“Charlie Chaplin. Spoor’s trying to sweet talk him to stay with the studio—they’re all down on the stage. Lionel’s with ’em, even though he can’t stand Charlie. Probably the only reason Lionel even came in today is that he’s waiting for you. Don’t you ever worry about bringing that stuff here? Or anywhere?”

Pin flushed and Glory laughed, reaching to stroke her neck. “Ow, you’re hot!”

Pin forced a grin. She lived in terror that one of the Riverview boys would figure out her secret. Far worse if Glory did, with her white teeth and rouged mouth and all that soft black hair. But Glory’s attention had already returned to the satin dress. She held it in front of her. “Too long?”

Pin could clearly see Glory’s nipples through the pink charmeuse of her teddy. “N-n-no,” she stammered. “It looks just right.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Glory stepped into the dress. Pin hoped she’d ask her to button it, blushing again when she realized the buttons ran down the front.

“I better go,” she said at last.

“Bye,” replied Glory without looking up.

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

LIKE FLOATING. HE could see the different parts and move them around. Cut off the top of the big flower and move it around. Cut off the other one and move it here, the girl’s head too. After his head hurt goddamn it to hell he hated God yes he said it Hated Goddamn it close your eyes damn it he said I told you what did I say to you

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

THEY WERE SETTING up a scene when Pin arrived. She found a space along the wall where she could observe the frantic goings-on. Pin was fascinated by the cameramen, watching as they cranked the handles on the old Pathé cracker-box cameras, which were always being repaired with tape; adjusting their speed, then replacing reels and processing the film, and finally taping bits of paper to indicate where the splices should go, once the film went to the girls who worked as joiners. An older cameraman named Billy Carrera had taken a shine to Pin, patiently answering her questions when he took a break. He put her to work sometimes, asking her to retrieve a fallen prop or climb a ladder to move one of the heavy arc lamps. He boasted he could calculate how many frames were left on a reel, not just by how many times he’d turned the crank, but by hearing each individual frame click on the sprockets inside the magazine. He taught Pin that people could read only a single word per second, which was why you shot title cards slowly, a foot of film for each word.

“It’s all numbers, kid,” he told Pin. “Three hundred feet for a five-minute short, a thousand feet for a one-reeler. Seventeen minutes. Can you do the math in your head?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Sixty?”