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been waiting for a good time to speak to you about the letter. Now the producer—her name is Laurie Moran—has somehow gotten my number. She has called twice today already. If you want, we can say you’re too busy doing edits on The Dangerous Ones . We can even redo a couple of aerial shots in Paris if we have to make you unavailable.”
    The tinny sound of a pop song played from Clarence’s front pants pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and examined the screen. “It’s her again. The producer.”
    “Answer it.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Did I sound unsure?”
    “This is Clarence,” he said into the phone.
    Frank had gotten where he was by trusting his instincts. Always. As he heard his assistant recite the familiar “I’ll give Mr. Parker the message ,” he held out his palm. Clarence shook his head, but Frank leaned forward, more insistent.
    Clarence did as instructed, voicing his displeasure with a loud sigh as he handed him the phone.
    “What can I do for you, Ms. Moran?”
    “First of all, thank you for taking my call. I know you’re a busy man.” The woman’s voice was friendly but professional. She went on to explain the nature of her television show. Having just heard a similar description from Clarence, Frank was beginning to understand the reenactment concept. “I wanted to make sure you got my letter inviting you to tell your side of the story. We can work around your schedule. We’ll come to Los Angeles or whatever other location is most convenient. Or if for some reason you’re uncomfortable discussing your contact with Susan, we’ll of course make a statement during the show informing viewers you declined to be interviewed.”
    Clarence had accused Frank of knowing nothing about television, but he was expert enough about entertainment generally to realize this woman could be bluffing. Would anyone really want to watch a show about the Cinderella Murder if he wasn’t part of it? If he hung up now, could that stop the production in its tracks? Perhaps. But if they went forward without him, he’d have no controlover their portrayal of him. They could place him at the top of their list of people who remained “under suspicion,” as the show was called. All he needed was for ticket buyers to boycott his movies.
    “I’m afraid I did not learn of your letter until just now, Ms. Moran, or I would have gotten back to you sooner. But, yes, I’ll make time for your show.” Across the table, Clarence’s eyes shot open. “Have you spoken yet to Madison Meyer?”
    “We’re optimistic that all the relevant witnesses will appear.” The producer was keeping her cards close to her vest.
    “If Madison’s anything like she was the last time I had contact with her, I’d show up at her front door with a camera crew. There’s nothing more compelling to an out-of-work actress than the spotlight.”
    Clarence looked like he was going to jump out of his chair.
    “I’ll let you work out the details with Clarence,” Frank said. “He’ll have a look at the calendar and get back to you.”
    He said good-bye and returned Clarence’s phone to him.
    “I’ll make scheduling excuses until she finally takes the hint?” he asked.
    “No. You’ll make sure I’m available. And I want to do it in L.A. I want to be a full participant, on the same terms with all the other players.”
    “Frank, that’s a bad—”
    “My mind is made up, Clarence, but thank you.”
    Once Clarence had left him alone, Frank took another sip of his scotch. He had gotten where he was by trusting his instincts, yes, but also because he had a raw talent for controlling the telling of a story. And his instincts were saying that this television show about Susan Dempsey would be just another story for him to control.
    •  •  •
    Talia watched from the hallway beyond the den as her husband’s assistant left the apartment.
    She had been married to Frank for ten years. She still rememberedcalling her parents in Ohio to