Jane went to the living room and glanced out the window. Eight o'clock and the movie people were in full swing. She'd heard trucks arriving shortly before six, but contrary to Shelley's instructions, 97 hadn't gone out to snoop. Now that the kids were all off to school, she still wasn't in any hurry. She sat down and turned on the television, letting the morning news wash over her while she smoked a cigarette. She was down to six a day now and had pretty much given up trying to quit entirely. Still, six a day was better than the pack and a half she'd gotten up to in the weeks after Steve's death.
The conversation with Katie had shaken her. She never felt fully in control as a mother, but in this situation she'd been put in the position of supplicant, wanting, if not approval, at least permission from her children to lead an adult life. Her discomfort came mainly from the fact that she was on shaky ground logically. She still felt duty-bound to uphold a high moral tone for them to emulate, and this included sexual abstinence. For teenagers. But not necessarily for her. And that's where the logic fell apart. She'd put herself into the old "Do as I say, not as I do" position, which she found very uncomfortable. She knew what the difference was, but couldn't find a way to explain it to Katie.
Her daughter was poised on the brink, hormonally speaking, of being a woman. She still had a lot to learn about life and people and especially herself before she should consider becoming involved sexually with anyone. Whereas Jane herself was feeling menopause breathing down her neck.
She suddenly imagined she could hear her mother's voice speaking to her. "Chickie, you're doing it again. You're thinking too much about things you can't do anything about.”
Jane put out the cigarette, tidied up the kitchen, and finished dealing with the last of the kitchen trash in the guest bathroom. Then she fed the cats in the basement, where they would be locked in today with fresh kitty litter and a big bowl of water. She had enough to fret herself silly about without having to worry about their whereabouts, too. Mike had taken Willard out to his dog run early and the big yellow dog was already settled in by the dining room window to begin his daily watch for the mailman. Jane double-checked that the doors were all locked, put the key to the back door in her jeans pocket, and went outside.
Shelley was just approaching the house. "Jane, I was coming to look for you."
“I had to get the kids off and had a brief, shattering talk with Katie to recover from. What have you found out?"
“Nothing. I was waiting for you. We work best as a team. I did try to get Jake's maybe-girlfriend Angela to chat, but she seemed to consider me a nobody and a busybody."
“Well? Aren't you?”
Shelley laughed. "Probably. I've been talking to Maisie about her, about Angela I mean, and it seems she's a very ambitious young woman. I've got a plan to get her talking. You catch her attention any way you want and just go along with me. Here she comes again. ." Shelley added, lowering her voice to a whisper as she led Jane to the lawn chairs still set up by the snack table.
“Oh, hello there," Jane said to Angela, wishing she'd had the opportunity to question Shelley about this "plan" of hers. "Why aren't you in costume today?”
Angela Smith was in jeans and a beautiful red sweater. Her gorgeous chestnut hair was in trendy disarray. She glanced briefly at Jane, then went back to dropping tiny marshmallows into her hot chocolate. "I don't have any scenes until this afternoon. I just wanted to be around to see scene sixty-three done," she replied in a perfunctory tone.
“You'll have to excuse Jane if she seems nosy," Shelley said. "She's a writer and you know how they are."
“A writer?" Angela's interest was piqued slightly. "What do you write?”
The honest answer would have been "The first 104 pages of a story that might, with enormous good luck, turn into a novel sometime within the next decade." But Jane didn't get a chance to say anything.
Shelley leaped in. "I'm sorry, Jane. I know I'm not supposed to talk about it, but I can't help myself sometimes." She turned to Angela and said confidentially, "Jane's not allowed to reveal her pseudonym. Contractual reasons, you know. But I think it's all right to tell you that she had two novels on the best-seller lists last year and then, of course, there are the scripts—"
“Scripts? Novels?" Angela said hungrily.
Jane smiled modestly at Shelley. "Now, now. You'll give me away if you're not careful."
