up, force you to spend even more time with the actors. Give me a sound stage any day."
The wheels squealed against the curb, and we stopped. I threw open the door and climbed out, hot air slapping me in the chest. Dixie climbed out on his side, his face screwed up into a martyr's scowl. "The torture chamber," he said, indicating a van, larger than any of the others, that had MR. VANE painted on its side.
As we approached the set, the confusion began to resolve itself. Lights and big reflectors were angled to illuminate an area of brick walkway that led from the front door of a big wooden house down to the street. Bushes in tubs had been placed on either side of it to make the scene more lush. Two people I'd never seen before, a middle-aged woman and a gigantic male, came out of the open door, strolled down the walk, and paused there, doing nothing. Lights were focused on a black circle of paper hanging from the giant's neck. I saw Toby standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, looking sour and critical.
"Stand-ins," Dixie said. "They're lighting the shot."
"Who's Paul Bunyan standing in for?"
"Toby."
"That's the best you can do? He's twice Toby's height."
"That's John," Dixie said in a guarded voice. "That thing around his neck is where Toby's face will be. You want Toby, you get John. He's dumber than dirt, but Toby likes him."
"Hey, Simeon," someone called. A slim figure in blue jeans and a tank top came toward us, hugging a clipboard. As she neared she turned into Janie Gordon.
"What are you doing here?" she and I asked simultaneously.
Janie laughed, went onto tiptoe, and kissed me. "Working continuity," she said. "I've been on the show all year."
"How's your mom?"
It wasn't an idle question. Janie's mom was a seriously crazy lady who spent half her life driving away the people she loved and the other half trying to get them back. She'd hired me to bring Janie back, and I'd done it twice before we decided it wasn't doing anyone any good. We had more or less coerced her mother into therapy with an oily shrink who made his patients call him Howard, with the result that her mother had married and then divorced the therapist, and Janie had escaped into her own apartment. The last time I'd seen Janie, her mother was trying to get the therapist back.
"About a week away from Thorazine," Janie said. "Doctor Fine, that's the new one, and he's so ugly I don't worry about him, Dr. Fine is on vacation. She's at the stage where coffee gets her manic and she starts calling every fifteen minutes. That starts after the third cup, about ten-thirty. First thing I do when I get home every night is spend half an hour erasing everything on my answering machine. Jesus, you look great. When are you going to get old, anyway?"
"When I give up my bad habits. What's her complaint?"
"Guess. Nobody loves her. The world has forgotten her." Janie rolled her eyes in an exact imitation of her mother. "She could have been a great actress if she hadn't given it all up for Daddy and me. Of course, she hadn't worked for years before she got married, but she doesn't remember that. And she sounds so alone."
"She's not alone," I said. "She's got Snuggie." Snuggie was a loathsome little fox terrier, the only dog I'd ever met who should have been born a cat.
"That's the problem. Snuggie ran away."
I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. After a reproachful glance, Janie joined in. She put her hand on my arm and dropped her clipboard. "At least," she said between giggles, "she's forgotten about Howard." She bent down to pick up her clipboard, then snapped back up as someone gave her rear end a loud slap.
"Hey, champ," Toby said, letting his hand rest on the back of Janie's pants. He was grinning. "I see you've already met the beautiful Miss Somebody."
Janie dusted his hand off her rear and picked up the clipboard. She looked from Toby to me, and she wasn't laughing. "Don't catch anything," she said to me, "that you can't cure." Looking
The wheels squealed against the curb, and we stopped. I threw open the door and climbed out, hot air slapping me in the chest. Dixie climbed out on his side, his face screwed up into a martyr's scowl. "The torture chamber," he said, indicating a van, larger than any of the others, that had MR. VANE painted on its side.
As we approached the set, the confusion began to resolve itself. Lights and big reflectors were angled to illuminate an area of brick walkway that led from the front door of a big wooden house down to the street. Bushes in tubs had been placed on either side of it to make the scene more lush. Two people I'd never seen before, a middle-aged woman and a gigantic male, came out of the open door, strolled down the walk, and paused there, doing nothing. Lights were focused on a black circle of paper hanging from the giant's neck. I saw Toby standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, looking sour and critical.
"Stand-ins," Dixie said. "They're lighting the shot."
"Who's Paul Bunyan standing in for?"
"Toby."
"That's the best you can do? He's twice Toby's height."
"That's John," Dixie said in a guarded voice. "That thing around his neck is where Toby's face will be. You want Toby, you get John. He's dumber than dirt, but Toby likes him."
"Hey, Simeon," someone called. A slim figure in blue jeans and a tank top came toward us, hugging a clipboard. As she neared she turned into Janie Gordon.
"What are you doing here?" she and I asked simultaneously.
Janie laughed, went onto tiptoe, and kissed me. "Working continuity," she said. "I've been on the show all year."
"How's your mom?"
It wasn't an idle question. Janie's mom was a seriously crazy lady who spent half her life driving away the people she loved and the other half trying to get them back. She'd hired me to bring Janie back, and I'd done it twice before we decided it wasn't doing anyone any good. We had more or less coerced her mother into therapy with an oily shrink who made his patients call him Howard, with the result that her mother had married and then divorced the therapist, and Janie had escaped into her own apartment. The last time I'd seen Janie, her mother was trying to get the therapist back.
"About a week away from Thorazine," Janie said. "Doctor Fine, that's the new one, and he's so ugly I don't worry about him, Dr. Fine is on vacation. She's at the stage where coffee gets her manic and she starts calling every fifteen minutes. That starts after the third cup, about ten-thirty. First thing I do when I get home every night is spend half an hour erasing everything on my answering machine. Jesus, you look great. When are you going to get old, anyway?"
"When I give up my bad habits. What's her complaint?"
"Guess. Nobody loves her. The world has forgotten her." Janie rolled her eyes in an exact imitation of her mother. "She could have been a great actress if she hadn't given it all up for Daddy and me. Of course, she hadn't worked for years before she got married, but she doesn't remember that. And she sounds so alone."
"She's not alone," I said. "She's got Snuggie." Snuggie was a loathsome little fox terrier, the only dog I'd ever met who should have been born a cat.
"That's the problem. Snuggie ran away."
I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. After a reproachful glance, Janie joined in. She put her hand on my arm and dropped her clipboard. "At least," she said between giggles, "she's forgotten about Howard." She bent down to pick up her clipboard, then snapped back up as someone gave her rear end a loud slap.
"Hey, champ," Toby said, letting his hand rest on the back of Janie's pants. He was grinning. "I see you've already met the beautiful Miss Somebody."
Janie dusted his hand off her rear and picked up the clipboard. She looked from Toby to me, and she wasn't laughing. "Don't catch anything," she said to me, "that you can't cure." Looking
Similar Books
