“What did you do?” It was Curt speaking.
“I picked up the script, stuffed it into an envelope, and told Adolphi he could see it when McGregor, my continuity chief, put his okay on it. I asked Adolphi if he was sure my office was open and he got sore. Wanted to know what I was trying to insinuate and all that sort of thing. But I think he felt guilty as thunder. Gosh, but I’d like to know how he got in there after all my precautions.”
“I can tell you,” said Curt. “He simply walked down the hall, told the boy to go on an errand, and then used a skeleton key on your door.”
“It couldn’t have been as easy as that,” protested Helen.
“Things like that are done easily,” smiled Curt. “Mark my words, you watch our director closely. He isn’t putting his best foot forward in getting us in shape. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has sold out to some other company.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say about anyone,” said Janet.
“It’s worse to do it,” Curt insisted.
They finished their lunch and returned to Radio City where they were whisked up to the twenty-seventh floor in one of the express elevators.
“Stop in after the rehearsal this afternoon,” Jim told them. “I’ll have the final script in shape by then.”
The afternoon was a fatiguing one, for Adolphi, as though possessed of a demon, found fault with everything and almost everyone. The only one who noticeably escaped his ire was Rachel Nesbit, and Janet had to admit that Rachel handled her work in a way that defied criticism. Curt Newsom came in for some especially bitter comments.