celebrating her youth, the richness of her skin, her almost-angular shapeliness.
He had the troubling sense of having already been a witness at the scene—a girl perfect for a moment in bright sun with the sea behind her. He could not tell whether he was oppressed or exhilarated.
She reached down, not completely graceful, her long hair swinging, and he saw that there was a tape recorder at her feet. As she bent to the machine, he couldn’t help but notice the soft roundness of her belly over the pink cloth of the tiny bikini, the adolescent jut of bones on generous hips. He wondered why she had disfigured herself the morning before with the absurd oversized sweat shirt, the affectation of the blank expanse of dark glass.
“She’s been interviewing me,” Murphy said. “Against my will.”
“I bet,” Craig said. Murphy was famous for giving interviews to anybody on any subject. He was a big, heavyset, squarely built man of sixty, with a shock of dyed black hair, a whisky complexion, shrewd, quick eyes, and an easy, bluff Irish manner. He was known as one of the toughest negotiators in the business and had done very well for himself while enriching his clients. He had no written contract with Craig, just a handshake, although he had represented Craig for more than twenty years. Since Craig had stopped making movies, they had only seen each other infrequently. They were friends. But, thought Craig meanly, not as close friends as when I was riding high.
“How’re your girls, Jesse?” Sonia asked.
“When last heard from, they seemed okay,” Craig said. “Or as okay as girls can be at that age. Marcia, I hear, has put on weight.”
“If they’re not up on a possession or pushing charge,” Murphy said, “consider yourself a happy parent.”
“I consider myself a happy parent,” Craig said.
“You look pale,” said Murphy. “Put on a suit and get some sun.”
Craig glanced at the slender tan body of Gail McKinnon. “No, thanks,” he said. “My season hasn’t started yet. Sonia, why don’t you and I take a walk and let them finish their interview in peace?”
“The interview is over,” Gail McKinnon said. “He’s been talking for a half hour.”
“Did you give her anything she can use?” Craig asked Murphy.
“If you mean did I use any dirty words,” Murphy said, “I didn’t.”
“Mr. Murphy was most informative,” Gail McKinnon said. “He said the movie industry was bankrupt. No money, no talent, and no guts.”
“That’ll help a lot the next time you go in to make a deal,” Craig said.
“Screw ’em,” Murphy said. “I got my pile. What do I care? Might as well enjoy telling the truth while the mood is on me. Hell, there’s a picture going into production that’s been financed by a tribe of Apache Indians. What the hell sort of business are you in when you have to get script approval from Apache Indians? We ordered lobster for lunch. You got any objection to lobster?”
“No.”
“How about you?” Murphy asked the girl.
“I love it,” she said.
Oh, Craig thought, she’s here for lunch. He sat down on one of the folding canvas chairs facing her.
“She’s asked me a lot about you.” Murphy jabbed a blunt finger in the direction of the girl. “You know what I told her? I told her one of the things wrong with the business is it’s driven people like you out of it.”
“I didn’t know I had been driven out,” Craig said.
“You know what I mean, Jess,” Murphy said. “So it became unattractive to you. What’s the difference?”
“He was most complimentary about you,” Gail McKinnon said. “You would blush with pleasure.”
“He’s my agent,” Craig said. “What do you expect he would say about me? Maybe you’d like to hear what my mother used to say about me when she was alive.”
“I certainly would.” The girl reached down toward the tape recorder. “Should I turn it on?”
“Not for the moment.” He was conscious of the girl’s small
He had the troubling sense of having already been a witness at the scene—a girl perfect for a moment in bright sun with the sea behind her. He could not tell whether he was oppressed or exhilarated.
She reached down, not completely graceful, her long hair swinging, and he saw that there was a tape recorder at her feet. As she bent to the machine, he couldn’t help but notice the soft roundness of her belly over the pink cloth of the tiny bikini, the adolescent jut of bones on generous hips. He wondered why she had disfigured herself the morning before with the absurd oversized sweat shirt, the affectation of the blank expanse of dark glass.
“She’s been interviewing me,” Murphy said. “Against my will.”
“I bet,” Craig said. Murphy was famous for giving interviews to anybody on any subject. He was a big, heavyset, squarely built man of sixty, with a shock of dyed black hair, a whisky complexion, shrewd, quick eyes, and an easy, bluff Irish manner. He was known as one of the toughest negotiators in the business and had done very well for himself while enriching his clients. He had no written contract with Craig, just a handshake, although he had represented Craig for more than twenty years. Since Craig had stopped making movies, they had only seen each other infrequently. They were friends. But, thought Craig meanly, not as close friends as when I was riding high.
“How’re your girls, Jesse?” Sonia asked.
“When last heard from, they seemed okay,” Craig said. “Or as okay as girls can be at that age. Marcia, I hear, has put on weight.”
“If they’re not up on a possession or pushing charge,” Murphy said, “consider yourself a happy parent.”
“I consider myself a happy parent,” Craig said.
“You look pale,” said Murphy. “Put on a suit and get some sun.”
Craig glanced at the slender tan body of Gail McKinnon. “No, thanks,” he said. “My season hasn’t started yet. Sonia, why don’t you and I take a walk and let them finish their interview in peace?”
“The interview is over,” Gail McKinnon said. “He’s been talking for a half hour.”
“Did you give her anything she can use?” Craig asked Murphy.
“If you mean did I use any dirty words,” Murphy said, “I didn’t.”
“Mr. Murphy was most informative,” Gail McKinnon said. “He said the movie industry was bankrupt. No money, no talent, and no guts.”
“That’ll help a lot the next time you go in to make a deal,” Craig said.
“Screw ’em,” Murphy said. “I got my pile. What do I care? Might as well enjoy telling the truth while the mood is on me. Hell, there’s a picture going into production that’s been financed by a tribe of Apache Indians. What the hell sort of business are you in when you have to get script approval from Apache Indians? We ordered lobster for lunch. You got any objection to lobster?”
“No.”
“How about you?” Murphy asked the girl.
“I love it,” she said.
Oh, Craig thought, she’s here for lunch. He sat down on one of the folding canvas chairs facing her.
“She’s asked me a lot about you.” Murphy jabbed a blunt finger in the direction of the girl. “You know what I told her? I told her one of the things wrong with the business is it’s driven people like you out of it.”
“I didn’t know I had been driven out,” Craig said.
“You know what I mean, Jess,” Murphy said. “So it became unattractive to you. What’s the difference?”
“He was most complimentary about you,” Gail McKinnon said. “You would blush with pleasure.”
“He’s my agent,” Craig said. “What do you expect he would say about me? Maybe you’d like to hear what my mother used to say about me when she was alive.”
“I certainly would.” The girl reached down toward the tape recorder. “Should I turn it on?”
“Not for the moment.” He was conscious of the girl’s small
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