Skin Deep

'Drug addicts can get killed just like the rest of us,' I said. 'They probably even object to it.'

'That's not my problem,' Stillman said.

'Yes, it is,' Cohen and I said simultaneously. 'Norman,' Dixie added respectfully.

'Good for you, Dixie,' I said. 'You're beginning to figure it out.'

'It doesn't make any difference whether he did it or not,' Dixie explained to Stillman's back. 'Once it gets out that the cops are talking to Toby, it's over. Six years of putting up with him down the toilet.'

'Well, I know that,' Stillman said nastily. 'That's why you geniuses are here, to keep it from getting to Toby. Isn't that what we're talking about?'

'Of course, Norman,' Dixie said.

'Well, excuse me,' I said. 'I thought we were talking about firing me.'

'Oh, that,' Stillman said, sounding impatient. 'That was Dixie's idea.' Now it was Dixie's turn to roll his eyes heavenward, but he did it behind Stillman's back.

A stout Hispanic maid came in carrying a silver coffee service, and Stillman tore himself away from the briny deep. Dixie stopped rolling his eyes. 'Thank you, Vicenta,' Stillman said. There was one cup on the tray. I took it without asking and poured.

Dixie cleared his throat. 'I've already had a call, Norman,' he said, 'from Joanna Link.'

Stillman paled beneath his sunlamp tan. 'Oh, no,' he said. 'Anybody but Joanna Link.'

'Sorry,' Dixie said. 'She wants to come to the set tomorrow.'

'What have I done?' Stillman said. 'I take care of my mother. I contribute to African famine. I give to the Urban League.'

'Joanna who?' I said.

They looked at me as though I'd lapsed into Morse code. 'Three hundred and fifty papers,' Cohen said. 'Joanna three hundred and fifty papers Link. Joanna Here's the Fucking News from Hollywood Link.'

'Oh,' I said. 'Joanna Link.' I'd never heard of her.

'Keep her away,' Stillman said. 'How does she know anything, anyway?'

'Keep Joanna Link away?' Cohen said. 'I could keep the Huns from the gates of Rome if I had the time, I could keep Heloise from Abelard, but keep Joanna Link away from a story? I'd have to kill her. Not that I haven't thought about it.'

'How does she know anything?' I asked.

'The young lady's picture was in the paper this morning,' Dixie said. 'It's the kind of story they love, nude dancer battered.' He sounded like Toby. 'As luck would have it, one of Link's spies, some two-bit paparazzi, has a picture of Toby and this dame. Going into Nicky Blair's, can you imagine that?'

'Nicky Blair's?' Stillman parroted. 'Toby took this junkie to Nicky Blair's?' He put both hands over his face. 'He's got a death wish.'

'Trouble is,' I said, 'she's the one who's dead. And she's not a junkie anymore.'

'Spare me the self-righteous posturing. I've got enough on my mind. So you stay on the payroll, is that settled?'

'Not quite. I need an assistant.'

'What time is Link supposed to be there?' Stillman asked Cohen nervously. 'An assistant for what?' he asked me.

'Three o'clock,' Cohen said. 'We're on Stage Six tomorrow.'

Stillman looked at his nautical watch, as if counting the hours between Sunday morning and Monday afternoon. Maybe the watch had Monday on it. It was big enough. 'Does Toby know?'

'Not yet.'

'Has he got much to do?'

'About twelve pages.'

'Dialogue or action?'

'Dialogue. Including the scene with the little kid.'

'Twelve pages, the little kid, and Link? He'll plotz.'

'To watch Toby,' I said.

Stillman looked at me blankly. 'What?'

'To watch Toby. I need an assistant to watch Toby.'

'I've missed something,' Stillman said. 'Something's got past me here. You're supposed to be watching Toby.'

'Think, Mr. Stillman. How can I bird-dog Toby twenty-four hours a day and figure out who killed the girl? It's two different jobs, or at least you'd better hope it is. If it isn't, Joanna Link's going to have a very big story.'

'Joanna Link,' Dixie echoed, a kind of lugubrious verbal knee jerk.

'Dixie?' Stillman said doubtfully.

'I think you've gotta let him try it, Norman. It's not that much more money, considering.'

'Exactly how much?' Stillman made a tent with his well-buffed fingers and regarded me through it. It was a gesture he'd put some work into.

'Three fifty a day.' The woman's asking price was one fifty, but she'd have to put up with Toby, and I didn't feel like saving Stillman money.

'Jesus, I know agents I can get for that much.'

'Good. Get an agent.'

'Don't get huffy,' Stillman said.

'Agents.' Dixie made it sound like a profanity.

'Oh, damn it,' I said, 'don't nickel-and-dime me.' I stood up. 'We're lazing around here talking, and there are things I should be doing. Like it or not, the police are working their way toward Toby. Either you want to protect the goose who lays the golden eggs or you don't. Three fifty it is, and it's cheap at the price, considering the alternative.'

Stillman gave me something that would have passed for a soothing smile if the room had been a lot dimmer. 'We're just haggling,' he said. 'Nothing personal. Call your man in. I'll leave a pass so he can get on the lot.'

'She'll come on the lot with Toby,' I said. 'She's been sitting on top of him since three yesterday afternoon.'

The smile scattered to the four winds. 'She?' Stillman said. 'You're putting a woman with Toby?'

'She can handle him.'

Stillman pursed his lips and then nodded. 'Good,' he said. 'No more haggling.' He worked up the smile again. 'But think ahead, okay? I like a man who thinks ahead.'

I smiled back. 'And I like a man who likes a man who thinks ahead.'

'Done, then,' Stillman said. He walked briskly out of the room.

'Thank heaven,' Dixie said. 'That was getting disgusting.' He picked up his oversize briefcase and gave it a tug to see if it had gained any weight during the conversation.

'Dixie,' I said, 'what in the world are you doing here?'

He looked surprised. 'Earning my daily bread. Quite a lot of it, in fact.'

'You're too mournful to be a press agent.'

'I'm not a press agent.' He drummed his fingers on the side of the case. 'I'm a public relations consultant. Norman is my only client.'

'You're a schoolteacher,' I said. 'Heloise and Abelard indeed. I know a teacher when I see one. That chronic expression of impending disaster can only be acquired in a classroom. And then there's all that corduroy.'

The closest thing I'd ever seen to a smile scudded briefly across Dixie's face. It was faster than the Roadrunner with the Coyote in full pursuit with his Acme rocket boosters on. 'I'm an English teacher,' he said. 'Was an English teacher.'

'Allow me to repeat my question. What are you doing here?'

He thought for a moment. 'Othello,' he said.

'As in the Moor of Venice?'

'That's the one. Good for you.'

'Well, it's not a very common name.'

'I don't think I'd like it,' he said. 'Othello Cohen.'