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Casey spent the rest of the day trying to stay focused on his work. This wasn't easy: he was continually distracted by a compulsion to calculate the odds against his actually receiving any money for the work he was doing. The conversation he'd overheard made High Risk sound like a dodgy prospect, and he hated the desperation that had forced him to take the job without even taking the time to check out Monarch's reputation. The only certainty was that he had no way to force any money out of the studio if "New York" decided to shut down the production. Going to the law was out of the question: he couldn't afford a lawyer. He could scarcely afford to keep himself dressed and fed.
He was allowed to approach within a few yards of Desiree Farrell at lunch, when he and Mitch were allowed to grab stale cheese sandwiches and truly awful coffee from a board-and-sawhorse table the film crew had set up. But if she remembered her promise to tell him about this movie's relationship with Howard Hughes, she didn't let on. Instead, she allowed her attention to be monopolized by two of the actors, young faces Casey didn't recognize. Maybe later, Casey thought. He was surprised to find himself looking forward to talking with her. From her look and her clever mouth she seemed someone you could learn something from, if she could only keep her mind and mouth out of the gutter. It had been a long time, he realized, since he’d looked forward to talking to someone. In the meantime, he satisfied himself with sneaking a couple of extra sandwiches, to serve as supper.
The sun was beginning to slide toward the ocean when a burst of noise made Casey look up from the Bristol's big Rolls-Royce engine. Down at the production office, the "Hollywoods," as Hogan had called them, were starting up their cars and the studio trucks. Casey felt cheated—a feeling he immediately recognized as foolish—when he realized that Desiree Farrell was not going to favour him with her company after all. He watched as she climbed into Jerry Straebo's big Packard, followed immediately by Richard Armstrong and the attractive, if excessively quiet, Miss Adams. The big car rolled toward him for a tantalizing moment, then turned ninety degrees and sped off toward the road back to Hollywood.
Casey watched the car go. Then he scratched at an itch on his left cheek, ignoring the small slick of dirty oil his finger left behind. I know the type, Hogan had said. Perhaps he really did.
The second car out slowed down, then stopped in front of the hangar. Its driver waved the other vehicles past. When the man got out, Casey recognized Conrad Hart.
The actor walked right up to him. "It's Casey, right?" Casey nodded. Hart's teeth were very straight and very white.
"Listen, a couple of us were wondering if you and the other two—" Hart gestured vaguely in the direction of the back of the hangar, and Casey assumed he was referring to Tillman and Hamilton—"would like to join us at my place tonight for a drink. We have some questions we'd like to ask you about flying."
I'd do just about anything not to have to eat left-over sandwiches for supper, Casey thought. "Glad to help," he said. He smiled, and meant it.
"Great!" Hart grinned, and Casey was surprised to see something that looked like self-consciousness. Hart gave him an address and directions. Then he added, "Can you be there by seven? We don't keep late hours when we're working."
Casey nodded, wondering what sorts of questions actors might ask. Before he had a chance to ask, though, Hart was back in his car and kicking up dust on his way back to the city, and all Casey could do was locate his fellow-pilots and pass on the invitation.
By six, they had a half-dozen biplanes ready to fly, or at least as ready as they were ever going to be. "Want a lift back to town?" Mitch asked as they washed up.
"Thanks, but no," Casey said. "I'm supposed to meet with some of the actors tonight. They want to ask me about flying. I don't know why; it's not as if they're going to be doing any on this picture." At the sound of an engine starting he nodded toward the big main door of the hanger. "That'll be Tillman and Hamilton now."
"Okay by me," Mitch said. "I'm out of here, then. See you bright and early, Casey. Tomorrow you're doin’ your first stunt."
"Oh, I'll be here."
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