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meticulous records kept on each article of clothing. There was a minuscule washer and dryer in the truck as well as a sewing machine and a setup for ironing. Jane had once been “backstage“ at a circus and this looked much the same: all the necessities of life made miniature and portable at a moment’s notice.
    Jane wandered into the next yard where another young man was sitting smoking and knocking back a soft drink on the metal steps leading up into the back of another truck. “Hi! Can I help you?“ the young man said in a friendly manner.
    “No, thanks. I’m a neighbor, just looking things over. What is this truck?“
    “This is props. I’m Butch Kowalski, Jake Elder’s assistant.“
    “Glad to meet you, Butch. I’m Jane Jeffry. Are you and Jake responsible for those fake buildings? They’re really impressive.“
    “Naw, that’s the set decorator’s job. Props are in charge of any objects that are used or touched. Set decoration’s everything that’s just seen.”
    Except for Maisie, this young man was the first person on the crew who was genuinely friendly and forthcoming. He looked like a thug, with muscles that started just below his ears. He had practically no neck at all and his biceps strained the sleeves of his plaid shirt. He had teeth that would have made an orthodontist rub his hands in anticipation of the challenge and he had an unfortunate New Jersey accent. But for all that, his smile was engaging and his eyes sparkled with good spirits.
    “You don’t sound like a Chicago native, Butch. Do you live here now?“
    “Yeah, for as long as I’m with Jake. I still got a lot to learn.“
    “So you want to do this yourself? Be a prop man?“
    “Property master, ma’am. Yeah. But I won’t be ready for a while yet.“
    “So, what is all this stuff?“ Jane asked, gesturing toward the interior of the truck. As she did so, she noticed a movement inside and a glimpse of orange fur. “Meow! What are you doing in there!“ she exclaimed.
    “Oh, is this your cat, ma’am?“
    “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry—“
    “Oh, it’s okay. She’s a nice little thing.”
    Meow, who normally ran for cover when a stranger was within a block, picked her way daintily through the truck and came up to Butch to have her chin chucked.
    “You must have a real gift with animals, Butch. Meow doesn’t like anybody but me, and she only likes me when she’s hungry. You haven’t seen the other one, have you. The gray tabby?“
    “The one with ‘Max’ on his tag? Yeah, he’s takin’ a nap in the cab of the truck.”
    Jane sighed. “I’ll take them home. It didn’t occur to me that I needed to shut them indoors this morning.“
    “Naw, don’t do that, ma’am. They’re having a good time and I like the company. I’ll make sure they’re back to you before we shut down for the night so they don’t get shut in somewhere. Which house do you live in?”
    Jane pointed it out, got Butch’s repeated assurances that he’d be happy to keep tabs on her adventuresome cats, and went back to her own yard. Shelley had gone somewhere and Maisie was busy putting salve on an extra’s insect bite. Jane wandered over to the table where the phone was. The table had colorful stacks of papers, each stack held in place against the breeze by an unopened soft drink can or other heavy object.
    Most of the photocopied piles meant nothing to Jane: call sheet, second unit requirements, a chart that appeared to show which scenes would be shot which days. But one stack said clearly, “Welcome Packet.“ Jane looked around for somebody to give her permission to study this, and since no one radiated authority or showed the slightest interest in what she was doing, she helped herself to one packet and went back to her lawn chair to skim through it.
    “Is it okay for me to look at this?“ she said when Maisie was through with the extra.
    “Sure. It’s for anybody who’s involved in the production and you’re involved—in a