Stardust Read Free Page A

Street toward Locke-Ober’s.
    â€œWe’re feeding in the basement over here near Tremont Temple,” Salzman said. “I’ve asked Jill to join us.”
    We went across Tremont Street and in through a glass door into a corridor and down some stairs. At the bottom was a large basement room that looked as if it might be a recreational space for a boys’ club or a church group. There was a serving counter set up along one side, and tables with folding chairs filled the room. The crew was spread out, down parkas hanging from chair backs, down vests tossed on the floor, hunched over trays eating. There was roast turkey with gravy, baked ham with pineapple, cold cuts, cheese, two kinds of tossed salad, succotash, mashed potatoes, green beans with bacon, and baked haddock with a cheese sauce. I noticed that the official crew meal was some of everything. Salzman had some ham and some haddock and a large helping of mashed potatoes. I was watching Susan. Her normal lunch was something like a lettuce leaf, dressing on the side. She carefully walked the length of the serving table and studied her options. I waited for her. When she was through she came back and picked up a tray.
    â€œWhat do you think,” I said.
    â€œEek,” she said. She put plastic utensils on her tray and had a large serving of tossed salad with no dressing on a paper plate. I had some turkey.
    Salzman had saved us a table in the corner, with space reserved for Jill Joyce when she arrived. Most of the tables seated twelve. This was the only small one.
    â€œSo what do you know about the deal here,” Salzman said when we were seated.
    â€œI know Susan’s working for you as a technical adviser on this show, which is about a woman shrink and her husband who’s a cop.”
    â€œRight,” Salzman said. “You seen the show?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œPremise is ridiculous,” Susan said.
    â€œRight,” I said. “How could a sophisticated psychotherapist fall for the kind of semi-thug that gets to be a cop?”
    â€œSemi?” Susan said.
    Salzman said, “Yeah, anyway. We got Jill Joyce to star. I assume I don’t need to tell you about Jill Joyce.”
    â€œI know about the screen persona,” I said. “Beautiful, wholesome, just kookie enough for a little wrinkled-nose fun?”
    â€œYeah,” Salzman said. “She’s a little different, in fact.”
    â€œUn huh.”
    â€œAnyway, she’s been getting a series of harassing phone calls and things happening to her lately, and it’s making her nervous. When Jill’s nervous . . .” Salzman shrugged, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head slightly.
    â€œWhat do you mean, sort of harassing?” I said.
    â€œHard to say exactly what it is. Jill’s not too clear on it. She’s clear that it’s bothering her.”
    â€œAnd the things happening to her?” I said.
    Salzman shrugged. “Things.” He turned a palm up. “That’s what Jill says, things. ”
    â€œAnybody else heard these calls or seen these things ?”
    Salzman shook his head. I looked at Susan. She shrugged.
    â€œSo Jill’s, ah, demanding some action,” Salzman said. “And Susan mentioned that she had a friend and one thing and another so I suggested you come over and have lunch and meet Jill. See if maybe you can help us out.”
    â€œWould I be working for you?” I said.
    â€œNot technically.”
    â€œWho would I be working for technically?” I said.
    â€œMichael J. Maschio,” Sandy said.
    â€œWho is?”
    â€œPresident of Zenith Meridien Television, a subsidiary of Zenith Meridien Film Corporation.”
    â€œNot Riggs,” I said.
    â€œHell, no, when Mike Maschio says ‘ green, ’ Marty Riggs says, ‘ and a deep dark green it is, sir. ’”
    Salzman ate some haddock.
    â€œBut actually,” he said,