Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie!”

“Zelda, Zelda, Zelda. It still sucks.”

“There’ll be beautiful costumes...”

Cassie raised a hand. “Stop right there. I play a missionary’s daughter. Gingham. High neck, long sleeves, and a long skirt. What’s anybody going to do with that?”

Margaret muttered, “A lot.”

“Right.” Zelda nodded. “Plus there are two dream sequences. India told me.”

“In other words, you haven’t read it. I heard the readings, Zelda. And it sucks. I told you that.”

“And I told you over and over why you ought to sign.” Zelda dropped heavily onto the sofa. “Let’s have this out here and now. Tell me why it sucks.”

“People make speeches. Everybody makes speeches. Brian makes speeches about God. Norma makes speeches about whatever pops into her head. I make speeches about Kansas, and I don’t even get to holler for Auntie Em. Vince makes speeches about coconuts for Pete’s sake! My sailor makes speeches about love. You want more?”

“She needs to measure your hips.” Zelda’s tone was dry. “Stand up straight, hold out your arms, and put your feet together.”

“I know how to do it!” Cassie took a deep breath. “And I don’t think she’s got a tape measure long enough.” She stood up straight, held out her arms, and put her feet together.

“Only thirty-seven and three-eighths, Miss Casey,” Margaret muttered.

“This is a new show, Cassie.” Zelda was firm. “It’s not Shaw, it’s not Ibsen, it’s not Oklahoma . It’ll try out here, try out in Chicago and half a dozen other places, and it’ll be fixed. New shows have to grow up. They do, and this one will.”

“I won’t — ”

“I’m not through! Shows fold. I’ve seen a few of them fold. They fold here or in Rubesburg — in little towns you’ve never heard of. There are two reasons for folding — just two. Lack of money and lack of talent.”

Margaret muttered, “Stand up straight, please, Miss Casey.”

There was a knock at the door, and Cassie sighed. “Get that, would you, Zelda?”

“All finished, Miss Casey.” Margaret was smiling. “You’re going to get some lovely low-neck costumes. Lovely spring-green outfits that show skin in the middle. You’ll see. All right if I take a few pictures?”

Zelda grinned as she opened the door. “She’ll sell ’em to a tabloid, Cassie. Do you mind?”

“I wouldn’t, Miss Casey.” Margaret sounded shocked. “I’d never do a thing like that.”

“She’s kidding,” Cassie told her. “How do you want me to pose?”

“With your arms above your head, please. I’ll take front, back, and one side.”

From the chained door, Zelda said, “It’s a man from the building. He won’t talk to me. Only you.”

Margaret’s little camera flashed.

“Tell him I’m not dressed. I’ll call him.”

“Want to see how you look, Miss Casey? I can show it to you.”

“Fat. No, spare me the trauma.”

“In back now. Hold still.”

“Fatter,” Cassie said under her breath.

The camera flashed again.

“Sell it to the tabloid, Margaret. It’ll make a great headline — CASSIE’S CONTROL TOPS. Then everybody will want to know who Cassie is.”

“Side now, Miss Casey. You wait ’til they see your profile!” The camera flashed a third time.

“Right here,” Zelda murmured; she had taken a gold pen and a little leather-bound notebook from her purse.

“Can I relax?”

“One more, Miss Casey. I let it wiggle a little.”

“Tell him I’ll call him later,” Cassie told Zelda.

Sharon Bench’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Cassie! Tell this woman to let me in!”

The little camera flashed for the final time as Cassie said, “I thought you said it was a man.”

“It’s Sharon!” Sharon called.

“There’s a woman, too,” Zelda reported.

“Wait ’til I get my clothes on.”

The telephone rang.

“Should I get it, Miss Casey?”

Cassie shook her head. “It’ll be one of the neighbors complaining. Let it ring.”

Margaret did, buttoning Cassie’s blouse instead.

Zelda shut the door and took off the chain. “Should I let the woman in, Cassie? She says she’s a friend.”

“Wait ’til I get my skirt on. Then you can let them both in.”

“It’s too big,” Margaret told her when the telephone had fallen silent. “I can fix it for you if you want me to, Miss Casey.”

“Not now.”

“He’s gone,” Zelda said. “He wrote you a note, but I don’t understand it. What about the woman?”

Reluctantly, Cassie nodded.

The security chain rattled, and Sharon burst into the room. “Any news?”

“You’re supposed to tell me.” Cassie pointed toward her worn blue couch. “Sit down. You’re going to referee.”

“Between us?” Zelda asked. “If that’s what you mean, you’d better introduce us.”

“Sharon’s the star of the Sun-Trib .” Skirt in place, Cassie dropped into her reading chair.

“Straight news,” Sharon announced. “Gossip, and human interest. Sports. You name it. Seen me on vid?”

Zelda said, “You know, I think I have.”

“Monday through Friday,” Cassie told her. “Channel twenty-three. Afternoons only.”

“Unless I’ve got something really big,” Sharon added.

“Unless she’s got something really big. Sharon, this is Zelda Youmans. Zelda’s my agent.”

Sharon said, “Hi,” and waved.

“Your job,” Cassie told her, “is to decide between us. Zelda wants me to sign for Dating the Volcano God . She’ll tell you why she thinks I ought to. But not about her ten percent. I’ll have to tell you about that.”

Sharon nodded.

“I’ll tell you why I think it’s a bad show and a bad contract.”

“Then I decide?”

“Then you decide. Here I go. The show stinks. It’s a turkey from the gitgo. It will maybe, if they’re lucky, play on two or three stages. Could be eight weeks in all. After that, flopsville.”

Sharon nodded.

“That was my first point. Second point. The money’s not anywhere near what I’m worth to — to the people who are organizing things. To the director and the angel. I’d be ashamed to tell you what they’re offering in this contract. I’ve known secretaries who made more than that.”

“She hasn’t,” Zelda said firmly.

“Third point. The angel expects me to sleep with him. He’s — ”

Sharon leaped to her feet. “Wallace Rosenquist? He’s romancing you, Cassie? Oh, wow!”

“You know who he is?”

Sharon’s hand had strayed to a pocket of her jacket. “I — oh, my God! This is so big... Cassie, Wallace Rosenquist controls half the banks in this city, and from what I hear he could control the other half tomorrow if he wanted to. All the financial people knew he was here the minute his hopper landed. It’s the size of a super tanker, so how could they miss it? They’ve been as jumpy as stray cats ever since. Can you get me an interview?”

“No,” Cassie said firmly, “I can’t. And if I could, I wouldn’t. Should I sign or not?”

“She should.” Margaret’s voice was just above a whisper.

“Hold on!” Zelda snapped. “Wait up, everybody. I get equal time. Can I call you Sharon?”

Sharon nodded.

“Good. Sharon, Cassie’s been talking as if this were straight salary. It isn’t. She had points and I’ve got more. The money’s okay, to start with. It’s more than she was making in The Red Spot . That’s Zelda’s point number one.”

Sharon nodded again.

“Number two. For each quarter after the first, her salary goes up ten percent. Say that it runs a year, and a good show will play New York, then London, then Melbourne, then back to Broadway. You probably know that, and by the time it hits Broadway again it may have been running for five or six years. If not more.”