To Pauline

I

Stacy’s morning was, as usual, the same old routine. She threw on a worn T-shirt and attended to all the necessary morning procedures. In the kitchen she clicked on the coffee machine and reheated two slices of last night’s pizza.She went out to the small balcony to have her morning’s smoke, but it only managed to make her dizzy on an empty stomach.

She had breakfast and, like always, opened her laptop and got to work. It was a Friday – the ultimate lazy day - and Stacy wished for the work to be gone, but, of course, that wasn’t going to happen. She procrastinated; trying to watch a movie, taking smoke breaks every quarter hour. But in the end, she willed herself to sit down and, reluctantly, did what had to be done…

It was all over in the late afternoon, and Stacy shut the damn computer off for good. She took a shower then and called up one of her girlfriends, who picked up shortly.

“Hey, Stace, what’s up?” Nicole asked.

“Meh, not much… I got a free evening, you wanna catch a movie or something?”

“Um, yeah, sure. Pick you up at five?”

“See ya.” She clicked off.

She had more than two hours to kill, so she did her hair, dressed nicely and took a walk to her favorite place to get some more (and better) coffee with a macaron or two.

She walked back home an hour later and since Nicole was going to pick her up on a car, changed into less comfortable but better-looking high heels.

Nicole arrived fifteen minutes early, but Stacy was ready. She grabbed a purse filled with all sorts of things and stepped onto the sidewalk. Nicole’s small Porsche was at the curb.Neither of them mentioned Daniel as Stacy landed in the passenger seat.

They drove to one of the AMC theaters, talking all the while about this and that, and there they watched Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. It was genuinelysweet and romantic and Stacy was enchanted the whole time. As Gil and Adriana walked along the Seine, she thought it would be nice to walk like that with… Lester? That was her first and only thought. Weird.

They drove back to Stacy’s after the movie, chatting away the while. Nicole parked the car and they went up to Stacy’s apartment.

“Want some wine? Stacy went to the kitchen.

“Sure.” Nicole landed on the couch.

They drank and talked about everything and nothing in particular. It had been work and more work for both of them lately, so, naturally, they talked mostly about that. Stacy’s work was rarely anything interesting, so there wasn’t much to tell on her part. Nicole, on the other hand, had something to share.

She poured herself another glass. “Guess who walked in yesterday?” She asked Stacy with a grin.

“Who?” Stacy narrowed her eyes.

“Your ex! Danny… something.”

“Oh-kay…” Stacy reached for her cigarettes.

Nicole said. “Spent almost two hundred thousand on a convertible, can you believe it? I thought he was poor, having crashed at your place and all…”

“He’s not anymore, apparently…” She lit.

“Yeah. So he bought a car, and we took it for a ride.”

“We?”

“I hope you don’t mind. Do you?”

“So, what happened then?” She sipped her wine, having a pretty good idea where this was going.

“Well… We ended up at his place. He lives in a hotel, too! He’s funny that way!”

“That he is…” Stacy finished her wine and dropped the cigarette butt into the glass. It hissed out. “I think you should go now, Nikki.”

Nicole sat staring for a while, still some wine in her glass.

“Come on, get moving.” Stacy took Nicole’s glass and headed for the kitchen.

“Stace, what is wrong with you?”

There was nothing wrong though; nothing Stacy could find within her that would qualify for wrong. She washed one of the glasses and turned to her friend.

“You still here, Nikki?”

Nicole sighed and shook her head; she was angry.

“Go already!” Stacy barked.

Nicole got up, grabbed her purse and started towards the door.

“Give my best to Danny Something!”

Nicole slammed the door on her way out. Stacy sat down on the couch and poured herself a full glass. She lit another cigarette. She allowed herself a tear now; a lonely tear of hurt that dried rather quickly. And why wouldn’t it?There wasno use in crying. What she really needed was a distraction. She’d been in grave need of it ever since Danny… Ah, whatever. Oh, she thought, I’ll get distractedalright! She picked up her phone and thumbed through the contact list.She dialed.

“Yeah?” Lester replied.

“Hey, Les, what’s up?”

“Ermm… Not much, Stacy. What’s up with you?”

“You know, the usual. Listen, I wanted to ask…” She hesitated.

Lester didn’t. “Paris?” He asked bluntly.

“Oh, you!” She smiled. “Yes, Paris!”

“You’re welcome anytime, Stacy, I’ve told you.” There was a pause. “Look, my birthday is in two weeks or so, and I was gonna get myself a present… We can go then. What do you say?”

