at her the way everybody points guns on television, with two hands, straight out, at shoulder level. Shannon was played by the delectable Jill Joyce, clear-eyed, kind, intuitive yet passionate, in a crisply tailored suit. In her bearing and in every word she spoke there was the kind of wise and sexy innocence that had guaranteed thirteen-week on-air pickups for twenty years. The demented man was a guest star whom Id never heard of.
You make any sudden moves, Doc, the demented man was saying, and youre gonna be real sorry.
Dr. Cassidys smile was caring and brave. Dont you realize, Kenneth, that youre the victim? Doc Cassidy said. I cant let you hurt yourself this way someone does care.
She slowly extended her hand. I care.
She held her hand out toward the guy, whose face ran the gamut of emotions from A to B. His face contorted, the gun shook.
Youre not alone if someone cares, Doc Cassidy said softly.
The demented guy suddenly lunged forward and put the gun into her hand. The director said Cut.
And the demented guy straightened up and took his hands from his face and stopped being demented. Who writes this stuff? he said.
A grayish woman with ample hips came around the desk where Jill Joyce was sitting. She wore a hand mirror on a ribbon around her waist and she held it in front of Jill while she made small dabbing notions at Jills hair with a little bristly brush. A make-up woman also appeared and dusted Jills face with a small, soft brush, the kind you might use to baste a spare rib. A young production assistant in jeans and a mans flannel shirt handed Jill a lit cigarette and Jill dragged on it intently while make-up and hair hovered over her.
Places, the director said. Without his earflaps he was a thin-faced man with short reddish hair.
An assistant director said, Quiet, everybody. Then he said, Rolling for picture.
The director said Action.
And they did the scene again. The sound man with earphones, hovering over the sound console, said Cut after the demented guest star said his first line.
Were picking up a whir, Rich.
Somebody went around the corner of the set and said something I couldnt hear and came back. Okay? he said.
The director looked at the sound man. Okay, the sound man said.
And the scene rolled again, and then again. First one was the cover shot, Salzman whispered between takes. Others are for close-ups, so when they get it back in L.A. in the editing room, Milo and the film editor can cross-cut, you know?
Un huh, I said.
What do you think? Salzman said.
I think youre hiring me for the wrong job, I said. I think you should hire me to go beat up the writers.
Salzman shrugged. Hard cranking out a script a week, he said.
Obviously, I said.
Chapter 6
WELL, Well, Jill Joyce said as she came off the set. The cutie-pie cop with the big muscles.
I didnt think youd noticed, I said.
You here to take care of me? she said. Her on-camera make-up was a little heavy, but standing there in front of me she was fresh-faced and beautiful. Her cheeks dimpled as she spoke. Her skin was clear and smooth, her eyes sparkled with life and a hint of innocent sexuality. She looked like orange juice and fresh laundry, the perfect date for the Williams-Amherst game, in a plaid skirt, picnicking beforehand on a blanket. Her lips would taste like apples. Her hair would smell like honey. Freshscrubbed, spunky, compliant, brave, beautiful, decent, cute. With a TVQ that made your breath come short.
Im here to discuss it, I said.
Your place or mine? Jill said and dimpled at me.
Your place, I said, but remember, Im armed. Jill giggled deep in her throat.
I hope so, she said. She looked at the director. Half an hour, Rich?
Sure, Jilly, the director said. No more, though, Im trying to bring this thing in under, for once.
Maybe you could make your mind up where to put the fucking camera, Rich, Jill said. She spoke without heat, almost absently, as she walked away. I followed her, watching her hips sway as she walked. Her back was perfectly straight. Her hair was glossy and thick. The skirt fit smoothly over her elegant backside. We went out a side door into the cold, walked twenty feet to Jills mobile home and went in. Jill was all business today. She sat in the drivers seat sideways, crossed her legs, rested her left arm on the steering wheel.
Okay, cutie, she said. Talk.
I didnt answer. I was looking down the length of the mobile home toward the bed. Above the bed, suspended from a ceiling fixture, was a plastic doll, dressed
in a gold lame evening gown, hanging with a miniature slipknot around her neck. Jill saw me looking and shifted her glance, and saw the swaying doll.
Whats that? she said.
I walked down the length of the mobile home and looked more closely at the doll without touching it. I could hear Jills footsteps behind me. The doll gazed at me from a face that looked a little like Jill Joyce, its happy smile entirely incongruous above the hangmans knot around its throat. The knot caused the doll to cant at an angle. I could feel Jill press ugainst me. Her hand was on my arm just above the elbow. She squeezed.