She laughed. “No nakedness, not even in silhouette, and if two people are on the bed, they each have to keep one foot on the floor, and absolutely no one can get knocked up and have a baby. So in Stagecoach, the married lady’s face contorts, and they cart her off camera.”

“And the next thing you know, without so much as a maternal peep, there’s a clean, sleeping little cherub in her arms.”

“Trust me, the real thing is goddamn messy, bloody, and painful. And the kid they hand you when it’s over? It hardly looks human, much less worth all that work and pain. It’s all gross and disgusting, and then once they’re born, kids are nothing but trouble.”

Eudonna led Leon to the patio to join us, and his face lit up to see me. He held out his arms, and he held me close till I squirmed out of his embrace. “So good to see you girls together, Snow White and . . . her sister,” he said. I assumed he couldn’t bring himself to say the words Rose Red. Too close to Communism. Irene rose, kissed his cheek, and excused herself to get ready. I stayed put. The Japanese gardeners had finished, the children were gone from the pool, the men digging the bomb shelter had taken a break and left the yard.

“Are you coming to lunch with us, Roxanne? Denise will be so happy.”

He must be getting senile, I thought. “No, I just stopped by. I have scripts to deliver to Rakoff/Holtz clients. I have to go.”

“Really?” Leon’s broad brow furrowed.

“Yes. I’m working now, remember? I have been for six months.”

“I meant you shouldn’t be delivering scripts. That’s the errand boy’s job. You should be assisting one of the firm’s partners, getting to know the business.”

“Oh, I’m getting to know the business.” I thought of this morning’s sickening incident. If Leon knew, he would shred Irv Rakoff into a hundred pieces. Or would he? I glanced sidelong at him while he sipped the lemonade Eudonna brought him. Had Leon ever done such a repulsive thing? I knew he’d had affairs, lots of them, but I could not imagine Leon Greene pressing himself up against some unwilling girl as a condition of the job. His essential dignity, his pride alone would have kept him from any such gruesome display of power.

“Why do you look so grim?” he asked.

“I’m tired of serving coffee,” I said, which was certainly true.

“You are serving coffee? Like Clarence? That’s degrading.”

If you knew the half of it, Leon . . . I felt woozy. “Oh, it’s not so bad. It’s like a play. I mean like George Bernard Shaw without the wit. We all have our lines.”

“What kind of lines?”