Preternatural

Self-consciousness about his rear view had shaped Larry Koster's entire personality, making him a frontal, front-on, attack-first person. As an actor, he was effective; as a human being he was a pain in everyone else's ass.

As he led Runnymeade onto the turnoff from the paddock to the barn, his actor's instinct told him he was being watched. Jacinto, the new kid at the barn, was waiting in the shadow of the open doorway to take the reins now that Larry had finished putting the prize stallion through his paces.

Well, hardly a kid, Larry thought, instinctively sitting himself a little straighter; he's already got two and a half of his own. Am I paying him enough? Probably more than he ever dreamed of in Guadalajara, if that was where he was from. Larry tended to think in clichés. Besides, give the kid a raise and he'll only use it as an excuse to make more babies. Still, he's got good hands, and the horses trust him. What to do?

What am I thinking? Larry wondered as he eased down out of the saddle and let Jacinto take Runny in hand; if Janice's lawyer is as good as she thinks he is, I'll not only have to let the kid go, I may have to sell off at least one of the brood mares and cut my show-dates in half. Unless they meet all my demands on this film. Mediocre as it is, they have got to meet my demands on this film!

He remembered the morning his agent had shown up unannounced in his living room to discuss the script. She'd been waiting for him when he came in from his daily ride.

"You want to tell me what you're doing here?" he'd asked genially. "The sun's barely up. Hardly agent hours. And how the hell'd you get in?"

"Gracious as always," Sandra responded, gliding past him to pour herself an Evian when he didn't offer. Larry, mixing himself a Virgin Mary, admired the view in her wake; the rest of her was just this side of anorexia. "Did you read it?"

"Piece of crap," Larry deemed it. "Yeah, I read it. I'm a little too old to be playing Jesus."

"It isn't necessarily Jesus, Larry." Sandra had tucked her long legs under her on the couch closest to the dormant fireplace. "Think of him as a generic messiah-type. And they don't want you to act, just direct."

Larry's breath made ripples in his tomato juice; he spoke over the rim of the glass. "What do you mean, they don't want me to act? Are you saying they think I'm too old for the part?"

He didn't wait for her to answer. "They're buying me off, you realize. So I'll be committed to a time-slot. So I won't be able to put in a bid for the next SpaceSeekers flick."

"Didn't they already buy you off?" Sandra asked archly. "Two mil for a contract not to direct a movie? That's got to be one for the Guinness Book."

Larry grunted in response. "How much are they offering for this...generic messiah movie?"

Sandra had named a figure that was more than Larry might ordinarily have demanded to both act and direct. Another buyoff.

"I'm impressed," Larry admitted. "What's the catch?"

Sandra finished her Evian, studied him. "You really haven't read the script."

"I - skimmed it." Larry shrugged. He'd done what every actor did when I script was sent "For Your Consideration." Flipped through it to see how many lines the lead character had -

" - and didn't bother reading any more than that," Sandra finished. Larry gave her a Yeah, well look. She'd gotten up to leave. "Yeah, well. Read the entire thing and then we'll talk."

#

He had, and the script was a stinker, but Larry still didn't get it. What was the big mystery? He'd call Sandra in a day or so, as soon as last week's tabloids with the lead story about him and the bimbo and the paternity suit were next week's recycled paper and the enquiring minds were exercising their prurient interest at someone else's expense. For now his only concern was first getting the director's spot and second persuading the bean-counters to delay the payments until Janice's lawyer stopped sniffing through his assets.