"I'll do all the talking. You won't have to say a word. If St. Cyr tries to bully you, I'll handle him. But you've got to be there with me, or St. Cyr will make that an excuse to postpone things again. I know him."
"Now I'm under stress again," Martin said wildly. "I can't stand it. I'm not the Tsar of Russia."
"Lady," said the cab-driver, looking back, "if I was you, I'd sure as hell break off that engagement."
"Heads will roll for this," Martin said ominously.
* * *
"By mutual consent, agree to terminate… yes," Watt said, affixing his name to the legal paper that lay before him on the desk. "That does it. But where in the world is that fellow Martin? He came in with you, I'm certain."
"Did he?" Erika asked, rather wildly. She too, was wondering how Martin had managed to vanish so miraculously from her side. Perhaps he had crept with lightning rapidity under the carpet. She forced her mind from the thought and reached for the contract release Watt was folding.
"Wait," St. Cyr said, his lower lip jutting. "What about a clause giving us an option on Martin's next play?"
Watt paused, and the director instantly struck home.
"Whatever it may be, I can turn it into a vehicle for DeeDee, eh, DeeDee?" He lifted a sausage finger at the lovely star, who nodded obediently.