangar where I can phone undisturbed. I eventually find an unused spaceship stacked up against one wall, and I carefully clamber up onto it. While Kline orders his shoot around in front of me, I call Coke and ask for Event Marketing, finally getting put through to a girl named California. She sounds about sixteen years old, and the fact that she’s in charge of making sure the nuts and bolts of the premiere run smoothly scares me a little. But when we get into the logistics, her organizational skills become obvious. Petty details like how to seal off the city block take an hour, then the serious issue of where to seat each celebrity takes two more.

  I jump down from my spaceship to go refill my coffee, passing Tina on the way. “Look, I know Kline just asked for fog around their ankles,” she is saying. “But trust me, when he sees it really swirling, he’ll love it.”

  Back on my perch, I call Visuality. “Jerry, hi! It’s Scat. How you doing?”

  “Hey, great, Scat. You won’t believe what we’re doing with your film here.”

  I brighten. “That’s great. Hey, Jerry, I need to ask you a big favor.”

  “Sure, Scat. Name it.”

  I like the way this conversation is going. “You know how you said you’d try to fit us into your schedule over the next few weeks, even though you’re booked for something else?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Although, you know, we won’t be able to be ultra-responsive—”

  “Well, we won’t need you after this week.”

  Jerry’s voice lifts. “Hey, that’s great! Because, you know, we were really going out on a limb for you there. And Columbia wouldn’t have liked it if they found out.”

  “I really appreciate you being prepared to help us, Jerry. And I need to ask for your help in another way.”

  Pause. “Oh?”

  “We need to have this film finished, ready to present, by this Saturday,” I keep my voice calm and chatty, as if this is actually pretty reasonable. “So I really need you. This is a hell of an ask, but I want you to work through Friday night until it’s done on Saturday.”

  There is a long pause. “Work through the night?”

  “That’s right.” Kline has started shouting even louder than usual, and I block my other ear. “Now look, we will make this up to you. We can—”

  “Scat, I’m sorry, but we can’t do that. We have commitments.”

  My stomach falls about six feet. “Uh, I’m sure you do, but—”

  “Look, if I could help you, I’d do it. But we can’t. We just can’t.”

  I swallow. “Jerry, let me make this clear. I will pay you whatever—”

  “Money isn’t the issue, Scat,” Jerry says, sounding offended. “All of us here have personal commitments.”

  “To?”

  “Well,” Jerry says huffily, “if you must know, we’re playing Warlords.”

  I swallow again, and when that doesn’t help, I swallow once more. But there’s still nothing coming out of my mouth.

  “We’re in a tournament,” Jerry says, “and tomorrow night the final is being held here.” He rushes on before I can object. “Now I know a lot of people don’t get behind conquest games, but there’s a big group of guys coming around here with their maps and castles and it’s very important to them. We’ve even got Dwarven Marauder pieces.”

  “But—”

  “So you see, I have commitments,” Jerry says. “I mean, you’re calling me on Thursday night, Scat. I just can’t do it.”

  “Whatever you want,” I tell him desperately. “I’ll get it for you.”

  “See you, Scat,” Jerry says sadly, and hangs up.

  kline and tina

  I’m staring at the phone in shock when Kline roars, “That is it! That is the end!” I look up and see him shaking his fists at Tina. Tina looks ready to have a piece of him and 6 is standing between them both. I drop to the ground and hurry over.

  “I do not have to put up with this constant nagging!” Kline is shouting. “Criticizing and complaining all day! I want her off the set!”

  “You pompous asshole—” Tina starts.

  “Tina, get off the set,” 6 tells her coldly. “I appreciate your help, but right now I need you to leave the set.”

  “You wouldn’t even have a film without me!” Tina shrieks.

  “Hey, now,” I say soothingly. “What’s going on here?”

  “You, ” Kline says, his eyes bulging.

  “Hack,” Tina spits at Kline. “It’s people like you that turn film into a commercial wastela—”

  “Enough!” Kline roars. “We are finished for today!”

  “Kline, please,” 6 says, but Kline pushes past her. “End for today ! Go home!”

  To my horror, the crew and cast begin dissipating. “Wait!” I shout, but apparently I carry a lot less weight than Kline. The hangar empties and then it’s just me, 6 and a whole lot of silence.

  6’s eyes are wide and staring. “No,” she whispers. “This cannot happen.” Her eyes search my face, seeking answers.

  I try to find something to say. “I ... lost Visuality.”

  descent

  6 unlocks Synergy and slowly walks inside. She’s really starting to scare me, so I put my arms around her and hug her tightly. She just stands there, as if I don’t even exist. “I love you,” I say hopefully, but I get no reaction.

  I fix a quick and tasteless dinner while 6 sits in her Captain Kirk and stares at the wall. She hardly touches the meal, and I have to prompt her to get ready for bed.

  When we’re under the sheets, I hug her and say firmly, “We are not going to lose. Tomorrow we can fix everything.” I really don’t know if this is true, but it’s important to say.

  6 is silent. I hold her tight, trying to offer as much comfort as I can, and I can feel her trembling.

  a symbolic dream

  I dream that 6 and I are in a car together, some kind of convertible, driving out in the desert. 6 is smoking a cigar and throwing playing cards out the window, all Jacks, and every time I reach over to stop her, the car lurches across the road and startles the cacti, which, I notice, are drinking from cans of Fukk.

  I’m leaning over for the umpteenth time when there’s a thump on the roof of the car and a hand punches clear through the vinyl and grabs my throat. I look up and see Sneaky Pete perched above me, grinning, his black shades glinting. “You lose,” he says.

  I wrench the wheel and the car careens off the road, bumps over the sand and hits a cola-drinking cactus. Sneaky Pete is thrown clear and lan
ds in a particularly thick bunch of cacti, which I realize are actually movie stars in cactus suits, and then he starts advancing on us. I tug at the door handle, but it’s jammed fast. Sneaky Pete gets closer, growing, towering above the vehicle, and, knowing that the end is near, I reach out for 6 so that in the final, despairing moments we can at least be together. She looks at my hand as if she doesn’t know what to do with it, and as Sneaky Pete tears the door from the car and reaches in for us, her brow furrows. “Actually,” she says, “only one of us has to lose.”

  the black moment

  I wake and 6 is not in bed with me.

  I ponder this development for a few minutes, long enough to establish that she isn’t just making a midnight toilet run. When I’m clear on this, I pull back the covers and get out of bed.

  For some reason, I don’t turn on the light. And this doesn’t make sense, because I’m looking for 6 and the light would help me find her. The only reason I wouldn’t turn on the light would be if I wanted to sneak up on her. And I can’t think why I’d want to do that.

  I open the bedroom door carefully, too, making sure it doesn’t creak. Again, I have no reason. I step out into the hallway and see from the light leaking under the office door that 6 is inside. I stand there for a moment, considering, and then I move up to the door.

  I put my hand on the door and pause, listening. I can faintly hear 6 talking but can’t make out her words. For a moment I think she must be on the phone—maybe ordering a late-night pizza—then it clicks: 6 is talking to herself.

  I turn the handle very, very carefully. A shaft of light springs from the crack, and suddenly I can see 6. She’s in her chair, staring at the desk. Her face is totally bleak.

  “No,” she murmurs. “Obviously we were specifically entrusted with delivering the film. That won’t work.” She sighs, closing her eyes. “Which leaves... sacrificing Scat.”