“Rita, my darling,” Ted said, “this is our artiste, Suzanne. Suzanne, our wardrobe mistress, Rita. Ladies, I leave you temporarily to yourselves.” He bowed and wandered off, soothing someone on the other end of his walkie-talkie.

“I brought your clothes,” said Rita, a voluptuous woman verging on heavy, with the kindest watery blue eyes Suzanne had seen on a movie set. “We should probably get them on you.” Suzanne saw that Rita also had dimples and freckles—all the friendly features. Rita helped Suzanne get into her undercover cop outfit, which consisted of jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. Just as she was tying her last sneaker, Ted came in brandishing a Diet Coke.

“Your caffeine ration,” he said, handing Suzanne the cold can.

“Thanks,” she said. “Where can I get more of these, should the need arise?”

“Prop truck,” said Ted. “Ask Raider, the prop guy. Or I can get you one, if you’re nice to me.”

“Oh, I’m nice,” she said. “I think these will be remembered as my nice years, quickly to be followed by the sullen months, and then, of course, the obscure decades. I only recently finished those wacky fuckup years, so you’re the first to benefit from my reform.”

Rita was about to say something when there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” called Suzanne.

“Joe Pierce. Just came to welcome you aboard.”

Suzanne opened the door and Ted went out, squeezing past Joe Pierce. “Morning, sir,” he said to Joe, then, to Suzanne, “So, can I tell them you’re ready?”

“I guess,” she said.

Joe Pierce walked into the trailer, a nondescript man wearing a white polo shirt and jeans that, on him, looked like slacks. He looked like somebody’s stepfather. “Any more people in here,” he said, “and we’d need a lubricant.”

Suzanne laughed uneasily, and Rita excused herself. “See you later, Rita,” Joe called jovially, then fixed what passed for his attention on Suzanne. “I just came by to say hello and make sure everything was up to snuff,” he said.

“Everything’s great,” Suzanne assured him, forcing a smile.

“I want you to know we really appreciate your doing a drug screen,” said Joe, who, with his tiny dark eyes in his big white head, reminded Suzanne of a sand dab.

She put her soda can down. “Sure,” she said. “Did I pass?”

“Did you pass?” Joe echoed, laughing. “Of course you passed. We knew you would. It was the insurance company that was worried, not us. You apparently had some problems on your last film, but . . .” Joe slapped his knee and stood up. “I just want you to know we’re right behind you one hundred percent. Well, I’ll leave you to get ready.” He opened the door. “See you out there,” he said, disappearing with a wave.