“Two weeks, huh?”

“Or as soon as we get to JFK tonight. Your call.”

Stacy considered. “Give me a couple of days?”

She felt him smile. “See ya around.” He clicked off.

She put the phone down and finished her wine. She felt changes coming, changes for the better. She opened another wine bottle and lit another cigarette.

II

When I woke up the next afternoon Nicole was already gone. I rolled over, smelling her scent on the sheets and most of all on the pillow. Magnificent. I wandered to the bathroom to freshen up, then got back under the blankets and took a nap.

It was just after three when the hotel phone rang.

“Ye-llow.” I mumbled.

“Mr. Bruckheimer, good afternoon!” The male receptionist cheered. “You have a guest. Mr. Meath.”

At first I got confused - who the fuck was Mr. Meath? But then I remembered – of course, Henry went by the surname of Meath.

“Um… Tell him to come right up.” I put the receiver down and threw on some clothes.

Five minutes later there was a knock on my door. Henry stepped in as I swung it open, confident and serious-looking, dressed in a suit.

“Lair of the beast!” He exclaimed. “This is where you live, Danny?”

I shrugged. “Got everything I need…”

Henry inhaled deeply through his nostrils. “Yeah, I can smell it in the air!” He smiled. “So! Wanna take a ride?”

“I guess…” I hesitated. Weren’t I supposed to do something useful with my time? But then, I had a shit-ton of money in my account… “Where are we going?”

“Remember I’ve told you about Pauline Leclercq?”

“Like it was yesterday, which it was.”

“Get some shoes on then! They’re filming Pullman…” He checked his watch. “…in forty minutes. I’ve arranged for us to be among the extras!” He smiled ever so brightly.

“Well, I hope they give out costumes…” I said and slipped into a pair of moccasins.

We took the elevator down and stepped out to Henry’s black sedan. The driver remained inside, and Henry opened the rear door. My cellphone buzzed. It was Stacy.

“Hey, Stace!”

“Hey. About that coffee – it’s cancelled.” She hung up.

I tried to redial, but there was no answer. I got in beside Henry. A bit later I got a text from Nicole, in which she described what had happened between Stacy and her.

“Everything alright?” Henry asked.

I was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I fucked up again, kind of. No big deal.” And it really wasn’t, I caught myself thinking. I was a bit ashamed, sure, but otherwise… A sudden sense of liberation hit me so hard, I had to breath in deeply not to suffocate. “Oh!”

“You sure you’re alright, Dan?” Henry asked.

I exhaled. “Yeah. May I?” I brought out a pack of Camel, and Henry came up with a lighter.

“Let’s go.” He said and lit my smoke; the driver took off.

Half an hour later we were somewhere in Brooklyn, nearing an enclosed block. The driver stopped at a row of bright orange cones put up across the street. There were a couple of light gray Silk Pictures buses at one curb along with a matte gray SUV with a huge camera attached to it. Across the street from the vehicles there was what looked like a warehouse remodeled to look like a nightclub. There was a stylized neon sign reading Purple Lights above the entrance; at the curb were parked a bunch ofluxurious 1960s cars (I thought Lester would have appreciated the sight). I recognized the scene from my script. Here and there all around the block a number of large green screens were set.Three uniformed guys were guarding the area, shooing away gawkers. We stepped out of the car, and Henry walked up to one of the guards.

“Hey. Henry Meath for Barry Ben.”

The uniformed guy nodded and let us through. He gestured at the furthermost bus, and we headed that way. Barry Ben was the nickname of a rising star director Barold Benjamin. I can’t say he was great, but he was on his way. We reached the gray bus, and Henry knocked. A thin kid with glasses too big for his face and hefty headphones on his head swung open the door.

“Hi. Henry Meath.”

“Come on in, guys!” The kid invited us.

We climbed the steep stairs. Inside the bus was stuffed with all sorts of equipment; numerous screens and control panels were everywhere. There was a couple of people gathered around the director, all of them, like he, watching something on one of the monitors. The kid with the glasses offered us some coffee, which we gladly accepted. About ten minutes we spent standing aside drinking horrible machine-made coffee. At some point the kid tapped Barry Ben on the shoulder and nodded in our direction.

