The Doughnuts

By Randy Russell

The Doughnuts is the story of one epic summer in the early 21st Century and the mysterious alignment of a tenuously connected group of novelists, screenwriters, filmmakers, and detectives. As each of them grapples with the latest of life's adventures, their journeys and work collide in unexpected ways as they explore the challenges of creativity, self-doubt, fame, betrayal, romance, addiction, recovery, success, failure, mysterious disappearances, and the search for gluten-free doughnuts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098331450

Randy Russell

Randy Russell believes in ghosts. He conducts an annual ghost seminar for the State of North Carolina and can be found most summers sharing true ghost stories at visitor centers in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. He wrote Dead Rules because he believes ghosts should be allowed to share their stories of encounters with humans. He lives in Asheville, North Carolina.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by Randy Russell

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

R. Speen Publishers

RSPEEN.COM

ISBN: 978-1-09833-144-3 (print)

ISBN: 978-1-09833-145-0 (ebook)

Contents

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

BOOK ONE

Everyone Is Someone Else

Chapter 1 Merely Players

Chapter 2 Bald Cap

Chapter 3 Randy Loew is Paul Hirsh

Chapter 4 Star Power

Chapter 5 Against All Odds

Chapter 6 Day Job

Chapter 7 Do I Now Suck?

Chapter 8 Lisa Fremont

Chapter 9 Exclusive!

Chapter 10 Perfect Picture

Chapter 11 The End of the World

Chapter 12 Breakfast with The Devil

Chapter 13 The Rhythmically Challenged

Chapter 14 Rock Paper Scissors

Chapter 15 The Other Left Nut

Chapter 16 Frank Lloyd Wrong

Chapter 17 The Butler Did It

Chapter 18 You’re Lydia Gilmore

Chapter 19 Crazy Guy in a Doughnut Shop

Chapter 20 Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain

BOOK TWO

The Strange Case of Mistaken Identity

Chapter 1Aunt Beatrice RIP

Chapter 2 Hard Time

Chapter 3 Gaslight

Chapter 4 Ohio Breakfast

Chapter 5 One Million Dollars

Chapter 6 Chick Ibs

Chapter 7 Another Waterworld

Chapter 8 Return to Winesburg

Chapter 9 Presumed Guilty

Chapter 10 The Moon is Gone

Chapter 11 Sleepytime Train

Chapter 12 Fear of Flying

Chapter 13 The Mezzanine

Chapter 14 The Shrubbery Doughnuts

Chapter 15 Blarney

Chapter 16 Cap’n Crunch

Chapter 17 Skootchie McGee

Chapter 18 Heaven’s Trapdoor

Chapter 19 The Mystery Heats Up

Chapter 20 A Hole is a Hole

Chapter 21 Detective Work

Chapter 22 Stormy Weather

Chapter 23 Day Drinking

Chapter 24 Volunteers

Chapter 25 Just a Yarn

Chapter 26 Wolverine Island

Chapter 27 The Titanic

Chapter 28 A Daring Escape

Chapter 29 I’d Rather Be With You

Chapter 30 Lynchnikov

Chapter 31 Mount Olympus

Chapter 32 Back to the Cave

Chapter 33 What’s Frank Baker Like?

Chapter 34 Rabbits

Chapter 35 The Rotunda

Chapter 36 Dead End

BOOK THREE

The Monolith

Chapter 1 Funeral

Chapter 2 Bad Date

Chapter 3 Life at the San Berdoo

Chapter 4 The Silent Typewriter

Chapter 5 Just a Name

Chapter 6Scene of the Crime

Chapter 7 Rooftop Pool

Chapter 8 Brave Usually Means Crazy

Chapter 9 You Can’t Imagine Any More Fun

Chapter 10 Weirdness Has No Limits

Chapter 11 Double or Nothin’

Chapter 12 Betsy & James

Chapter 13 North by Northwest

Chapter 14 Alfama

Chapter 15 Good to the Last Drop

Chapter 16 The Overlook

Chapter 17 Buñuelo Beach

Chapter 18 Real Life

Chapter 19 Tipping Point

Chapter 20 The Adventure

BOOK FOUR

To Be Forgotten

Chapter 1 All of Me

Chapter 2 The Show Must Go On

Chapter 3 Luminous Toxin

Chapter 4 Bed & Breakfast Webcam

Chapter 5 Death’s Door

Chapter 6 A New Mystery

Chapter 7 The Mind Ride

Chapter 8 What’s in a Name?

Chapter 9 Disquiet

Chapter 10 Mulberry Pancakes

Chapter 11 The Mystery Solved

Chapter 12 The French Exit

Chapter 13 Christmas in July

Chapter 14 Like Walking Down the Street

Chapter 15 El Dorado

Chapter 16 Writing Like Frank Baker

Chapter 17 Murder Mystery

Chapter 18 Ain’t No War on Doughnuts

Chapter 19 Doug H. Nutt

Chapter 20 Missed Connections

Chapter 21 The Entire Sea

Chapter 22 Sunset and Ohio

Chapter 23 Love Letter

Chapter 24 Suicide Note

Chapter 25 Problems

Chapter 26 Blue Clouds

Chapter 27 Seasick Sailors

Chapter 28 Footlight Parade

Chapter 29 Autumn in New York

Chapter 30 The Upside-Down House

Chapter 31 Premiere

Chapter 32 Blank Page

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Frank Baker – Reclusive novelist. His books include: Silver Train, The Big W, ID, The Hollow Earth, 420 Express, Smith & Wesson, 620 Express, and The Strange Case of Mistaken Identity.

Tom Riggs – Actor, playing Frank Baker in the movie, Identity Theft (in progress).

Robert Danvers – Director of music videos, commercials, and movies, including: Jesus H. Christ, I (Wish That I Had Duck Feet), and Identity Theft (in progress). Dating Rachel Roux.

Lydia Gilmore – Journalist and author. Books include: The Marriage Factory, Between Four and Five A.M., Rumspringa and Coke, Positive Identification, I’m Living with a Crazy Creature, and Chanel No. 5½.

Randy Loew – Reclusive screenwriter. Works include: I (Wish That I Had Duck Feet), Gorilla My Dreams, and Identity Theft (in progress).

Paul Hirsh – Screenwriter and movie director, with his brother, Jeff Hirsh. (See: Hirsh Brothers.)

Jeff Hirsh – Screenwriter and movie director, with his brother, Paul Hirsh. (See: Hirsh Brothers.) Married to actress, Eleanor DeBenning.

Hirsh Brothers – Writer and director team, Jeff and Paul Hirsh. Movies include: Blood on the Floor, Gerund and the Dragon, Conjunction Junction, Philboyd Studge, Winesburg, Type O, Wake & Bake, O Lost, Peckerwood, Like a Velvet Glove…, and The Strange Case of Mistaken Identity (in progress).

