“I do admire her, but I don’t have the . . .” Courage? Heart? Talent? Drive? I didn’t know what I didn’t have.

“Didn’t you just tell me you are the famous Roxanne Granville, named for a heroine? Your father’s a Sir. Why should you be afraid to be an agent?”

“I’m not afraid. I’m . . .” Not sure what I was.

“Everyone knows the studio system is crumbling. Believe me, I’m an actor. Actors, producers, directors, writers, we’re not all living in our little slave cabins around the big house like we used to. We’re more independent, but we need savvy intermediaries. Now more than ever. You could do that. Didn’t L’Oiseau d’Or teach you how to be charming?”

“The word is charmant! Agents aren’t charmant. They are mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries in a good cause. Pity the poor, struggling actor or writer, Roxanne.” He folded his hands in prayer and looked out to the horizon. “They have talent, ambition, high hopes”—he smashed out his cigarette and added—“but they need someone to look after them, to make sure they’re always working. You’re Roxanne Granville who knows all the right people! You should become an agent and help these poor, lost souls.”

“I told you, no more actors.”

“Okay, writers! You like to read. You actually like writers, and you did learn from the best of them.”

“That’s true.”

“They’re clever. You’re clever.”

“That’s true too,” I said, pleased.

“There’s your answer, Quacker.”

Two days later the prestigious Rakoff/Holtz Agency hired me without a blink, though I had no experience, no references, couldn’t type, and hadn’t graduated from college. Perhaps they were impressed that I could speak French and Italian fluently, that I had once mastered Debussy on the piano, that I had gone to L’Oiseau d’Or finishing school, that I wore couture clothing (Dior and Balenciaga). Perhaps they were impressed that in modeling myself on the late Julia Greene, one of the city’s most renowned philanthropists, I had the aristocratic confidence to wear a diamond ring in daytime. Or perhaps because my grandfather is the legendary Leon Greene of Empire Pictures. Or maybe because my father is Sir Rowland Granville, recently knighted by the new queen and currently wowing West End audiences in Macbeth. Let me put it this way: I didn’t have to drop any name but my own. And I sure as hell didn’t start in the mail room.

Chapter Four