“This is good.” The director told one of the men hovering above him. “Keep it rolling, I’ll be right back.” He took his big black headphones off and stood up; the guy he’d spoken to took his place. Barold started our way across the bus. He was a fit broad-faced guy in his early thirties with thickgingery black stubble on his face and a baseball cap covering his bald head.

“Henry!” He said, spreading his arms. They hugged, and then he turned to me. “Danny Bruckheimer, I presume! Nice of you to drop by! I gotta say, this is great material you’ve given us, too bad you weren’t around to work on it …”

“Yeah, well…” I said as if I didn’t care but deep inside I felt fury kindling.

Barry Ben looked around comically and whispered. “The old witch is loosing it, I’m telling ya! Yeah, Cindy’s going places… But! None of that today! We’ve been doing a pretty good job here, and I can’t wait for you to see it! Take part even, huh, Henry?” He patted him on the shoulder.

“If you’ll have us, Barry, yes.” Henry nodded.

“Oh, we’ll have you, Hen! Listen, I’ve still got a helluva lot to do here, and anyway, your scene is not being filmed ‘till it’s dark, so, dunno, hang around, raid the snack table. A’ight?”

“Sure, okay.” Henry said, and I just nodded.

“Danny!” Barry Ben stuck out his index finger. “Looking good!”

I had to smile at that – Barry was a contagiously lively guy. He returned to the group of people at the screen, and the skinny kid let us out.

Outside the sun was hiding behind clouds, but it was still pretty bright. We stayed at the bus and lit a cigarette each.

“What do you wanna do?” Henry asked me.

“How about that snack bar?” I suggested.

“Oh, come on, Danny! You’re on a movie set and you’d rather go for those damp nachos?”

“Fair enough. What do you propose?”

Henry let out smoke. “Let’s visit Pauline, what do you say?”

“Sure.”

We stepped on the cigarette butts and brushed them under the bus. Further along the road there was a small trailer hitched to a matte gray Silk Pictures pickup truck. In front of the trailer’s door in a wicker chairsat a plump man in a silken suit and a bright red neck scarf. He was reading a glossy magazine and shaking his head in disapproval.

“Maurice!” Henry greeted him, and the man rose to his feet.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Meath!” The man replied with slight French accent.

“Danny, Maurice, Pauline’s agent. Maurice, Danny, the author.” We shook hands. “May we say hi to Polly?”

“I’m afraid the answer to that is no, Henry. Pauline is preparing for the next scene.”

“But we’d re-eally like to see her, Maurice!” Henry begged.

But the agent just shook his head. “You and everyone else!”

We stood silent for a moment, and then I turned to Henry. “Snack bar?”

“Snack bar.”

III

We did get ourselves some of the gross damp nachos and spent the next hour and a half doing nothing much. At around nine in the evening Barry Ben stepped out of the gray bus, followed by the skinny kid and the rest of the crew. We headed towards him.

“Everyone ready?” Barry shouted and got attention of the whole set. Then he lowered his voice. “Good. Get the extras ready, set the lights and so on. We’re doing the second nightclub scene.” He gave me a wink. “Let’s go people!”

The crew left hastily, leaving the three of us alone.

“Okay, guys. Go get the clothes and gather inside.” He gestured first at the second gray bus and then at the club across the street. “One other thing, if you get bored, ask the bartender for the real thing, eh?” He snickered. “But don’t get crazy!”

We nodded and thanked him.

Inside the dressing bus there must have been two dozen people at least, most of them women. Some were applying makeup; all were dressed in beautiful vintage dresses. A short woman approached us to take our measurement and left quickly. A minute later she returned with two tuxedoes, which she handed us and was on her way. We dressed behind a curtain and another girl powdered our faces and gelled our hair, making henry look a lot like young Sean Connery and me, well, closer to Bob Dylan.

Another half an hour later we were all gathered inside the warehouse, which looked just as you’d expect a plush 1960s nightclub to look like. We headed straight for the glowing bar, where a white-shirted red-vested bartender was already working his magic. We got as comfortable as it was possible on the high stools and watched all the splendidly dressed extras assuming their positions around the room. They were all given appropriate glassware and, to my amazement, Barry Ben personally instructed each of them what to do and how to behave. He looked at us briefly and gave us thumbs-up. The preparations were taking a while, so I turned to the bartender.

“Hey there.”

“Evening, sir.” The guy was already in character.

“Scotch.”

He nodded and poured me some apple juice under the counter. I gulped it and smiled.

“M-hm! Wonderful! Now, Barry said you could hit us up with the real thing.” I winked the way Barry had.

