They went back years. Jack kept running into this tall guy—Milkdud had worn dreadlocks then—at the revival houses around the city. They started talking, and finally got to the point of trust where they’d lend each other tapes and discs of cherished films. But if Jack had ever known the name the man’s mother called him, he’d long since forgotten. He was Milkdud—or Dud—to the world. Long, lean, with milk-chocolate skin, a laid-back look, and an easy smile; but all people seemed to remember about the guy—even in the days when he had those huge dreadlocks—was the big, black Aaron Neville-class mole in the center of his forehead. Some class clown during his growing up must have compared it to a certain brand of chocolate-coated caramel, and the name had stuck.

“I stand corrected,” Jack said. “So what are you up to these days?”

“Working in the Coconuts up the street.”

“They’re hiring MIT grads now?”

Milkdud shrugged. “I’m in the laser disc department. The hours are flexible, and the discounts help me keep up my collection.”

Jack nodded. Flexible hours… that was something Milkdud needed for his real passion. Yeah, he was a movie freak, but old buildings were his first love.

“How many discs you got now?”

Another shrug. “Lost count. But I’m glad you called. Been meaning to get in touch with you about a recent purchase.”

Jack straightened. “Something on my want list?”

Milkdud reached down and pulled a plastic Coconuts bag from under the table. He handed it across to Jack.

“Yes!” Jack said when he looked inside. He pulled out a laser disc of An Unmarried Woman. “How’d you find it?”

The 1978 Jill Clayburgh-Alan Bates drama was one of Gia’s favorite films. Its charms eluded Jack—he’d never been particularly taken by any of Paul Mazursky’s work—but he’d been trying for years to buy or tape a copy for Gia. He religiously checked the schedules of all the cable movie channels he subscribed to—TCM, AMC, TMC, Cinemax, Starz, Encore, and the rest—but they rarely listed it, or when they did, he always found out about it too late to set his recorder.

Milkdud said, “One of the used places down on Mac-Dougal. It’s a good transfer but it’s Hong Kong.”

“I see that. Not dubbed, I hope.”

“No—just Cantonese subtitles.”

“Subtitles are no problem. Can I borrow it?”

“Yeah. As long as you want. Just don’t forget where you got it.”

“You like it?” Jack knew Milkdud as a Guinea gross-out maven. Heavy into Argento, Bava, and Fulci. Hard to believe he’d even sit through An Unmarried Woman, let alone want it in his collection.

“Nah. But it’s so damn hard to find, I feel I should have a copy. Weird, huh?”

“Just the collecting disease.”