perhaps?”
The director held up a disk. “The pond scene,” he said.
“Destroy it immediately!”
“Not so fast,” the director said.
Derek glowered. “Are you threatening to blackmail me?” He looked over at Raven and snapped, “You’re my witness. Obviously he wants a payoff.”
“Just chill out,” the director said. He inserted the disk into a DVD player that was mounted under a high-def TV.
Derek motioned for Raven to fluff his pillows. He said, “Let him have his fun and be on his way.”
Raven sat on the edge of the bed to watch the scene. She was prepared to be depressed. Her boss, the executive producer of
Expedition Survival!
, would be furious to learn that the Everglades episode was being scrapped. It cost big money whenever something like this happened, because the director and crew still had to be paid.
On one memorable occasion, Derek had leaped from a baobab tree in Madagascar and sprained both ankles. The script hadn’t called for him to jump; a baby gecko had scurried up his shorts and frightened him.
On another set, in Mexico, Derek had clumsily tripped over a tortoise and sprawled into a yucca plant. His face hadswollen up like a puffer fish. For two weeks afterward, he had worn a veil and refused to go out in public.
While shooting a program in Australia—a very expensive trip—Derek had ignored the local wrangler’s warnings and tried to tackle a wallaby, which he’d hoped to fry up as one of his televised campfire dinners. The result: five broken ribs, a torn Achilles tendon, sixteen stitches in his scalp and five days in the hospital.
In each instance, filming had to be canceled and the expenses settled. Raven knew that if
Expedition Survival!
hadn’t been such a smash hit, Derek would have been booted off the show a long time ago.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said to the director.
He pressed the Play button on the DVD console. Thirty-three seconds later, he turned it off.
Raven took a heavy breath. Derek sat bolt upright and goggle-eyed.
“Well?” the director said.
“That … was … bloody …
brilliant
!” Derek punched the air jubilantly with both fists. “I almost died, didn’t I? That vicious monster almost killed me!”
Witnessing the scene all over again, even on a video disk, had left Raven a bit shaken.
The director said, “Do you still want me to destroy it?”
Derek roared. “Destroy it? Are you crazy, mate? This stuff is killer. This is genius. Am I right, Raven? Is this not the
bomb
?”
“The bomb it is,” said Raven quietly.
“That crazy redneck—did you see what he did?”
“A total madman,” the director agreed.
Derek lowered his voice. “Can you edit him out of the scene?”
“No problem. Snip, snip.”
“Excellent!”
Raven said, “But he saved your life, Derek.”
“And he shall be compensated handsomely.”
With a hopeful smile, the director asked, “Does this mean I’m not fired?”
“Fired? Ha!” Derek bounded from the bed and threw an arm around the man’s neck. “You, my friend, just got yourself a big fat raise.”
As Wahoo and his father had predicted, Susan Cray knew exactly how much the family owed the bank for overdue mortgage payments: “Seven thousand nine hundred and twelve dollars and four cents.”
“Don’t forget, I just sent ’em eight hundred bucks,” Mickey said.
“Yes, honey, I already subtracted that.”
“Oh.”
“We’re also two months behind on your truck,” she said.
“You sure about that?”
“May I speak to Wahoo?”
“He’s right here.” Mickey handed the phone to his son.
“Sorry we woke you, Mom.”
“How’s the job going?”
“Not so great.”
“What happened?”
“Long story,” Wahoo said. Too long for an expensive overseas phone call. “How’s China?”
“I’m homesick, big guy. Is your dad feeling okay? Tell the truth.”
“Some days are better than others.”
Susan Cray sighed. “He’s as stubborn as a darn mule. You
The director held up a disk. “The pond scene,” he said.
“Destroy it immediately!”
“Not so fast,” the director said.
Derek glowered. “Are you threatening to blackmail me?” He looked over at Raven and snapped, “You’re my witness. Obviously he wants a payoff.”
“Just chill out,” the director said. He inserted the disk into a DVD player that was mounted under a high-def TV.
Derek motioned for Raven to fluff his pillows. He said, “Let him have his fun and be on his way.”
Raven sat on the edge of the bed to watch the scene. She was prepared to be depressed. Her boss, the executive producer of
Expedition Survival!
, would be furious to learn that the Everglades episode was being scrapped. It cost big money whenever something like this happened, because the director and crew still had to be paid.
On one memorable occasion, Derek had leaped from a baobab tree in Madagascar and sprained both ankles. The script hadn’t called for him to jump; a baby gecko had scurried up his shorts and frightened him.
On another set, in Mexico, Derek had clumsily tripped over a tortoise and sprawled into a yucca plant. His face hadswollen up like a puffer fish. For two weeks afterward, he had worn a veil and refused to go out in public.
While shooting a program in Australia—a very expensive trip—Derek had ignored the local wrangler’s warnings and tried to tackle a wallaby, which he’d hoped to fry up as one of his televised campfire dinners. The result: five broken ribs, a torn Achilles tendon, sixteen stitches in his scalp and five days in the hospital.
In each instance, filming had to be canceled and the expenses settled. Raven knew that if
Expedition Survival!
hadn’t been such a smash hit, Derek would have been booted off the show a long time ago.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said to the director.
He pressed the Play button on the DVD console. Thirty-three seconds later, he turned it off.
Raven took a heavy breath. Derek sat bolt upright and goggle-eyed.
“Well?” the director said.
“That … was … bloody …
brilliant
!” Derek punched the air jubilantly with both fists. “I almost died, didn’t I? That vicious monster almost killed me!”
Witnessing the scene all over again, even on a video disk, had left Raven a bit shaken.
The director said, “Do you still want me to destroy it?”
Derek roared. “Destroy it? Are you crazy, mate? This stuff is killer. This is genius. Am I right, Raven? Is this not the
bomb
?”
“The bomb it is,” said Raven quietly.
“That crazy redneck—did you see what he did?”
“A total madman,” the director agreed.
Derek lowered his voice. “Can you edit him out of the scene?”
“No problem. Snip, snip.”
“Excellent!”
Raven said, “But he saved your life, Derek.”
“And he shall be compensated handsomely.”
With a hopeful smile, the director asked, “Does this mean I’m not fired?”
“Fired? Ha!” Derek bounded from the bed and threw an arm around the man’s neck. “You, my friend, just got yourself a big fat raise.”
As Wahoo and his father had predicted, Susan Cray knew exactly how much the family owed the bank for overdue mortgage payments: “Seven thousand nine hundred and twelve dollars and four cents.”
“Don’t forget, I just sent ’em eight hundred bucks,” Mickey said.
“Yes, honey, I already subtracted that.”
“Oh.”
“We’re also two months behind on your truck,” she said.
“You sure about that?”
“May I speak to Wahoo?”
“He’s right here.” Mickey handed the phone to his son.
“Sorry we woke you, Mom.”
“How’s the job going?”
“Not so great.”
“What happened?”
“Long story,” Wahoo said. Too long for an expensive overseas phone call. “How’s China?”
“I’m homesick, big guy. Is your dad feeling okay? Tell the truth.”
“Some days are better than others.”
Susan Cray sighed. “He’s as stubborn as a darn mule. You
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