The barkeep squinted and Henry, then nodded slightly. “Very well.” He poured us some more juice, but this time added whiskey as well. “The best I can do, gentlemen.” He landed two glasses before us.

“Thanks.” I said and turned around with my glass to watch the crowd.

At last, Barry Ben was done instructing people and settled behind one of the huge cameras aimed at the entrance.He lifted a hand, and in the corner the orchestra started playing jazz; people began talking and laughing, drinking their fake drinks.

“A-and action!” Barry commanded.

The doors opened, and a clumsy looking guy in a long coat stepped in. I felt my lips widen in a smile. It was, of course, Vincent “Dorcy” Houston, the father of Cynthia Silk and the main character of my script. The actor playing him looked little like the real-life Vince Houston, but he was charming nonetheless.

“Cut!” Barry Ben cried suddenly. “Danny!” He called, and literally everyone in the room turned to look at me, making me flush. “Turn down that smile or turn around! Remember – you’re an extra!” He uttered an abrupt laugh. “Again!”

So the actor did the scene again, this time walking to the bar and taking a seat beside me with the camera following his every step.

“Scotch.” He asked the barkeep and got a glass of apple juice.

After a while a guy walked up to Vincent Houston. It was Charlie Carlton, his friend, who’d invited Vincent to the club. He tapped the bar to get a refill that arrived shortly.

“So what do you think?” Carlton asked.

“It’s beautiful.” Vincent replied, and I mouthed the words from my script along with him with immense pleasure. The barkeep got me another juiced whiskey.

“I know, right? Told you.” Carlton said, sipping his own pure apple juice.

Vincent sighed. “You said there’s be…”

“Lauren Silk, yeah. Right there.” Carlton pointed, and I had to look.

I turned, and Henry elbowed me slightly and whispered. “There she is, look.”

Yes, there she was. Pauline Leclercq in the character of Cynthia’s mother, Lauren Silk. I felt silly for not having noticed her earlier, but that was of no importance.She wore an ivory dress and a diamond necklace around her slender heck. Her hair was elegantly done up. If you asked me, I’d say Lauren Silk was nowhere near as pretty as Pauline Leclercq was. I don’t know if anyone in the whole world were.

“You are exquisite.” I whispered while beside me the dialogue between Houston and Carlton continued.

“So, have you talked to her yet?” Vincent demanded.

“No, not yet.” Carlton said and asked for the next drink.

“What’s holding you back?”

“It’s not that simple, Vince, half the country wants to talk to Lauren Silk.”

“Jesus… Why am I here again?” Vince complained.

“You know what? Why don’t you go talk to her then?”

Vince paused. “We both know I’m no talker.”

“Then shut the fuck up and give me time, will you? Get yourself another drink!”

“Dick.”

“Likewise.”

The barkeep delivered each of us another round. Carlton left with his, leaving Vincent Houston to watch Lauren Silk across the busy room. A couple of cameras, Barry Ben behind one of them, danced around the room before focusing back on Houston.

“Ah, screw it.” He muttered under his breath and gulped the apple juice.

He walked to the group of ladies, and the cameras followed him. I relaxed some, and so did Henry; we watched the scene, in which Lauren told Vince to meet her in ten minutes. There were a couple of retakes, but in the end Vincent Houston returned to the bar, and Lauren Silk left the club without ever saying another word to him. He hurried after her, as did Barry Ben and the crew. All the extras relaxed once the cameras left the building, and a lot of them crowded the bar. I fought the crowd and headed for the doors.

I peered outside and watched Pauline still playing Lauren Silk getting into a limousine, and Vincent Houston tapping on her window. It was a sad scene, so I stayed inside the club and walked back to the bar to get another drink. Henry met me halfway across the room.

“Here.” He passed me a glass.

“Thanks.” I drank. There was no apple juice this time.

We waited twenty long minutes before hearing Barry Ben shout outside. “Cut!” Short applause followed that.

I rushed to the door, but as I stepped out I saw Pauline getting into her trailer and Maurice, her agent, taking guard of its door. We walked up to him.

“Sorry, gentlemen, Ms. Leclercq is resting.” He informed us.

“Oh, come on!” I said annoyed. “I’ve gotto meet her!”

Maurice lifted a brow. “I heard this expression the other day and, apparently, it’s very popular with you Americans; the expression is too fucking bad.”

“Fuck you!” I barked.

