Hunted Past Reason by Richard Matheson

it, Bob wondered, that almost every other comment by Doug seemed to verge on insult?
    He decided not to make an issue of it. "I was never very good at it anyway," he said. "I can adapt novels okay or make up stories, but I was never able to get a fix on already established characters in already established environments."
    Doug grunted. "No screenplays? Teleplays?"
    Bob knew very well what Doug wanted. He was still bucking for available parts. "I did a screenplay about . . . oh, it must be nearly a year ago. They haven't made it yet though, don't know if they even intend to. That's the only project I've been working on this year. I sold a novelette to Playboy but I don't think there's a film in it. That's why I decided to take a crack at this backpacking novel."
    "You don't want to do it as a screenplay though," Doug said, sounding vaguely accusing.
    "No," Bob said. "Novel first. Screenplay later— if it happens. What about you?" He hoped he wasn't treading on Doug's toes. If things weren't going well for him . . .
    "Oh, I did a commercial. Ford SUV."
    "That pays well, doesn't it?" Bob asked, trying to sound impressed.
    "Not bad," Doug said. "It isn't acting though."
    "No, of course not," Bob said sympathetically. "Any little theater?"
    "I'm supposed to do a Simon play in Glendale," Doug said. "Not sure I want to though."
    "Why not?"
    "Oh . . . it's a long way to drive. A rinky-dink operation. And the director seems to be an idiot."
    "That's no fun," Bob said.
    Doug grunted scornfully. "Especially if you're trying to do Neil Simon," he said.
    Bob racked his mind for something else to mention. "What about that . . . hospital show you were trying out for?" he asked.
    "Not that hospital show," Doug said. " The hospital show— ER. "
    "Oh. And—?"
    "I'm still waiting to hear," Doug told him. "The director and I didn't exactly hit it off. He wasn't interested in any of my ideas about the character."
    "Ah." Bob nodded. Another strikeout, he thought. It was too bad too. He'd seen Doug act on television and the stage and he had a definite presence, a charismatic masculinity. He didn't understand why Doug wasn't further along. Oh, the hell I don't, he thought. Acting is on a par with bond-servanting. Too often, talent had little to do with it. It was who you knew; it was good representation; it was sheer good luck. At least for someone like Doug; he wasn't exactly Robert De Niro or Dustin Hoffman. And even they had their problems. It was a merciless business.
    "You're a lucky son of a gun, you know that, Bob," Doug said.
    "How so?" Bob asked, genuinely curious as to what Doug was getting at.
    "You're a good-looking man," Doug started.
    "Well, Jesus, so are you," Bob broke in. "Me times ten."
    "Yeah, much good it does me," Doug said. "You also have a good marriage. Marian is a hell of a lady."
    "I buy that," Bob said, trying to prevent this conversational approach from dipping too low.
    "You have two healthy, successful kids," Doug continued, making Bob wince. He really didn't want to get into that area; it was too raw. He closed his eyes, wondering if Doug would be offended if he fell asleep on him. Probably. He opened his eyes again.
    "Life has gone well for you, no doubt about it," Doug said.
    Bob didn't want to start a hassle but he felt compelled to answer Doug's remark.
    "Well, you know, I had to work awfully hard to get where I am," he said. "Marian and I had some damn lean years when we were first married. I had that night job in the supermarket, I was a bank messenger for a while, I worked in a hardware store for more than a year. It wasn't exactly going that well back then."
    "No, but it worked out well," Doug said. "You have your career, your marriage, your kids. I have shit."
    "Doug, it's not that bad," Bob said. Well, we're into it now anyway, he thought. No help for it. Continue. "You're a handsome, talented actor—"
    "—out of work," Doug interrupted.
    "You know the way the business goes," Bob said, "a month from now