Jane decided, since she was playing the innocent, she might as well play it for all it was worth. "What do you mean about Jake? What's Jake got to do with it?"
“Jake was trying to blackmail me. Stupid waste of time, but Jake was good at wasting time." "Blackmail you into what?"
“Into trying to get that little chippy Angela Smith into a scene with Lynette and me. As if Roberto would care what I wanted. Ridiculous. Jake was really scraping the bottom of the barrel when he got to me."
“Do you think he'd tried it on other people? The blackmail, I mean."
“If he had anything on them, yeah, probably." "But you don't know who else he tried it on?" "No idea."
“What did you mean about his wasting time?"
“Just that he has — had a reputation for being a niggling perfectionist. It was his gimmick. He's shut down work for hours getting some damned trivial piece of something exactly right and as often as not, it wasn't even in the frame anyhow, but it got everybody bowing and scraping to him as a master."
“So he wasn't good at what he did?"
“Oh, he was good all right. But no better than a dozen others in the business. He just invented this mystique about himself and a lot of people bought it. The more of a bastard he was, the more the 'legend' grew. Well, it worked for him."
“Angela believed in the legend."
“Well, she would. She's his niece."
“His niece!"
“Yeah, what did you think?"
“She said he was trying to seduce her.”
George laughed. "Then that lie was the only good bit of acting she's ever done. Angela Smith's shoulder blades are rubbed raw from sleeping around. She's normally a hopeless excuse for an actress. My daughter took some acting lessons once and ol' Angela was in the class. Angela got to be a legend herself for sheer awfulness."
“I wonder what else she lied to me about—" Jane said.
She wasn't able to pursue this, however, as a production assistant burst through the "doorway" in the scenery just then and said, "Oh, Mr. Abington! I've been looking everywhere for you. Mr. Cavagnari wants you for a run-through. And Mrs. Jeffry, you can let your dog out now for" — she consulted her watch—"seventeen minutes.”
Jane met up with Shelley while she was dragging Willard out to his dog run. "Learn anything while I was gone?" Shelley asked, pitching in and pushing on Willard's back end.
“Yes, that Angela Smith lied to us. At least George Abington says she did. Unless" — she looked up at Shelley—"unless George Abington lied to me, too.”
15
As the morning wore on, the whole atmosphere seemed gradually to become electrified. A photographer from People Weekly magazine showed up with an assistant who was ruthlessly snagging people to interview, and a whole crew of individuals from "Entertainment Tonight" arrived on the scene and got underfoot in creative ways. These outsiders made a difference in the mood of the set. Crew members who had previously appeared practically comatose bustled around looking busy and vital. Grips hauled things about in an intense, frantic manner, calling out, "Look out! Coming through!”
Jane caught up with Butch Kowalski briefly when he was having a short break at the craft service table. "How's your hand?" she asked.
“I'd almost forgotten about it," he admitted. "It's fine." He was slathering mayonnaise on a piece of bread.
“You'll ruin your lunch."
“Oh, I won't have time for lunch today," Butch said, slapping slices of ham on the bread.
A young man suddenly yelled at him from the break in the scenery. Butch turned and watched theother young man make some gestures, then laid his half-constructed sandwich down and gestured back with his still-bandaged hand.
Jane watched this, fascinated. "What was that all about?"
“Huh? Oh, we're setting up for an important scene and Ted wanted to know about where to put some stuff."
“Who's Ted and why all this," Jane said, imitating Butch's hand motion.
“Oh, Ted's an intern. Getting school credit for helping Jake. Now for helping me. And the sign language is what Jake made everybody who worked for him learn. Cuts out a lot of yelling across the set. Jake hated yelling. He said it was an undignified way to work.”
And that kind of attitude probably added to the "mystique" that George Abington was talking about, Jane thought. "How are you doing on your own?" she asked.
“Okay, I guess. Jake had everything laid out to the littlest detail, so I'm just following his directions, but it's kinda scary anyway. If there's something missing or wrong today, I'm in big trouble without Jake to tell me how to fix it."
“You'll do fine," Jane assured him.
He was gulping down the sandwich now, his mind obviously on the important work ahead, so she left him alone.
Jane looked around for Shelley, but couldn't spot her anyplace. Maisie, however, waved her over to where she was using an unexpected bit of leisure to rearrange her first aid kit. Maisie's springy dark hair looked electrified, but whether it was from the humidity or neglect, Jane couldn't guess. "Hi, Jane," she said, ticking off small boxes of gauze on a checklist.
“What's with everybody?" Jane asked. "There's suddenly a different mood.”
Maisie finished her chore and closed the box her equipment was in. "Oh, partly it's the end of the film hysteria. It sometimes happens that way. But mostly it's because there's an important scene this afternoon that calls for everything in the book. Cameras panning on tracks, lots of extras, different scenery, possibly a special effect if the 'rain man' can get his rain machine fixed. There's some kind of problem with the hydrant the water's supposed to come from."
“So is that why the magazine and television people are here?"
“No, they're here on the scent of blood. Jake's. Hoping there might be a spectacular arrest. It's the one kind of publicity nobody wants."
“But I haven't even seen the police," Jane said, meaning she hadn't seen Mel all day even though she thought she'd noticed his little red MG parked way down her block. But with all the extras' cars clogging the street, she couldn't be sure.
“Oh, they're here in droves. Roaming around on the set, driving everybody mad. The police can't seem to grasp why everybody's going on with a silly movie in the face of murder and Roberto can't grasp why the police keep interfering in an important thing like a movie for something as trivial as murder. I wouldn't be surprised if Roberto doesn'tend up in jail himself eventually on a charge of tangling the wheels of justice or something."
“Maisie, who do you think killed Jake?" Jane asked, imitating George Abington's apparent bluntness.
“I can't imagine," Maisie said, not the least surprised by the question. "I really can't. I don't know anybody who didn't find him offensive, but there's a lot of people in this business who make a life's work of being offensive and they don't end up murdered."
“But Jake was blackmailing people. That's a considerable step up from 'offensive.' "
“Was he really? I'd heard gossip this morning. To be honest, Jane, I don't put much credence in blackmail as a motive. Not with actors anyway."
“What do you mean?"
“Well, actors love to talk about themselves, get `reputations,' be closely involved in scandals. Not all of them, of course, but most of them will tell you their life stories at the drop of a hat. They never get tired of hearing about themselves, even if it's from their own lips."
“So I've noticed."
“So it's hard to blackmail a performer. And especially so nowadays. It used to be that a charge or alcoholism or homosexuality could destroy a career, but these days it's the 'in thing' to share their most intimate secrets with the public. Anybody who's anybody has been in drug rehab. In fact, I understand there's quite a hierarchy of places to go for it. Some of the rehab units even have their own publicist handing out 'star-studded' lists of former patients."