Dolly and Bah-Bah looked like two forlorn and forgotten figures in the corner of Jacques Harlow’s loft. Movie equipment was all over the place. Up in his bed, which you had to climb a ladder to get to, Jacques was snoring like a jackhammer. They had filmed very late the previous night. The cast and crew were due back at noon.
Gray light filtered its way through the large, dirty windows, and the clock on the stove read 9:59.
The strident honk of the buzzer, indicating a visitor downstairs on the sidewalk, cut through the air. Several long honks later it finally penetrated Jacques’s consciousness and woke him up. He jumped out of bed and pressed the intercom.
“What?” he growled.
“Good news, boss.” It was one of his assistants, a squirmy little guy named Stewie, who had ambitions of Hollywood greatness.
“It better be good news. You woke me up.”
“Buzz me in.”
Jacques leaned on the button, specially installed next to his bed, and then descended the ladder. He walked over to the door and opened it just as Stewie was coming up the steps, bags with coffee and bagels in one hand, the newspaper in the other.
“Extra, extra, read all about it,” Stewie sang as he walked through the door and handed the New York World to Jacques.
“Read all about what?”
“The Settlers’ Club’s problems. A side article talks about our flick and how the club was used as a location.”
“Whatever.” Stewie put the bags on the coffee table.
Jacques read for a minute, then threw the paper down. “Since when are you the producer?”
“I told her I was in production.”
Jacques rolled his eyes and lifted the paper up again. “Ah, here I am!
“‘The unpredictable and innovative director Jacques Harlow has his actors improvise their way through the story. It has been reported that two stuffed sheep belonging to the deceased club member, Nat Pemrod, became a part of the plot and were taken out of the club to be used at the next location.
“‘Thomas Pilsner, president of the club, whose girlfriend retrieved food from the apartment of Ben Carney, another deceased member, was upset that the sheep were taken without his permission. Perhaps his girlfriend would like to make leg of lamb of them.’”
“Here’s your coffee.”
Jacques took a sip. “It’s a good thing we took those sheep from the club. Otherwise we might not have rated a mention in the story.”
“It’s a good thing I found the club,” Stewie said as he strutted around the loft. When he passed Dolly and Bah-Bah, he gave Bah-Bah a thump on the head. He didn’t notice that one of Bah-Bah’s eyes fell out and rolled away somewhere underneath the heater. “Boss, something tells me we should get through the shooting today and head up to that party tonight. Something tells me that’s going to be where the action is. We could get more publicity.” He paused. “Why are you staring off into space like that?”
“Something tells me we should do whatever we can to hang on to those sheep. They can be our logo for the company. It’ll be called Two Sheep Productions.”
“Should we try and buy them?”
“I think so.”
“What if they don’t want to sell them?”
Jacques looked at him harshly. “We’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.”