“What do you mean, he loathes him?” Margaret said, slowly reaching out to pet the bird. “Is he dangerous?”

“Only to Rod, and none of us can figure out why,” LeGrue said. “I mean, The Time Machine wasn’t that bad. Follow me.”

Margaret laughed as the two walked past industrial soundstages so enormous they could have been housing cattle or hogs, though without the aroma. The Universal lot was immaculate and professional: Men and women walked briskly to various studios, carrying food or props, often dressed in costume. Policemen, soldiers from myriad armies, a barbershop quartet, gladiators, Greek goddesses, waitresses, and flappers all passed them by. A teenage boy dressed as a cowboy rode a magnificent white horse past them, clip-clop, clip-clop. Four young women in swimsuits walked behind the horse; they couldn’t have been out of high school. They reminded Margaret of Violet, and she tried to chase that discomfort from her mind immediately.

“So why is today going to be hellish?” Margaret asked.

“We’re shooting this scene where Tippi—that’s the lead, she’s a new girl, quite nice, Tippi Hedren—she goes up to a bedroom all alone and is ferociously attacked by a flock of ravens.”

“A conspiracy,” Margaret corrected her. “It’s a conspiracy of ravens, not a flock.”

LeGrue playfully rolled her eyes. “Oh,” she said. “You’re one of those.” Margaret laughed. “Yes, I know, it’s a conspiracy of ravens. Or an unkindness of ravens. I confess I’ve dropped those fits of fancy—men out here look at me cross-eyed as it is. The Hollywood Mensa chapter is rather small, Margaret.”

“Fair enough.” Margaret smiled. “I know what it’s like for a man to look at you like you’re speaking Khoikhoi.”

“But I assure you I know all of them!” LeGrue said. “A ballet of swans, a bind of sandpipers. On land or water, it’s a gaggle of geese, but in the air it’s a chevron. A water dance of grebes!”

“Okay, okay.” Margaret laughed.

“Anyway,” LeGrue continued, “Hitch had told Tippi they would all be mechanical ravens. You need to understand—this might be the most horrific part of the whole movie, like the shower scene in Psycho. The birds will be relentless and almost kill her.”

“Sounds ugly but manageable, no?”

“No,” said LeGrue. “The mechanical birds aren’t working. So we have to use live ones.”

“Ugh,” said Margaret. She knew just how uncontrollable and vicious scavengers could get, having once seen a turkey vulture behead a baby squirrel.

“Here we are,” said LeGrue, pointing to a blue building.