Eleanor DeBenning – Australian actress and Hollywood movie star. Films include: Outback, Blood on the Floor, Risky Behavior, Conjunction Junction, Philboyd Studge, Blood Tulip, What We Talk About, The Ruby Slippers, Winesburg, Red Dark Sweet, Type O, Bel Air, O Lost, Ramblin’ Rose, Like a Velvet Glove..., Identity Theft (in progress), and The Strange Case of Mistaken Identity (in progress). Married to director, Jeff Hirsh.

Rod Dyer – Actor in films, TV shows, and theater.

Lemmy Chaturn – Actor and Hollywood movie star.

Aaron Bloch – Actor and Hollywood movie star.

Rachel Roux – Movie director, producer, screenwriter, and actress. Head of Matryoshka Pictures, an independent film production company. Dating Robert Danvers.

Betsy Willecombe – Writer of several unproduced screenplays. Head of development at Matryoshka Pictures. Partner of Jack Randolph.

Jack Randolph – Assistant director for the Hirsh Brothers and aspiring screenwriter. Partner of Betsy Willecombe.

Joanna Koch – Rachel Roux’s co-producer at Matryoshka Pictures.

Charles Granger – Receptionist at Matryoshka Pictures.

Bobbi Cone – Intern at Matryoshka Pictures.

Daryl Kelsey – Intern at Matryoshka Pictures.

Pris David – Intern at Matryoshka Pictures.

Lisa Fremont – Old friend of Lydia Gilmore who lives and works in Los Angeles. Unpublished novelist.

John Baron – Hollywood screenwriter whose credits include: Let’s Get Outta Here, Faster... Slower, Mean Streak, Barnaby Miller, The Merry Mad Bachelors, Massa Ferguson, Barnaby Miller II, Psyclone, and If Six Was Nine. Partner of actor, Graeme Goode.

Graeme Goode – Hollywood actor whose credits include: Hunting with Scissors, and Free Style. Partner of screenwriter, John Baron.

James Barlow – Writer of several unproduced screenplays.

Fran Robbins – Member of James Barlow’s writing group.

Edward Chrobort – Member of James Barlow’s writing group.

Tibbet Nicholson – Member of James Barlow’s writing group.

David Quab – Member of James Barlow’s writing group.

George Frapper – Member of James Barlow’s writing group.

Steven Shaw – Lecturer and author of several books on screenwriting, including the influential, Sizzling Scenarios, Structure & Style that Sells: Successful Screenplays in Seven Simple Steps.

Jefferson Cody – Author of a memoir, The Devil’s A**hole. Screenwriter of many Hollywood movies, including: Rising from the Ashes, Snail on a Razor, Severed Hearts, Bitches on Parade, Axe Me No Questions, Silver & Gold, Appetite for Destruction, Pick, The Golden Arches, and Not My Revolution. Husband of artist, Linda Benson Cody.

Barney Hentz – Hollywood agent.

Maggie Quinn – Hollywood actress.

Delilah Finch – Mutual friend of James Barlow and Jack Randolph. Married to Will Green.

Will Green – Delilah Finch’s husband and friend of James Barlow and Jack Randolph.

Della Finch – Delilah Finch and Will Green’s young daughter.

Emo Brady – Mutual friend of James Barlow and Jack Randolph.

Scott Murdoch – Mutual friend of James Barlow and Jack Randolph.

Meredith Lipsky – Mutual friend of James Barlow and Jack Randolph.

The Actor – Friend of Meredith Lipsky.

Amanda Anderson – Producer for the Hirsh Brothers.

Fudge Douglas – TV actress.

Kirk Sutton – Movie and TV actor.

Matcha Lane – Movie and TV actress.

Beatrice Conway – Recently deceased sister of Gaylord Conway and beloved aunt of the Conway brothers, Linus and Monty.

Pastor Bob Gliber – Pastor at the Sandusky Windows of Heaven Untied Trinity Church of God.

Gaylord Conway – Private detective. Father of the Conway brothers, and husband of Mimi Conway.

Linus Conway – Private detective and older of the Conway brothers.

Monty Conway – Private detective and younger of the Conway brothers.

Mimi Conway – Wife of Gaylord Conway and mother of Linus and Monty Conway.

Lou Straulino – Old friend the Conway brothers who runs a produce distribution company.

Lola Straulino – Married to Lou Straulino and friend of the Conway brothers.

Jay Diamant – Old friend of the Conway brothers who works as a CPA.

Beth Diamant – Old friend of the Conway brothers; married to Jay Diamant.

Bob Ramsey – Old friend of the Conway brothers. Unemployed.

Wilson Chubby Welles – Old friend of the Conway brothers who owns and runs his own restaurant, Chubby’s Steakhouse.

Frances Slim McGowan – Fiction writer and old friend of the Conway brothers, who has dated Linus Conway on and off since high school.

Wanda Welles – Chubby Welles’ younger sister and old friend of the Conway brothers, who has dated Monty Conway since high school.

Duane Scooter Pawlik – Old friend of the Conway brothers who has recently been released from prison.

Romulus – Longtime staff member at the Chateau Marmont, Los Angeles.

Jason Taylor – Hollywood screenwriter and director, in residence at the Chateau Marmont.

Ellwood Arbogast – Proprietor of the Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry Bed and Breakfast, Sandusky, Ohio.

Pat Larkins – Production manager for the Hirsh Brothers.

Chief Ron Abrhams – Chief of Police in Sandusky, Ohio.

Lieutenant Brumby – Detective with the Los Angeles Police Department.

Sergeant Davis – Detective with the Los Angeles Police Department.

Cap’n Gerry Crunch Baxter – Independent charter boat captain in Sandusky, Ohio.

Tiger Wolfe – Old friend of the Conway brothers who has returned to Sandusky, Ohio after living for many years in San Francisco.

Linda Benson Cody – Sculptor and conceptual artist, and wife of Jefferson Cody.

Esther Cody – Daughter of Jefferson and Linda Cody.

William Cody – Son of Jefferson and Linda Cody.

Lynchnikov – Russian gangster and nemesis of Gaylord Conway.

Bedbug – Henchman for Lynchnikov.

Shank – Henchman for Lynchnikov.

Old Pete – Proprietor of the Sunrise Rooming House in Sandusky, Ohio.

Lena Gericke – Producer with Weapons of Mass Destruction film studio.

Lee Hinkle – Paul Hirsh’s agent at Reynolds agency in New York.

Marcus Gold – Celebrity chef; owner of Dessert Dreams, and other restaurants.

Gary Van Calcar – Frank Baker’s longtime editor.

Cissie Gault – Producer with Weapons of Mass Destruction film studio.

Irwin Reisner – Studio head at Weapons of Mass Destruction film studio, and at Air & Water productions.

