-29-

“They want you to direct,” Lori exhaled coyly with the smoke from her cigarette. “What!”
“Read the letter.”
“My God, Lor, you’re kidding!”
Shirley pounced on the letter with eager eyes snapping up words in hungry chucks: ‘. . . new script . . . a triptych . . . studio wants Sir Stephen Moore . . . accepting role provided-”
“I direct his segment!”
Shirley flung up her arms, letting loose a hoarse, shrill cry of joy. Then with both her hands she cuddled the letter to her chest. “Oh, Steve, you angel, you remembered!” Filming in Africa. Drunk. In camp chairs. Watching the blood-hush end of day. “Ah, the business is bunk! For the actor it’s crap, Steve!” “Oh, I like it.” “It’s crap! Don’t you know where it’s at in this business? Directing!” “Ah, yes.” “Then you’ve done something that’s yours; I mean, something that lives!” “Well, then do it.” “I’ve tried; they won’t buy it.” “Why not?” “Oh, come on, you know why: they don’t think I can cut it.” Warm remembrance. Warm smile. Dear Steve…
“Mom, I can’t find the dress!” Stephanie called from landing.
“In the closet!” Shirley answered.
“I looked!”
“Look again, hon, the dress's there! I’ll be up in a second! ”
Stephanie moved toward her bedroom with reluctance. For a moment Shirley examined the script. Then gradually wilted. “So it’s probably crap.”
“Oh, come on, now. I really think it’s good.”
“Oh, you thought Psycho needed a laugh track.”
Lori laughed.
“Mommy?”
“I’m coming!”