Freddy tossed his credit card on the tray, ignoring the waitress. "Why can't you get me a copy? Just dupe the DVD Harv made."

"It's not that simple, Freddy." Cheryl sucked noisily on the straw in her cocktail glass. "It's all secured in the company safe, we have a confidentiality clause on the contract we have to honour. I told you what it was about."

They had met at a local watering hole for drinks and to hear his terms regarding her part in getting the film.

Freddy gave her a wry look. "Listen, are we in this for some bookkeeping honour or are we in it for money - big money?"

"Gee Freddy, you know I'm all for the money. It's just that what you're asking isn't all that easy."

The waitress returned and stood waiting while Freddy signed the bill. She picked it up and muttered a sarcastic thanks, scowling at his piddly tip. A thunder of music blasted from the speakers on the stage beside the bar, and he gave her parting form a nasty glare. "Well unless you get at least a copy there won't be any money or any more Freddy." The last was said with arrogance that Cheryl felt like a smack.

Weaselly little snot! "I'll do what I can, Freddy." She finished her drink and pushed the glass away.

"Call me when you have it," he said, slipping off the stool and slapping the table with his hand like a judge convening court.

Cheryl watched him swagger out of the bar, his skinny frame poking out the back of his jacket. If it weren't for the fact that he was the only guy to even give her a second glance, she would tell him to kiss off and forget the whole deal. The reason for his attention suddenly struck home, and she blushed, feeling a depression settling on her like a blanket and she waved the waitress back, ordering another drink.

She looked about the room and studied the other couples, the singles - both sexes - and saw that none were looking at her. Story of her life. Overweight. Plain. Visually uninviting to anyone looking to hook up. Cheryl watched the band on the small stage as they finished their set and chewed her lip thoughtfully.

Her job was more important than her relationship with the Freddies of the world; the statement made her think hard about her job and her relationship, and she settled the decision in her mind with a large swallow of her fresh drink.

Out in the parking lot behind the bar, Freddy was hesitating over unlocking his car door, watching the woman approaching him from the shadows.

"Freddy Fisk?" The voice sounded smooth and unaccented.

"Maybe." He turned and leaned on the car, folding his arms with a deliberate insouciance. The woman came right up and stood so close that Freddy couldn't put his arms down and he suddenly felt very vulnerable. Hey!"

"Hey yourself, Freddy." Vera ran a hand down his side and stopped at the top of his thigh, pressing with her thumb.

Freddy grunted and went white. His knees tried to buckle, but Vera was pressed against him holding him up against the car. "Who's your source at Cinelab, Freddy?" She whispered into his face.

"Arggh -Jesus - oooh - stop . . ."

"Give me a name, Freddy."

"Bitch! How's tha- ARRRgggh!" The bolt of pain made spots appear before his eyes and he tried to push her away.

"Last chance, Freddy before you become a permanent cripple." Vera smiled, baring her teeth and flashing her eyes. "I don't mind either way actually."

"Ch- Cheryl - oh God - please . . ."

"Last name too, Freddy." The thumb rotated slightly and he gagged.

"Barber! Cheryl Barber . . . oh, shit . . ."

"Thanks Freddy. Could have been a lot worse, eh?" She clamped his face with her fingers and kissed him hard, ramming her tongue into his mouth. "Just to make it a sort of sweet and sour moment." She let go and backed away, watching him slide down the car to the ground, clutching the spot on his leg and whimpering.

******

The Green Plum rocked. Huge screened images of the Mediatrend logo adorned the panels of wall normally occupied by grapevine-patterned wallpaper. On a raised stage at one end of the banquet room a four-piece band thumped out a raucous beat beneath a spray of coloured strobe lights.

The tiny dance floor heaved with the bobbing bodies of noisy, laughing dancers representing the company's youth movement, and around the perimeter at quieter tables, although barely possible in the din, sat the older generation of employees, sipping hard liquor and enviously eyeing that energy now ebbing in their own advancing years.

"Congratulations."

Mary gyrated closer. "What?"

"I said, congratulations. That was a neat speech and a nice little prize."

"Thanks. It's a trip for two you know."

"Huh? Can't hear you."

"I said- let's go sit for a minute and get a drink." She dragged him by the hand through the crowd and out into the foyer where Mediatrend logos once again dominated. They found a chair near the coatroom and Mary sat with a puffed sigh. "I'd like some wine."

"What did you say out there?"

"I said, it's for two. The trip."

"Aaah, right. Anyone special in mind?"

"Nope." She stared boldly into his face until his expression caused her to laugh aloud. "Not just anyone. You."

He showed her a faux snarl and wandered off to join the line at the bar. Business was brisk, and the line shuffled slowly closer as two pressured bartenders, juggling their products with skilful dexterity, filled the orders.

"Quite a do."

He turned and found himself inches from a pair of Angelina Jolie lips. "Huh?" He tipped his head back.

"I said, quite a nice party." His eyes moved up and down as the lips opened and closed seductively. "You're with the pretty girl that won the trip."

"Uh, yeah. Mary. She earned it."

"Really." Peter felt warm perfumed breath across his cheek. "Do you work for Mediatrend too?"

"Nope. No, I uh, I'm in the- I manage- I--"

"The Starlight."

"How—?"

"Listen, Peter. I'm interested the film you're having restored. Maybe we could meet somewhere and discuss business."

"How- who?"

"Find it hard speaking?" The woman laughed lightly and touched his arm.

Peter blushed and scrubbed a finger under his nose. "Are you a collector?" He asked, feeling silly and looking toward Mary.

"Yes, I am. But right now I'm more interested in your recent acquisition.

He turned back and found her eyes intent on his face. "I have another friend who is very interested as well. As a matter of fact he would like to make you an offer for it."

Peter stumbled forward with the line, watching the woman and glancing back to Mary who was now staring at them.

"So, what, do you have a card or something? Who's your friend?"

"I do." The smile was unsettling. "Call this number when you're ready to do business," she handed Peter a card and before letting go, she added, "let's say tomorrow before noon. Don't disappoint now, it wouldn't be wise." Her eyes drifted to where Mary was sitting stiffly.

Peter picked up his drinks and hurried over to Mary who stood and stared after the woman as he approached.

"Hey Mare, guess what?"

"What? Who was that woman?"

"Give me a sec, I'll be right back." He turned and hurried out to the street door. Vera was climbing into a large limo that swished quickly away into the night. He ran back inside, through the foyer and into the hall, searching wildly for sign of her. He saw her standing with a group of people, her back to him and he came up behind her placing one hand on her elbow.

"Mary, come away a minute, you gotta hear this." She turned and gave him a dirty look. "What?" He raised his hands to start an explanation and she walked away. "Hey Mary, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, other than your apparent interest in your new friend."

"She's not a friend, Mare. I don't even know her. I never saw her before. She said she wanted to make an offer for the film." He came around and blocked her path. "Please, will you listen to me. She gave me a card." He grabbed her elbow and steered her out of the hall back to the foyer.