8 

AS SALLY AND TEDDY were walking back to the parking lot, it occurred to him that he was going to be looking at four walls all evening. “Would you like to have dinner?” he asked her. “There’s a good restaurant in Tesuque, called El Nido.”

“Sure,” Sally replied. “Shall I follow you?”

“I’m in the old red pickup,” Teddy said, pointing.

“Nice. Where’d you come by that?”

“I got it from a guy I met in a bar. It’s in real good shape.”

They got into their vehicles, and Teddy led her to Tesuque, which was a quick drive, fast highway all the way.

There were no tables available, so they sat at the bar, ordered margaritas, and were given menus.

“Do you live near here, Ted?” she asked.

“Just up the hill behind the restaurant,” Teddy said. “El Nido and the Tesuque Market, next door, are the only restaurants I know here.”

They ordered dinner and another margarita. When their food came Sally got quiet for a couple of minutes.

“What are you thinking about?” Teddy asked.

“Listen,” Sally said, “I don’t want you to think of this as hostile, but I know your name isn’t Ted Shirley, it’s Billy Barnett. I had a small part in a Peter Barrington film at Centurion a couple of years ago, and you were the line producer. How come that wasn’t on your résumé, and how come the name change?”

Teddy took a deep breath and let it out. “Nailed,” he said. “The story is complicated.”

“All the best stories are,” she said.

“Well, first of all, I’m not on the run from the law, or from anybody else, for that matter.”

“That’s good to know,” she said. “Then why the fake name and the mustache?”

“The mustache is because I don’t want to be recognized.”

“A lot of good that did you,” she laughed.

“So far, you’re the only one who’s twigged,” Teddy said. “I saw two other people on the lot today who’ve worked around me, and they didn’t.”

“I have a good eye for faces and bodies,” Sally said, “especially when it’s an attractive man. Does this have something to do with Dan Waters or Dax Baxter?”

“Let’s just say it has nothing to do with Dan Waters,” Teddy said. “As for Dax Baxter, I never laid eyes on him until today.”

“That’s not the same as not hating his guts—almost everybody does.”

“Then why do they work for him?”

“He runs a smooth production, he doesn’t yell at anybody or create big scenes—ones that aren’t in the script. The money’s above average, if he likes your work, and the perks are nice, like the trailers for casts and the saloon set that’s also cast and crew canteen. If he’s aware that you’re doing good work, you’ll find a nice little bonus in your final paycheck.”

“Then what is it about him that so puts people’s teeth on edge?”

“He seems to want to be disliked. I don’t know why.”

“The man’s a bully,” Teddy said, “I can tell you that much.”

“I guess a lot of people sense that. Mind you, if there’s any bullying to be done, that’s taken care of by Heckel and Jeckel.”

Teddy laughed. “Dan calls them something else.”

“My advice is to stick with Hank and Joe.”

“Have they ever actually hurt anybody who gave Dax a hard time?”

“People have disappeared from shoots and turned up later in the local hospital—people who were stealing from Dax, that sort of thing.”

“So, Dax doesn’t bother with the cops or the sheriff?”

Sally shook her head slowly. “I think Dax is the kind of guy who thinks a broken nose or maybe a couple of ribs makes a better point than a night in the pokey.”

“Okay, I’ll do my best not to make Dax mad.”

“Always a good way to go,” Sally said. “I mean, Dax is big enough and, I guess, mean enough to handle that sort of thing himself, but if he did that, he could end up in jail, and that’s not good for business. If somebody displeases him, they just disappear from the set for the rest of the shoot. Everybody notices they’ve gone, and they always turn up later, maybe with a slightly different face, or some new dental work.”

They both took big bites of their food and were quiet while they chewed. The waiter came and refreshed their glasses.

“There’s a story going around the shoot,” Sally said, “that Dax’s wife killed somebody in a traffic accident, and that Dax got it hushed up.”

“I heard that from Dan today,” Teddy said.

“Does your being here have anything to do with that?”

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” he replied.

“You’ve already told me a bunch of lies about your name and your background, and it’s part of my job to check out people who may have inflated their résumés.”

“As you have seen, I have deflated, not inflated, my résumé, in order not to call undue attention to myself. It was nothing personal, and I’d appreciate your letting it slide. After all, being exposed might mean a visit from Heckel and Jeckel, and you wouldn’t want to put me into a hospital bed, would you?”

“Well, not a hospital bed,” she said with a little leer.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. As a rule, I don’t believe in paying men compliments—they tend to go to their heads.”

“I can’t deny that,” Teddy said. “Come on, what’s it going to take to keep you quiet and me healthy?”

“How about oral sex?”

Teddy broke up, and dropped his fork. A waiter appeared with a clean one.

“How often?” he managed to say.

“Often, but it doesn’t have to be just oral—you can mix it up, if you want to.”

“I think I’d enjoy mixing it up,” Teddy said.

“So would I.”

“I must say, this is a new kind of blackmail.”

“I’m glad you like the idea.”

“I like it very much,” Teddy said. “When do we start?”

“Let’s skip dessert,” Sally replied.