I like my women with tits.
Two make-up men and a hairdresser were hovering over her as she sat in front of the dressing table that was part of the set.
Nevada was standing over in the other corner, his back to me, talking to Rina.
He turned around as I came up and a chill ran through me as memory dragged up a picture of him from my childhood.
He looked even younger than he did when I first saw him.
I don't know how he did it; even his eyes were the eyes of a young man.
He smiled slowly. "Well, Junior. Here we go."
I nodded, still staring at him. "Yeah," I said.
"Here we go." Somebody yelled, "Places, everybody!"
"I guess that means me," Nevada said.
Rina's face was turned toward the set, a rapt expression in her eyes.
A man pushed past carrying a cable.
I turned away from him and almost bumped into another man.
I decided to get out of the way before I did any damage. I wound up near the sound booth. From there I could see and hear everything.
Now I knew why pictures cost so much money.
We were on our eleventh take of that same scene when I noticed the sound man in the booth.
He was bent over the control board, his earphones tight to his head, twisting the dials crazily.
Every other moment, I could see his lips move in silent curses, then he would spin the dials again.
"Something wrong with the machine?" I asked.
He looked up at me. I could tell from his look he didn't know who I was.
"There's nothing wrong with the machine," he said.
"Something's bothering you?"
"Look, buddy," he said. "We both need our jobs, right?" I nodded. "When the boss tells yuh to make somebody look good, yuh do what he says – yuh don't ask no questions.
Right?"
"Right," I said.
"Well, I'm doin' my best. But I ain't God.
I can't change the sound of voices."
I stared at him, a kind of dismay creeping over me.
I had only Rina's word that Nevada's voice test had been O.K.
"You mean Nevada Smith?"
He shook his head. "Naah," he said contemptuously. "He's O.K.
It's the dame.
She comes over so nasal it sounds like her voice is coming out of her eyeballs."
The sound man turned back to his machine.
I reached over and snatched the earphones off his head.
He turned angrily.
"What the hell's the idea?"
But I had them on by then and there was nothing he could do but stand there.
Nevada was speaking. His voice came through fine – there was a good sound to it.
Then Cynthia Randall began to speak and I didn't know whether to believe my eyes or my ears.
Her voice had all the irritating qualities of a cat wailing on the back fence, with none of the sexual implications.
It shivered its way down my spine.
A voice like that could put an end to sex, even in the fanciest house in New Orleans.
I ripped the earphones from my head and thrust them into the sound man's astonished hands. I started out on the set.
A man grabbed at me but I angrily pushed him aside.
A voice yelled, "Cut!" and a sudden silence fell over the set.
Everyone was staring at me with strangely startled expressions.
I was seething.
All I knew was that someone had played me for a patsy and I didn't like it.
I think the girl knew why I was there.