“Would I have read anything of yours?" Angela asked. She pulled up a vacant lawn chair and sat down alarmingly close to Jane."Oh, I wouldn't know—"
“Rosamund Pilcher! I'll bet that's who you are. No, she's English, isn't she? Will you tell me if I guess?"
“No, I'm sorry. I really can't reveal any more," Jane said.
“-and these scripts of yours? Are they based on your own novels? Have any of them been produced?"
“Have any of them been produced?" Jane said archly to Shelley and they both laughed merrily at the absurdity of anybody asking such a naive question.
“Let's just say it's no coincidence that this movie is being made in Jane's backyard," Shelley said.
Jane gave her a "look-out-you're-going-too-far" glance, and said to Angela, "I'm not officially involved in this production at all. Really.”
It was almost obscene the way Angela's thoughts chased each other greedily across her otherwise lovely face. Here, she was obviously thinking, is somebody of power and influence who could not only get me a plum role, but maybe write one for me.
“Tell me about yourself, uh… Angela, was it?" "Angela Smith. Yes. How nice of you to know my name. And yours is…?"
“Jane Jeffry. Legally, that is," Jane said with a coy laugh that caused Shelley to make a noise like a seal barking.
“Sorry," Shelley said. "I think I inhaled a bug."
Jane had to look away from her to keep from
bursting into seal barks herself. "So, Angela, you don't look like you're too upset about Jake's death," she said, plunging into the heart of the inquisition.
Angela looked taken aback, but by now was so eager to ingratiate herself with Jane that she had to respond. "Oh, but I am. Jake Elder was a legend. The business just won't be the same without him."
“That's odd," Jane said. "That you'd see it in those terms, I mean. I had the impression that you had a more personal relationship with him."
“Oh, no," Angela said, tossing her hair. "Not that Jake didn't want it that way, but no. I had enormous respect for him, of course. You can't help but respect people who have mastered their craft—" A respectful, puppyish look at Jane with this pronouncement. "But there wasn't anything really personal between us. I believe Jake may have wanted — well, to help me along some. He felt I had talent, you see. And wanted to see me succeed."
“That's odd," Shelley said. "I thought I saw you having an argument with him yesterday.”
Angela gave Shelley a look that ought to have made her skin come up in blisters. "It was just a little disagreement about his method," she said. "Nothing at all.”
Jane got a faraway look. A faraway "scriptwriter" look, she hoped. "Disagreements are the heart of fiction," she said meaningfully. "The very bone and meat of stories. Tell me all about it.”
Angela looked like a butterfly pinned to a board. "It was nothing, really. Jake just wanted to help mea little. There was another extra who was supposed to do a scene with Miss Harwell yesterday and she got sick. Measles or something. Jake thought it would be nice if I stepped into her place. I mean, I am here. It would save the producers time from auditioning somebody else. And I have had years of acting lessons, and — anyway, he was just telling me that he'd mentioned the possibility to a few people.”
Jane and Shelley exchanged meaningful glances. This was probably what Jake was wanting the unknown blackmail victim to help with.
“I don't understand," Jane said. "Why would that be cause for a disagreement? I'd think you'd be grateful."
“Oh, I was grateful! Very grateful!" Angela all but shouted. "But I want to make it on
my own, you see. By my own talent and skills."
“Come now, surely it doesn't hurt to have a `legend' point those skills out to others, does it?”
Angela squirmed. "Well, I think he was a littleah, forceful about it."
“Forceful?" Shelley asked serenely.
“Offensive, maybe," Angela allowed. "Well, you had to know Jake to understand, but he never did anything subtle. Not with people. With things, yes. He was great with things. You've never seen anybody pay such fanatic attention to detail. I was an extra on another film he did here last year and it was a period piece and there was luggage. You know, old suitcases with stickers on them like people used to collect? And Jake discovered that some of the stickers weren't from the right period. He stopped the whole production to get them painted out. Now, you know nobody in the audience would ever notice a thing like that, but Jake did and he said he wouldn't have his name on a film that allowed something sloppy like that. He shut down production for a whole day to get it fixed right."