“However.” He turned to Henry. “You are free to contact Pauline when she’s not working. Good evening.”

We stepped away, and Henry patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll meet her, Danny, just not today.”

We walked to Henry’s black sedan.

I said. “Yeah. There’s a nice place on West 49^th, I feel like a steak.”

“You got it.”

IV

Stacy was having her morning smoke on the balcony, when the phone rang somewhere in the room. She took a couple more quick drags and threw the butt away.

“Hey, Lester!”

“Morning, Stace! How are you today?” He asked on the other end. “It’s been almost a week, so I’m calling…”

She remembered, of course. She’d packed a small suitcase two days earlier and was one shower away from being ready. She spoke excitedly. “Will you give me an hour?”

“See you in sixty minutes!” Lester said and hung up.

She threw the phone on the couch and hurried into the shower. Half an hour later she was ready, putting on light makeup in front of the bathroom mirror. She’d put on jeans and a shirt, but then decided to get into something more comfortable. She found her best summer dress and threw that on. She looked good in it.

Fifteen minutes later she buzzed Lester in, and he helped her with the suitcase.Downstairs he threw it into the backseat of some classic convertible, and they took off, heading for JFK.

“Are we really going to Paris, Les?” She asked forty minutes later, as they rolled through the gates towards private hangars.

“Um… Yeah.” He smiled. “Second thoughts?”

“No, just can’t believe it.”

“Well, you’d better!”

He stepped on the gas a little, and a minute later they stopped beside a wide hanger. There was a humming silver Cessna jet inside with Warner’s Jetswritten in black across it.

“Welcome!” Lester opened the door for her and helped her with the bag.

They walked up the stairs into the jet and settled in soft leather armchairs. The stewardess offered them champagne and fruit platter, which they accepted. Ten minutes later they were in the air.

“Want some?” Lester offered Stacy a pill bottle.

“What are those?”

“Sleeping pills. It’s an eight hour flight, and I’m not a big fan of flying, sorry.” He popped three pills and washed them down with champagne.

He relaxed in his seat and fell asleep shortly. Stacy killed some time watching a movie on a personal screen, then took a nap as well.

Eight hours later they landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport.

V

“Afternoon, Cyril! How are you doing today?” The waitress, Margot, spoke in French. She was a fan of his, like most Parisian girls, reading everything with his name on the cover. A lost soul, but he couldn’t disappoint her.

“Afternoon. Like every day, if you know what I mean.” He said a bit melancholically. “Margot, dear, the usual, please.”

“Sauvignon blanc, ice, still water!” She gabbled and left for the bar. She returned a minute later and landed a wine glass and a water bottle on his table.

“Thank you, dear.”

Those days Cyril Bordeaux of Paris, France, had nothing to do. He thought that day would go as usual: he’d get drunk on the cheap wine and try to squeeze out some words. Then, just after midnight, tired and drunk out of his mind, he’d meander back to the house on Baguette Street and pass out on the worn couch. Let’s go, he thought and took the first sip of the sour drink.

The Square looked pretty much the same as always: the atmosphere of idleness and relaxation; locals walking unhurriedly back and forth under the same lazy trees rustling in the breeze; boring little hatchbacks and scooters buzzing around in all directions… Boredom was the keyword around here, but Cyril enjoyed that. He drank on.

But that afternoonsomething completely unexpected happened. Something peculiar and alien broke the measured pace of the day. The something was a sky-blue Ferrari that roared up the narrow street, audible way before it was visible. It squealed to a stop in front of the terrace where Cyril was sipping his wine. A guy about twenty years old stepped out of it and looked around through his sunglasses; Cyril noticed a girl in the passenger seat. There was no one else around, so the guy started towards Cyril’s table, leaving the girl to wait in the car. He took off the glasses as he neared the table.

“Puis-je?” The guy asked in funny American accent and without a pause to hear a reply took a chair. “Cyril Bordeaux?”

Cyril wasn’t too surprised at the question – people came up to him every now and then, asking for his autograph and such. None of them, however, had ever driven up to him in a Ferrari. He nodded and took another sip.

“I’m afraid so.” He said in good English. “Who wants to know?” He was intrigued, but showed no sign of it.

The guy smiled. “I’m glad I was able to find you – couldn’t reach you on the phone.”

“That’s because I don’t have a phone.”

“I see…”

“Yet, you’ve found me andeven drove a Ferrari to meet me. I’m flattered. It sounds like you are from the States. What brings you to Paris, if I may ask?” Ice clinked in his empty glass.

