It had been a long shoot. Daughter had needed eighteen takes before she could get two lines of dialogue in the can. But Rune didn't care — the camera was a real Arriflex 35, a beautiful piece of precision machinery, and feeling the mechanism whir beneath her fingers made up for a lot of the recent grief she'd been put through at the company.

Mr. Wallet — she just couldn't remember his name — had turned out to be not so bad. He thanked Rune whenever she brought him something to eat or drink and, on a break, they'd shared a few words about recent movies. He had pretty good taste.

Ad director Mary Jane, though, was a different story. She hovered over the set, wearing a distracting blue-and-red suit with shoulder pads like a linebacker's. Wanting to correct the light, wanting to look through the Arri's eyepiece. And when Rune wasn't behind the camera the woman would ask her to make copies and retype memos. She wondered a lot (her favorite phrase seemed to be “I wonder if it might not be better to...”; the second was “I would have thought you...”). Her saving grace was that, unlike Mr. Wallet, she didn't ask Rune to fetch coffee — which told her that in her pre-Ann Taylor incarnation Mary Jane had been a put-upon secretary (the resentments of servitude run deep, Rune knew).

The shoot was finished and Rune was in the office late, checking props for the dramatic logo scene, to be shot in a day or two. This was Bob's idea; it would be a tracking CU — a moving close-up shot — of dominoes falling over, followed by a pullback to reveal that the dominoes had formed the company's name and logo. It had been Rune's job to find and rent thousands of white, dot-free dominoes.

Rune heard a noise. She looked up and saw Sam Healy standing in the doorway.

“If you're here in a, like, official capacity I'm hauling ass outa this building right now,” she said.

“So you really do have a job.”

“That's a real liberal use of the word job, Sam.” He walked inside and she opened the massive refrigerator and gave him a beer.

“We've got one more shot for this stupid commercial. Then the boys collect a nifty two hundred G's. And that's profit.”

“Phew,” Healy whistled. “Not a bad line of work. Beats civil-servant pay grades.”

“At least you have your dignity, Sam.” She showed him the studio, then ran some of the rushes from the House O' Leather shoots on the Moviola. "I can set you up with the daughter, you want.

That's all right. Think I'll pass.“ They walked back to the office and sat down. He said, ”A couple buddies from the Sixth Precinct checked up on Tucker. He looked guilty, they said. But so do most people when they're being interviewed by two cops."