“That must have made him popular," Shelley said.
“No, not popular, but he was right. And he was meticulous about being right. That's what made his reputation so great. If a person takes that kind of attention with little things, you know they'll never make big mistakes.”
Jane wasn't so sure she agreed with this, but didn't argue. Angela was obviously working at leading them off the scent and Jane wasn't to be deterred. "So he was great with things, but not with people, you said?”
Angela looked defeated. "Yeah."
“And what had he done regarding you that you objected to?" Jane felt she was stabbing another pin into this beautiful butterfly. But having come this far, they couldn't release her before she confirmed their suspicions.
Angela looked down at her cup of cocoa, the marshmallows now melted down into a repulsive skin on the surface. "He'd threaten people," she said softly. "He didn't say so exactly, but I could tell what he meant. He was such an overbearing turd when he wanted something."
“But he wanted it for you, not himself," Jane pointed out.
Angela laughed bitterly, looking ten years older than she had moments before. "Don't kid yourself. Jake never did anything for anybody without a payoff in mind. He thought he'd do me a favor and I'd fall into bed with him. And in the meantime, half the cast and crew would have hated me for this goddamned 'favor' he was supposedly doing me. Some fucking favor!" she said, bursting into tears.
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Jane patted Angela's hand absently while Angela cried it out. Shelley leaned over and whispered to Jane, "Don't let her off the hook yet. Find out what he had over people.”
Jane whispered back, "A little recess first." Shelley nodded her agreement.
Angela was sniffling into a paper napkin. "I'm — I'm sorry. I didn't mean to — I wasn't—"
“It's all right," Jane said in her best motherly tone. "We artists often wear our hearts and emotions very close to the surface.”
Angela clutched her hand gratefully. "You do understand! I knew you would."
“If you aren't in a scene this morning, what are you doing here?" Jane asked, shifting the subject.
Angela relaxed visibly. She sniffled a few more times and pulled herself together. "I came to watch Miss Harwell do the crucial scene when Dora — that's the character's name — comes back years later and meets the man who betrayed her years before. It's a make-or-break scene any actress would kill for, but be terrified of. Very emotional. Calls for enormous restraint without actually pulling backand will take perfect timing. It's a long, complex scene with a lot of emotional shifts. I thought I might learn a lot from watching her. Whether she gets it right or wrong, there's bound to be a lesson in it."
“Do you think she will get it right?”
Angela thought a while before answering. "I don't know. She's done so many doggy films that she may have lost whatever magic she once had," she finally replied. Now that the subject had turned from her, she had a surgical coldness regarding another's performance.
“Why do you think she made those films?" Jane asked. She wasn't fishing for anything in particular, just trolling for facts and impressions.
“Drugs, I guess," Angela said. "People do a lot of really stupid things for drugs. Not only to get their hands on the money they need, but because it makes their judgment real bad. Who knows? She might have actually thought they were good films."
“She does a lot of drugs?" Shelley asked.
“Oh, not anymore!" Angela said. "Not with that dragon woman on her case."
“Olive Longabach? Wasn't that her name?" Jane asked.
“Yeah, I think so. I heard Miss Harwell went to one of those Betty Ford places and since then the keeper won't let her out of her sight. I think this is the first film she's made since they dried her out."
“How do you suppose she got cast for such a good role? I'd have thought her career was pretty much dead," Jane said, genuinely curious now.
“That's quite a mystery. Her and Cavagnari. You know he's never done anything but spaghetti westerns and some male adventure stuff. Made a ton of money on them. Big box office, but no respect. The critics think he's a joke. Everybody's wondering how he and Harwell got chosen for this movie. It would have been a great role for Glenn Close or Meryl Streep or even Jane Fonda, if she was still making movies. There are a lot of big box office stars of the right age who can still just barely pull off looking young enough for the early scenes. There was even gossip about Cavagnari really wanting Jennifer Fortin, but I guess he was so glad to get the job himself that he didn't dare push too hard for her."