Peter Kovacs – Hollywood screenwriter whose credits include: Murphy’s Law Firm (TV), Jesus H. Christ, and Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

Buzz Kovacs – Peter Kovacs’ older brother. Aspiring screenwriter.

Aaron Wolf – Peter Kovacs’ agent at Vanguard agency in Los Angeles.

Lauren Gough – Lydia Gilmore’s editor at Beechnut Press.

Ray – Waiter at Sacred Ciao restaurant in Manhattan.

Kenny Shelby – Driver for the Hirsh Brothers’ production in Sandusky, Ohio.

Bradley Charles – Bellman at the Lake Crest Hotel, and aspiring screenwriter.

Andre Roux – Hollywood director and father of Rachel Roux.

Phil Kessler – Hollywood movie star.

Simon Dorn – New York based playwright, theatre director, and actor.

Cliff Kibble – Owner and desk clerk of the Empire Hotel in Sandusky, Ohio.

Bernardo – Owner of the Alfama Cocktail Lounge, in the Empire Hotel, Sandusky, Ohio.

Hugh Lombardy – Proprietor of The Overlook bed and breakfast, in Sandusky, Ohio.

Josh – A 20 year old production assistant for the Hirsh Brothers.

Polly Cutler – Script supervisor for the Hirsh Brothers.

Sheriff Cassady – County Sheriff in Sandusky, Ohio.

Ridge Starber – The Hirsh Brothers’ longtime cinematographer.

Dr. Burt Cochrane – Lydia Gilmore’s therapist.

Isabelle Laurent – French actress and movie star.

Russell Abbott-Abbott – English movie star and musician.

Doughnut Doug – Underground purveyor of gluten-free doughnuts in Manhattan.

BOOK ONE

Everyone Is Someone Else

Chapter 1

Merely Players

ALL WAS QUIET on a hot, cloudless morning as two dozen armed FBI agents converged on a dilapidated, wooden shack that was partially hidden by thick foliage. Without warning, chaos broke loose as one of the agents viciously kicked the flimsy door. It banged open with little resistance, and two men wearing bulletproof vests stormed inside with guns drawn. In a matter of seconds they emerged, escorting a thin, bearded man, hands held high, still groggy from sleep. As several more agents—who wore blue FBI windbreakers and bulletproof vests—surrounded and handcuffed the captive, other men with body armor and assault rifles rushed into the shack, two of them led by bomb-sniffing German Shepherds.

Frank Baker. An FBI agent confronted the bearded man, stating the fact more than asking. Is there anything we should know about? Any surprises?

The captive’s expression didn’t change and his face showed no signs of what he was thinking. He blinked several times. In his early sixties and strikingly handsome, despite unkempt, scraggily hair and a wild, full beard, he was wearing soiled, one-piece long underwear and no shoes or socks.

Any explosive devices we should know about? Another FBI agent rose up to his full height and set his jaw.

Explosive... devices? The bearded man spoke for the first time. His voice cracked and was barely audible, but his eyes were confident and sparkled with hidden amusement.

"Bombs, Baker." A tall man who seemed to be in charge confronted the captive directly, their faces inches apart.

There was a standoff for a moment while neither man said anything. Finally, the captive shrugged his shoulders. "I never set out to write a bomb."

One of the younger FBI agents looked around at the others. "What’s he mean... ‘write a bomb?’"

"Bone up on your argot," the tall man grunted through his teeth.

What? The young agent scrunched up his face in confusion.

The captive suppressed a smile, which was noticed by another of the agents. You feel no remorse?

The captive turned and looked at the man. Did my publisher send you?

The tall agent glanced at the other men. The manifesto, he stated with conviction. They all nodded in unison.

There was commotion from the shack and everyone looked in that direction. A man wearing body armor emerged from the dark doorway with a triumphant smile as he carried an old, manual typewriter above his head. Everyone gasped.

Okay, okay... good! A somewhat high-pitched voice emerged from the shadows and everything changed at once.

Cut, yelled a more authoritative voice, and then a young assistant director wearing shorts and a ball cap stormed the scene. Other similarly dressed young men and women joined him, a couple of them approaching the captive and the FBI agents, whose body language and expressions had become instantly, almost magically transformed.

That was awesome, came the high-pitched voice again, and then the source of the voice, a man with a bulky Polaroid camera around his neck, approached the bearded man. That was the best one yet. I think we got it. That was the one. Perfect. He snapped a picture.

Check the gate, then break it down! The assistant director yelled, and a dozen workers moved into action. The men in the FBI gear began stripping out of their costumes, lighting cigarettes, and walking over to a table that was spread with food and beverages.

Not too goofy? asked the bearded man, who was the actor, Tom Riggs.

No. Perfect. The man with the high-pitched voice was the director, Robert Danvers. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie that looked like it had come from a thrift store. He could have passed for a Mormon missionary, except for his expensive looking, green suede, skateboarding shoes, and his hat, which was a double-billed, Sherlock Holmes style cap, with a black and white houndstooth check.

Danvers, who was a young 30, and seemed to be trying to grow a beard, looked around at the chaos. Two dozen young men and women—though mostly men with some type of facial hair and hiking shorts—ran here and there, moving things confidently, if not altogether efficiently. Danvers spotted a woman on the sidelines who appeared to be the only one there with nothing to do. He approached her, and she hugged him awkwardly, due to his camera.

Lydia, he said. I’m glad you could make it. He pulled a photo from the camera and waved it in the air with one hand while he spoke.

Thank you, Robert. Thanks for having me.

Of course. I’m glad the directions were okay. Danvers acted much older than his apparent age. You got the tickets? To the Diamante Awards?

I did. Thanks. No date though.

This is LA. You’ll find one. Lydia smiled, and he continued. Cocoanut Grove... I’m excited.

Yeah. I heard they restored it.

Well, make yourself at home here. Danvers clearly needed to get back to work.

I hope I won’t be in the way.

Don’t worry about that! I may ask you questions. About authenticity... you know. I hope you don’t mind.

Oh, no. I’d love to help out.

Lydia Gilmore was just over 50, though people always said that she looked much younger. She assumed that must be because they sensed her vitality—she felt much younger—she felt pretty much the same as she did in her early twenties. But she was well aware that she looked her age, and she was comfortable with that. She was thin and energetic, and she had a lot of wild, naturally red hair, which was what people noticed when they first met her.

Have you met Tom Riggs? He’s our Frank Baker. Danvers ushered her over to the bearded actor who was drinking a cup of coffee and talking on his cell phone, though otherwise being left alone by everyone. As they walked up he ended his conversation and shook hands with Lydia.

Nice to meet you. I loved the book.

Thank you, smiled Lydia, feeling like she should say something, but maybe not.

What do you think? Robert Danvers questioned Lydia, as if the famous actor was on display.

