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around here were surprised. I hope he’s not blowing it.”
    “Does he live nearby?”
    “He’s been staying at a motel. Over the hill, on Sunset.”
    “Maybe we should check up on him.”
    “My car’s in the shop. My girlfriend’s picking me up after work. I guess we could do it then.”
    My mouth spoke words it had no business saying, as if it had a mind of its own.
    “I wouldn’t mind giving you a lift that way.”
    “I couldn’t do that, Mr. Justice—Ben.”
    “It’s practically on my way home. Your girlfriend could meet us there, if it’s not inconvenient. We could even grab a bite together. Lots of great Thai food over that way.”
    “No, really, I couldn’t.”
    I gazed into his eyes, drinking in their clarity and color, wondering if he had any inkling what he was doing to me.
    “Why? You don’t accept rides from strangers?”
    He laughed, looking embarrassed, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
    “You’re not a stranger, Ben.”
    “Then you don’t have any excuses, do you?”
    His eyes met mine with surprising directness.
    “I guess not.”
    We left the editing bay, trotted down the stairs, and he grabbed a knapsack from the room he’d been working in. On the way out, we slipped into a restroom to pee, standing at adjacent urinals, keeping our eyes straight ahead, taking longer than usual before things started flowing. At the sink, we washed up quickly, avoiding each other’s eyes in the mirror the way men in restrooms tend to do.
    I have no business doing this. Not having just turned forty. Not having just met someone like Oree Joffrien, where the connection felt so natural, so strong. Graff’s a kid, straight at that. Leave him alone, Justice.
    We dried our hands on rough paper towels, and Graff asked me if I was ready to go. I told him I was, and followed him out, staring at his muscular calves. I was still staring at them as he pushed open the downstairs door to the parking lot, where we encountered Cecile Chang coming in, tossing a burning cigarette, slightly out of breath. She clutched her handbag under one arm, and when she saw us, she pulled up, startled. Graff was nearly as surprised.
    “I thought you were taping upstairs, Cecile. Using one of the editing bays as background.”
    She indicated the smoldering Capri on the pavement, smiling tightly.
    “I needed a quick nicotine fix—stepped out for a moment.”
    A few strands of dark hair had worked loose from the bun behind her head, and drifted down to the left side of her neck, pasted by a light film of perspiration. As she reached to push them back, her hand brushed her ear, causing her to momentarily pause, then turn away, showing us her other profile as she pushed the renegade hairs back into place. She spoke quickly, finding her breath where she could.
    “We’re breaking to a new location. Down in the production offices through the afternoon. We’ll finish up back in research tonight.”
    Graff looked confused. “I thought you completed your setups in research before lunch.”
    “The morning shots, yes. I want to go back again when everyone’s gone for the day, and it’s empty and quiet. I thought that would make a nice ending to the presentation. A day in the life of New Image Productions, from beginning to end.”
    She broke off, looking apologetic.
    “But you two don’t need to hear all this, do you? I’m sure you both have more important things to do than listen to me natter on about our shooting schedule.”
    Graff shoved his hands into his pants pockets, his worry showing again.
    “Actually, we’re on our way to Tommy Callahan’s motel. To make sure he’s OK.”
    Her busy hand, still fussing about the side of her face, became still.
    “To Tommy’s motel? Now?”
    “Ben suggested it.”
    “Peter seemed concerned.”
    Her glance caromed off Graff to me.
    “Of course. Check in on him, by all means. Let me know if he’s having any problems.”
    She turned and hurried on, and we stepped