I stayed in the back where I could watch without being seen. Between takes the set teemed with activity. Jonathan and Barbara Marsh got their makeup refreshed by underlings while Denise was attended by the maestra, Violet Andreas. Violet held her makeup palette as if she were Monet in front of a haystack while Elsie hovered nearby checking each swipe of the brush. Violet was not accustomed to being instructed by novices, and had Elsie been anyone but Denise’s mother, she would have been swatted like a fly. Phil Tobin, a big, balding man with the wide, still-nimble gait of a former athlete, barked and snapped at everyone, but there was no question as to who was the true director of this picture—in fact, who was the director of any universe in which this picture might be made. Leon strode around the set like the lion tamer at the circus, cracking the whip while various minions froze or scurried. His acerbic perfectionism was painful to behold. And as he quarreled with the set decorator, a young man who affected an ascot and sported a pencil-thin moustache, all I could think of was cue the thunder.

“What did you say your name was again?”

The set decorator replied so low I couldn’t hear his response.

“Oh, good,” Leon said, “because I was afraid that you thought your name was Cedric Gibbons, you know, the really brilliant set decorator, because if you are not Cedric Fucking Gibbons, then you’ll do exactly as I say, or you won’t be here tomorrow.”

Cameras rolled again, and I watched take after failed take as Leon intervened to comfort Denise or to chastise whoever was impeding her abilities. At last it was time for lunch. With some relief, I stepped outside and blinked in the sunshine.

Charlie bolted out right behind me. “I hate you. You and your grandfather, and Max Leslie too.”

“Shut up.”

“I wish I’d never agreed to this.” Charlie stalked off.

“What’s wrong with Charlie, Quacker?” asked Jonathan, who had meandered outside, still wearing his Professor Bleeker costume and makeup. “Every day he’s more like Boris Karloff in Bride of Frankenstein.” He closed his eyes, cinched his lips, and stuck his arms out, marching. I had to laugh in spite of myself, but, eager to avoid talking about Charlie (and terrified Jonathan might have heard Max’s name), I immediately complimented him on his performance.

“I must hear more of this. Let me buy you lunch.”