“In the Writers’ Building.” Charlie’s voice was wheezy with anxiety. “He sent me back here to work and I can’t. He’s like Captain Queeg, Roxanne. I need help.”

“How can I help? I’m not a writer.”

“You got me into this.”

“You wanted in, Charlie!”

“Well, now I want out.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Silence crackled between us. “You’re right. I don’t mean that. I want the screen credit. I want the money, even if I have to split it with Max Leslie.”

“Don’t say that name.”

“Vic Hale isn’t here.”

“Don’t say it at all. Just go back to work.”

“How can I? Leon humiliates me on-set. He actually asked me today if I needed help to pick up my pen or my prick.”

I knew that Leon could be ruthless, but such crass cruelty I had never seen. Small comfort to Charlie. I hung up and wandered out to the office, where Thelma was typing away. “It’s getting desperate at Empire. We may need to bring Max in for rewrites.”

“Are you crazy? That is foolhardy. No. Too dangerous.”

“We have to save the picture.”

“You mean save Charlie.”

“No, well, yes. Save Charlie and save us. If this is a disaster, all of my clients will suffer. My reputation will never be the same.”

As the days wore on, the woes afflicting Fly Me to the Moon escalated, and repeated crises on-set undermined everyone working on the picture. Jonathan often came out to Malibu to let off steam. I was his oldest and most trusted friend, and he knew he could rant with impunity, but Terrence was less patient than I. Terrence would go on writing, pounding at the Royal while Jonathan flopped in the chintz chair and told his tales of woe.

“Two weeks into the shoot, and I want to kill myself,” he said.

“Don’t exaggerate.” I brought out three beers from the kitchen.

“I hate comedy. I always have. I told you I’m a serious dramatic actor.”

“You’re working, aren’t you? You’re not wearing a toga.”

“No one takes me seriously.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is! Look at Rock Hudson.”

“You’re twice as good-looking and three times as talented.”

“Yes, but he’s the studio’s creation. The studio sent him to the star-farm, acting lessons, dancing lessons, fencing lessons for grace, horseback riding so he can play George Armstrong Custer!”

“Really? They’re making a—”