“Our little Angela doesn't seem exactly happy to have him leering over her,' Maisie said in an undertone. 'I'm glad. She seems like a nice girl. I wonder how she got herself tied up with him.'
“Is she?' Jane asked. 'Tied up with him, I mean.'
“Good point,' Maisie said. 'Maybe not. He pays a lot of attention to her and acts possessive. But now that you mention it, I don't recall seeing any signs of his interest being reciprocated.'
“Who is she, this Angela?' Jane asked.
“Just an extra,' Maisie answered.
Their conversation was cut short by the entrance of the director into the craft service area — and 'entrance' it was. Roberto Cavagnari was a stocky little tractor of a man with dark, flashing eyes, designer jeans, and a flamboyant green velvet poncho that would have looked effeminate on anybody less aggressively male. He didn't walk; he strutted. He didn't speak; he proclaimed. Underlings schooled around him like minnows around a handsome, glittering trout.
“Call the weatherman,' he ordered in what sounded to Jane suspiciously like a fake Italian accent. 'I won't have overcast sky today.' Jane wondered if he really supposed that weathermen ordered the weather rather than merely reporting it. A toady ran to do his bidding.
“Mister Cavagnari, if I could just have a word wi—' somebody said.
But the underling's request was lost in the next declaration. 'I will have coffee. Mocha. Extra sugar,' Cavagnari announced. Another assistant rushed to do the maestro's bidding, but he stopped her with an authoritative snap of his stubby, beringed fingers. 'No, I will prepare it myself so it's done correctly,' he said in the tones an empress might have used to say she'd do her own mending. Underlings fell back, nearly bowing, as he approached the snack table.
“
“I think you've got the wrong country,' Jane whispered. 'I think we're supposed to be chanting, `Duce! Duce!' “
Shelley laughed and Cavagnari whirled and glared at them for a moment before turning back to the preparation of his mocha coffee.
A second later he bellowed, 'Jake! Jake! Here she is, my watch! I told you to look here.”
Jake materialized at his side. 'I did look for it here. Not half an hour ago.'
“You did not use your eyes, Jake. It was here, beneath a chip wrapper.'
“I am very good at seeing objects! I searched thoroughly,' Jake said firmly. 'It was
“But you see? Here. . just here before my eyes.' He slipped the watch on.
“I tell you it was not—'
“Enough, Jake! I have spoken. It is done.”
Jake subsided, obviously furious at having bothhis judgment and his eye for details questioned, but apparently unwilling to anger Cavagnari further. His eyes narrowed and he looked around the group as if daring anyone else to criticize him. Then his expression turned deeply thoughtful.
Cavagnari discoursed briefly on the proper way to prepare his coffee, most of his audience pretending rapt attention. Then, when it was done to his satisfaction, he sipped and said, kissing his fingertips and offering them to heaven, 'Perfect! Now, we will do the close-ups of scene fourteen, then luncheon.”
He swept away, underlings trailing like the train of a coronation gown.
“Wow!' Shelley breathed. 'That's an extraordinary display of ego run amok.”
Maisie nodded. 'Yes, but would
“Jake stood up to him pretty well,' Jane said.
“Jake's a fool,' Maisie said dismissively.
But Jane was still looking at Jake and was thoroughly chilled by the sight of the small, secretive smile on his face.
Shelley followed Jane's preoccupied gaze and said quietly, 'He's scary, isn't he?'
“I don't know whether to be scared
6
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, at least for the moviemakers. For Jane, every new discovery was an event. She started out by prowling carefully through her neighbors' yards. In her own was the craft service setup and the 'location office,' which consisted of a table covered with stacks of paperwork and a phone. Two 'honey wagons,' which was what the trailer-type dressing rooms with bathrooms were somewhat obscenely called, were parked on Shelley's property. These were divided into tiny cubicles with doors along the long side, on which were written the principal actors' names. Jane was dying to get a glimpse of the inside of a cubicle, but nobody was around them just then and she couldn't peep through any open doors.
The house to the other side of Jane's had the wardrobe changing tent and the meal tent. Both were crude arrangements. The meal tent just had long trestle tables and wooden folding chairs. There was an odd piece of equipment at one end that she discovered was a kerosene heater, used at breakfast when it was still cold outside. The changing tent had a men's entrance at one end, a women's at the other,and a sheet hung between. There were lightweight wardrobe racks standing around the perimeter and everybody changed in the center of each section.
The wardrobe truck itself was in the yard beyond. This contained more substantial racks and a desklike arrangement where a young man was intent on updating the apparently meticulous records kept on each article of clothing. There was a minuscule washer and dryer in the truck as well as a sewing machine and a setup for ironing. Jane had once been 'backstage' at a circus and this looked much the same: all the necessities of life made miniature and portable at a moment's notice.
Jane wandered into the next yard where another young man was sitting smoking and knocking back a soft drink on the metal steps leading up into the back of another truck. 'Hi! Can I help you?' the young man said in a friendly manner.
“No, thanks. I'm a neighbor, just looking things over. What is this truck?'
“This is props. I'm Butch Kowalski, Jake Elder's assistant.'
“Glad to meet you, Butch. I'm Jane Jeffry. Are you and Jake responsible for those fake buildings? They're really impressive.'
“Naw, that's the set decorator's job. Props are in charge of any objects that are used or touched. Set decoration's everything that's just seen.”
Except for Maisie, this young man was the first person on the crew who was genuinely friendly and forthcoming. He looked like a thug, with muscles that started just below his ears. He had practically no neck at all and his biceps strained the sleeves of his plaid shirt. He had teeth that would have made an orthodontist rub his hands in anticipation of the challenge and he had an unfortunate New Jersey accent. But for all that, his smile was engaging and his eyes sparkled with good spirits.
“You don't sound like a Chicago native, Butch. Do you live here now?'
“Yeah, for as long as I'm with Jake. I still got a lot to learn.'
“So you want to do this yourself? Be a prop man?'
“Property master, ma'am. Yeah. But I won't be ready for a while yet.'
“So, what is all this stuff?' Jane asked, gesturing toward the interior of the truck. As she did so, she noticed a movement inside and a glimpse of orange fur. 'Meow! What are
“Oh, is this your cat, ma'am?'
“I'm afraid so. I'm sorry—'
“Oh, it's okay. She's a nice little thing.”
Meow, who normally ran for cover when a stranger was within a block, picked her way daintily through the truck and came up to Butch to have her chin chucked.
“You must have a real gift with animals, Butch. Meow doesn't like anybody but me, and she only likes me when she's hungry. You haven't seen the other one, have you. The gray tabby?'
