“No, Roxanne, don’t be stupid. What I mean is he goes up on the screen trailing all this glamour that’s been created for him! It isn’t real! But everyone believes in it, everyone takes him seriously. Directors, producers, they look at me, and they think, Hell, we don’t have to take Jonathan seriously. Someone will always give poor Jonathan a job. After all, his father’s an MGM executive. How could he possibly be any good?”

“But you are good! This picture could make you!”

“Maybe, but it’s killing me in the meantime. It’s killing everyone except Denise. I’ve never seen Leon so angry as he was today except the night you rolled the Packard down the ravine and the cops brought us both to Summit Drive along with the open cans of beer.”

“I was sixteen and there was no arrest and no record,” I explained to Terrence, “and Leon made a big fat donation to the Policemen’s Ball.”

“Policemen don’t have balls,” said Terrence, returning to his typing.

“Leon was angry that night,” said Jonathan, “but he wasn’t outright cruel and nasty like he is now. Watching him day after day now, I wonder if he’s going senile.”

“He’s only”—I did the math—“sixty-five or so.”

“He’s not the man I remember.” Jonathan lit a cigarette, and took a long, thoughtful drag. “Why don’t you ever go to Summit Drive anymore, Quacker? You wouldn’t have to bring Terrence, though that would wake them all up, wouldn’t it? Ha! Just think about old Clarence! Your dear old uncle, Terrence. Imagine that!”

“Clarence knows about us,” said Terrence without looking up from the Royal. “All my family knows, and they ain’t happy.”

I wandered over to him, put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m happy.” Terrence absently patted my hand and returned to his typing.

“Well, whatever’s driving Leon, he’s making sure Fly Me to the Moon belongs to Denise. She’s not such a bad kid, you know. Denise.”

“You aren’t telling me you like her, are you?”

“Sure, I like her.”

I studied his face. “You’re not going to fall for her, are you, Quacker? She will chew you up and spit you out!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I’m bagging Barbara Marsh regularly.”

“Who is she again?”

“She plays the girl behind the perfume counter when Maisie goes shopping, trying to make herself more attractive for Professor Bleeker. It’s Barbara’s first role since she left the Pasadena Playhouse. She’s delighted that Al Gilbert had a mention in his column last week about our little romance.” He grinned like the Cheshire cat. “We were both late to the set the next day, and you should have heard old Phil Tobin. I thought he was going to sprout hemorrhoids he was so mad.”