Perfect, said Lydia, and felt like an idiot. She supposed they all felt like idiots just then. Maybe other people were used to it. Tom Riggs was in his early sixties and somewhat younger than Frank Baker, not to mention much better looking. But this was Hollywood after all. It seemed he had grown a real beard for the part, and she was glad about that.

I tried to talk to Baker myself, Danvers explained as he corralled Lydia away from Riggs, who quickly returned to his phone. Impossible. I even went to Ohio. To that town...

Sandusky. Lydia helped him out.

Yeah. Oh! Did you know Jefferson Cody lives there? Out in the lake. On this little island? He was referring to the infamous screenwriter who had gone into an early retirement.

Oh, Lydia raised her eyebrows, while thinking. No... Oh, Jefferson Cody. The screenwriter. She was pretty certain she hadn’t liked any of the movies he had written.

Yeah. He’s cool. I stayed at his place one night. He said he heard Baker might be on an island now.

I didn’t know that. There are a lot of islands there.

Yeah. I had no idea. You grew up near there?

Not in that town, but in Ohio.

Have you heard from Baker, lately?

Not since the book came out. He wrote me a letter, saying he ‘forgave’ me. She laughed slightly.

So you’re not in touch with him.

No, not at all. Lydia frowned. It was obvious that Robert Danvers wanted badly to get in touch with Baker. And she was going to be of no help.

It’s totally impressive you were able to talk to him.

Well, that was around the time of his arrest, Lydia explained. The police impounded his shack, so he was staying at a hotel.

Oh, yeah, right. Right. He wasn’t exactly in hiding at that point.

No. But he wouldn’t talk to anyone, either.

But you got to talk to him. That’s impressive. Danvers was suddenly distracted, looking around, while still trying to pay attention to Lydia.

"I guess he liked something I had in Harper’s. And my first book."

Cool. Yeah. So did I. Excuse me a minute. Danvers lifted a mobile phone that had been clipped to his belt. Lydia had immediately noticed it, after his double-billed hat, because it was so odd. It was a huge, black, military style, field operations phone. He noticed Lydia looking at it. It’s my cell phone, but it doubles as a walkie-talkie.

Lydia nodded and smiled.

I’m trying to bring back the big phone. He reached the party he was calling. Dan. Come over here. He turned back to Lydia. Sorry. How long are you out here? Do you want to watch this scene after lunch? It’s the interrogation scene. One of them.

Sure, I’d like to. I’m out here for a week. Visiting friends.

We’re scheduled to shoot your character in a few days. All her stuff in like a week. Then she’s got another movie. Have you met Eleanor?

No. But I don’t think I could deal with that anyway, admitted Lydia.

Yeah. I know what you mean. No one’s happy seeing an actor playing them.

I mean, I’m intrigued...

How do you like the shack? They were standing near the shack where the arrest had taken place.

It’s identical. Lydia nodded, looking up at the palm trees. Surely Danvers knew there were no palm trees in Ohio? She didn’t want to say anything, though.

At that moment, a man in his early twenties, dressed identically to the other production assistants, ran up to Danvers. What’s going on Robert?

Did you see that guy? Danvers questioned him. By the food. The bald guy with the Yankees hat?

Oh, yeah. I think. Is he...

He’s gone now. Who is he?

Thought he was a producer. He had a clipboard.

Never saw that guy before.

Oh, okay. Probably just some dude scamming food.

Yeah. Okay. But I don’t want any journalists around here. Danvers looked over at Lydia and smiled. Sorry. That I don’t know about.

Okay. If I see him again I’ll tell you.

Is the interrogation set ready?

Yep. It will be. After lunch, right?

Okay. No friends of friends of friends on that one, okay?

You got it. The man went running off to attend to things.

Danvers turned back to Lydia. Are you having lunch?

I’m meeting a friend. She wasn’t, but she wanted to walk around by herself and explore. It was easier to just say you had plans, sometimes, than to insist that you preferred to be by yourself.

Okay. You know where to go? The set? It’s 47B, at Newport Studios.

I do. Thank you. She held up a sheet of paper with directions.

Good. This scene is pretty much a fabrication. I’m interested to see if it rings true.

I read the script. Seemed good to me.

Danvers put his hand on his chin like he just thought of something. He looked intently at Lydia. Have you met Randy Loew?

No. I was hoping to.

Don’t hold your breath. I haven’t even met him.

Lydia was surprised. You’re kidding. I’ve heard he was kind of... media-shy, but...

Yeah, I know. Extreme. It’s cool, though. I like that.

But the screenwriter not meeting the director...

I wish I could do it. Danvers grinned. Be underground like that.

Yeah? You could, I suppose.

It’d be kind of hard... as a director.

Yeah. I guess so, admitted Lydia.

Some writers never come near a movie set, which is cool. Danvers pointed out. But most of them... they like to be in on the action.

Lydia didn’t say anything, but felt all that more ridiculous for being there.

Hey! Apparently an idea just came to Danvers. "Maybe you should try to interview him. Randy Loew. He based a character on you in the script. Maybe he’d be into it."

Lydia shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. That’s an idea. Actually, she had intended to try to meet with Randy Loew, but she didn’t like to divulge her projects to anyone in advance if she didn’t have to. She had done everything she could to get in touch with him, but with no luck.

Do you mind if I take a picture of you? Danvers raised his camera. Lydia noticed it was an ancient Polaroid, probably from the 1970s.

Sure, go ahead. Lydia smiled while Danvers haphazardly snapped one photo.

As they were saying goodbye, another production assistant approached. Is there a Lydia Gilmore here, Robert? He was leading a small, middle-aged man wearing a red, white, and blue uniform—a messenger for National Telegram.

Right here. Danvers indicated Lydia and squinted at the messenger.

Telegram for you, ma’am, the messenger spoke softly and looked at the ground. As she took the document, which was in a flimsy, large envelope, he hurried away.

Thank you, mumbled Lydia, distracted, as she tore open the envelope and read it.

Danvers detained the production assistant as he was about to run off. Grab that messenger. Get his name and number—tell him we’ve got a part for him.

You got it, Robert, the PA nodded and sprinted after the messenger.

"That dude looks exactly like Elisha Cook, Jr.," Danvers announced to no one in particular.

Lydia read over the telegram twice, then looked up at Danvers, eyes wide. She was about to speak, but he interrupted her.

It’s from Randy Loew, isn’t it, he stated, sure of himself.

Lydia’s surprise was compounded. How’d you know?

That was how he’d communicate with us. About the script. By telegram. The dude’s nuts.

Lydia looked over the brief note once more, then she looked back at Danvers. He wants to meet with me.

Chapter 2

Bald Cap

LYDIA GILMORE DROVE her rental car up to Franklin, found the 101 Coffee Shop, turned the corner, and parked on Vista del Mar. She liked driving in Los Angeles, as long as she didn’t have to go on the freeways; there was something about the layout of the streets that felt familiar even if you were there for the first time.

