There was also, to Jane's delight, a straggling row of tall wood and canvas chairs with the principal actors' names stenciled on them. "Just like in the movies!" she whispered to herself, grinning.
The sheer clutter of it was amazing. It seemed as though everybody on the whole set had brought some kind of bag along, some of them very nearly suitcase-sized. These were piled in heaps, thrown in odd corners, slung over the uprights of the chairs, and all the miscellaneous objects in one area were being moved as she watched. The actors' chairs, with the books, bags, knitting, and snapshot cameras associated with them, were being hauled off to a new site. Bags, light stands, and big electrical cables were likewise being dragged away.
Suddenly, a voice only inches away, but on the opposite side of the building flat, startled her. "Such a very nice boy you are.”
Jane recognized Lynette Harwell's distinctive tone. For some reason Harwell's voice always reminded Jane of the old-fashioned phrase "Ashes of Roses." Elegant, extremely feminine without being shrill, understated, a little husky. No, more whispery. I'm standing a few inches from a movie star! Jane thought.
“I wonder if you've ever considered going into the business? With that profile and physique, you could probably get tons of work. And beefcake never goes out of style, you know," Lynette was saying.
“Not really, ma'am. I just live nearby and thought this would be fun," Mike answered.
Mike. This woman was talking to her son Mike about going into the movies! Horrified, Jane almost burst through the scenery before she could get a grip on herself. The dirty old woman! Talking to Mike—her Mike — about beefcake! This was an obscenity! And to think how she herself had helped Mike get on the set. It was like a mother mouse shoving her young into a cage of eagles! Apparently they moved away because, try as she might, Jane couldn't hear either voice again. She stood there fuming for a moment before someone else approached the other side of the scenery.
She heard footsteps rustle the grass, then an unidentifiable voice saying, "What is it? I've got things to do."
“It's about that scene this afternoon. The kid who was supposed to be in it has come down with something."
“Shit! Does Roberto know?"
“Yeah. But you know what I want and I need your help.”
They were speaking in emphatic whispers, a gravelly, unisex sound. Jane had no idea who was speaking or even what sex they were.
“I'm not on good terms with Roberto. It's all we can do to stay in the same state together without killing each other. I'm not gonna fight your battles."
“I wouldn't walk off if I were you, and I wouldn't take that attitude either," the first voice said, low with menace.
Jane was practically leaning against the flat.
“What's that supposed to mean?" the second unknown said. Even filtered through the scenery, there was just the smallest hint of fear in the voice.
“You don't want to forget that we go way back together. Remember Bambi's Bed? And Frat House Orgy? Wonderful films. A great credit to your acting skill.”
There was a long pause, then the second voice said, "How do you know about those?"
“I know, that's all. Think what the media would make of it," the first went on. "You know, I don't believe they've ever given one of those presidential honors or Oscars or anything else to anybody with porno films on the old credit list. Maybe you'll be the first.”
Whatever response the second speaker gave must have been with a gesture, because no more words were spoken. Jane heard somebody walk off and then the unknown voice muttered, "Son of a bitch!”
5
Jane staggered back to where Shelley and Maisie were talking and sat down heavily on her lawn chair.
“What's wrong?" Shelley asked. "You look like somebody's been slapping you around with a baseball bat.”
Maisie wandered off to refill her coffee cup.
“A couple things," Jane said, trying to sound calm. "I've just been listening to a blackmail attempt not to mention somebody talking dirty to my own child."
“My, you do get around," Shelley said.
Jane explained first about the conversation she'd overheard between Mike and Lynette Harwell.
Shelley listened with a tolerant expression. "Jane, you're exaggerating this in your own mind. She was probably just trying to be helpful. In a tacky way, I'll admit," she said.
“Shelley, you didn't hear her. It was downright Mae West — ish! Seductive! You know that voice she's got; she could soften up an eggshell just by talking to it."
“Jane, I don't mean to depress you more, but Mike's a few months away from going to college.
You've got to trust that you raised him right, and you know you have.”
Jane considered. "No, I think I'll just take him home and lock him in his room until he's thirty. There are good educational channels on television. He can learn from them. It's all because I agreed to go away for the weekend with Mel. I've set a depraved example and ruined him.”
Shelley laughed. "Mike isn't ruined. It's Harwell who's got a problem. She's old enough to be his mother!"
“Oh, God! Don't say that!" Jane groaned.
But Shelley was on a roll. "Besides, if somebody were to seduce him, better her than some bimbo teenager who might end up as your pregnant daughter-in-law."
“Shelley, have you ever thought about going into the business of professional counseling?"
“No. "
“Then don't. You wouldn't be good at it." Shelley smiled. "Jane, you do know you're going off the deep end, don't you?"
“Yes, but I thought a nice plunge into despair might be an antidote to the cheerfulness I've been feeling lately. I don't feel I'm being a good mother if I don't worry myself into a froth about something fairly regularly."
“So what were you saying about blackmail?"
“Blackmail? Oh, yes! While I was standing over there I heard somebody trying to persuade somebody to talk to the director about doing something."
“Oh, that is enlightening!" Shelley said. "Who are these somebodies?"
“I couldn't tell. But it was real blackmail."
“Is this the same kind of berserk overstatement you were making about Mike and Harwell?"
“No, not at all. The one person was saying he or she had some kind of proof about the other person being in porn movies and how they never give prestigious awards to people like that. And this person would keep it a secret if the other one would talk to the director."
“But about what?"
“I don't know. But they both seemed to."
“Surely you have some idea of whether it was a man and a woman or two men or whatever?" Shelley asked.
“No, not really. I have the impression it was men, but I know it's only because it was a brutal kind of conversation I don't associate with women. ."