Get Real by Donald E. Westlake Page A

ask,” Stan said. “If you think it’s a good idea, we ask.”
    “I think,” John said, “it could possibly be a good idea.”
    Heady praise indeed. Grinning in relief, Stan said, “I’ll take that beer now. And what the hell, I’m not driving. Hold the
     salt.”

16
    W HAT WITH THE MASSIVE last-minute changes in the story line of
The Stand,
Doug didn’t get home on Monday evening till well after seven. There were so many subsidiary decisions to be made, or remade,
     so much new research to be done. For instance, they had to be certain the actual officiator at the Grace-and-Harry wedding
     twenty-some years ago wouldn’t come out of the woodwork to sue everybody in sight for calling him a con man. So much to do,
     so little time.
    Fortunately, to make up for all this sudden scrambling, Doug was bringing Darlene Looper home for an evening of confabs. A
     little later, they’d go out for dinner in the neighborhood, during which he would describe to her the concept of
Heist!
(provisional), but for now, there was time to relax and get to know one another a little better. “It’s a humble hovel,” he
     announced grandly, unlocking the door, “but it’s my own,” and he pushed it open to everything wrong.
    In the first place, he would never leave the lights on in the empty apartment all day long, and in the second place, this
     was not an empty apartment. There were several people in the room, the most prominent being someone who could retire the phrase
     “most prominent” if he wanted to. A giant in black trousers and a vast black turtleneck sweater who suggested somehow a black
     hole that had come to Doug’s living room from deepest space, he was turning in his huge mitts the life-size brass banana with
     Doug’s name etched into it that had been given him by his employers in celebration of the completed first season of
The Stand.
That the banana was not a crop that could be grown on the Finch’s upstate New York farm had been completely irrelevant; the
     operative consideration, Doug believed, as with most things, had been phallic.
    Now, in the corners of the room not occupied by the giant, Doug saw faces he recognized, that at least suggested some explanation
     for this invasion: Stan, Andy, and John, all pawing through Doug’s artifacts. Plus, in another corner, a young guy with the
     eager look of a born pickpocket.
    “The householder,” said the giant, in deep organ tones, and Andy looked around, dropping several of Doug’s books onto the
     coffee table as he said, happily, “
There
you are! We thought you’d never get home.” Then, noticing the dumbfounded Darlene peeking over Doug’s shoulder, his happy
     smile switched to a look of concern, and he said, “Doug? Is this a bad time?”
    In the reality business, Doug had learned to recover fast when hit with surprises; adapt, play the scene you’ve got, fix it
     later in the editing room. “As a matter of fact, Andy, this is a very good time. I was going to tell Darlene all about you
     guys at dinner, so now we can all get on the same page at the same time.”
    Stan, never far from paranoia, said, “Tell her all about us? Which all is that, Doug?”
    “Come in, Darlene,” Doug said, and when she sidled past him into the room he shut the apartment door and said, “Darlene, these
     guys are going to be in another reality show we’re just putting together, that I want
you
for. That’s Andy, that’s Stan, and that’s John, and I don’t know these other two.”
    Andy, a natural master of ceremonies, said, “The kid is Judson, and the guy with the banana is Tiny.”
    Doug said, “Tiny?”
    “It’s a nickname,” the big man growled, and put the banana down.
    Darlene, who also adapted fast, grinned a little loosely at Tiny and said, “It doesn’t do you justice. I’m
sure
it doesn’t.”
    Andy said, “Doug? You want her for the show? Walk me through this.”
    “Let’s all sit down,” Doug said. “As long as we’re all