What I really didn't want to do was climb the steps to knock on the door of the trailer.

I stood at the bottom holding a cup of coffee in my hand. Well, not coffee. Latte.

Lah-tay. Only uncivilized beasts said it wrong.

Lah-tay. As ordered, it was made from freshly ground Brazilian coffee beans. With skim milk, steamed but not too hot. With fresh whipped cream on top. Sprinkled with cinnamon and chocolate shavings. Not served in a paper cup. Not served in a mug. But delivered in a cup made of thin china. On a saucer. With a real silver spoon on the side.

This latte was for the famous movie star, Hunter Gunn. He was waiting, probably impatiently, inside the trailer. And to make sure everyone on the set understood this big trailer was for his use only, he had insisted that his name be painted on its door. Painted. Even though he was only going to be here for three days. But then, it had cost ten thousand dollars to rent the trailer he had demanded. So what was a couple hundred extra to put his name on it?

I sighed and climbed the steps. Even though my uncle was in charge here, he made me start at the bottom. That meant I was a gopher-as in "go for" whatever you're told to fetch. That meant my job was to run around and do errands. Like this one.

I knocked.

No answer.

I knocked louder. Still no answer.

I knocked even louder.

"What's with all the pounding out there?" a voice hollered from within. It was a voice that millions of people had heard, usually when Hunter Gunn was saving the world from asteroids or terrorists armed with nuclear bombs.

"Well, I tried knocking softly but--"

"Don't back-talk me! I don't care who your uncle is. I can buy him and a dozen like him if I want to."

"Yes, sir," I said. My uncle, Mike Hiser, was directing this commercial shoot. I felt stupid talking to a painted name on a door that was only a few inches from my face.

"Why are you bothering me?" the voice demanded.

"I have your coffee, sir," I said. I grinned, because I knew exactly what I'd hear next.

"Lah-tay!" the voice almost screamed. "Lah-tay! Only uncivilized beasts drink coffee."

A person had to take what satisfaction he could from someone who could buy his uncle and a dozen like him.

"Yes, sir," I said, biting my grin.

"Latte. I have it here."

"What took you so long?" the voice growled.

Hunter Gunn had only called for his drink five minutes earlier. And it had taken three minutes to make. Two minutes for delivery wasn't that bad.

"Sorry, sir," I said. I waited for him to open the door.

He didn't.

I stood on the steps and looked over the fence into the San Diego Zoo. It was a high fence screened by heavy bushes and palm trees. A big area of the parking lot had been taped off for our stuff. And to keep us safe from traffic.

I waited some more.

I was glad today was the last part of this shoot. We just had to finish a scene with Hunter Gunn and an elephant. That's why we had set up at the zoo instead of a studio lot in Hollywood. Even with the cost of Hunter Gunn's rented trailer, it was cheaper to come to the elephant than it was to bring the elephant to us.

I kept waiting. The morning sun felt good. San Diego in the summer didn't seem as hot and dry and smoggy as Los Angeles.

I waited longer, thinking about where my uncle and I would go next. Tomorrow, we were headed east to begin a stock-car racing documentary. A television sports channel had already agreed to air the special.

Filming it was the most fun I'd have this summer. It was--

The door suddenly opened. I stood face to face with Hunter Gunn, with his silk shirt and designer jeans, his handsome face, his thick blond hair, his bright blue eyes, and his fifteen-milliondollar-a-movie smile.

But he wasn't smiling.

And I wasn't actually face to face with him. I was taller. Most people were. But he always insisted the camera shoot him at an upward angle to make him look tall.

Without a word, he snatched the china cup and saucer from my hand.

He took a sip.

"This is cold," he said. He poured the liquid on the steps, and some of it splashed my shoes. "Get me a hot cup."

"Yes, sir," I said. I didn't point out that it had gotten cold while I had waited for him to come to the door. After the first hour with Hunter Gunn, I had come to expect this sort of treatment.

I started to walk away.

"Don't forget to mix the cinnamon and chocolate shavings in equal portions," he said. "Last time you used too much cinnamon."

"Yes, sir," I responded.

I didn't think the day was going to get much better. Not if Hunter Gunn thought he could treat a two-ton elephant the way he treated people.