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hotel entrance, Jane asked, “Would you like Shelley to take your things up to your room for you?“
    “No, thanks. I’m not so tired that I can’t carry these treasures, not to mention my leftover lunch. See you tonight—and thank you for the lovely day.“
    “She was really fading away,“ Jane said as she squeezed her way back into traffic.
    “I wonder how old she really is?“ Shelley asked.
    “I don’t think we’ll find out. The older the actress, the younger she says she is,“ Jane replied.
    “Not anymore. Jane Fonda, Cher, Sally Field, and a lot of others are bragging about passing fifty these days.“
    Jane said, “But they all still look thirty-eight. Times and plastic surgery have changed our perception of age since Gloria Bunting’s heyday. If there ever really was one for her.“
    “What do you mean by that?“ Shelley asked.
    “I saw them on a local morning news show,“ Jane explained. “The interviewer queried them about what movies they’d made, and both of them turned up their noses at films and said they preferred live theater. They listed a whole lot of plays that they’d been in. Neither the interviewer nor I had ever heard of any of them.“
    “But you’ve admitted already that you don’t like live acting. And maybe those plays were never made into movies,“ Shelley said.
    “No, I don’t like live amateur acting. Come to think of it, though, I do prefer movies, especially when I can buy or rent them and fast-forward or stop them when the spaghetti water starts boiling over.“
    “So we’re guessing that Gloria and John Bunting are a sort of third-rate Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn,“ Shelley said with the slightest hint of criticism of Jane’s opinion.
    “That’s not as bad as it sounds,“ Jane explained. “Lots of people in any field of the arts can probably eke out a good living doing first-rate work and not gaining enormous fame from it. It’s certainly true of writers. I’ve read a lot of good books by writers who aren’t famous, and probably aren’t rich, but who tell a good story. It’s probably true of actors and artists as well. They make their own niche and fill it.“
    “I suppose that’s right,“ Shelley said.
    “So who are the caterers tonight?“ Jane asked. “An outfit calling themselves ‘The Ultimate Meal.’ “
    “Do you think it will be?“
    “At least it’s a better name than ‘The Ultimate Snack.’ “
    The rehearsal that evening was a brief walk-through. The main purpose seemed to be to work out details of the play with the two young volunteer art school students who were preparing the single background set, the professional prop master (who was probably being paid), and the costumer (also paid, Jane and Shelley speculated), who needed to measure the actors. Apparently lighting would come later.
    “And maybe a sound person to mike the actors,“ Shelley commented idly.
    “I thought real actors had to have the voices to project without a mike?“ Jane asked Shelley.
    “I guess so, at least this time. If it was something like a musical review, I imagine they would need microphones.“
    Jane grinned. “Thank goodness that we don’t have to learn all about this. All you and I need to consider is food.“
    As the actors were walking through the first scene again, Bill Denk said, “Madam and sir, Cook says luncheon will be ready at one o’clock.“
    “I asked her to be ready at quarter to one,“ Ms. Bunting said in the haughty voice of Mrs. Edina Weston.
“I’ll remind her, madam,“ he said and turned briefly to the audience and said, “The old trout“
    “What did you say?“ Imry asked.
    “Said? Nothing,“ Bill said.
    Jane thought it was funny but also a bit spooky that Bill Denk could cast his voice to the audience but not be heard on stage.
    There was no need for Jane and Shelley to be introduced to the newcomers, but they were surprised to see one familiar figure. It was Tazz from the needlepoint lesson they’d taken the