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royalty. They were my tools, my raw materials. And, frankly, Bobby was a pretty dull tool. Everybody assumed he got his acting gigs passed to him on a platter because his father was Marv Parker, president of Silver Screen Studios and executive producer of Cape Twilight .
    When I got close enough to take their dessert orders, Savannah looked up and said “ Heeeey …” all drawn out, like she hadn’t expected me, or couldn’t remember my name. If she noticed the black eye, she didn’t let on.
    Bobby was in the middle of talking about snorkeling in the Caribbean or something. He had the leftover crumbs of a burger and fries on his plate, while Savannah had an untouched house salad on hers.
    “Savannah, y’all didn’t tell me you invited Bob Parker to the shoot, ha-ha ,” I quipped, shoving out my unsteady hand for a shake with stardom. “Horace Vale, director.”
    Bobby gave me his signature squint.
    “Savannah and I were just getting ready to shoot a scene,” I said.
    Behind me, Paige and Connie took a booth near the entrance, as far away from us as possible. I’d seen kids in my dentist’s waiting room who looked more optimistic than Connie did.
    “Sorry I’m late,” I went on. “Trouble at school. A fight. Could get suspended. So, uh, I guess you know each other from Savannah’s guest stint on the show?”
    Bobby’s squint got even tighter. The three strands of black hair dangling over his left eye did their trademarked twitch. He said, “No kidding? You were on Cape ?”
    “Season two, episode three,” I answered for her. “Your birthday party?”
    “I was just an extra, really,” Savannah said. She took an adorable little puckered sip from her straw and rolled her eyes at herself.
    “I thought I recognized you,” Bobby said to her. “Something told me when y’all walked in here— you know that girl. Go sit with her. So I did . ”
    Savannah melted two full inches in her seat.
    Bobby popped a cigarette between his lips, grinned, produced a flip-top lighter, and lit it. The lighter was embossed: The Kindling, in glowing fire-orange letters .
    “Swag from your dad’s old movie?” I pointed out, nodding at the tie-in product. The Kindling was Marv Parker’s first production in Cape Fear, the pyrokinetic picture that started it all. Bobby Parker wasn’t even born yet when it was made.
    Just then, Sally the afternoon waitresses came out of the kitchen.
    With a wink, she yelled to me, “Heya, sugar, y’all best get that movie goin’ before the dinnertime crowd rolls in. Do I look glamorous enough for my cameo?” She propped her hair with her palm and laughed at herself.
    “Perfect,” I said.
    Bobby raised his cigarette and said to Sally, “burger was great, as always.”
    “That’s lovely, darling,” Sally said. “Now put out that cancer stick.”
    “Sorry, ma’am,” he said with only the slightest local drawl.
    “We doing this, or what?” Paige said. She was at my shoulder suddenly, again, jiggling the little camera clutched in her hand. Her complete disinterest in Bobby Parker was a marvelous thing to behold.
    Bobby slung his arm over the seat back and looked toward the exit behind him, gauging the efficiency of his escape route, no doubt. My window of opportunity was shutting fast.
    I said, “Bobby—I hope you don’t mind if I call you that—I wanted to say I’ve been watching Cape Twilight since day one, and I’m fascinated by how your acting took on a total ‘nother layer of depth this season. You’re a natural, obviously, but after last season’s finale, you really blossomed…”
    Bobby grabbed his The Kindling lighter and flicked it open and shut repeatedly, a scrape like sharpening a butcher knife. I could tell he was the type who loved soaking in compliments, but hated the time investment it took to listen to them.
    I went on… “The coming-out-of-the-closet plot—you’ve seen it done before—but never quite so poignantly, especially in a teen drama with,