I had never watched LA Crime Unit before. I was usually too busy writing my own hourlong show. This was Dave’s first time directing one of their episodes, but I recognized most of the series regulars from the promo spots that aired around the clock. I spotted a skinny, sullen-faced red-haired girl in the farthest seat at the actors’ dining table. I didn’t recognize her and was pretty sure she wasn’t a regular on the show. Dave called over for her to come join us. Red-Haired Girl picked up her salad plate and walked over to our table. Even though there were plenty of seats, she planted herself right next to Dave so the three of us were like a ladyfinger cookie, with Dave the cream center. She was English, and kind of cold and aloof in that English way. She didn’t say hello and no one introduced us, so I covertly gave her my usual once-over, in that way all women assess each other, and dismissed her as no competition: too many freckles and no ass.

The lunch chatter involved what I’d gotten used to around actors. I used to feel self-conscious around them, trying to suck my cheeks in and not stare at their zits and enlarged pores (you never saw those in an airbrushed publicity photo). But after being around the cast of Flesh and Bone for most of the season, I’d realized they were concerned only with themselves and were paying no attention to me. Bob Bradley was talking about his new Prius, which he drove to set during the day, “to do my part for the Green movement.” Bob said he still drove his Range Rover, but only when he was going “out at night.”

Dave told Bob I was writing this season on Flesh and Bone, and he seemed impressed.

“I love that Haley Caldwell—that girl is built on top!” he added with gusto.

“You’re the audience we’re aiming for. They say people love seeing her on the show wearing a tight tank top under a fitted leather jacket.”

Dave and Bob laughed hard in that dumb way straight guys do when they start thinking about boobies. Red-Haired Girl let out a dramatic sigh and left the table without another word. Because she never said hello, I guess I shouldn’t have been bothered that she didn’t say good-bye. What a bitch.

A production assistant wearing a headset gave a hand signal to Dave indicating lunch was over. Shooting on location meant that production was always fighting the sun to get the last bit of work out of the shooting day.

“You okay to get yourself back to your car?” Dave asked.

“Sure. I’ve got to get back to work too. Steve is probably looking for me.”

Dave smiled at the notion of Steve being stressed. He leaned in to kiss me good-bye. “Well, then, fuck Steve.” Dave smiled.