One Door From Heaven

know what's fair. That's all I'm asking-just what's fair for a story this big."
        "I can't reach my boss on a Sunday. Tomorrow, I'll call him at the studio, discuss the situation, and come back with an offer in an entirely professional manner."
        He nodded slowly twice, as a courtly gentleman might acknowledge agreement with a lady's kind proposal. "I'd be gratified."
        "One question, Mr. Teelroy. Do we have competition?" When he raised one eyebrow, she said, "Has a representative from another studio been here already this morning?"
        "No one's been here till you." Suddenly and visibly, he realized that he ought to leave her with the impression that enormous sums had already been dangled before him. "One fella visited yesterday"-
        he hesitated-"from one of the big studios." Poor Leonard didn't lie well; his boyish voice thickened with embarrassment at his boldness.
        Even if someone had been here on Saturday, inquiring about the UFO, he couldn't have been Maddoc. At most, the Prevost might have rolled into Nun's Lake a few hours ahead of Micky.
        "I won't say which studio," Teelroy added.
        "I understand."
        "And not thirty minutes ago I had a call about all this. Man says he came here from California to see me, so I'm sure he's one of you people." The hesitancy and the thickness had gone out of his voice. This was no lie. "We have an appointment shortly."
        "Well, Mr. Teelroy, I'm sure you've heard of Paramount Pictures-haven't you?"
        "They're big-time,"
        "Way big-time. My name's Janet Hitchcock-no relation-and I'm an executive with Paramount Pictures."
        If Maddoc proved to be the man with an appointment, she hoped to prevent Teelroy from mentioning her in such a way that the doom doctor would realize who'd been here before him. Now there would be no reference to a nameless "actress-pretty" woman in a dusty old Camaro. Teelroy would instead be eager to drop the name Janet Hitchcock of Paramount Pictures.
        "Pleased to meet you, Miss Hitchcock."
        He held out his hand, and she shook it before she had time to think about where it might have been recently. "I'll give you a call tomorrow," she lied. "We'll set up a meeting for the afternoon."
        Although the man was a grotesque, though he was trying to work a scam, though he might be delusional, possibly dangerous, Micky regretted lying to him. He'd shed all suspicion, but his eyes still brimmed with misery and need. He was more pathetic than offensive.
        The world held too many people who couldn't wait to shoot the wounded. She didn't want to be one of them.

Chapter 63
        
        CURT IS SITS in the co-pilot's chair of the parked Fleetwood, gazing through the windshield, wondering if the nuns will risk water-skiing with a storm soon to break.
        He had arrived here in Nun's Lake Saturday afternoon, in the protection of the Spelkenfelter sisters. They settled in a campground on a site that offered them a view of the lake through framing trees.
        During the past twenty-four hours, Curtis has spotted no nuns either on the lake or engaged in activities on its shores. This disappoints him because he has seen so many wonderful caring nuns in movies-Ingrid Bergman! Audrey Hepburn!-but has yet to glimpse a real live one since his arrival on this world.
        The twins have assured him that if he is patient and watchful, he will see scores of fully habited nuns water-skiing, parasailing, and jet-boat racing. They have made these assurances with such delightful giggles that he infers that nuns at play must be one of the most charming sights this planet offers.
        After Curtis revealed his true nature on Friday evening in Twin Falls, Cass and Polly volunteered to be his royal guard. He had tried to explain that he descended from no imperial lineage, that he was an ordinary person just like them. Well, not just like them, considering that he possesses the ability to control his biological structure and to change shape to imitate any organism that has a reasonably high level of intelligence, but otherwise pretty much like them, except that he has no talent as a juggler and would be paralyzingly self-conscious if he had to perform nude on a Las Vegas stage.
        They, however, apply a Star Wars template to the situation. They insist on seeing him as Princess Leia without either ample breasts or elaborate hairdo. The transmission