53

During a break, while the first scene in two days was being shot, the film’s publicist approached Tirov.

“Boris,” she said, “I have a request from the Santa Fe New Mexican to interview you. I recommend you give the interview, as it will be good local publicity.”

Tirov sighed. “When?”

“She’s outside. What about now?”

“Where outside?”

“On the front porch. I got her some lemonade.”

“All right,” Boris said, heaving himself to his feet. He had discarded the sling as his wound improved, and he checked himself out in the mirror behind the bar before going outside. He walked out to the front porch and found a very attractive young woman sitting in one of the chairs, sipping from a glass of lemonade. “Good morning,” he said to her. “I’m Boris Tirov.”

“Good morning, Mr. Tirov, I’m Christy Mayson, Santa Fe New Mexican. Would you like some lemonade?”

Boris sat down. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said.

She filled another glass from the pitcher on the table and handed it to him.

“What would you like to know?” he asked. His eyes wandered down to her body and up again.

“Tell me what attracted you to this story,” she said.

“Well, I read the novel.” This was a lie; Tirov never read anything longer than a single-page synopsis. “And I liked the story.”

“How would you describe the story?”

“Without giving away too much, I’d say it’s an adult Western, rather than a family one.”

“So you expect an R rating?”

“We’re working on that. The ratings people have asked for a little toning down here and there—nudity and violence, some of the language. It’s my view that the old West has had too much of a cleaning up. The real West was a violent place, and the inhabitants were a profane bunch.”

“How about the women?”

“In a town like the one in our movie, most of the women were whores.”

“No wives, no families?”

“Perhaps those belonging to the local merchants. The rest were for rent by the hour, or less.”

“And do you feel it necessary to your story to portray them that way?”

“I like realism. How about you?”

“Within limits. I don’t see the necessity of making a film that takes the lowest view of all its characters, especially the women.”

“Ah, a feminist, huh?”

“Of course.”

“What do you mean, ‘of course’?”

“What woman isn’t a feminist these days? Don’t you favor equal pay for equal work?”

“There’s no equality in the movie business. There’s only who draws the audiences in, and that’s usually the male stars, especially in Westerns. Can you remember a Western where a woman was the star?”

“One or two.”

“Do you remember what the grosses were?”

“No.”

“I can tell you, they bit the dust, first week out. In the movie business we learn from our mistakes.”

“What about your female star in this picture, Helen Beatty?”

“She plays a whore.”

“Does she get the same salary as Brad Goshen?”

“Of course not, haven’t you been listening?”

“Does she appear on fewer pages of the script than Mr. Goshen?”

“I take it you’ve read the script—you tell me.”

“She has two more pages than Goshen.”

“You sure about that?”

“I can count, Mr. Tirov.”

“Call me Boris, Christy,” he said, looking her up and down again.

“I prefer Mr. Tirov and Ms. Mayson, if you don’t mind.”

Tirov shrugged. “Why would I mind?”

“Mr. Tirov, you have a reputation in the film community of being obstreperous—”

“What’s that? My English is not perfect.”

“Surly and aggressive, especially with women. Does that help?”

“Who said that about me?”

“Every single person I’ve talked to who knows you or has worked with you, and that’s probably a couple of dozen. I try to do my homework.”

Boris felt his temperature rising. “Then you’ve been talking to the wrong people.”

“Whom should I talk to? Give me some names, and I’ll call them. I want to be fair.”

“I won’t have you bothering my friends.”

“You don’t seem to have many,” she replied.

“Why would you say that?”

“Is it true that there have been two attempts on your life during this shoot? And your shoot is only a couple of days old?”

“Nonsense.”

“Well, you’ve been shot and had a rattlesnake put in your bed. Do you consider those friendly acts?”

“I don’t know where you get this stuff.”

“From the Santa Fe County Sheriff’s Office and the staff of your hotel. Are they lying?”

“The gunshot was an accident while shooting a gunfight scene.”

“But great care is taken, is it not, to load all the weapons on your set with blank cartridges?”

“Somebody made a mistake.”

“And how about the snake in your bed? It didn’t make its own way into La Fonda.”

“A prank gone wrong.”

“Isn’t it true that the snake came from that wrangler’s truck over there?” She pointed.

“I don’t know where it came from.”

“Do you have any objection to my talking to your former wife, Gala Wilde? I understand she lives in Santa Fe.”

“That would be an invasion of her privacy and mine.”

“I’ve been hearing rumors of a very large rattlesnake being put in her bedroom, and someone seems to have gone out of his way to attract a bear to her property.”

“What is all this about snakes and bears? I thought you came here to talk about my movie.”

“I just want to hear your side of these stories,” she said. “I thought you’d welcome the opportunity to set the record straight.”

Tirov got to his feet, upsetting the table holding the lemonade. “Let me set you straight, you fucking little bitch. This so-called interview is at an end, and if you print any of this stuff I’ll sue your paper. You tell your editor that.” He stalked back into the saloon.

The publicist came running out. “Christy? What happened?”

“He didn’t seem to want to answer my questions,” she replied, brushing the lemonade off her skirt. “Thanks, I’ve got everything I need.” She set off for the parking lot and her car.