Free Seeds Of Fear by Jeff Gelb, Michael Garrett

table. Her blue eyes looked damp and quite pretty. "Why else would you come—?"
    "Ms. Callaghan," Andy interrupted, standing as he refilled his glass, "we were discussing the concept for your movie while we drove here. And it's a very high one, indeed," he added, retracing his steps to pour more bubbly into Donna's glass. "I got t'tell you, I was very impressed." Instead of smiling, he looked as earnest as humanly possible. He straightened to his full height to appear at least slightly taller than she was sitting. "Once some other matters are cleared away, I'm prepared to write into your contract an authorization for you to do the novelization of your life story."
    "A movie tie-in book?" she asked in a small, shocked, did-she-dare-hope-for-this tone of voice.
    "Imagine the reader potential for a book based on a real-life film— starring the author herself!" Andy let that one sink in, then adopted an expression of concern. "Our gifted mutual pal Edward did mention that possibility, didn't he?"
    Donna gulped champagne and nodded simultaneously, getting the tip of her nose wet and evoking an excited, embarrassed giggle. "He did—but I'm no actress, Mr. Chalminski, and Edward is the only one who's said my wr-writing is good enough for a book."
    Andy patted her shoulder, smelled a pleasant perfume lofting to his nose. "You ever hear of editors, Donna? And I insist, I'm Andy." He put his glass next to hers, refilled each of them. "Of course, even with the finest acting coaches, there are some questions I must answer before we can go to the next step."
    "I'd try to answer them, Andy," she said quickly, drying her nose.
    Chalminski inhaled, shook his head slightly. "Donna—I don't even know what you look like!" He decided to let himself look as troubled as he really was. "We can use ten-year-old girls t'play you when you were five. But what about the later scenes?"
    "B-b-but this is how I look!" she blurted. Whether she realized she was starting to slur words occasionally or not was hard to tell because she was so swept up in their discussion. Again she reached for her glass, sipped from it. "I don't understand—Andy."
    He took two quick steps away, patted his own face to dry it of sweat before turning back. It was time to move forward swiftly, surely, like a basketball point guard taking charge of a close game. "Donna dear, how many motion picture actresses under the age of fifty do you see in sweat suits? Not t'be rude, but I can't even see what your legs look like! It ain't necessarily a case of sex appeal; but men go to movies, rent videotapes, and they like to see actresses who look—do forgive me for this—as attractive and as, well, female as possible." He edged another inch toward the goal, cautious as hell about how he worded it. "I think you may be pretty—but even as much as an admirer of feminism as I am, I got to have a gander at how you look."
    She hesitated for such a long period of time, Chalminski nearly forgot to breathe. At last, nodding, she got to her feet, her proximity—and height—once more amazing him. "I have other clothes," Donna said shortly. She went on nodding as she headed toward a hallway of the apartment. "I do see what you mean. I guess it's only fair and reasonable."
    He watched her leave, noticed she staggered just a little despite the effort she put into walking with dignity. Chalminski's heart leaped with joy—
    Until she added, possibly speaking as much to herself as to him, "I have a nice sweater and some hiking shorts. 'Scuse me." A door banged against a wall seconds later.
    Andy clapped his forehead with his hand. A sweater? Hiking shorts? What—a sweater large enough for a baby rhino, and shorts that went down to calf-length socks? Gawd, every other broad he'd ever given that speech to had gotten the drift immediately, and half of 'em had started stripping on the spot!
    He gulped down the rest of the champagne in his glass and Donna's too. At least she'd swilled it away pretty