"No. I want a clear head. Hear me out. I've met them."
"Who?"
"Martians. A whole gang of them. Real honest to goodness Martians. It's
fantastic. But it's true. They landed in the San Fernando Valley."
"That figures."
"I've got my home there. They asked for directions to Hollywood. You
know what? They came to revolutionize the industry."
"Maybe they're Commies?"
"You should see their equipment. Fantastic. I talked them into staying
over at my place. They dismantled their ship and have it stored away. I
want you to do the screen play. It'll be great."
"They... er... weren't detected flying over?"
"They use an anti-radar beam."
"Oh."
"They can speak every language under the sun."
"Look, David. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. So be nice and go
sober up."
"You don't believe me?"
"No. In plain language, no."
He extracted a square shaped box from a pocket. "See this gadget? I can
make myself disappear."
"Do that."
And he did.
"Yow!" I screamed.
He reappeared.
I staggered to the liquor cabinet and made myself a double triple
whiskey and soda.
"Well?" There was a look of triumph on his face.
"They give you that?"
"A present."
"I've got nothing doing for a week. I'll be there tomorrow morning."
"No. Tonight. You're liable to blab about it."
"Don't you trust me?"
"No. I know you went to see Dwight Howard about me."
"Then why do you want me to write the story?"
"I feel you owe me that. You're honest in some ways. Well?"
"Right. I'll pack a grip if I'm staying over."
"Do that. I've got my car downstairs."
* * * * *
David Fry's home was a Spanish-style ranch which consisted of a herd of
cattle and horses.
The Martians looked like us except they had no necks and no finger or
toe nails. Their leader was a giant of a Martian with the name, Dooma.
They wore slacks and sport jackets which Fry had bought for them. They
seemed pleasant enough.
I got some sleep and woke that afternoon. Dooma, Fry, and myself sat in
the front room and talked over the story we were to do.
"We can't trust anyone," Fry said, "so you and I will play the
earthlings in it. We'll land on Mars and discover life on the planet.
Dooma and his crew will play the Martians. Real type casting."
"What about sets?" I asked.
"Plenty of background on Mars," Dooma said.
"What?" I exploded.
"Sure," Fry said. "We'll go to Mars and shoot most of the picture
there. Has anyone ever done that before?"
"Sure," Dooma said.
"I mean anyone on earth," Fry said.
"I don't like it," I said.
"We'll bring you back," Dooma said.
"I still don't like it."
"And we'll do that nude scene," Fry said. "We'll have a couple of
Martian girls taking a bath nude."
"Oh, no," Dooma said. "That's out."
"But why?" Fry wanted to know.
"The Martian Censors. They won't go for it."