“I’ll admit the technical side is impressive,” Flinty was saying adamantly. “But nobody’s going to watch travelogues very long, no matter how perfectly they’re broadcast. You need shows, Bernie. Come up with good shows and we’ll come up with money for you.”

“But…” Finger’s composure broke down for the first time. “I need the money now.”

Flinty got slowly to his feet. Oxnard could see a crooked little grin forming on his granite-tight face. “Now? Really? You need the money now?”

He put a bony arm around Finger’s shoulder and, trailed by the other bankers, they walked toward the red-glowing EXIT sign.

Oxnard stood there alone in the vast, empty studio, with nothing but the echo of Flinty’s cackling laughter to keep him company. Just as he realized that he didn’t know what to do, he heard a movement behind him.

Turning, he saw Brenda. She looked very serious.

“It’s been a long day,” she said.

“Yeah.” He suddenly realized he was very tired.

“Come on; I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Thanks. But I suppose I should get along home.” Idiot! he raged at himself. Why’d you say that?

Brenda pointed casually toward the exit and they started walking toward it.

“Wife and kids?” she asked.

Oxnard shook his head. “Worse. A fifty-person lab that needs me to make decisions and sign paychecks.”

“You’re there every day?”

“Bright and early.”

“But you do eat and sleep, don’t you?”

Why am I trying to run away? “Sure,” he said. “Now and then.”

They were at the exit door. She let him push it open for her.

“Well then,” Brenda said as they stepped into the hallway, “why don’t we have dinner together? I know B.F. will want to have a debriefing later tonight.”