She had grown up driving at a young age, in Ohio, but in New York she didn’t own a car and had no reason to. Getting into the safe, bubble-like unreality of the rental car and easily navigating the Los Angeles landscape felt like a vacation in itself.

It was a comfortable, little, retro hipster coffee shop of the kind she both liked and hated. Randy Loew had picked it as a meeting spot, saying it was easy to find. She arrived a little early, but he was already there waiting for her. When she saw Randy sitting at the booth she had a feeling it was him, though they hadn’t previously met. He was looking up at each person who came in the door, and when he saw Lydia he rose from his seat. They immediately made eye contact, and she walked over to him.

Lydia? he asked. She nodded yes, and they shook hands. Pleasure to meet you.

Nice to meet you, she smiled, and sat in the booth opposite him. He was dressed in black jeans and a black sweatshirt, and a New York Yankees baseball cap covered his totally bald head. He wore small, round sunglasses with tortoise-shell frames.

You’ve been to LA before, right?

A few times. With a lot of years in between. I like it.

You prefer New York.

Oh, sure. It’s been my home for awhile now. But I’m not so sure I’m not due for a change.

Randy Loew raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee but didn’t say anything. A waitress came to the table to see if they were ready to order, and Lydia was grateful for the interruption. She was already feeling uncomfortable because of the way Randy spoke in statements about her, instead of asking questions.

Lydia glanced at a menu and ordered an artichoke omelette, potatoes, and no toast, and the waitress promised to bring her coffee right away. Randy ordered lox and cream cheese with a bagel. Lydia was transfixed by the waitress, who seemed to be a mix of Mexican, maybe Japanese, and probably something else, but she was one hundred percent aspiring Hollywood actress—quite flamboyant, beautiful, and quirky. Randy didn’t seem to notice her at all.

This is a nice place, Lydia remarked.

It’s comfortable, Randy observed. Nice place for a meeting. Food’s good. You didn’t order toast... are you...

Gluten intolerant, Lydia interrupted, before he could mention the Atkins Diet. It was a constant source of irritation to her that people would mistake her gluten-free diet for a low carb diet. "It’s not by choice. And I’m definitely not on a low carb diet."

Oh... that’s interesting. Randy squinted. I wish I had known that when... He paused, becoming self-conscious. When I was writing... about you.

You did fine making stuff up, Lydia laughed, and he laughed along with her, which eased her discomfort a little bit. In his screenplay for the movie, Identity Theft, which Robert Danvers was now shooting, Randy had based a character on her.

I know. I’m really kind of nervous about meeting you, he confided. After making you into a character like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if you thought I was a creep.

It freaked me out at first, admitted Lydia, but then I saw what you were doing. I thought it was interesting. And funny.

I don’t know if it worked. Randy frowned.

Lydia looked at him closely. She sensed that he felt vulnerable, so she decided to use her considerable talent as an interviewer to make him feel comfortable while simultaneously taking control of the conversation. For awhile, then, she engaged him in small talk, mostly about topical things like the differences between New York and LA.

Before long the waitress brought their food and refilled their coffee. Lydia was almost certain that Randy’s bald head had the telltale lines of a bald cap—it was a disguise! He had done a pretty good job of making it look natural, but the light was fairly bright in the coffee shop—not the best place to try to conceal such a thing.

As they ate, Lydia steered the conversation back to the script he had written for Identity Theft. You’re being modest, she accused him. It was a brilliant approach to that story.

Thank you, but I’m not so sure.

You have to be happy with it. It’s so unusual. There’s nothing else like it.

Yeah. I mean, I am, of course. But there were compromises. You know...

Sure. I’m probably being naïve to think there weren’t. But working with Danvers... he seems like he’s up for anything.

To a certain extent, that’s true. But he also wants to have a career. He wants to make money like everyone else. There’s nothing wrong with that. But it’s just impossible to make a movie—that costs several million dollars, at the very least—and not start thinking of percentages. How far can you go? We just lost two percent more of the general audience. Now we just lost two percent more. Everybody thinks that way, and when you’re involved, you can’t help thinking that way, too.

Lydia thought about what he was saying, sipped her coffee, and looked at him through the steam rising from her cup. He seemed to have exhausted that subject, but she also sensed that he was willing to talk more intimately than he normally would.

I saw you over at the set this morning, she said. That was you, wasn’t it? Standing by the food table?

Randy looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. Yeah. I didn’t think you spotted me.

Danvers spotted you. He didn’t know it was you, but he was suspicious. He’s not as oblivious as you might think.

That doesn’t surprise me. He’s really extremely sharp. Extremely intelligent. The stoner thing is an act.

That’s what I was beginning to think. She paused. How did you get the telegram service over there so fast... to get the telegram to me?

I knew you were going to be there. You mentioned it in one of the emails you sent me... trying to set up a meeting.

Oh... right. Lydia blinked and shook her head. She drank some coffee before continuing. "Danvers said he never met you. That you communicated with him—writing the Identity Theft script—by telegram."

"Yeah, that’s true. He liked that, I think. It’s something he would do."

"So you were never on the set of I (Wish That I Had Duck Feet)?"

No. Randy nodded. Same thing. Telegram.

So you’ve never met Robert Danvers.

No. At least that he knows about.

Lydia laughed.

Randy continued. "A lot of people thought I didn’t exist at all. That I was a character he had invented. Some people still think that."

How do you feel about that?

It’s fine with me. I’d be happy if no one thought I existed.

Wouldn’t you feel bad about getting no recognition?

I’m not someone who needs the checkout girl at Ralph’s to recognize me in order to give me a sense of self-worth.

What about your peers? Other people whose work you respect?

"I’m here talking to you right now, aren’t I?"

Lydia smiled and watched Randy as he concentrated on finishing his breakfast. He cleaned his plate, then sat back with a contented look on his face. The waitress came by and filled their coffee cups and set the check on the table.

How about that beautiful waitress? Lydia spoke quietly so the woman wouldn’t hear her as she walked away. "Wouldn’t it make you feel good for her to recognize you as the person who wrote Gorilla My Dreams? A movie she would have given anything to have a part in?"

I got crushes on waitresses when I was younger, Randy sighed. Sure. I had fantasies like that. You get to a certain age and you just can’t get crushes on waitresses anymore, you know? It would just be pathetic.

That’s probably true. But you’re not old. You can still get crushes.

It’s not the same. It’s kind of sad, I guess.

And you’re married. Have kids, right?

Randy paused, not sure about how much he wanted to divulge. "Well... that’s my official position."

Lydia brightened and laughed, and Randy joined her, laughing with chagrin. "So you’re not married."

No comment. I shouldn’t have said anything.

It’s okay. I won’t pursue it.