“Jennifer Fortin?" Shelley asked. "Why is that name familiar?"
“Oh, Shelley. You know who she is. She's done a lot of little arty things and got an Oscar a year or two ago for that film about Catherine the Great that you and I went to see and liked so well."
“Oh, yes! She was terrific!"
“This is very odd," Jane said. "Why not get one of those actresses for this role?”
Angela shrugged. "Who knows?”
In the back of her mind, Jane sensed gears turning, but couldn't quite sense what it all meant. Still, she was sure it meant something. "Just what kind of movie is this? We can't tell from back here.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth she suddenly remembered that she was supposedto be "unofficially" involved in it, but apparently Angela was so interested in expounding her own theories that she didn't notice this gaffe.
“Arty and commercial both. Everybody's always looking for the perfect mix. You know, The Last Emperor, that kind of thing. Not that this is on that kind of scale and budget, but you know what I mean. Something the critics and the public will like. It almost never happens, but it might with this one. And if it's a success, Cavagnari and Harwell will both have it made. As long as the luck holds for Harwell…" she added.
This rang a faint bell in Jane's mind. "Oh, yes. Somebody else said she'd been on bad luck sets. But nothing's gone wrong on this one, has it? Until Jake's death, I mean."
“Only that girl getting sick and somebody at the studio got a burn from a light. But that's normal stuff," Angela said. "But Jake's death — well, that's really beyond bad luck, isn't it? I mean, somebody killed him. It wasn't just one of those things that happen for no reason. Now, about those scripts of yours—”
Recess was over.
“Who did Jake talk about you to… when he was trying to help you get that speaking part?" Jane asked before Angela could finish her own question.
“I don't know exactly," Angela said. She was starting to get a bit truculent. "George Abington, I think. Maybe Miss Harwell. Cavagnari. Possibly the producers. He hinted that he knew who they were. I don't know who else." "And what did he say to all these people?"
“Just that he thought I'd be good for the role that was left vacant." Angela was verging on snappish now. Jane sensed she couldn't string her along much farther.
“No, I mean what 'pressure' was he applying to them?
"
“I don't know! You don't think he'd have told me any of his secrets, do you?"
“No, I guess not," Jane said mildly.
She asked Angela a few more innocuous questions to defuse the young woman's growing irritation, made a few vague half promises about keeping her in mind when she was working on the next script, then excused herself to go in the house and make an imaginary call to her agent.
As she expected, Shelley followed along a few minutes later. "I wonder," Shelley said, "if she realized she was providing herself with the perfect motive for bumping off Jake?"
“I thought about that, too," Jane said. "By trying to help her, thereby getting her into his bed, he was wrecking her fledgling reputation in the business. If she's ambitious and greedy enough to fall for that ridiculous story about me being a famous writer, and put up with what we put her through just to suck up to me, she might have been ambitious enough to kill Jake to keep him from messing up her life."
“—and was she telling us because she's dumb, because she's innocent, or because she's smart enough to play a double bluff?"
“I don't know."
“Excuse me a minute," Shelley said, heading for the guest bathroom just off the kitchen.
When she came back, Jane was at the kitchen table, sorting a load of socks and underwear she'd just brought up from the dryer in the basement. "I've been thinking, Shelley, about a couple things that are bothering me. One, there's this 'bad luck' thing. Why would anybody have unfortunate things happen on a set just because they're there?"
“I guess that's the nature of bad luck," Shelley said, picking up a pair of socks and making them into a neat ball. "It just happens for no reason."
“I know. But having a murder on the set! That's about the worst luck I can think of. As much as I hate to admit it, it clears Harwell as a suspect in my mind. If she's the one who's had to fight the reputation for bringing misfortune along, she'd hardly be the one to create the worst misfortune of all, would she?"
“No, but we don't know what sort of provocation she might have had. There are lots of things worse than being considered a jinx.”
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