“Okay,” I said, excited by the idea of getting out of this place. We slid off our stools and walked to the elevators. He leaned on my shoulder with one hand, keeping the other free to shake hands with people. In the elevator, since he didn’t know anybody in it, he leaned back against the wall. When we came to an abrupt halt on the ground floor, the slight jolt made him open his eyes again.

The big atrium was deserted and the ushers were chatting among themselves as they checked people’s passes. I was afraid they’d take my pass away and ask me where I was going, but nothing like that happened and we pushed open the glass doors and found ourselves outside in the heat of the sun.

The studios were a couple of kilometers away and we took my old Alfa Romeo. Corrado looked at the traffic with his eyes reduced to two slits and his elbow out the window. The wind blew in, whirling alcohol fumes around the car. You could get drunk just by sitting next to him. “It’s not as bad as it seems on the first day,” he said suddenly. “You’ll get by, you’ll see.” It was surprising that he’d guessed what I was thinking. I said if the worst came to the worst I’d buy myself a pipe. “Right,” he said. “Apparently that works, except that when it falls in your glass it’s hard to fish out.”

But there were few guys as fucked-up as he was. At the studio gates the ushers greeted him like one of them. Inside, it was no different. Everyone he met greeted him as if they were the best of friends and offered him a drink, but as soon as he turned his back they smiled because even if he was the greatest director television had ever had, the only one who could go into the CEO’s office without knocking, they all knew that his time was up and there was nothing special about greeting him.

By about one o’clock, he was completely gone. The corridors were full of bizarrely dressed people because they were in the middle of shooting two historical series. We saw a bit player dressed as one of Napoleon’s soldiers leaning against a bathroom door.

“Good man,” Corrado said to him, opening the door, “did you do it for your Emperor?”

The man looked at him without understanding, but gave a stupid smile anyway. “Hello, chief,” he said.

“You know the story of Napoleon’s soldier?” Corrado said sleepily as he used the stall next to mine, making a mysterious amount of noise as he did.

“Yes,” I said.