“That’s when we got hit by one of those freak torrential rainstorms, and everyone just came together to save the picture, save the sets. The damage was awful, but the people were inspiring. When we were cleaning up the mess after the downpour, it was like the rain had washed away the past and I started to think about the future. Simon is one of those big, brash personalities. He could be good for publicity, especially if they come after him and arrest him—and I’m not being heartless, Roxanne. He agrees with me—it’s a risk he’s willing to take. Sam Pepper is no shrinking violet either. Art grew up in Mexico; he’s a decorated veteran. It took all three of them to make this picture. I admire them, creatively speaking. Personally, they’re each difficult, and they drink too much, but they’re great together. And the studio has claimed the rainstorm as an act of god, and we will collect from the insurance company. So that eases the financial burden. So, yes, you’re right. Studio heads always think of money.”

“That still doesn’t tell me why you’d risk Simon’s name on the screen.”

“I want Adios Diablo to be the most talked about picture of nineteen fifty-seven.”

“Even if it’s talked about because people hate it? Because it was written by a Commie? And a veteran of the Pacific helped cover it up?”

“We’re in the middle of a sea change, something new and strange—not just the picture business. Everyone.”

“I know a lot of people who read the Challenger who would agree with you.”

“Ah yes, your friend wrote for the Challenger, didn’t he? All those inspiring pieces about the bus boycott in Alabama.”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Well, even if the politics, the message of Adios Diablo, ties Hedda Hopper’s knickers in knots and gives John Wayne constipation, it’ll be the film no one will forget. It has the best goddamned train wreck since Buster Keaton made The General. Cost me a fortune.”

I smiled. “I see you’re not averse to risks.”

“Neither are you. That’s why I want to hire you.”

“Me? I’m the biggest disgrace in this town.”

“At the moment. That’ll pass. You’re a natural. The picture business is not for people with touchy pride or impeccable taste. It’s not for weaklings, or people who want tidy lives. There’s no eight-to-five, clock out, and go home. You have to live, breathe, eat, and sleep movies, so that even in your dreams you hear the wheels, the gears and sprockets of the cameras and editing machines and the whirr of projectors as the film threads through it. You’re one of those people.” He crushed the cigarette under his heel. “You were born to it. I want you on my side. On Paragon’s side. Do you have other plans for the future?”