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She looked through the rearview mirror, into my eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Joe Oliver.”

“Well, Joe, I’m just going here to see my movie agent. I doubt if I’ll need protection there.”

“As you say.”

I got out and then opened her door.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready. The next place I’m going to is a venue called Claxton’s. It’s somewhere downtown.”

I drove down into one of the subterranean lots in the shopping district of Beverly Hills. Three minutes after I got there I received a text from Leaf.

I’m fine, Joe. Just taking care of Luwanda.

After that I leaned back and fell into a surprisingly deep sleep.

When my phone sounded I awoke in a sweat. It wasn’t a dream or anything, just the readiness in my nervous system reminding me that lives were on the line.

“Hello?”

“I’m ready, Joe.”

“Four minutes.”

Claxton’s was a performance venue that showcased a wide range of the latest popular musical artists. It was deep in the warehouse district on the outskirts of downtown. The drive was pretty long, so Clarice made conversation on the way.

“Do you have a lot to do with Hollywood, Joe?”

“As much as I do right now.”

“You want to be involved with making film? You know, like being an actor or on a film crew?”

“Not really. I mean, it sounds romantic and all, but when it comes down to it—work is work.”

“You sure right about that. And sometimes they run you ragged.”

“Like how do you mean?” I asked because I thought she wanted me to.

“Like the man who told me that I had to have a driver/bodyguard.”

“Mr. Fell.”

“Motherfucker.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not you, Joe. Piermont. He thinks he owns me because he’s paid for my living for the past few years. But that man does not own me. I mean, I might be using him too, but he’s gettin’ something out of it, more than he can handle. But that situation’s not gonna last much longer.”

“No?”

“When I was up at the Viceroy I signed a deal for three films, either as the star or the costar.”

“Congratulations.”

“You mean that?”