"Look, Mr. Thalberg," you say. "All I've gotta do is get the master shot in the can. So, maybe it'll take twenty takes. But when I get that take done, with the rewrites we're back on schedule and on budget."
"Twenty takes!" blurts Irving. "How many have you shot so far?"
"Fourteen," you say. "The Marx Brothers are getting a little impatient, but I think they respect me as a director..." Irving's face puffs and squinches. For a moment, you think he's about to have a seizure, and then suddenly Irving lets loose with a peal of laughter that frightens Val, his secretary and your assistant for the day.
"You aces, Mr. T? I mean, are you all right?" she says.
"Respect you! That's a good one," Irving says to you. He is smiling at some private joke as he escorts you out of his office. "Here, I'll give you a handicap start. You play golf, right Sam?"
You nod. "Yes, Mr. Thalberg, I do."
Irving snaps his fingers with a manly click. "Val, go round up the boys and get them to the set." Val nods and leaves. "There," says Irving. "You've got them all teed up. You have TWO HOURS to get a take that we can print. I'd say you've got the same chance as getting a hole-in-one. Or in this case, a four-in-one."
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