"You could fix it, Frank. You could find out where she is, a way to get there. Come along, even, so I don't fumble the ball. Please, Frank? I've got to know...."
"Bob, if you knew what you were asking—!" Then the taut, painful set of his friend's features cracked away some of his veneer, and he slumped wearily against the jamb, fiddling with that button again. "So maybe insanity's catching, or something," he said after a pause.
"You'll help me?"
"I'm not absolutely sure I can, Bob. But—Tell you what.... Buzz me about nine tonight. I might have an idea."
"Thanks," Bob said. "You're—You're a nice guy, Frank."
Frank turned and walked across the anteroom and out, without replying. Robert Lennick settled back in the swivel chair again, this time not at all relaxed.
CHAPTER 8
"Now, in this scene, sir, you're instructing the Temples through the Speaksters, in your capacity as Prime Speakster," Robert Lennick was explaining, as Fredric Stanton nodded over the pages of script.
Frank, the director, stood by impatiently while his boss explained the setup of the scene they were to shoot.