staff. With some reluctance, she mentioned to him Jennifer Fortin's arrival on the set. 'She knew Jake, too. Apparently had dinner with him the night before they started work here.'
“Oh, great. .' he said dismally.
When Jane got back outside, the same table was being set up in her backyard for luncheon. This time she avoided sitting at it, but instead she and Shelley took up a listening post nearby. A moment later Cavagnari swept into the area with Jennifer Fortin on his arm. They were both smiling and gently pawing each other. Jennifer hung on his arm, giving it little squeezes and hugs and he kept patting her cheek and making what he probably imagined were seductive expressions. In Jane's view, the green velvet poncho detracted considerably from his effort.
“If that isn't a love feast, I don't know one when I see one,' Shelley murmured. Cavagnari and Fortin had seated themselves practically on the same chair and were feeding each other little tidbits of cheese cubes from a tray that had been set on the table.
Jane just shook her head in wonder at the spectacle.
“What has Mel found out?' Shelley asked quietly. 'I saw you snag him and take him inside.'
“Nothing. Poor Mel is going nuts. He's not cut out to deal with the artistic temperament.'
“Who is?'
“Oh, you and I are much better equipped than he is. Anybody who's trying to raise teenagers without going to jail or the loony bin isn't too surprised by anything.'
“I guess you know that the junior high was taking school pictures today,' Shelley said.
Jane knew exactly what this seeming
“She'd hate you,' Shelley said simply. 'I made Denise kill the hairdo this morning. She was wild. She had her bangs moussed into a three-inch crewcut. It was appalling. I tried to make her understand that school pictures are forever. They come back and haunt you when you're thirty-five. You know, sometimes I get tired of being a warden. I can't wait for her to grow up and get to be my friend. Do you think it will ever happen?”
Jane shrugged. 'My mother always said that when your kids grow up they just get scarier, more expensive problems. Of course, she had to cope with my sister Marty marrying that jerk. '
“It's so frustrating, having Denise known far and wide for absurd hair, when she has so many good qualities I'd like to see immortalized instead. Maybe I could make her wear a placard around her neck that says, 'I'm very tidy and get straight A's.' Do you think people might read it instead of falling back in horror at her bozo hair?'
“Probably not.'
“She was so cute when she was ten,' Shelley mused. 'I wish I could have kept her that way. Locked in amber or something. Her school picture that year was darling, she still liked me and her father. She even got along with her brother at that age. She didn't care about money yet. It was the last good year. .' she said in a voice of doom.
Jane nudged Shelley out of her grim reverie.
“Uh-oh,' Shelley said, the gloom deepening.
Lynette Harwell had just come through the break in the scenery and was taking in the spectacle of Jennifer Fortin and Roberto Cavagnari all but locked in a cheesy embrace. Her lovely face was suddenly transformed into a mask of anger, and just as quickly became bland. Her sense of theater, or self-glorification, came back. She might not have any real intelligence, but she knew better than to cast herself in a bad light.
“Jennifer Formas, isn't it?' she said in a sweetly trilling voice. 'How nice of you to drop by.'
“Why, Lynette Harwell! I didn't know you were in this film!' Fortin said, ignoring the fact that Harwell had deliberately gotten her name wrong. 'Roberto, darling, you've been keeping secrets from me,' she gushed.
“Hardly a secret, my dear,' Harwell said. 'But some of us keep in touch with the industry better than others. What on earth are
This dig must have been close enough to the truth to hurt. Jennifer's face wasn't quite as well controlled as Lynette's and she frowned slightly.
But before she could rally her forces and retort, Lynette cut her off. 'Well, you must excuse me, darling. I have a terribly important scene this afternoon and really can't let myself get distracted by trivialities.”
Shelley leaned close to Jane and said, 'I make it 3–1 in favor of Harwell.”
Jane giggled. 'She's a real trouper, isn't she? Max and Meow could learn a few things about cattiness from her.”
17
Lynette Harwell ostentatiously continued to study her script throughout lunch, with Olive hovering around, feeding her tidbits of lunch as if she were a baby bird and occasionally stabbing a long finger at the script and giving advice in equally tiny doses. It was the first time Jane could remember actually seeing a script in anybody's hand.
Jennifer Fortin continued to flirt halfheartedly with Cavagnari for a while, but when it became apparent that she wasn't going to get any more adverse reaction from Harwell, she abandoned the effort and started chatting with a hovering reporter. Cavagnari didn't seem to mind. He had become quiet and thoughtful, too, picking at his fried chicken and staring at nothing as if he were undergoing some kind of mental girding process. Even George Abington became uncharacteristically serious about his craft, asking Cavagnari some technical questions about lighting and positioning.
Finally, Cavagnari straightened up and said, 'Let's do it!”
A production assistant who had been standing behind him in a state of suspended animation, shouted into his bullhorn, 'Everyone on set!”
The behind-the-scenes area in Jane's yard was cleared as suddenly as if he'd shouted 'Fire!' Within moments Jane and Shelley were left alone with Maisie. Half sandwiches were abandoned, cigarettes ineffectively stubbed out to smolder in sand-filled coffee cans, drinks set down anywhere close at hand.
“Wow!' Jane said. 'Is this for Lynette's big scene?'
“Everybody's big scene, really. But mainly Lynette's,' Maisie said.
“Do you think we could watch a little?' Shelley asked. 'If we stayed out of everybody's way?'
“I imagine so. As long as Cavagnari doesn't notice you,' Maisie said. 'What you need to do is find the biggest, ugliest piece of equipment you can find and glue yourselves to it. If it's big, they won't want to move it capriciously or let it be in a scene.”
They followed her advice and furtively perched on a big orange thing they decided might be a generator. It wasn't operating, so they felt it was safe to climb onto it. But they were disappointed at how little they could really see of the production, even from what should have been a good vantage point. There was a fairly large group in the scene. Lynette, George, and at least a dozen extras. But between Jane and Shelley and the actual scene were cameras, cameramen, reflectors, lighting equipment, sound equipment, and at least fifty technical people who were either standing around to watch or prepared to exercise their particular skills.
There was a lot of movement, but no distinguishable sounds from this distance; just a jumble of voices with the occasional sentence sticking out.
“Get that track back about a foot.'
“Don't take it so fast. Stroll, don't walk!' 'That baby spot's flickering.'
“I'm picking up a siren from someplace.' 'Shit! A jet-trail.'
“Oh, God! Get wardrobe! Her skirt's torn!' 'I don't know where I'm supposed to stand.' 'A little louder, please.'
“You're killing me, baby.'
“Put a clamp on that thing.'
“Can't do it that way. There's a telephone pole in the frame.”
For all the hurry to get to work, it was at least a half hour before any noticeable — to Jane's eyes — progress was made. A production assistant said, 'Rehearsing!' into a bullhorn and the technical people froze in place while the actors and extras walked through the scene. And walked through again.
And again. And again.
Cavagnari charged here and there, giving instructions, berating extras and crew members, dragging people to
