"Here." I handed the camera to Betsi. "No reason to trust to beginner's luck any farther than we have to. Just don't catch Alma's and Kareema's faces."
"You'll never see them." Chewing her lower lip, she looked down at Toby. "What about his face? I mean, he has to look up or you'll never recognize him."
"Honey," Kareema said, "believe me, we can make him look up. We can make him sing the 'Marseillaise,' even if he doesn't know the French."
"Trust them," I said. I clapped my hands twice for attention.
"Okay, this shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes, and then we'll all go to lunch at Gladstone's. As I've said, this is a photo shoot, and first I want to explain to our star just how important it is."
I knelt down again. "Are you listening to me, Bobby?"
No reaction. Alma leaned over and did something tiny and mean, and Toby yelped and opened his eyes. He looked like a man ready to die of fury.
"Calm down," I said. "This won't take long. And if you behave yourself, no one will ever see any of these pictures. Do you understand?" He tried to nod, forgetting the restraint on his neck, and made a small choking sound. It didn't look like it improved his mood.
"Here's what's happening. Don't nod, just raise an eyebrow. First, you're never going to lift your hand against another woman. If you do, and if I hear about it, these pictures are going to everybody from UPI to TV Guide. Got it?"
He gave an infinitesimal nod. Maybe he didn't know how to raise one eyebrow.
I took a piece of paper from my pocket. "This is a tax-deductible receipt. Earlier this week, acting at your request, of course, I donated twenty-five hundred dollars to the West Hollywood Woman's Hospice. WH squared, as they call themselves, maintain a home for battered women. Your donation, which will be repeated monthly for the next two years, will be used to rent five additional apartments for women who are trying to avoid husbands or boyfriends who enjoy breaking their faces. I rejected their suggestion that they issue a press release naming it the Toby Vane Wing. You agree that you'll keep the contribution coming on a monthly basis?" Someone behind me clapped.
Toby nodded again.
"Finally," I said, unfolding the receipt and taking a smaller piece of paper from its center, "this is the name and phone number of a Dr. Elena Gutierrez. Dr. Gutierrez was recommended by the people at WH squared as the best psychiatrist in Los Angeles for the treatment of men who batter women. You have an appointment with Dr. Gutierrez for Tuesday evening at seven, after filming finishes. That's your regular appointment from now on. I've told her nothing, only that you have a problem and that you want help. The rest is up to you. Are you going to see her?"
This time he looked at me. Then he nodded again.
"Great. Fine. Well, that's it, then." I stood up and turned to Betsi. "Take your pictures," I said. "I'll want them when you're finished."
Betsi maneuvered into position, and Alma and Kareema went to work. A flashbulb popped. "Oh, golly," Janie Gordon whispered. It sounded like she'd learned something interesting. I didn't turn around to see what. Instead I went to Nana.
"I'll take her, Dixie," I said.
Dixie stepped aside, taking him closer to Chantra. She didn't move away. She looked over at him and then put her arm around his shoulders in a maternal gesture.
Another bulb popped as I took the handles of Nana's chair. I started to turn her, and she said, "Wait. I want to see." Another flash. "Okay," she said. "Now we can go."
I wheeled her out into the sunlight and up the driveway toward the van. I trundled her up the ramp and sat beside her.
"You're going to be okay," I said.
"Of course I am. I'm young." She sounded faintly impatient.
"You may not be able to dance for a while."
"I'll never dance again. Except with you, I mean. Whoops, I said I wouldn't do that. Except on a dance floor, with some nice man. And all my clothes on." She sobered. "Poor Tiny," she said. "He didn't mean to do it."
I didn't say anything.
"But didn't Toby look fantastic?" she asked.
"I guess, all things considered. A little black and blue, but the boy really knows how to take a close-up."
"You simp," she said. She leaned forward to kiss me, and said, "Ow." She fingered the livid yellow flesh around her mouth.
"You don't understand, you simp," she said. "You didn't look."
"I didn't want to look. He just looked like Toby."
"That's what I mean," she said triumphantly. "After all this time, after all those big smiles. He finally looked exactly like Toby."
Postscript
Some of the characters in this book are based more directly than is usual, or legally advisable, on human beings. Others are based on carnivorous bipeds who pass, or passed, as humans.
The girl who was the model for Nana quit dancing a few months before the book was finished and went back to computer school. Four months after that she died in Hollywood of an overdose of cocaine. Her heart just stopped beating.
Janie Gordon is now an assistant director. Her credits feature a middle initial I didn't know she had.
Alma married the dentist.
The actor who inspired Toby still lives on the beach. Aside from an occasional appearance on Bowling for Dollars, he's not working, and he stays out of the papers.
Los Angeles is still there. Bigger and more fun than ever.