Local Hero

Taz’s flank with his foot. “The last thing you told me was that the alfalfa sprouts from L.A. couldn’t get out of their hot tubs long enough to close the deal.” Mitch grinned. “You’ve got a real way with words, Rich.”
    “The deal closed yesterday,” Rich said flatly. “Two Moon wants to go with Zark.”
    Mitch’s grin faded. “You’re serious?”
    “I’m always serious,” Rich said, studying Mitch’s reaction. “I thought you’d be a little more enthusiastic. Your baby’s going to be a movie star.”
    “To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I feel.” Pushing himself out of the chair, Mitch began to pace Rich’s cramped office. As he passed the window, he pulled open the blinds to let in slants of hard winter light. “Zark’s always been personal. I don’t know how I feel about him going Hollywood.”
    “You got a kick out of when B. C. Toys made the dolls.”
    “Action figures,” Mitch corrected automatically. “I guess that’s because they stayed pretty true to the theme.” It was silly, he knew. Zark didn’t belong to him. He’d created him, true, but Zark belonged to Universal, just like all the other heroes and villains of the staff’s fertile imaginations. If, like Maloney, Mitch decided to move on, Zark would stay behind, the responsibility of someone else’s imagination. “Did we retain any creative leeway?”
    “Afraid they’re going to exploit your firstborn?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Listen, Two Moon bought the rights to Zark because he has potential at the box office—the way he is. It wouldn’t be smart businesswise to change him. Let’s look at the bottom line—comics are big business. A hundred and thirty million a year isn’t something to shrug off. The business is thriving now the way it hasn’t since the forties, and even though it’s bound to level off, it’s going to stay hot. Those jokers on the coast might dress funny, but they know a winner when they see one. Still, if you’re worried, you could take their offer.”
    “What offer?”
    “They want you to write the screenplay.”
    Mitch stopped where he was. “Me? I don’t write movies.”
    “You write Zark—apparently that’s enough for the producers. Our publishers aren’t stupid, either. Stingy,” he added with a glance at his worn linoleum, “but not stupid. They wanted the script to come from in-house, and there’s a clause in the contract that says we have a shot. Two Moon agreed to accept a treatment from you first. If it doesn’t pan out, they still want you on the project as a creative consultant.”
    “Creative consultant.” Mitch rolled the title around on his tongue.
    “If I were you, Dempsey, I’d get myself a two-legged agent.”
    “I just might. Look, I’m going to have to think about it. How long are they giving me?”
    “Nobody mentioned a time frame. I don’t think the possibility of your saying no occurred to them. But then, they don’t know you like I do.”
    “I need a couple of days. There’s someone I have to talk to.”
    Skinner waited until he’d started out. “Mitch, opportunity doesn’t often kick down your door this way.”
    “Just let me make sure I’m at home first. I’ll be in touch.”
    When it rains it pours, Mitch thought as he and Taz walked. It had started off as a fairly normal, even ordinary new year. He’d planned to dig his heels in a bit and get ahead of schedule so that he could take three or four weeks off to ski, drink brandy and kick up some snow on his uncle’s farm. He’d figured on meeting one or two attractive women on the slopes to make the evenings interesting. He’d thought to sketch a little, sleep a lot and cruise the lodges. Very simple.
    Then, within weeks, everything had changed. In Hester he’d found everything he’d ever wanted in his personal life, but he’d only begun to convince her that he was everything she’d ever wanted in hers. Now he was being offered one of the biggest opportunities of his professional life, but he couldn’t think of one without considering the other.
    In truth, he’d never been able to draw a hard line of demarcation between his professional and personal lives. He was the same man whether he was having a couple of drinks with friends or burning the midnight oil with Zark. If he’d changed at all, it had been Hester and Radley who had caused it. Since he’d fallen for them, he wanted the strings he’d always avoided, the responsibilities he’d always blithely shrugged