"It wasn't like that, Charlene," Stone said. "When can we get together?"
"Why don't you come over here for lunch? I'll be done with the police by then, say one o'clock, and I don't have to be back on the set until three."
"All right, where are you?"
"In the biggest fucking RV you ever saw," she said, "parked at the rear of sound stage six. It's got 'Georgia Peach' painted on the side."
"I'll find it. See you at one."
"I'll look forward."
Chapter 43
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sp; Stone found the RV at the back of the sound stage, and Char-lene had not overstated its size. It looked as long as a Greyhound bus, and it, indeed, had "Georgia Peach" painted on the side. Stone was about to get out of his car when he saw the two policemen, Rivera and Goldman, leaving the big vehicle. He waited until they had driven away before getting out of his car.
He knocked on the RV door and, a moment later, it was opened by a plump middle-aged woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses, with a pencil stuck in her hair.
"You Barrington?" she asked. "That's me.
"I'm Sheila, come on in." She sat down at a desk behind the driver's seat and pointed at a door a few feet away. "Charlene's expecting you."
Stone rapped on the door.
"Come on in, Stone," came the voice through the door.
Stone opened the door and stepped into a surprisingly well-furnished room. It contained a sofa, coffee table and a couple of comfortable chairs, a desk, a dressing table, and a king-size bed. Charlene's voice came from what Stone presumed to be the bathroom, the door of which was ajar. "Have a seat," she called. "I'm just getting undressed."
"What?"
"Sit down. You want a drink?"
"I'm okay at the moment."
Charlene stuck her head out the door. "You don't mind if I'm naked, do you?" It was a rhetorical question. Before Stone could reply, she stepped into the room, and, unlike the last time he had seen her, she was not even wearing her bikini bottom. "I hope you're not too, too shy," she said, "but I'm shooting a nude scene this afternoon, and I can't have any marks on my body from clothes or underwear."
Stone sat down on the sofa. "I won't complain," he said, but he felt like complaining. Why were women always walking around naked in front of him just when he was trying to be good? He was struck anew at how beautiful she was-tall, slender, with breasts that were original equipment, not options, and she was a lovely, tawny color. "Did you greet the cops this way?"
"For them, I put on a robe, but it left this little mark where I tied it around the waist, see?" She pointed at a slightly red spot.
"Can't have that, can we?" Stone said, lamely.
"The director would go nuts," she said. "Once I turned up with pantie marks and he shut down production until the next day, and I got a call from Lou Regenstein about it. You sure you don't want something to drink? Some iced tea, maybe?"
"All right, that would be nice."
She went to a small fridge, opened the door, and bent over, presenting a backside for the ages.
Stone took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was not a hint of fat or cellulite anywhere. How did Hollywood do it?
She came back with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses, then poured them both one and sat down on the sofa.
She pulled a leg under her, and Stone could not help but notice that she had recently experienced a clever bikini wax.
"The fuzz were very nice," she said.
"I'll bet."