Then Susan smiled beatifically and said, ”Of course.“
”Of course?“ I said.
”Please, Dick,“ Susan said.
She picked up her tray and moved over to another table and sat down with a couple of people at the end of a long table across the room.
”A girl has a right to privacy,“ Jill said, her eyes cast down on her untouched plate, her hand fluttering again near her mouth. I looked across the room at Susan. The force of her look was palpable. Don’t make trouble, the look said. I took in a large amount of air and let it out slowly through my nose.
”So tell me,“ I said.
She looked at her empty wineglass. Salzman reached over and filled it.
”We got four and a half pages to shoot this afternoon, Jilly,“ he said.
”Fuck you,“ Jill Joyce said without looking at him. The lilt left her voice for a moment, when she said it.
Salzman nodded as if she had said something interesting. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms quietly. He didn’t seem upset. Jill drank some of her wine.
”I think it’s one of those creepy crazed fans,“ she said and smiled at me. When she smiled there was a deep dimple in each cheek. She was something to look at.
”Un huh,“ I said and waited. I thought of steepling my hands before me and placing them gently against my lips when I said it, but decided to hold it in reserve. So far un huh seemed enough.
”Well,“ Jill said, ”do you?“
”It’s a little hard to decide yet,“ I said.
”But it could be,“ Jill said.
”Un huh.“
”I mean, you know about these people, like the one that killed John Lennon, people like that, crazy people.“
”Um,“ I said.
”I need prodection,“ she said.
”How clever,“ I said, ”combining the words like that.“
”Huh?“
”You need protection during production so you put the two together and formed a neologism.“
”I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Dickie-do, but I sure love to listen,“ she said. She didn’t wait for anyone to fill her glass now; she poured the rest of the bottle out and looked around.
”Hey,“ she yelled toward the serving line. ”I need some wine, for Christ’s sake.“
The same dark-haired guy in the tee shirt came over with another bottle, already opened. He put it down beside her and walked back to the line. Most of the crew had started to leave the dining room. Susan had eaten enough of her lettuce. She stopped by at my table for a minute.
”I’ll be in the wardrobe trailer… Dick.“
I nodded. Susan moved off and out of the room. Sandy Salzman was gazing at the ceiling, his arms still folded across his chest.
”So you gonna protect me, Dickie-do? Or what?“
”Soon as I find out from what,“ I said, ”I’m going to protect the ass off you.“
Jill Joyce giggled.
”I’m sick of it here,“ she said. ”Come on back to my mobile home and I’ll dishcuss it with you in more detail.“
”Sure,“ I said.
”Sandy, you go shoot some fucking film, or something. This will be just me and Dickie-bird.“ She giggled again. ”Are you a dickie-bird?“ she said.
Salzman smiled as if Jill had suggested a new approach to lighting.
”Sure, Jilly,“ Salzman said. ”Maybe a little nap before the afternoon is gone. The four and a half pages await.“
”Four and a half pages of shit,“ Jill said. ”C’mon, Dickie-bird, we’ll fly over to my mobile home.“ She picked up the second wine bottle and her glass and waggled on out of the dining room ahead of me. I looked at Salzman. He shrugged.
”No reasoning with her when she’s drunk,“ Salzman said.
”Or when she’s not,“ I said.
Chapter 3
THe mobile home was parked on the Common behind the Park Street subway kiosk. It was big enough for Jill Joyce, or four hundred boat people. I wasn’t sure it was big enough for Jill Joyce and me. ”Sit down, Dickie,“ she said.