Thanks, said Randy and smiled. He didn’t look too worried and seemed to open up even more. "You know... you’re the one I had a crush on."

Lydia blushed a little, but quickly composed herself. Oh? That part was true, huh?

You know... it was and it wasn’t. Let’s say I really admire your writing. I have for a while. But I’d never met you.

"You could have met me."

Well, it really was like it was in the script. I wanted to, but I was too nervous. Too shy.

That’s funny. I can’t imagine.

No, really. I did actually see you in a restaurant. In the Bus Stop Café. I was sitting in there the same time as you. I observed you.

That’s funny. You just happened to...

I followed you there. Actually. Randy shrugged in resignation. Kind of creepy, I know.

Well, it’s New York. I’m sure you weren’t the first one.

Not just New York, Randy observed. He lowered his voice. There’s a guy over there at the counter who’s been listening to us... or trying to.

Lydia looked casually in the direction of the counter. There was a young man nursing a cup of coffee and writing in a spiral bound notebook. He seemed to tense up as he felt their eyes on the back of his neck.

Oh! And he has a notebook, Lydia whispered, smiling. She turned back around.

Randy grinned and resumed the conversion. "I really was going to try to meet you. Talk to you. But it just seemed for the good of the script I was writing... you know... that it made more sense if I made up this fictional version of you."

I’m sure that was the right decision. I’m really not too exciting in person.

Sure you are.

Lydia was aware that she was blushing again. It’s nice that you have that perception.

No, really. You come across in person like your writing.

Thank you for saying that. You know, I’ve met writers who I admired, and they were so disappointing in person. I mean... what did I expect? You’re supposed to read the writing, not meet the person. They aren’t performers, or politicians.

"Well, in your case, since it’s part of what you do... meet people, talk to them... I think that’s a good quality you have. That you have to have."

"Well... thank you. And you did a good job of turning the conversation back to being about me." They both laughed.

It’s nice to meet the actual person. I like you much better than my character based on you.

Lydia smiled. "Thank you. And I never have been a dangerous drug addict."

Married, kids... a place upstate, a dog...

Try divorced, kids grown... husband got the dog and the place upstate. I got the closet in New York, and the cat.

Randy raised his eyebrows, which created a crack between the skin of his forehead and his bald cap. Sensing that, he lowered the brim of his hat. He started to remove his sunglasses but thought better of it. He didn’t say anything.

The picture on the book jacket is a few years old, Lydia continued. Vanity. And you don’t exactly want to write in the author bio: ‘Aging, divorced, lonely... hey fellows!’

I’m sure you meet plenty of people... Randy frowned at her.

Oh, I’m not really lonely. Busy, of course. Busy in order not to be lonely, or just busy because I’m busy. It’s hard to tell.

Well, thanks for taking the time to meet with me.

I’m the one who asked to meet with you, remember?

Oh... you’re right. But I was glad you did. I really wanted to meet you, and hoped you weren’t furious with the script. I was going to try to talk you out of being furious, if you were.

Really, I love it. And it’s in the hands of Robert Danvers, now.

And you’re being played by Eleanor DeBenning. You can’t beat that.

I know. I love her.

Did you meet her? Randy asked with an odd sense of anxiety.

No. Unfortunately the timing wasn’t right. I’ll be heading back home right after the Diamante Awards.

That’s too bad.

Yeah. I’ve got a lot of work to do, as usual. A deadline.

Randy rubbed his chin. Do you think you’ll do an... exposé? An article... about...

"Do you want me to? Or do you not want me to?"

I don’t want to tell you what to do.

"Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be able to write about Identity Theft, at least not right now. Since I’m involved with the movie. I mean, at least in the sense that it’s my book. No one would buy an article. It would seem like advertising."

Yeah. I guess you’re right. Well... that’s a relief. They both laughed.

I came out here with the pretense of interviewing Danvers, doing an article about him. But... same thing. No one’s going to buy it. Later, maybe.

Did you tell Danvers you wanted to meet with me?

No. He was shocked when the telegram came. He knew it was you. Telegrams. It must be expensive.

Not really. I get a deal with a place. I like using them. People think they don’t even exist anymore. Me and my brother write that way...

Lydia raised her eyebrows. Your brother?

Randy became uncomfortable. Yeah. You know. Just saying hi to each other...

"Not a twin brother though..."

Oh, no. I made that up. Obviously. I think. They both laughed a little.

Okay. I won’t pry.

I’m surprised Danvers didn’t have one of his friends posing as me. He loves practical jokes.

I’ve heard that. He likes pranks. I think he was preoccupied with the movie.

Sure. I think he’s easily bored when he’s not working.

You sound like you know him. But you’ve never met, right?

Randy grinned. I did meet him... years ago. I’m sure he wouldn’t even remember. He paused. There was marijuana involved.

They both laughed again, then decided it was time to go. They walked out together.

Are you going to the set this afternoon? Lydia asked.

I don’t think I can get away with it again. That’s okay. I’ve seen enough. Are you?

Yeah. I thought I’d check out another scene while I’m here. They reached Lydia’s car and paused. Did you drive? she asked.

Randy waved his hand and shook his head no.

You live nearby?

Not really.

Do you need a ride?

No. No… thanks. He seemed to consider taking her up on her offer, but then shook his head. I’m walking.

Lydia raised her eyebrows.

LA’s a great walking town, Randy said, and shrugged. He wasn’t able to convince anyone that LA was a great walking town. People don’t realize that.

They said goodbye, then, and shook hands. He gave her a little hug. That close, in the bright sunlight, Lydia could make out the exact line of the bald cap, now exposed, as the makeup further melted away. She wondered what his hair looked like, and why he wanted to wear a disguise. He seemed a little eccentric, but not crazy.

Lydia unlocked her rental car and waved goodbye. Randy glanced back once, gave her a goofy wave, then went walking down the street.

Chapter 3

Randy Loew is Paul Hirsh

PAUL HIRSH trudged up the grim, concrete, fire exit stairs of the Chateau Marmont, intent on reaching his room without being seen. He always avoided the elevator, at least while wearing a disguise. That was the one place where you were sure to have someone breathing down your neck, examining your makeup, and asking bold and inappropriate questions.

Once in his small room, Paul examined his disguise, which he feared was fading rapidly. The pancake makeup he had applied around the edges of his bald cap, where it met his actual skin, was cracked and peeling. Close examination revealed the disguise as obvious, but it wasn’t quite as bad as he had feared. Maybe Lydia Gilmore hadn’t noticed, and even if she had, he didn’t think she would be able to identify who he really was.

