Corporate Bodies Read Online Free Page B

jargon.
    â€˜That’s right – pan across the warehouse . . . and if you’re walking towards the office, just as the secretary comes out . . . I’ll linger for a moment on the two of you chatting . . . then come across to the end of the aisle . . . just as you’re emerging on the forklift, Charles, and . . .’ A thought crossed the Director’s mind. ‘Is this going to be all right with you, Will?’
    The writer, thus deferred to, shrugged his agreement. Serene in his suit, he was leaning against a pallet of Delmoleen ‘Bedtime (Lite)’ and being very accommodating about whatever changes to his script happened to be suggested. Like the video’s director, he had no creative interest at all in the filming. So long as
Parton Parcel
was being paid, so long as
Parton Parcel
paid him, and so long as nobody demanded any rewrites, he was quite content.
    Even if he hadn’t been a representative of the production company, the writer would still have been there for the shoot, maintaining at least the illusion of interest. And, Charles thought cynically, Will’s attendance at Stenley Curton had the additional advantage of keeping him away from home. Stuck in his flat, he really would have no alternative but to start writing the definitive play.
    â€˜Then, Charles,’ Griff went on, ‘you say your bit and –’
    â€˜But how will I know when to walk and when to talk?’ asked Trevor.
    â€˜I’ll give you a cue.’
    â€˜A cue? What do I want a bleeding cue for?’ The blank look on the operator’s face suggested that he was thinking in terms of snooker. Perhaps interpreters, fluent in show business jargon, would be required.
    â€˜I’ll give you a wave,’ Griff Merricks hastily amended.
    â€˜Oh, right. So . . . what, you give Heather a wave and all, so’s she knows when to come out.’
    â€˜Yes. Though in fact it won’t be Heather who gets the wave.’
    â€˜Why not? Heather’s the only secretary round the warehouse. Runs the Dispatch Office – and don’t we all know it? Real Miss Bossyboots, she is.’
    â€˜Yes, it’s just we, um, we thought it might be better if we had someone else as the secretary.’
    â€˜Not bringing in another bleeding actor, are you? Actress, I should say.’ Maliciously he added, ‘If you can tell the difference.’
    â€˜No. No, it’s someone from the company . . . Ah, here she is.’
    The Director turned to greet a young woman who had just entered the warehouse. Nature had made her pretty, and artifice had been enlisted to make her even prettier. Probably still only in her late teens, she had short blonde hair and big blue eyes emphasised by mascara-spiked lashes. A trim figure was outlined by her tight navy business suit. The skirt, fashionably short, and the heels, fashionably high, showed her legs to advantage. The perfect picture was marred only by a discontented tightness round her thin lips.
    â€˜Ah, Dayna . . .’ said Griff Merricks. ‘Perfect timing. We were just getting to your bit. Dayna, this is Charles Paris.’
    â€˜Good morning, Dayna.’
    â€˜Hello.’ She had the local accent, but there was a lethargic sexiness about her voice.
    â€˜And I don’t know if you’ve met Trevor . . .’
    It was clear from Trevor’s expression, if not from Dayna’s, that they certainly had met. In fact, the girl’s arrival had reduced the operator to confusion. She offered him a cool grin, but he could only redden and stutter in response.
    Suddenly further participation in the video seemed to have lost its appeal. ‘Yeah, well, I think, actually, maybe I won’t stick around. I’m on early dinners, so I think I’ll, you know, be off . . .’ And he walked out of the warehouse.
    The girl watched him go without emotion, then turned the beam of her blue eyes on to Charles. A half-smile haunted her