Sounds of much merriment came from The Bricklayer’s Arms. Russell pushed upon the door and it opened without a fuss. As he lurched inside a big cheer went up.

“Eh?” went Russell.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow,” sang a crowd of merrymakers. Russell viewed these with his blood-shot eyes. As they went in and out of focus he could make out Bobby Boy and Morgan and Frank and old Ernest, and a few production buyers he hadn’t seen for a while. And the blonde barmaid. Julie, wasn’t it?

Russell went “eh?” once more as old Ernest came hobbling over.

“You are a genius, my boy,” said old Ernest, feebly patting Russell on the back. “And when I say genius, I know what I’m talking about. There’s inspired and there’s genius, inspired is all well and good, but genius is genius. And I should know, I –”

“What is going on?” Russell asked.

Old Ernest turned to the crowd, who raised glasses to Russell. “He asks what’s going on, the boy who’s saved the company. The genius. Have a drink, have a drink. Champagne, Julie my darling, more champagne.”

Ernest patted Russell towards the bar.

“I am perplexed,” Russell said.

Bobby Boy grinned at him. “Such modesty.”

“What?”

“I told them everything,” said Bobby Boy. “About your invention.”

“My what?”

“Your invention. Your holographic invention, the Cyber-star system, that you invented. The one you demonstrated to me last night.”

“Me?”

Bobby Boy made the face that says, “Go along with this, I’ll explain everything later,” without actually saying it.

“Oh,” said Russell. “That invention.”

“That invention, yes. And how we discussed its applications and who we should get to direct this movie that is going to be the biggest blockbusting movie ever made. Apart from the sequel, of course. And how you suggested Mr Fudgepacker as the director.”

“Oh,” said Russell. And it was a low “Oh,” a kind of low groaning kind of an “Oh”. He hadn’t suggested any such thing. Although he did recall going on at Bobby Boy about how he wanted to help out Mr Fudgepacker.

“So we’re all celebrating.”

“Yes,” said Russell. “So you are.”

“And I really want to thank you,” said the blonde beauty behind the bar.

“You do?” Russell tried to focus his eyes upon her and succeeded with next to no effort at all.

“Giving me a lead role, I’ve always wanted to be in the movies.”

Russell glanced towards Bobby Boy, who raised his eyebrows and his glass. “Cheers,” said Bobby Boy.

“Do you want some champagne, Russell?” asked the barmaid.

“No,” said Russell. “Just a Perrier water. And a sandwich.”

“Coming right up.” The beautiful barmaid gave Russell such a smile that he began to tingle all over. Most pleasantly.

Bobby Boy stuck his tricky little mouth close by Russell’s ear. “Don’t thank me now,” he said.

“So,” smiled Frank, giving Russell a pat on the back. “Prop man, brilliant.”

“Prop man?” Russell asked.

“Thank you very much,” said Frank. “Making me a prop man again. It will be just like the old days at Pinewood. These holograms of yours, do they smoke? Because I’d really like to light Marilyn Monroe’s cigarette.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged.”

“You’re a gent,” said Morgan, patting Russell on the parts that Frank wasn’t patting. The “back” parts, nothing more personal. “Promotion.”

“Promotion?”

“Well, I’m in charge of the Emporium now, manager. Now Frank’s going to be the prop man for the movie.”

“Oh, yes, right.”

“Perrier and sandwiches, Russell.” Julie placed a glass in Russell’s hand and pushed a splendid plate of sandwiches towards him. “If there’s anything else you want, all you have to do is whistle. Whistle, eh? Like thingy in that film.”

“To Have and Have Not,” said Frank. “Lauren Bacall, I hailed a cab for her once.”

“Sure you didn’t drive it?” asked old Ernest. “You talk like a bleeding cabbie.”

Russell sipped at his Perrier water. “Hang about,” he said suddenly. “Mr Fudgepacker is directing, Morgan is running the company, Frank is prop man, Bobby Boy is –”

“Starring,” said Bobby Boy. “What else?”

“What else, right. So what am I doing in all this?”

“You’re producing,” said Bobby Boy. “You’re the producer.”

“Oh,” said Russell. “The producer. That’s really important, isn’t it?”

“About as important as it can be.”

“Apart from the director,” said Ernest. “But then the director could never direct if the producer didn’t produce.”

“Well,” said Russell. “That is pretty good and important, isn’t it?”

“You’re right,” said Ernest. “You’re so right. You genius.”

Glasses were raised once more and another verse of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” was sung. It was the same verse as the first verse. As “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” only has the one verse. And the chorus, of course, which is “And so say all of us”.

“Thank you,” said Russell. “Thank you all very much.”

“No, thank you,” said the “all of us”.

“Er, Bobby Boy?” said Russell, sipping Perrier and munching on a sandwich that contained fresh ham. “What exactly does a producer do?”

“He raises the money to make the picture.”

“Oh,” said Russell. “That’s what he does.”

“That’s what he does.”

“And how does he do that? Exactly?”

“He finds backers to invest in the picture. Sort of buy shares. They get a percentage of the take afterwards. Should be an absolute piece of cake, considering what we have to offer. What about last night, eh? You and Elvis, eh? What a duet.”

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten about Elvis.”

“So that’s what you do. You’re a hero, Russell.” Bobby Boy now spoke in a confidential tone, which is to say, a whisper. “I’ve let you take all the credit. Well, I couldn’t tell them the truth, could I? They’d never have believed it, but this way it will work, I showed Ernest the videos and he went for it. It’ll save his company and everyone’s jobs. And we’ll get rich in the process. You are a hero.”

“A hero.” Russell grinned. “Thanks a lot. A hero, well. My goodness.”

“There you go,” said Bobby Boy. “You deserve it, you’ve got it.”

“Thanks a big lot.”

“No problem.”

“Right. Here, Bobby Boy. One thing. As producer it is all my responsibility, right? I mean the movie can’t be made unless I get the money, right?”

“Right.”

“So how much money do I need to raise?”

Bobby Boy stroked his long thin chin. “About forty million pounds should cover it,” he said.

The crowd sort of parted as Russell fell down. But they gathered about him and they looked all concerned. They looked very concerned, after all, he was the producer.

“Are you all right, Russell?” they went. “Speak to us, are you all right?”