“Lester Warner, pleasure meeting you!” They shook hands. “A friend of mine, Joe Silverstone told me about you. I’ve read The House on Baguette Street, too. My condolences.”

“Thanks. Joe Silverstone… Yes, I remember him. Bought an apartment from me last fall. Is that why you’re here?” Cyril asked; Margot refilled his glass and offered Lester some, but he declined.

“I hear the house on Baguette Street is for sale?”

“Yes!” Cyril said a bit too loud. “Yes, it is. It’s yours if you want it.”

“I happen to. What’s your price?” Lester asked.

“Dunno…” Cyril gulped the wine. “What do you have to offer?”

Lester considered. “Well… Given the unusual history of the building, its location and condition… The murders would certainly cast a shadow, but I’m willing to disregard that…”

“So?”

“How about twenty-three million?”

Cyril shrugged and leaned back. He drank wistfully, then said. “Sounds good, but…”

“Euros, of course.” Lester inserted.

“Even better, but still…”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t need any money. I have twenty euros in my pocket, which I’ll leave here in the evening… You see…”

“I think I do.”

“The thing is, a million means as much to me as these twenty euros…” He leaned back again and drank some water. For a moment he thought he’d managed to confound Lester Warner, but after a brief assessment Lester replied.

“Very well. How do you feel about California? I believe you could use a change of scene, no?”

“Oh.” Cyril leaned back to the table to take the wine glass. “I see you have read my little book.”

“Indeed. I have a spare apartment in L.A. So, like you said, it’s yours if you want it. That and a couple of millions on top of it, hm?”

Cyril was silent for a second, not really considering anything, just holding the pause. Then he said. “Okay. But keep the millions, they are of little use to me.”

“This is great news, Cyril!” Lester stood up and shook his hand. “We’ll swing by tomorrow to make the arrangements!”

“No need.” Cyril said and handed him a set of keys. “Go ahead, I’ll be late tonight anyway.”

Lester hesitated, but then grabbed the keys with a smile. “Pleasure doing business with you!” He put on his sunglasses and started back to his Ferrari. When the car took off, Cyril was already halfway through his third glass.

VI

The few weeks succeeding the Purple Lights scene I spent mostly at The Time Hotel, working on a new script under the working title New Yorkish. It was going to be a movie set in New York, obviously, and consisting of a number of interconnected stories. It wasn’t a new idea, but I thought I’d found an interesting spin to it.

Anyway, during those weeks I’ve met with Henry only once, not to mention Stacy and Lester, who, as I’d heard, were spending time in Europe. That didn’t bother me at all, so I worked on my script. The work was slow, but I had all the time in the world.

Finally, after three weeks of seclusion, my cellphone rang. As I’d hoped, it was Henry.

“Hey, Hen!”

But Henry wasn’t too cheerful. “Hey, Danny, listen, we need your help here.”

I heard him pass the phone to someone, and then I heard Barry Ben; he sounded worried. “Daniel? Listen, you’ve gotta get down here!”

“Yeah, um, sure. Where do you want me?”

“Madison Square, you know, the Pullman Spot.”Barry said, as I was getting dressed.

Downstairs I crossed the road to pick up my car. I could have walked, but time was of the essence. The car rumbled gently, and while the soft top was folding, I lit a cigarette. I drove down 7^th Avenue and turned left on West 26^th Street. A minute laterI turned right on 5^th Ave and about five hundred feet further stopped in front of the line of orange cones. The area was enclosed from there all the way to the Flatiron Building. I saw the gray buses and a couple of matte gray SUV’s; uniformed guys were present as well. Henry was already waiting for me.

I stepped out of the Porsche and approached him.

“What’s going on?”

He was rather calm, smoking a thin cigarette that smelled of cherry. “Come.” He said, and I followed him.

The Pullman Spot waslocated in the triangulararea between 5^th Avenue and Broadway, which is nowadays occupied by greenery and round tables and chairs. Butthen, because the movie was set in the 1960s, the area was cleared of its modern decorations. In the actual spot, where you’d normally see a brass plate on the pavement, stood a light gray 1965 Mercedes 600 Pullman Limousine.

“He’s here!” Henry called, and Barry Ben came out of his bus to meet me.

“Thank god, Danny! Maybe you’ll reason with her!”

I was getting worried now. “What’s up?”

