“The little corporal?” He pointed. “Over there.”
Catherine turned and saw a slight, frail-looking man in an ill-fitting uniform with
corporal’s stripes. He was screaming at a man wearing a general’s stars.
“Fuck what the casting director said,” he yelled. “I’m up to my ass in generals. I need
non-coms.” He raised his hands in despair. “Everybody wants to be a chief, nobody wants
to be an Indian.”
“Excuse me,” said Catherine, “I’m Catherine Alexander.”
“Thank God!” the little man said. He turned to the others, bitterness in his voice.
“The fun and games are over, you smart-asses. Washington’s here.”
Catherine blinked. Before she could speak, the little corporal said, “I don’t know
what I’m doing here. I had a thirty-five-hundred-dollar-a-year job in Dearborn editing a
furniture trade magazine, and I was drafted into the Signal Corps and sent to write training
films. What do I know about producing or directing? This is the most disorganized mess
I’ve ever seen.” He belched and touched his stomach. “I’m getting an ulcer,” he moaned,
“and I’m not even in show business. Excuse me.
He turned and hurried toward the exit, leaving Catherine standing there. She looked
around, helplessly. Everyone seemed to be staring at her, waiting for her to do something.
A lean, gray-haired man in a sweater moved toward her, an amused smile on his face.
“Need any help?” he asked quietly.
“I need a miracle,” Catherine said frankly. “I’m in charge of this, and I don’t know
what I’m supposed to be doing.”
He grinned at her. “Welcome to Hollywood. I’m Tom O’Brien, the A.D.”
She looked at him, quizzically.
“The assistant director. Your friend, the corporal, was supposed to direct it, but I have
a feeling he won’t be back.” There was a calm assurance about the man which Catherine
liked.
“How long have you worked at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer?” she asked.
“Twenty-five years.”
“Do you think you could direct this?”
She saw the corner of his lips twist. “I could try,” he said gravely. “I’ve done six
pictures with Willie Wyler.” His eyes grew serious. “The situation isn’t as bad as it looks,”
he said. “All it needs is a little organization. The script’s written, and the set’s ready.”
“That’s a beginning,” Catherine said. She looked around the sound stage at the
uniforms. Most of them were badly fitted, and the men wearing them looked ill at ease.
“They look like recruiting ads for the Navy,” Catherine commented.
O’Brien laughed appreciatively.