Smoke and Shadows Read Free

to think of the possible reasons why.
    â€œ. . . so does it have to be that street at that time?”
    He glanced over at Rachel who appeared to be attacking a pile of order forms with a black magic marker. “Uh, yes.”
    â€œFine. But I’m doing you guys a significant favor here and I want it remembered on election day.”
    â€œElection day . . . ?”
    â€œMunicipal elections. City council. Don’t forget to vote. I’ll send your permit over this afternoon.”
    â€œThank you.” But he was thanking a dial tone. He handed Rachel the receiver in time for her to answer another line and turned to see Amy’s shadow come out of Mason’s office.
    Or not.
    His own shadow elongated and contracted again as he walked across the office and by the time he reached Amy’s side, he’d almost convinced himself that he’d merely seen Amy’s do the same thing. Almost. Except Amy had been standing, essentially motionless, beside her desk.
    â€œYou okay?” she asked, sitting down and reaching for her mouse.
    â€œYeah. Fine.” Her shadow reached for the mouse’s shadow. Nothing overtly strange about that. “Just having an FX moment.”
    â€œWhatever. What do you want?”
    â€œLee’s not here yet and he was supposed to be in makeup at eleven.”
    â€œDo I look like his baby-sitter?”
    â€œPeter wants you to call him.”
    â€œYeah? When? In my copious amounts of . . .” She snatched up the ringing phone. “CB Productions, please hold . . . spare time?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œFine.” She reached for the rolodex. So did her shadow. “What are you looking at? I got a boob hanging out or something?”
    â€œWhy would I be looking at that?”
    â€œGood point.” Glancing past his shoulder, she grinned. “Hey, Zev. Tony’s not looking at my boobs.”
    â€œUh . . . good?”
    Tony turned in time to catch the flush of red on Zev’s cheeks above the short black beard and smiled in sympathy. On her good days, Amy went about two postal codes beyond blunt.
    The music director returned his smile, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans as though he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them. “You’re off set? I mean, I know you’re off set,” he continued before Tony could answer, “you’re here. I just . . . Why?”
    â€œPeter sent me out to have someone call Lee. He’s not here yet.”
    â€œHe is. I, uh, saw him from Barb’s office.”
    Barb Dixon was the entire finance department.
    â€œWhat were you doing in with Madame Number-cruncher?” Amy asked.
    Zev shrugged. “She gets swamped at the end of the month. Sometimes I help her out; I’m good with numbers.”
    â€œYeah?” Tony’d been leaning out around the boxes, watching for Lee to come in the door, but that got his attention. “I totally suck at math and I’m trying to come up with a budget. I’ve got to buy a car—the commute’s fucking killing me. Maybe you can help me out sometime.”
    â€œSure.” Zev’s cheeks darkened again and yanking a hand from his pocket, he ran it back through his hair.
    â€œYou . . . uh . . .”
    â€œI know.” He replaced his yarmulke and headed for the door to post production. “You know where I am, just give me a call.”
    At least that’s what Tony thought he’d said. The words had run together into one long, embarrassed sound. Fortunately, months on the ear jack had made him pretty skilled at working out the inaudible. “Hey, Zev?”
    The music director paused, one foot over the threshold.
    â€œThat piece behind Mason at the window last ep? With all the strings? It really rocked.”
    â€œThank you.” His shadow slipped through the closing door at the last minute.
    I’m losing my mind.
    â€œHe likes you.”
    â€œWhat?” Caught up in