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him measuring it in the mirror. It may bother him, but not me, she thought.
    He’d be leaving for L.A. soon. What will I do then? she asked herself. Though she’d forgiven him for not being able to cast her in the film, Mary Jane wasn’t sure that she could bear to watch stoically while Jack and Jill and Compromise was made without her, and she doubted she’d get any work on her own in L.A.
    “Let’s face it,” she’d said to Sam, “I’m not the L.A. type.”
    “That’s why you’ll get work,” he insisted. “Character parts. I can almost guarantee it. You’re so fucking talented, even the morons out there will see it.”
    “Seymore LeVine didn’t see it,” she reminded him.
    “Oh, Seymore’s just a producer. He’s an asshole.”
    “It’s my impression that it’s the assholes who do the casting,” Mary Jane had said dryly.
    Sam had been more than disappointed; he’d seemed angry that she wouldn’t say she’d come—angry and guilty , a lethal mix—so maybe she shouldn’t risk the long separation. After all, Crystal Plenum had a reputation. And, to be honest, with Sam gone, Mary Jane had nothing going for her here. Worst of all, she wasn’t sure she could bear being without Sam for months. He had made her life worth living.
    Sam was handed a note by one of the troupe. He looked up, and that was all he needed to silence the room. “First an announcement,” he said. “This Saturday’s dinner will be at Chuck Darrow and Molly Closter’s place, in the East Village, Sixth Street, past Avenue A. As usual, the hosts will provide the pasta, everyone else brings the wine, bread, and dessert.” The tight circle turned to the couple and clapped lightly. Mary Jane almost always found the Saturday Movable Feast to be warm and homey. And Molly was her closest girlfriend. I’d hate to leave this. This is my family, she told herself, as she looked around at the friendly, bantering crowd, caught Molly’s eye, and smiled. Then Mary Jane’s gaze fell on Bethanie, but her huge gray eyes were staring at Sam, waiting for his next word. Has he slept with her? The thought was a little flicker of poison, like a serpent’s tongue.
    But she didn’t want to think about that. She and Sam did have a strict agreement that he would never sleep with any of the women she knew, so even if he did sleep around it wouldn’t seem real to her. She’d only heard of his infidelities by innuendo. One “friend” or another mentioned vague things from time to time. But she’d never discussed it with Sam.
    And why should she? she thought. She wasn’t 100-percent sure, and, anyhow, he loved her . That much she knew. He had nurtured her acting craft, encouraging her for almost three years. And still was. If it had hurt her when he insisted she’d get character work in L.A., it had also buoyed her. She’d never be an ingenue, but he still believed in her.
    Still, what was that in Bethanie’s gaze?
    I’ve got to stop this, Mary Jane said to herself firmly, letting Sam’s voice bring her back to the business at hand. Anyway, if anything was up in that department, her pal Molly Closter would let her know.
    “We have four scenes in front of the curtain put together so far for the revue, and six backstage scenes,” Sam began telling the now attentive group. “We still need a few more variety-act skits to round out the show. I have an idea myself, but I would like to hear some of yours.”
    Before anyone could answer, the door from the stairs crashed open and Neil Morelli came bounding in. “I got it! I got it!” he screamed.
    The group rose as one and ran to him, everyone hugging and talking at the same time. Neil Morelli, Mary Jane’s best friend, obviously had gotten the TV pilot he had read for last month! Another one of us has made it, thought Mary Jane as she ran to him along with the others. Neil might be a little crazy, but he had a good heart. He was one of the cleverest comedians she had ever known. And she had