'Why? I asked.
The spaceman got that look peculiar to men who are used to being obeyed without question; I studied it with professional interest it's not the same as anger; it is more like a thundercloud just before a storm. Then he got himself in hand and answered quietly, Lorenzo, there is no time to explain. Are you open to a job?
Do you mean a professional engagement? I answered slowly. For a horrid instant I suspected that he was offering me ... Well,you know a job. Thus far I had kept my professional pride intact, despite the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
Oh, professional, of course! he answered quickly. This requires the best actor we can get.
I did not let my relief show in my face. It was true that I was ready for any professional work. I would gladly have played the balcony in Romeo and Juliet but it does not do to be eager. What is the nature of the engagement? I asked. My calendar is rather full.
He brushed it aside. I can't explain over the phone. Perhaps you don't know it, but any scrambler circuit can be unscrambled with the proper equipment. Shag over here fast!
He was eager; therefore I could afford not to be eager. Now really, I protested, what do you think I am? A bellman? Or an untried juvenile anxious for the privilege of carrying a spear?I am Lorenzo! I threw up my chin and looked offended. What is your offer?
Uh ... Damn it, I can't go into it over the phone. How much do you get?
Eh? You are asking my professional salary?
Yes, yes!
For a single appearance? Or by the week? Or an option contract?
Uh, never mind. What do you get by the day?
My minimum fee for a one-evening date is one hundred Imperials. This was simple truth. Oh, I have been coerced at times into paying some scandalous kickbacks, but the voucher never read less than my proper fee. A man has his standards. I'd rather starve.
Very well, he answered quickly, one hundred Imperials in cash, laid in your hand the minute you show up here. But hurry!
Eh? I realized with sudden dismay that I could as easily have said two hundred, or even two fifty. But I have not agreed to accept the engagement.
Never mind that. We'll talk it over when you get here. The hundred is yours even if you turn us down. If you accept well, call it bonus, over and above your salary. Now will you sign off and get over here?
I bowed. Certainly, sir. Have patience.
Fortunately the Eisenhower is not too far from the Casa, for I did not even have a minum for tube fare. However, although the art of strolling is almost lost, I savor it and it gave me time to collect my thoughts. I was no fool; I was aware that when another man is too anxious to force money on one, it is time to examine the cards, for there is almost certainly something illegal, or dangerous, or both, involved in the matter. I was not unduly fussy about legality qua legality; I agreed with the Bard that the Law is often an idiot. But in the main I had stayed on the right side of the street.
But presently I realized that I had insufficient facts, so I put it out of my mind, threw my cape over my right shoulder, and strode along, enjoying the mild autumn weather and the rich and varied odors of the metropolis. On arrival I decided to forego the main entrance and took a bounce tube from the sub-basement to the twenty-first floor, I having at the time a vague feeling that this was not the place to let my public recognize me. My voyageur friend let me in. You took long enough, he snapped.
Indeed? I let it go at that and looked around me. It was an expensive suite, as I had expected, but it was littered and there were at least a dozen used glasses and as many coffee cups scattered here and there; it took no skill to see that I was merely the latest of many visitors. Sprawled on a couch, scowling at me, was another man, whom I tabbed tentatively as a spaceman. I glanced inquiringly but no introduction was offered.
'Well, you're here, at least. Let's get down to business.
Surely. Which brings to mind, I added, there was mention of a bonus, or retainer.
Oh, yes. He turned to the man on the couch. Jock, pay him.
For what?
Pay him!
I now knew which one was boss although, as I was to learn, there was usually little doubt when Dak Broadbent was in a room. The other fellow stood up quickly, still scowling, and counted out to me a fifty and five tens. I tucked it away casually without checking it and said, I am at your disposal, gentlemen.
The big man chewed his lip. First, I want your solemn oath not even to talk in your sleep about this job.
If my simple word is not good, is my oath better? I glanced at the smaller man, slouched again on the couch. I don't believe we have met. I am Lorenzo.
He glanced at me, looked away. My barroom acquaintance said hastily, Names don't matter in this.
No? Before my revered father died he made me promise him three things: first, never to mix whisky with anything but water; second, always to ignore anonymous letters; and lastly, never to talk with a stranger who refuses to give his name. Good day, sirs. I turned toward the door, their hundred Imperials warm in my pocket.
Hold it! I paused. He went on, You are perfectly right. My name is
Skipper!
Stow it, Jock. I'm Dak Broadbent; that's Jacques Dubois glaring at us. We're both voyageurs-master pilots, all classes, any acceleration.
I bowed. Lorenzo Smythe, I said modestly, jongleur and artist care of The Lambs Club. I made a mental note to pay my dues.
Good. Jock, try smiling for a change. Lorenzo, you agree to keep our business secret?
Under the rose. This is a discussion between gentlemen.
Whether you take the job or not?
Whether we reach agreement or not. I am human, but short of illegal methods of questioning, your confidences are safe with me.
I am well aware of what neodexocaine will do to a man's forebrain, Lorenzo. We don't expect the impossible.
Dak, Dubois said urgently, this is a mistake. We should at least
Shut up, Jock. I want no hypnotists around at this point. Lorenzo, we want you to do an impersonation job. It has to be so perfect that no one I mean no one will ever know it took place. Can you do that sort of a job?
I frowned. The first question is not Can I? but will I? What are the circumstances?
Uh, we'll go into details later. Roughly, it is the ordinary doubling job for a well-known public figure. The difference is that the impersonation will have to be so perfect as to fool people who know him well and must see him close up. It won't be just reviewing a parade from a grandstand, or pinning medals on girl scouts. he looked at me shrewdly. It will take a real artist.
No, I said at once.
Huh? You don't know anything about the job yet. If your conscience is bothering you, let me assure you that you will not be working against the interests of the man you will impersonate nor against anyone's legitimate interests. This is a job that really needs to be done.
'No.
Well, for Pete's sake, why? You don't even know how much we will pay.
Pay is no object, I said firmly. I am an actor, not a double.
I don't understand you. There are lots of actors picking up spare money making public appearances for celebrities.
I regard them as prostitutes, not colleagues. Let me make myself clear. Does an author respect a ghost writer? Would you respect a painter who allowed another man to sign his work for money? Possibly the spirit of the artist is foreign to you, sir, yet perhaps I may put it in terms germane to your own profession. Would you, simply for money, be content to pilot a ship while some other man, not possessing your high art, wore the uniform, received the credit, was publicly acclaimed as the Master? Would you?