Hollywood on the Danube

Chapter Twelve

It was fine talking it over with Jill, but Billy hardly slept. He read and reread his story beats together with Rodney's notes, alternating occasionally with Des' complimentary remark. "Oh, yes, real good" kept replaying in his head, confirming Billy's notion Rodney was crazy. 

By the time he got to the office an hour late because he overslept, there were deep bags under his eyes, prompting Jeremy to ask, "Are you out of sorts?" Billy shrugged while he plugged in a blue Princess phone he brought from his apartment. "Fancy," Jeremy said. "That'll show Frieda." 

"I hope so," Billy said, and just then it rang. 

"Hello, Billy. It's Rose. You have a minute for some questions?" 

"Sure, Rose, shoot," he said disheartened, not knowing what to expect. 

"I tried to call you all morning but the line just rang and rang," she said, so he gave her Jeremy's number in case his phone was being used. "Well, there's just this thing about the ice skating," she said, "and I wonder if it comes too soon. So I rearranged it slightly, cutting out one of your beats. Is that all right?" she asked tentatively. 

"That's it?" Billy asked. "That's all you can think of?" 

"As far as I can see it moves along quite well," she said, lifting his spirits. "I'll have it all done in an hour or two and then email it directly." 

It would work out, Billy thought, as Jeremy massaged his shoulders. "This is all to do with Rodney's memo, isn't it?" Jeremy guessed. 

"Well, yeah. It just knocked me for a loop." 

"Just talk it over with him when he gets here today." 

"Do you mind if I ask you how frank you can be with him?" 

"He's a good bloke. He's flexible. If you make your point he'll go with it." 

Make your point well. It was all about appearances, Billy thought. If he came at Rodney with full barrels, it wouldn't matter if he was right. Rodney was his boss and had to be handled tactfully. One thing was sure; he mustn't appear threatening. 

Down the hall, Frieda almost hit the roof when she saw the article with a big photo of Csaba. "What were you thinking?" she asked him later, while rereading the translation. "You know all publicity has to be cleared through Berlin." 

"He called and wanted to know what we were doing," Csaba said nervously. "I didn't see how it could hurt." 

"You didn't see how it could hurt?" she said mocking him. "How about all the people who put the series together? The way this thing is written it looks like if it weren't for you there wouldn't be any show." 

Csaba tried to make light of it, figuring the best defense was no defense. "I think you're making too much of this," he said. "The important thing is free publicity." 

"Bullshit. We're making history here. Hungary has never had a nightly serial drama. We'll get all the exposure we want and more. Besides, this article is mostly about you and only mentions the series as your latest success." 

Csaba was caught. What could he say? "I'm sorry I offended you." 

"Just don't ever do it again," she warned him. 

"I won't," he promised. "But just so you know, there'll be a couple of other pieces coming out next month." She glared at him. Said nothing more. Just stared at him sharply like a schoolteacher to a child. 

To get the heat off himself, Csaba complained to Frieda about Miklos. "He's late ordering equipment," he said. "The invoices are stacking up. And he's driven up our costs by buying just about everything new."