Just for a moment the thought crossed my mind—it was well after hours, and the building was deserted; was Carleton about to make an Irv Rakoff move on me? I didn’t know him personally, and perhaps he had affairs, but surely Carleton would never sink to assault.

We walked through his secretary’s office, and he opened the door to his own. I took off my dark glasses. I could not believe my eyes. There, sitting across from the desk, was Simon Strassman.

He resembled one of those old walruses with a drooping gray moustache, fat rolling off of every limb; even the pouches under his eyes were puffy and fat. I had not seen him since . . . I couldn’t even remember. Though he was deeply tanned, he still looked pasty. His eyes were clouded, milky with cataracts. He rose to his feet with wheezy difficulty, but he opened his arms to me and called out my name. To be in his embrace was to be, fleetingly, a child again, with all those old certainties and comforts.

“But, Simon! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here! If they know you’re here, they’ll—”

“Let them!” Simon made one of the big, expansive gestures I so well remembered. “Let the flying monkeys come after me. I have grandchildren I’ve never met! I have grandchildren who won’t remember me at all if I die in Mexico. No, really! Let them put me in prison. How bad can it be? I’m an old man. I don’t care.”

“But Leah?”

“Leah flew up. She’s with Susan. Carleton was good enough to bring me back in his great big limo. We sailed through the border, and all the guard said was ‘Yes, sir.’ Not a single question.” Simon gave an asthmatic chuckle. “Oh, Roxanne, I asked Carleton to set this meeting up. I just had to tell you how much it means to me, you can’t even imagine, no really, you’re too young to imagine! What it means to me to see the sets for Adios Diablo, to see the picture I saw in my head there in front of my eyes. Adios Diablo is the best picture I’ve ever written. Hell, it’s like nothing I’ve ever written. That’s what I got out of my five years in Mexico. A great picture and a liver that’s failing me.” He guffawed like this might actually be funny. “Sam Pepper, he’s the new John Ford. You heard it from me! John Ford’s at the end of his career, and Sam Pepper is on the way up! And Art Luke! Oh, Roxanne, you found the perfect guy to front for me. He’s an irascible SOB. Just like me. We were the three musketeers!”