Paul removed the New York Yankees hat and then carefully loosened the bald cap from his head. It was a quality disguise, suitable for the scrutiny of a movie camera. He wasn’t a makeup expert, but he thought he had done a pretty good job—though it was a lot of trouble. Paul looked in his closet and examined a wig; it was unruly, curly, black hair, not unlike his own hair but much more extreme. Maybe that would work better—it would at least be easier. But he’d have to remember who he’d met with the bald cap, and who he’d met with the big head of hair. He’d have to make a chart. There could easily be mix-ups. It sounded like the setup for a classic comedy.

It felt good to pull the bald cap from his head and expose his own, matted down hair, which he scratched vigorously. He opened a jar of cold cream and removed the heaviest makeup, and then turned on the shower. His dark, trimmed beard had been lightened—specked with artificial gray and white. It wasn’t long before he was back to his normal self, and now he was hungry—though he was painfully aware that it was mere hours since he had eaten lunch with Lydia Gilmore.

Paul didn’t feel like going out again, so he went down and sat at a table in the Chateau’s pleasant, low-key courtyard dining area. He ordered a cup of coffee and an arugula, beet, and walnut salad, which was done pretty well, but wasn’t that satisfying, so he ordered a piece of flourless chocolate cake, as well.

My celiac characters would be able to eat this cake, I think. Paul was writing in his notebook as he ate, thinking of the characters in the script he was working on with his brother, Jeff. They were using that detail as a minor plot point, a clue that happens to be significant in the story. It was interesting that Lydia Gilmore mentioned being gluten intolerant as well, though Paul was already aware of that. He had read about it in a piece she had published in the New Yorker, which had been the first time he had ever heard of that condition.

How many characters can you have in a story who are gluten intolerant and not have it be ridiculous? Two probably, but we’ve got three... maybe four. He wrote a few more notes to himself, accompanied by large, exaggerated question marks. That made him feel good. Questions, he felt, were the starting places of good stories.

Paul was interrupted by the actor, Rod Dyer, who had made his way into the courtyard, disguised as much as possible by dark sunglasses and a New York Yankees baseball hat. He was wearing an outlandish Oriental smoking jacket, which did nothing so much as put a spotlight on him. He noticed Paul sitting by himself and came over, uninvited, and sat across from him. Paul thought about how most people would be flattered to be recognized and joined at their table by a movie star of the stature of Rod Dyer, and he tried to suppress the small amount of pride and excitement that unwillingly crept into his consciousness. Most of all, however, Paul was annoyed, as Rod Dyer was an extremely unpleasant man.

Paul Hirsh! Dyer’s enthusiasm was too forced and obviously phony. Where’s your brother? I thought you two were practically Siamese.

Rod. Paul nodded, and acted like he hadn’t heard the question. "You’re not living here now?"

This shithole? Naaaah. Waiting for a bungalow to open up, maybe. I just got into town. A waiter came to the table and Dyer ordered a bloody Mary. Just woke up. I was out of LA for so long I sold my Malibu place. Six month shoot for that Simon Kresge thing in London, then right to New York for Streetcar" on Broadway, which went on forever. Felt like an insane New Yorker after awhile. You live here?"

I’ve got a cheap room while I’m in town. I’m an insane New Yorker, usually.

Oh, right. Your brother lives in LA. Where is he? Why didn’t you guys call me?

Your schedule is impossible. Paul returned to finishing his chocolate cake.

You know I’d make time for you guys! Dyer leaned closer. You’re doing that thing about Frank Baker, right? That weirdo.

No. That’s Robert Danvers.

Talk about weirdos! But Eleanor is in it?

"Yeah. We’re doing a thing based on one of Frank Baker’s books."

Why is Frank Baker suddenly flavor of the month? Dyer produced a pack of cigarettes from his smoking jacket and lit one with a studied economy of movement. "If you ask me, the guy was the Unabomber."

Maybe you should notify the FBI.

I think that Kaczynski was framed up. What else has Baker done recently but hide out somewhere?

I guess the time is now. Have you read any of his books?

"Fuck no. So Eleanor’s in the movie about him but not your movie?"

Both, explained Paul. Minor parts in both. They’re shooting now, here. Danvers. We’re about to start preproduction for ours.

Why don’t you guys call me? Dyer whined once more.

You’d hate ours, Paul assured him. We’re shooting in Ohio.

Dyer made a horrific face of distaste. You guys are masochists. You know what I think?

Paul refused to answer. He finished his cake and pushed the plate away. Dyer, noticing there was no ashtray in sight, moved the empty plate to the middle of the table and casually flicked his cigarette ash into it. Paul looked at his empty coffee cup and glanced around for the waiter, then waved at him. The waiter came over to fill Paul’s coffee cup, and Paul hoped he would point out the obvious No Smoking signs to Mr. Dyer, but the waiter had too much savvy and said nothing. Dyer quickly drained his cocktail and nodded for another.

I think you guys alternate... Dyer went on without Paul’s encouragement. He paused as he put out his cigarette and lit another with a single, fluid movement. Good movie, weird movie. Good movie, weird movie.

Paul looked across the table with no expression.

Am I right? As Paul didn’t answer, Dyer took it that he was confused. "I mean, they’re all good. I mean... a more commercial one, then an art movie. You know what I’m saying? Like an actor does. You do that on purpose?"

Not consciously. Paul figured he had to say something. We do whatever we do next. Whatever we write. Of course, it depends on what we can get financing for.

So, Paul, call me, huh? Dyer’s mind was already onto other subjects. Next time you’ve got something that’s gonna win an Oscar. One of the serious ones.

Sure, Rod. Paul smiled. Thanks for being interested. That would be great.

The waiter returned with a fresh bloody Mary with remarkable speed, and Dyer smiled and raised it to Paul. Good luck with your movie.

Thanks, Rod. Paul smiled and stood up. Got to get back to writing.

Tell your brother I said ‘hi’—and Eleanor. Dyer pulled his phone from his smoking jacket and looked at it like he was surprised to find it there.

I will. Dyer was already on the phone. Paul walked through the courtyard and into the darkened hotel lobby.

Back up in his room, Paul breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note to avoid the courtyard, except maybe if it was very early in the morning. Now it was time for him to get back to the script that he and his brother had been having an uncharacteristically hard time finishing. He still felt confident, though, and excited about it. He just needed to cut out all of the distractions, all of the noise, and get to work.

Chapter 4

Star Power

AFTER MAKING HER WAY through a monumental cordon of security, Lydia Gilmore found herself on the soundstage set of an early scene of Identity Theft. A production assistant took her over to Robert Danvers, who, while very busy, seemed to be under control. He smiled at her and they both said hi. Then he pointed out the set.

Pretty standard police interrogation room, he said. It’s a bit of a cliché. It’s shorthand.

If you’ve seen one you’ve seen ‘em all. Lydia grinned.

Danvers handed her a page of script. It was a monologue, and indicted voiceover for the character of Lydia Gilmore. She looked at Danvers, alarmed.

It’s from Randy Loew’s script. Danvers looked at her, noticing her confusion. I’m going to have Eleanor record it, but I’m not sure if I’ll use it.

