The War of the Worlds Murder - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,12

to converse. “Step in here, would you?...I’m Paul Stewart, by the way.”

The two men shook hands as they pushed through a portholed door. They entered a cubicle adjacent to the control booth, where a desk faced a window out onto the studio; this, Gibson knew, was where the network rep would likely sit.

With no rep present, however, this cubicle made a good place to talk.

Through a doorless doorway was the actual control booth, with its bank of slanted panels with switches and dials against a generous horizontal window onto the studio. An engineer in earphones was already seated there, ready to “mix” the show, i.e., bring voices and sound effects up or down. A chair next to the engineer, with a microphone and headset waiting, would be the director’s post, Gibson knew.

But what, then, was that podium out there for? And where was their famous “child” director? As if reading his guest’s mind, Stewart spoke.

“Mr. Gibson, I’m the program director, and my hands are going to be very full. Maybe you’d like to sit here and watch—there’s always an off chance Orson might stop by.”

“I wouldn’t mind at that. I’m a writer, by the way—you may know me better as Maxwell Grant.”

Stewart’s eyes narrowed. He sighed, shook his head, his expression softening with chagrin. “My apologies—Orson did mention you—the Shadow author. He’s planning a project with you, I’m told.”

“That’s right.”

Friendly now, Stewart put a hand on his guest’s shoulder. “You’ve made me a few pennies, Mr. Grant.”

“Gibson. How so?”

“I’ve played half a dozen villains on your Shadow show.”

“Ah.”

Stewart raised an eyebrow. “If this mug of mine ever gets in front of a camera, maybe I better get used to that. Gable doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

The ice broken, Gibson said, “Uh, I can either sit and be an eavesdropper for a few minutes...this is my first time at a major network setup like this...or I can head over to the St. Regis. Whatever’s you pleasure, Mr. Stewart.”

“Call me Paul, and I really would love to have you join us. Might even trouble you for an opinion or two—we’re having some real problems with this one.”

“This week’s program, you mean? Why, what piece are you doing?”

Gibson knew the Mercury usually adapted a famous literary work.

Stewart was lighting up a cigarette. “One by that other Wells...H.G. War of the Worlds.” He waved his match out, made a face. “I’m sure it seemed fresh and frightening at the turn of the century, but we’re having no little tough time making it something a modern audience can appreciate.”

“It’s a great story, Paul...and you people always do a fine job. I’m sure it’ll be a real crowd pleaser.”

“Let’s hope.” Stewart snapped his fingers. “You know, there’s a couple people who’ll want to meet you! We’re a good fifteen minutes away from starting this thing.... Mind if I send ’em up?”

“Not at all.”

Stewart disappeared out the door, and Gibson sat at the network rep’s desk and looked out the window where his host was approaching one of those actors milling around. The director pointed to Gibson’s window and did some explaining, and the actor—a mustached fellow with slicked-back black hair, who looked like he might specialize in slightly gone-to-seed gigolos—was nodding and smiling.

Then the actor—one of the few not in shirtsleeves, tie not even loosened—came Gibson’s way, heading up the small flight of steps, and within seconds the author was on his feet shaking hands with the man.

“At last we meet!” the actor said, in a silky baritone.

Gibson smiled a little. “I’m afraid you have the advantage on me, sir....”

“I’m the Shadow!...The first Shadow, that is.”

After a single laugh, the author said, “Frank Readick! The man who put me on the map. That voice and delivery of yours got me the Shadow assignment in the first place.”

Readick chuckled. “Small world, huh? Two Shadows on the same show? And me, the original, working for my replacement, yet!...Ah, but I was just a glorified announcer, until you made a character of the guy, and then of course Orson brought him to life.”

“But they’re still using your laugh and your opening: ‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men!’ ”

“Well, the Shadow may know,” Readick said, head tilted, “but don’t bring that up with Orson. It’s a sore point.”

The two men sat, Gibson at the desk.

“What’s your role in ‘War of the Worlds,’ Frank?”

“Mostly I’m a reporter on the scene of the alien landing. I have a couple roles, actually, which is typical for voice actors