A Knife to Remember

“What's that supposed to mean?' the second unknown said. Even filtered through the scenery, there was just the smallest hint of fear in the voice.

“You don't want to forget that we go way back together. Remember Bambi's Bed? And Frat House Orgy? Wonderful films. A great credit to your acting skill.”

There was a long pause, then the second voice said, 'How do you know about those?'

“I know, that's all. Think what the media would make of it,' the first went on. 'You know, I don't believe they've ever given one of those presidential honors or Oscars or anything else to anybody with porno films on the old credit list. Maybe you'll be the first.”

Whatever response the second speaker gave must have been with a gesture, because no more words were spoken. Jane heard somebody walk off and then the unknown voice muttered, 'Son of a bitch!”

5

Jane staggered back to where Shelley and Maisie were talking and sat down heavily on her lawn chair.

“What's wrong?' Shelley asked. 'You look like somebody's been slapping you around with a baseball bat.”

Maisie wandered off to refill her coffee cup.

“A couple things,' Jane said, trying to sound calm. 'I've just been listening to a blackmail attempt not to mention somebody talking dirty to my own child.'

“My, you do get around,' Shelley said.

Jane explained first about the conversation she'd overheard between Mike and Lynette Harwell.

Shelley listened with a tolerant expression. 'Jane, you're exaggerating this in your own mind. She was probably just trying to be helpful. In a tacky way, I'll admit,' she said.

“Shelley, you didn't hear her. It was downright Mae West — ish! Seductive! You know that voice she's got; she could soften up an eggshell just by talking to it.'

“Jane, I don't mean to depress you more, but Mike's a few months away from going to college.

You've got to trust that you raised him right, and you know you have.”

Jane considered. 'No, I think I'll just take him home and lock him in his room until he's thirty. There are good educational channels on television. He can learn from them. It's all because I agreed to go away for the weekend with Mel. I've set a depraved example and ruined him.”

Shelley laughed. 'Mike isn't ruined. It's Harwell who's got a problem. She's old enough to be his mother!'

“Oh, God! Don't say that!' Jane groaned.

But Shelley was on a roll. 'Besides, if somebody were to seduce him, better her than some bimbo teenager who might end up as your pregnant daughter-in-law.'

“Shelley, have you ever thought about going into the business of professional counseling?'

“No. '

“Then don't. You wouldn't be good at it.' Shelley smiled. 'Jane, you do know you're going off the deep end, don't you?'

“Yes, but I thought a nice plunge into despair might be an antidote to the cheerfulness I've been feeling lately. I don't feel I'm being a good mother if I don't worry myself into a froth about something fairly regularly.'

“So what were you saying about blackmail?'

“Blackmail? Oh, yes! While I was standing over there I heard somebody trying to persuade somebody to talk to the director about doing something.'

“Oh, that is enlightening!' Shelley said. 'Who are these somebodies?'

“I couldn't tell. But it was real blackmail.'

“Is this the same kind of berserk overstatement you were making about Mike and Harwell?'

“No, not at all. The one person was saying he or she had some kind of proof about the other person being in porn movies and how they never give prestigious awards to people like that. And this person would keep it a secret if the other one would talk to the director.'

“But about what?'

“I don't know. But they both seemed to.'

“Surely you have some idea of whether it was a man and a woman or two men or whatever?' Shelley asked.

“No, not really. I have the impression it was men, but I know it's only because it was a brutal kind of conversation I don't associate with women. .'

“You ought to get to a beauty shop more often to be cured of that idea,' Shelley said.

“What are you two plotting?' Maisie said. Jane and Shelley hadn't noticed that she'd rejoined them.

In an undertone, Jane repeated to Maisie what she'd overheard.

Maisie shook her head in disgust. 'The blackmailer was probably Jake. He's that sort of unprincipled person. It's a wonder he's still walking and breathing. As far as I can tell, he's mortally offended nearly everyone he's ever worked with.'

“Then how does he get work? Doesn't the director

know him? Why would he hire him?' Jane asked.

'Oh, Jane,' Maisie said. 'The director doesn't

hire him. The director is just an employee like everybody else, although he's a very important employee and would never admit to being part of the 'hired help.' It's the producer who puts the whole staff together. And the reason Jake gets work is because he's so fantastically good at what he does. He just sits here in the middle of his vast national spiderweb of contacts and can lay his hands on any object you'd ever imagine. You want an eighteenth century tea service or a Revolutionary era spinning wheel or a Meissen toilet — you name it and Jake produces it without any fuss or bother. It just miraculously appears. Nobody likes him much, but he's very, very good at what he does. It's the same way with the principal actors. An extra has to be very agreeable, but a principal — if they're good enough — can get away with murder.”

Jane had been listening, but her mind had fastened on a detail. 'Are there such things as Meissen toilets?”

Before Maisie could reply, Shelley asked, 'So who's the producer on this production? Anybody we've ever heard of?'

“I'm not sure. It's a weird thing,' Maisie said. 'It seems to be a consortium of people, but the front man is a little nerd nobody's ever heard of. He hangs around twitching and gulping nervously and makes lots of phone calls checking in with whoever he represents. That's him over there on the phone now.”

Maisie pointed to a rattled rabbit of a man speaking into the set telephone with his hand over the receiver so he wouldn't be overheard. 'Sometimes the money people like to stay in the background and run things from there,' Maisie went on. 'Not often, but it happens.'

“But you told the person in your office that you were going to be talking to the producer soon,' Jane said, then regretted this proof that she'd been eavesdropping.

Maisie didn't seem to mind. 'I lied,' she said cheerfully. 'But it got me what I wanted in a hurry.'

“I've always wondered what a producer does. You always see that on credits,' Jane said.

“Oh, the producer's everything,' Maisie replied. 'The producer acquires the property — the story, that is — hires everybody from the scriptwriter to the janitor, and, most important, rounds up the money to make the film in the first place. That's a huge undertaking. It costs millions and millions to make a film. Even a television movie costs three or four million these days.”

Jane was only half listening. Her eyes had strayed from the producer's representative to Jake, who had reappeared and was having an intense whispered conversation with the young woman Jane had noticed him speaking to earlier — the pretty girl in the sweat-stained, scorched dress. He was looking pleased and smug, but this time the girl was obviously mad as hell. She had her hands on her hips and her pretty face was drawn into an unattractive scowl. She snapped something at him_ and tried to walk away, but he grabbed her elbow roughly and pulled her back. She looked down at his hand with an indignant expression, and he reluctantly turnedloose of her. But now he was angry, too. His fair face flushed and his handsome features were pinched. Jane nudged Shelley and pointed discreetly. Shelley, in turn, whispered to Maisie, 'Speaking of the devil.'