"Advertising? You shouldn't do that crap, Larry. What about your documentaries? They're honest."
"Honesty 'as its place, luv, but what it is, this agency's paying us a two 'undred thousand fee plus fifteen percent markup on production. Please… Just 'elp us out for a bit."
She waited a moment while she muscled up some coyness. "Larry," she said. "You know I'm working on this documentary. About the bombing-but not about the bombing."
"Yeah, right." His mouth curled a portion of a millimeter.
"Maybe, when it's finished, you could talk to some of the programming people you know. Put in a good word for me."
"Rune, you think you're gonna send a tape to PBS and they're gonna bleedin' show it? Just like that?"
"Pretty much."
"Lemme see it first. Maybe, you got some good footage, we could go in and work with it."
"Not it, me. Work with me."
"Sure, you's what I meant to say."
"You can introduce me to some distributors?"
"Yeah. Might 'appen."
"All right, fair enough. You want an administrator, I'll do it."
Larry hugged her. " 'ey, way to go, luv."
Rune finished coiling the wires. She made sure the coils were even but not too tight. That was one thing they'd taught her at L &R, and she appreciated it-how to take care of your equipment.
Larry asked, " 'ey, what kinda hook d'you come up with for that film on the bombing? A bio of that girl got killed?"
"That's what it was going to be about, but not anymore."
"What's it's about now?"
"It's going to be about finding a murderer."
Rune sat on Nicole D'Orleans's couch, sinking so far into the luxurious leather that her feet were off the ground.
"This is very embryonic, you know. They oughta sell these to therapists. Get right back, you know, to the womb, sitting here."
Nicole wore a purple minidress with a scooped neck showing six inches of taut cleavage, purple glittery stockings, white high-heel shoes. When she walked she loped forward awkwardly. Her concession to mourning was a huge black bow in her hair. She'd just come back from a memorial service for Shelly, an informal event that the people at Lame Duck had arranged. "I've never seen so many people crying at one time. Everybody loved her."
That brought back the tears but this time she was able to control the sobbing. Rune watched her wander through the living room. Nicole had started-obsessively, it seemed-to pack up Shelly's belongings. But since the actress had no close family she didn't know what to do with them. Moving cartons lay half-filled in the bedroom.
Sunlight streamed through the open-weave drapes and fell in bright patterns on the carpet. Rune squinted against it as she waited for Nicole to finish aligning the boxes, folding the lids over. Finally Nicole sighed and sat down.
And that was when Rune said to her: "I think Shelly was murdered."
Nicole gazed blankly for a minute. "Well, yeah. The Sword of Christ."
"Sword of Jesus."
"Whatever."
"Except that it's fake," Rune said. "It doesn't exist."
"But they left these notes about angels destroying the earth and everything."
"It's a cover-up."
"But I read it inNewsweek. Ithas to be true."
Rune looked at the centerpiece on the table, hungry and wondering if the apples were too ripe; she hated mushy apples. But if she started to eat one she couldn't very well put it back. She said, "Nobody's every heard of them. And I can't find any reference to the group anywhere. And think about it-you want to kill someone, okay? You make it look like a terrorist thing. It's a pretty good cover."
"But why would somebody want to kill Shelly?"
"That's what I'm going to find out. That's what my movie's going to be about. I'm going to find the killer."
Nicole asked, "What do the police think?"
"They don't. First of all, they don't care she was killed. They said… Well, they don't think much of people in your line of work. Second, I haven't told them my theory. And I'm not going to. If I do, and it's true, then every-bbdy'll get the story. I want it for me. An exclusive…"
"Murder?"
"What do you think, Nicole? Was there anybody that would've wanted Shelly dead?"
Rune could sense the gears turning beneath the teased, sprayed hair that glittered with tiny silver flecks, a living Hallmark decoration.
Nicole shook her head.
"Was she going out with anybody?"
"Nobody serious. The thing is, in this business, it's real-what's the word?-incestuous, you know? You can't just meet some guy at a party like anybody else. Sooner or later he's gonna ask what you do for a living. Nowadays, with AIDS and Hep B and everything, that's a way for a girl to get dropped real fast. So what happens is, you tend to just hang out a lot with other people in the business.
Date a lot. Maybe move in with a guy and finally get married. But Shelly didn't do that. There was one guy she was seeing recently. Andy… somebody. A funny last name. I don't remember. He was never over to the apartment. It seemed pretty casual."
"Could you find out his name?"
Nicole walked into the kitchen and looked at the wall calendar. She traced a pencil-written note with her finger; it made a sad sweep as it followed Shelly's writing.
"Andy Llewellyn. Fourl' s in his name. That's why I thought it was weird."
Rune wrote down the name, then looked over the calendar. She pointed. "Who's that?"A. Tucker was penned in. His name appeared almost every Wednesday going back for months. "Doctor?"
Nicole blew her red nose with a paper towel. "That was her acting coach."
"Acting coach?"
"The movies we did, they paid the rent. But she loved real plays most of all. It was kind of a hobby of hers. Going to auditions. Doing small parts. But she never got any big roles. As soon as they found out what she did for a living it was, Don't call us, we'll call you. Come here…" Nicole motioned Rune back into the living room and over to the bookcases. Her neck crooked sideways, Rune read some of the titles. They were all about acting. Balinese theater, Stanislavsky, Shakespeare, dialects, playwriting, history of theater. Nicole's hand strayed to a book. The astonishingly red nails tapped the spine. "That was the only time Shelly was happy. When she was rehearsing or reading about the theater."
"Yeah," Rune said, remembering something that Shelly'd told her. "She said she had some real parts. She made a little money at it." Rune pulled a book off the shelf. It was written by someone named Antonin Artaud. The Theater and Its Double. It was dog-eared and battered.
A lot of it was underlined. One chapter had an asterisk next to it. It was headed, "The Theater of Cruelty."
"Sometimes she'd take time off and do summer stock around the country. She said that regional theater was where most of the creative playwrights were being showcased. It was all very brainy stuff. I tried to read some of the scripts. Gosh, I tell you, I can follow lines like, 'And then they take their clothes off and fuck.'" Nicole laughed. "But this stuff Shelly was interested in was way, way beyond me."
Rune put the book back on the shelf. She jotted Tucker's name next to Andy Llewellyn's.
"Shelly said what made her decide to do the film was that she had a fight with somebody she worked with. You know who that was?"
Nicole paused. "No."
Rune had seen Nicole inLusty Cousins. She was a bad actress then and she was a bad actress now.
"Come on, Nicole."
"Well, don't make too much out of it-"
"I won't."
"It's just, I don't want to get anybody in trouble."
"Tell me. Who?"
"Guy who runs the company."
"Lame Duck?" Rune asked.
"Yeah. Danny Traub. But him and Shelly fought all the time. They have since she's been working for them. A couple of years."
"What do they fight about?"
"Everything. Danny's, like, your nightmare boss."
Into the notebook. "Okay. Anybody else?"
"Nobody she worked with."
"But maybe somebody she didn't?"