“So won’t you be in trouble, failing to solve the murder?”
“Not every murder is solved. And speaking of trouble, I believe I mentioned that the divisionnaire’s wife . . .”
“Right.”
We walked along, and the already beautiful day seemed to have taken on a new glow. I was a lucky man and I knew it, but this was beyond luck.
And then he cleared his throat.
“Ah, there’s just one more thing. I almost forgot.”
I wondered if he did this in all his interviews, or if he’d been saving the Columbo routine for just such an occasion as mine. “What’s that?”
“My daughter Jeannine, she’s twenty-three years old, went to drama school, hasn’t had much luck getting cast since. I was just thinking, maybe . . .”
“You know, that’s funny,” I said as we approached the set. “There’s a role we haven’t cast yet, that of a young girl.” Actually it hadn’t been written yet, but Fred was quick and he would understand the urgency of the matter. “Have her come by with a head shot.”
“It so happens I brought one with me,” Bonnot said, and from his jacket pocket he produced an eight-by-ten glossy of a young woman of considerable beauty, the kind who would be just fine onscreen even if she couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag, the kind whose performance in the sack would redeem any kind of hamming on-screen.
We shook hands as though we were the best of friends, and he took off to watch the scene being shot. I climbed into my trailer for a brief nap, a massage, and a quick blowjob from Ginny before my next scene.
•••
It’s good to be the star.
Fin
Rake Page 16