Dr Jew

their decay, while all about the players and the games sent him their shouts and heralds of demand, demand, and he had the willingness and skill under the proper circumstances which these decidedly were not, yes, the situation was curious.
    And the door rang again and all these thoughts were brushed away with the common feeling of the responder. He opened and there finally but this time unexpectedly stood Sergio Simpatico, filmatorian and client, looking impatient and unpleasant.
    "Take me to her ," were the words he said.
    "Who?" said Dr. Jew.
    Sergio pushed Dr. Jew aside and began looking through the rooms. He made his way down the hall to the lab and he could be heard saying, "Good God, the smell! These animals – Lise!"
    And it was better Dr. Jew was not near because he couldn't keep that clean poker face needed to play these games and he didn't want the skill because he didn't want the habit. And it was better for lovers to meet alone, even with the rot of animal decay round about in cages that time had not afforded him the luxury of cleaning and giving proper burials in an obscure corner of the park. For sheep had to be answered too and time was tight.
    "Dr. Jew – is she…?"
    The doctor made haste lab-ward and found Sergio leaning over his wife in the hospital bed, and she was draped with blankets, a robe, medical equipment, and was otherwise looking tired, but well.
    "She 's fine," said Dr. Jew.
    "The Swine-AIDS?"
    "She's fine now. Just needs a day or so of rest. You can take her home tonight if you so desire. She's under sedation now."
    Sergio rose and went to Dr. Jew. The director wrapped his arms around the doctor and squeezed.
    "Thank you," said Sergio. "Thank you, Dr. Jew."
    Unused to such affection and not feeling entirely worthy, Dr. Jew extricated himself from the embrace and said, "Yes, yes. Nothing really."
    "Really, Doctor. You are too humble. I – I admit that I had suspicions, doubts. All groundless, I now see. Whatever happened to Philip couldn't have been your fault."
    "Philip? Has something happened to our dear Glassdick?"
    "He 's dead. It must have been the AIDS, although the autopsy left some doubt. It suggested some kind of heart failure. I foolishly assumed you were involved. That medicine you gave him – "
    Dr. Jew coughed a hairball of phlegm noisily and slowly into a glass beaker apparently waiting for this task to take place.
    "That 's horrible," said Dr. Jew. "Tragic. Our finest musician. Gone in a flash. I don't blame you for fingering me. I would want to lash out too. Poor, poor Mr. Glassdick."
    "Fortunately he left enough music to finish the film with the new scenes I 've added."
    "Still not done, eh? Well, life goes on, and you'll have to finish one of these days. And when you do, I'll be waiting. I've so many ideas for our film."
    Simpatico 's joy at his wife's recovery subsided. "Ah, yes. Our… movie."
    "Our movie," said Dr. Jew.
    "Our… movie." Simpatico glazed.
    "Well!" said Dr. Jew. "Don't think too hard on it now. It's still in the embryo stage. And when you're ready to stick yourself in and get rolling, my baby will be waiting. Our baby."
    There was the window. What floor was it? Third? Fourth? A quick exit and no more talk of collaboration.
    No, no. Some other way out, but not that. A deal was a deal but nothing had been put to paper. Just a handshake.
    "You know," said Dr. Jew, "e very few days I play back our conversation in which our agreement was forged, to meld our minds creatively, symbiotically, synergistically, and I know that history's watchmen will gape in awe when they witness that first blade of grass lopped away, that first step in a 10,000 mile journey, the Velcro adjunct of science-poet pornologist – me – and semi-Hispanic master of the talkies – by this I mean you. Yes, it shall be a DVD bonus feature – released on the deluxe edition four weeks after the barebones version – that I and billions of others shall thrill to again and again."
    Would that hold up in court? Sergio might be able to eel out of it since no one could force him to squeeze his creative udders, or he could simply churn out a half-assed abomination. That reeked though, sounded wrong, and would be a diarrhea stain on his reputation. That just didn't sound right. No, all or nothing. Pay a fat settlement and forget about it or throw his back into it and make the best damned Dr. Jew biopic he could muster.
    "I 'm feeling a bit queasy," said Sergio. "I think I'd better go home.