Death of a Blue Movie Star

tone it down with some gels on the lights. He picked up his camera bags and carried them inside.
    He noticed her dangling zirconia earrings. They were pretty but he’d get lens flare off of them. They’d have to go.
    “You look nice,” he said.
    “Thanks, come on in. You want a drink?”
    “Sure. Juice. Mineral water.”
    “So you’ve, like, completely stopped drinking?”
    “Yep,” he said.
    “Good for you. You mind if I …”
    “Oh, God, no. Go right ahead.”
    Nicole poured two orange juices. Added vodka to hers. The bottle vibrated slightly in her hand as she poured. He smiled. “What, you nervous?”
    “A little I guess. Isn’t that weird? I do a sex film and no big deal. I’m on camera with my clothes on and I get butterflies in my tummy.”
    “Ah, it’ll be a piece of cake.” They clinked glasses. “To your new career.”
    She sipped the drink, then set the glass down. Her eyes swiveled; she’d been thinking about something, it seemed. She decided to say it. “If this works out, Tommy, you think there’ll maybe be others I could do?”
    Tommy drank down half the juice. “I don’t see why not.” Then: “I ought to start getting set up. Can you show me the kitchen?”
    She led him into the large, tiled room. It was chrome and white. In the center of the ceiling was a large steel rack hanging from chains. Dozens of heavy copper pans and bowls hung from it.
    “This’ll work just fine.”
    “We had it redone last year.”
    He looked over the room. “We can use those pans. Copper looks good on camera.”
    Together they began assembling the camera and lights.
    Nicole asked, “Was it hard for you to, you know, get out of the business?”
    “Out of porn? Yeah, financially it was a pain. What I did was assist at some film companies for a while.”
    “Like what Rune’s doing?”
    “Rune? Oh, that girl. Yeah, like her. And eventually I started getting some jobs as a cameraman, then I directed some documentaries.”
    “I’d like to act. I keep thinking I could take lessons. I mean, how hard can it be? Shelly had a good coach. Arthur Tucker. She said he helped her a lot. I don’t know why he hasn’t been around. He didn’t go to the memorial service. I thought he would’ve called.”
    “The coach?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I don’t know,” Tommy said. “When somebody dies it makes people feel funny. They can’t deal with it.” He turned to her, examined her closely. “You
should
act. You should be always in front of the camera. You’re very beautiful.”
    Their eyes met for a moment. A copper bowl paused in Nicole’s hand. She looked away.
    He finished assembling the camera and lights. Nicole watched him, the smooth, efficient way he handled the equipment. She leaned against the island, absently spinning the round-bottomed copper bowl. She looked down at its hypnotizing motion.
    “I know Shelly got some kind of kick out of the porn films she made but, all in all, I don’t see why she didn’t give it up.”
    “Because,” Tommy said, stepping next to her, “she was a whore. Just like you.” And he brought the long, lead pipe down on the back of Nicole’s head.

 
    CHAPTER TWENTY
     

    They ended up at her houseboat.
    First, after the country-western club they were drenched with sweat so they decided it’d make sense to go for a walk. Then a cool night breeze came up as they were walking in the West Village and that made Healy suggest coffee nearby and they went to a cappuccino place on Hudson Street with a fountain where water spit out of a goat’s head into a trough filled with coins.
    One of the coins was an Indian head nickel and Rune spent a couple minutes nonchalantly fishing the coin out while Healy tried to distract the waitress.
    “Hmm,” Healy muttered. “Petty larceny. And I’m an accessory.”
    She retrieved the coin and then wrung the slimy fountain water out of her sleeve. “It was in deeper than I’d thought.”
    After that they’d walked another five or six blocks and found themselves not far from her boat.
    “I only live three blocks away.”
    “Where?” he asked.
    “In the river.”
    He looked at her for the standard five seconds before asking the standard question. “
In
the river?”
    “I have a houseboat.”
    “I don’t believe you. Nobody’s got a houseboat in New York. This I’ve got to see.”
    Which was a line that’d been tried on her before.
    Not that it mattered. She was going to invite him home anyway.

     
    After the tour