“Remember how I’ve told you Cindy Silk was losing it? Well, I think she finally did! She drove down here half an hour ago, nearly crashed her damn car! I think she’s drunk or high, or both…” Barry complained.

“Where’s she now?” I asked.

“Locked herself inside the damn Merc, wouldn’t let us film, wouldn’t come out! We’re wasting time here and we only have until eleven tonight to filmthe damn scene!”

I inhaled deeply and felt my heart pounding. What was I going to do about drunken Cynthia Silk? I hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Okay.” I said timidly. “You want me to talk to her?”

“No one else we could think of.” Barry said, and both Henry and he shrugged.

“Right… Well, I’ll do my best, I guess.” I said and started towards the Pullman, followed by dozens of curious gazes.

The gray limo stood idle at the curb, its tires slashed and lights broken; there were some dents in its body. It was all part of the scene. I walked up to the rear door and knocked on the tinted bulletproof glass.

“Cynthia?”

She rolled the window down a little and looked at me through the gap. “Daniel?”

“A-ha. Wanna let me in?”

She rolled the window back up and unlocked the door. I got in, and she was quick to lock it again. We sat opposite each other, exactly like the first time we’d ever met. This time, however, Cynthia Silk looked nothing like the strong confident woman that she was. She wore simple clothes, and even though shewas wearing makeup, her hair was a mess. A smoking cigarette was shaking between her lips.

“I am happy to see you, Daniel.” She was the farthest thing from happy. “What brings?” She blew out dense smoke that filled the car.

“You, ultimately.” I replied and lit a smoke of my own.

Cynthia chuckled. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. You came ‘cause they can’t film your fucking movie, Daniel.”

“Exactly what I said. So, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” She said terminally. “Nothing, really.”

There was a long pause while we both finished our smokes and stubbed them out.

“I’ve bought a car.” I said just to say something.

“With the money you stole from me…” She grinned.

“With the money you blackmailed out of Lester.”

“Fair enough. What about it, your car?”

I shrugged, but then I got an idea. “It’s nice… Leather interior, soft fabric roof and all. Pretty fast, too.”

“Good for you, Daniel.”

“Want a ride?”

“With you?” Her eyes gleamed.

“I don’t see why not, Cindy. You are a beautiful woman, I’m a handsome man…”

“Really?” She was smiling now.

“Sure! Wait for me here, I’ll bring the car around. Deal?”

She unlocked the door for me. “Go!”

I gave her a little smile and stepped out.

I headed back towards my Porsche parked beside the orange cones. On the way I noticed Barry Ben and Henry standing at one of the gray buses together with Pauline Leclercq. She was sublime! I approached them with a silly smile on my face.

Ignoring the guys I said. “Pauline, finally!”

She bestowed me a courteous smile. I came around and turned to Barry. “It’s almost taken care of. I’m gonna need to drive up to the Pullman.”

Barry started saying okay, but Henry interrupted him. “We’ll give you kids a minute!” He winked and led the director aside, leaving us face to face.

I smiled that silly smile again and said. “Daniel Bruckheimer.”

She extended her hand, palm down. “Well, kiss it, Daniel Bruckheimer.”

I did and with infinite pleasure, allowing my lips to rest on her hand for a long moment, sensing her delicious scent. The sweetest thoughts rushed through my head… At last I was able to open my eyes and rise back up. I was still holding her tender hand, and she didn’t mind.

She gave me the most charming smile I’d ever seen. She said. “Pauline Leclercq, but friends call me Polly.”

I just stood there, speechless and stupid. “You are exquisite.”

“Thank you!”

“I’d love to sit across from you in a restaurant and drown in your eyes…” The moment the words left my lips I felt ashamed of using such clichés.

She laughed. “Nobody needs to drown, Daniel Bruckheimer! Are you asking me out?”

I felt my cheeks flush. “I guess I am.”

She took her hand out of mine with a grin. “I believe you have business to attend to. I’ll see you around.”

She left me with that, disappearing into the gray bus. I stood there a moment catching my breath. After a while I walked to my car and started it. A uniformed guard moved aside the orange cones to let me through. On the way I brought up the roof. I stopped my Porsche beside the Pullman, a couple of feet away from it, and opened the passenger door. Cynthia Silk stepped out of the limo and landed beside me. We took off down Broadway.

“I saw you talking to that actress, Leclercq. She’s pretty.”

“You wouldn’t believe…”

Cynthia said nothing.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 377