Oh, good, smiled Lydia, relieved. "For a minute I thought you wanted me to perform it."

Now that’s an idea! Danvers grinned and shook his head. I’m kidding. I’m not sure if we’ll use it, but we’ll decide that in editing. I just wanted you to look it over to see if it sounds okay.

Lydia realized that he probably just wanted to give her something to do while he ran around frantically and finalized details for the scene. She looked at the page, which she recognized as a section she had read in the script. The character of Lydia Gilmore spoke in voice-over:

"I first heard about the arrest of the writer, Frank Baker, when I was back visiting family in Columbus, Ohio, where I grew up. I read an article in the local paper about a man who was arrested, suspected of being the Unabomber. He was living in a shack in the woods outside of Sandusky, Ohio, where my family had taken vacations when I was younger. Every summer we would take a trip to an amusement park called ‘Pleasure Island.’ The article mentioned that the FBI had tracked him down through a typewriter repair shop where he had bought a used, manual typewriter. When they raided his shack they confiscated the typewriter as evidence. There was some kind of poetry in that. The other thing that got my attention was that he had been going by the name Paul ‘Fred’ Varjak, which I immediately recognized as the name of the writer character in the movie version of Breakfast at Tiffany’s."

Lydia stood holding the piece of paper for a while until Danvers had a chance to get back to her. What do you think? he asked.

It’s pretty much the same as in the script, she said, and handed the page back to him. Which is pretty much the same as what I wrote in my book.

Danvers looked at her and seemed startled for a moment, then composed himself. "Oh, right. Dumb of me. Essentially you wrote that." He emitted a kind of affected, stoner laugh.

It’s a little clunky, I guess, Lydia shrugged.

Yeah. There’s always this question, how much of the audience are you going to lose because you don’t tell them enough. Danvers scratched his head. And how much are you going to lose because you tell them too much.

Lydia didn’t know what to say then, and Danvers changed the subject. He pointed out a couple of actors who were standing together talking, each holding a copy of the script. She recognized them.

Lemmy Chaturn and Aaron Bloch, Danvers nodded. It’s cool that they’re doing this. It’s kind of a cameo, this FBI interrogation scene. But they’re good... they’re good together.

They’re just in one scene?

Yeah. They’re doing it as a favor. Partly ‘cause it’s with Tom Riggs, and they kind of idolize him.

Lydia nodded. She couldn’t call herself a fan of Lemmy Chaturn or Aaron Bloch.

"We’re going to shoot it in one continuous take, rather than in parts. Actors love when you do that. It gives them a lot of breathing room. Plus, I’m letting them improvise, which they really love."

Really? Lydia asked.

Well, some... Danvers frowned. I mean, some people hate it. But most actors love the chance... and these guys are good. They practically work for free if they get to improvise.

I’m looking forward to it. Lydia now kind of wished she hadn’t decided to come back to the set.

Danvers pointed out the extensive food table, set up well away from the set. Why don’t you get yourself something to eat while we finish setting up. We’re using three cameras, plus a steady-cam, so we can get coverage on each take. It’s got to be technically perfect. We might end up using their first take... that’s how good these guys are. That’s where the energy will be. Each one will be several minutes long. We can shoot all afternoon, but I want to get each one. I’ve got to cut down on coffee. Excuse me...

Lydia watched Danvers rush into the fray of activity, waving his arms, continuously talking, and simultaneously consulting a clipboard, a ragged copy of the script, his huge phone/walkie-talkie, an assistant director, the cinematographer, and the actors.

She walked over to check out the spread. It was pretty impressive, like a high-end Sunday buffet. Lydia was already hungry again after her lunch with Randy Loew. She heaped a paper plate with cream cheese and thin slices of cold salmon and was left alone to watch the chaos.

It took a good hour, and then they were finally ready to shoot. The entire set was cleared of everyone except those who were essential, save for Lydia, who felt both uncomfortable and privileged for being able to stay. An assistant director warned everyone to be silent, and then the actors took their places. The scene Lydia observed was as follows:

Tom Riggs, playing Frank Baker, was now wearing orange short sleeve coveralls and slip-on shoes. He was seated behind a table in a bleak interrogation room, which had a large pane of mirrored glass on the far wall. His expression was impossible to read.

Two FBI agents, played by tall, blonde Lemmy Chaturn and short, dark-haired Aaron Bloch, entered together, wearing cheap-looking suits. Chaturn put a paper cup of coffee in front of Tom Riggs, who came to life as he drank it.

Bloch put his face, already beaded with sweat, inches from Riggs’ face and spoke in a low, menacing tone. What’s your name?

Riggs set down the half empty cup. Fred.

Do you have a last name, Fred?

Varjak.

Bloch looked over at Chaturn, who looked at the clipboard he was holding and then nodded back at Bloch, who continued. Fred Varjak?

Riggs nodded ‘yes.’

Is that your real name? Bloch asked.

No.

No?

Riggs’ expression did not change. No, it’s not.

What’s your real name?

Paul.

Paul? Bloch managed to get his face, now running with sweat, even closer to his subject. Then why did you say Fred?

I go by Fred.

Why’s that?

That’s what Holly calls me.

Holly? Who’s Holly?

Riggs looked down at the table for a moment, then back up. He resumed eye contact with Bloch. Holly Golightly.

"Holly Golightly? Bloch looked over at Chaturn who shrugged his shoulders. Bloch turned back to Riggs. Do you mean Holly Golightly in..." He paused, trying to think of something.

Chaturn finished for him. "Breakfast at Tiffany’s."

"Right. Is it that Holly Golightly?"

Riggs didn’t answer.

Bloch looked him over. Do you mind if I call you Paul?

No, that’s fine.

Okay... Paul... Bloch paused and looked over at Chaturn and made a hand gesture like he was typing. Chaturn in turn looked at the one-way glass and made a similar hand movement.

Momentarily, the metal door to the room opened and a large man—a pleasantly ugly character actor in a police uniform—entered carrying a manual typewriter in an oversized, zip-lock plastic bag. The man placed it on the table and left, shutting the door. The typewriter sat in front of them. Bloch stared at it for a while, then finally turned to Riggs.

Paul? He paused long enough to make sure he had Riggs’ attention. Is this your typewriter?

It is.

Do you know why I’m asking you this, Paul?

No.

Have you heard of the Unabomber, Paul?

Yeah. Riggs squinted, and a glimmer of understanding came over his face. A little.

"A little?"

I don’t have a TV. No radio. I read the paper occasionally.

So... you’re basically... ‘anti-technology.’ Is that right, Paul?

I’m anti TV and anti radio.

Bloch stood up straight, marched to the door, then turned suddenly and rushed back to confront Riggs. He leaned over, inches from the seated man, dripping sweat on the table,