Just as they reached the exit, the red light went off and as he waved Veronica through, the voices started up in his ear again.

“. . . redress, reload, redo . . . let’s go, people, we haven’t got all day.”

Unhooking his radio’s microphone from the neck of his T-shirt, he waited for a break in the tumbling current of voices. “Adam, it’s Tony. CB wants to see me, but I gave Catherine her heads-up on the way. Over.”

His head murmured soon at him.

Soon?

“Yeah, great.” The first assistant director turned his head from the microphone and carried on a low-voiced conversation as Tony followed Veronica along the hall, envying the way she could move through the costumes without actually touching them. She was what? Ninety pounds soaking wet? “Listen, Tony, while you’re passing, tell Everett that Lee’s got that cowlick thing happening again and we need him in here.”

“Roger, that.” He holstered and peeled off into makeup to deliver his message, emerging to find Veronica waiting for him practically quivering.

“Amy said Mr. Bane wanted to see you right away!”

Tony frowned and shook his head. What was her damage? He’d been moving toward the office since she’d given him the message. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer if you don’t calm down.”

Wide eyes widened impossibly further. “It’s my first day!”

“And all I’m saying is that you need to pace yourself.”

As they emerged out into the pandemonium of the office, Amy stood, leaned out around Rachel, and beckoned them over to her desk without pausing her conversation. “. . . that’s right, two hundred gallons of #556. Well, it might be battleship gray on your side of the border but ours are more a morning-after green. Yeah, great. Thanks. New supplier in Seattle,” she said, hanging up. “Charlie knew someone who’d cut us a deal.”

“Who’s . . . ?” Veronica began.

“One of the construction crew.” Her gaze switching to Tony, she added, “Hail the conquering hero! So, for an encore, do you think you could save Canadian television?”

“No.”

“Way to stop and consider it. Fine. Veronica, you’ve got dry cleaning to pick up. Here’s the slips.” Amy shoved a sheaf of pink paper into the new PA’s hand and closed her fingers around it. “And if Mr. Palimpter tries to make you pay, remind him that we’re on monthly billing and if he wants to know where his payment is for last the two months, tell him you’re just the messenger and he’s not to shoot you.”

“Is he likely to?”

“Probably not.”

“Doesn’t the dry cleaner deliver?” Tony asked, abandoning an attempt to read what looked like a legal document upside down.

Amy snorted. “Not for about two months now, funny thing. Oh, and while you’re out grab two grande Caffe Americanos, a tall cinnamon-spiced mochaccino, and three tall, bold of the day unless they’re Sulawesi, then get two of them and one decaf. Don’t panic, I wrote it down.” She snatched a ripped corner of paper clipped to a twenty up off her desk. “I had to print kind of small, but you should be able to read it.”