As interviews went, Rick thought, it probably could have gone a bit worse. He could have died in the middle of an answer, or Cheska could have gnawed through the man’s neck at one of the many obviously Chet-directed inquiries. And Chet not being there. Rick shook his mental head slowly, anger heating. Unless he was dead, there was no reason for him to miss a scheduled interview, and especially not the largest with the new director. It was…unprofessional, the worst epithet Rick could come up with, and he watched Mik get into his car with a faint air of distaste. He had nothing against him, but that boy was getting just as bad, provoking Cheska after stealing Chet from her. Arrogant. That was the word. A good actor, but arrogant.

A sigh. I really don’t have time for this. He’d just received the final revisions to his shooting script, and Rick wanted to spend the rest of the day re-associating himself with Satie, not that there seemed much to re-associate with. That was a point for the meeting. There was a meeting later, something about the director wanting to acquaint himself with the people involved. Bullshit, in Rick’s opinion, but it’s no good to piss anyone off this early in the game. Besides, he could ask his questions at the meeting. Where are the Twins? What happened to Amadeus? And WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO SATIE. Quick one-liners, double entendres, comic relief. He was comic relief. He slammed his fist into the roof of the car, and Cheska looked over from a couple of spaces down. Rick flashed a quick smile, but his teeth were gritted and he could tell she wasn’t buying it. A moment passed, and she got into her car. They’d never been especially close, and he knew she considered herself too busy to deal with one of his “solar flares,” as Chet called them. He didn’t understand how she could not be angry as well, though. Liszt had gone from a strong, independent character with an agenda of her own to a simpering idiot in a bikini. The bikini wasn’t in the script, of course, but the image hovered before Rick’s eyes, and his inner artist began to peel apart in despair. Comic relief. He didn’t like to think himself egotistical, but as Rick opened the car door he couldn’t help but reflect that this would not be a promising reflection on his long and rather successful career.

Zeitgeist is my career now. It better end well.

The realization made him laugh darkly. It was true, wasn’t it? No matter what else he did, there’d be this thing hovering over every project he touched. For Chet, a young man just starting out, that was one thing, or for Mik, who had held diverse enough roles before this to establish himself as untouchable. For him, though, Satie had been the role of a lifetime (linear thinker as he was, Rick still took a moment to laugh at this. He hated clichés), and now it was crushed into something one would expect to see in ––

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“A B-grade action flick?” Chet said it slowly, letting the words coil out. He enjoyed playing the foil, as Mik called it, and at the moment that meant staying still and languid, while Mik ricocheted off the tiny room’s daffodil walls.

“Yes!” Mik was almost shouting, and Chet couldn’t tell if he was terribly angry, or finding the whole thing hysterical. Knowing Mik, it was probably a mixture of both, something Chet could understand. One of the reasons Zeitgeist had been so good to begin with was its lack of conventions, conventions that had apparently been heaped upon this new film in droves. From Mik’s description, the thing sounded like a space opera of the worst kind. Not something that would please reviewers. Or cast members.

“How’d Rick take it?”

Mik stopped mid-stride, and carefully pivoted to face Chet. “Beautifully,” he said, so serious that Chet knew there was a catch somewhere. Mik’s grin was just that impossibly wide.

“And Cheska?”

“Wants your head on a stake.”

“You’re having entirely too much fun. And she can have it. It fucking hurts.”

Mik pinched Chet’s cheek and flounced off. “Aw, poor baby, sleep all day and now complaining. Guess what? DON’T CARE. You. Shower. Now.”

The meeting. Fuck. Fuuuuck.