want?”
“I don’t want anything right now. I have nothing to say. But maybe I’ll be calling you.”
Easy watched him for a moment, then nodded and left the place. Directly across the roadway from Blind Joe Death’s was the Pacific Ocean. It came hissing in across the dark sand, black and cold. Behind him in the club, Reverend Oates began to sing about Canaan Land.
VIII
C HILDREN IN BRIGHT NEW clothes were swinging from the gilded gates of the cemetery, dancing along the top of its synthetic stone wall. At least fifteen of them.
Easy parked his car on the road outside the Peaceable Kingdom #2 cemetery and walked up over low, rolling hills. At Easy’s back, down a four hundred foot cliffside, was the ocean and the San Amaro beach, clear and quiet in the early morning sunlight.
In the oak trees on the inside of the wall three little boys were climbing. The topmost, a ten-year-old Negro in a pale blue sailor suit, leaped for a branch and missed it. “Shit, oh, dear,” he said, tumbling down halfway to the ground before he caught a new hold.
“Okay, cut,” said a patient voice from up among the few tombstones.
A little, blonde girl in a polka dot pinafore looked up into the oak and called, “You dumb jigaboo, you screw up every take.”
“Kids, kids,” said the patient-voiced man. “Listen, it’s never too young to learn professional ethics. Kids, we don’t criticize our fellow actors. Remember that, Marylee.”
“Eighteen takes on the dumb shot,” complained the little blonde Marylee. “Only because Sambo keeps falling out of his tree.”
When the last of the child actors had disentangled himself from the gates, Easy pushed into the cemetery grounds.
Two panel trucks and a silver trailer were parked on one of the flower-lined lanes, and wires and cables snaked over the bright grass and wound around the gravestones. Just in front of a synthetic marble fountain two cameras sat, watching the children.
The man with the patient voice noticed Easy, waved at him with the clipboard in his hand. “Kids, let’s take five,” he announced. “And, Larry, maybe you’d better stay out of the tree on the next take.”
“But I already memorized the tree swinging part, Mr. Segal,” said the black child. “I was up most of the night preparing, feeling what it would be like. Planning out my movements and reactions.”
“Did you plan to fall on your ass, too?” asked Marylee.
“Kids, kids,” cautioned Ned Segal as he walked carefully down through the tombstones toward Easy. Segal gestured at a pretty Chinese girl who was standing next to one of the cameras with a bundle of scripts clutched to her breasts. “Talk to Marylee, will you, Gina? Explain professionalism to her.”
“I’m John Easy,” Easy said, shaking hands.
“I don’t think I can help you much, Easy,” Segal told him. “Still, as I told your secretary, I’m happy to try. I can’t give you more than ten or fifteen minutes right now. We’re running behind schedule on this commercial.” He was a lean man of thirty, nearly bald, wearing round-framed dark glasses.
Easy watched the frolicking children. “I’m trying to figure out what you’re selling.”
Segal lifted the dark glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “The cemetery itself. I’m doing a minute TV spot for Peaceable Kingdom #2.” He lowered the glasses and called, “Bobby, get off the fountain. Kid actors are a bigger pain than grownup actors.” He walked further downhill and sat on a curb. “As you may have noticed, Easy, this place isn’t doing too well. Only fifteen burials in the five months it’s been in operation. Not that you’re interested, but it’s quite a challenge technically to give the impression you’ve got a crowded popular cemetery when you’ve only fifteen marked graves to play with. Takes a good cameraman to fake it. Larry, I meant it about the tree. Stay on the ground.”
“Why the kids?”
“You probably haven’t thought about the
“I don’t want anything right now. I have nothing to say. But maybe I’ll be calling you.”
Easy watched him for a moment, then nodded and left the place. Directly across the roadway from Blind Joe Death’s was the Pacific Ocean. It came hissing in across the dark sand, black and cold. Behind him in the club, Reverend Oates began to sing about Canaan Land.
VIII
C HILDREN IN BRIGHT NEW clothes were swinging from the gilded gates of the cemetery, dancing along the top of its synthetic stone wall. At least fifteen of them.
Easy parked his car on the road outside the Peaceable Kingdom #2 cemetery and walked up over low, rolling hills. At Easy’s back, down a four hundred foot cliffside, was the ocean and the San Amaro beach, clear and quiet in the early morning sunlight.
In the oak trees on the inside of the wall three little boys were climbing. The topmost, a ten-year-old Negro in a pale blue sailor suit, leaped for a branch and missed it. “Shit, oh, dear,” he said, tumbling down halfway to the ground before he caught a new hold.
“Okay, cut,” said a patient voice from up among the few tombstones.
A little, blonde girl in a polka dot pinafore looked up into the oak and called, “You dumb jigaboo, you screw up every take.”
“Kids, kids,” said the patient-voiced man. “Listen, it’s never too young to learn professional ethics. Kids, we don’t criticize our fellow actors. Remember that, Marylee.”
“Eighteen takes on the dumb shot,” complained the little blonde Marylee. “Only because Sambo keeps falling out of his tree.”
When the last of the child actors had disentangled himself from the gates, Easy pushed into the cemetery grounds.
Two panel trucks and a silver trailer were parked on one of the flower-lined lanes, and wires and cables snaked over the bright grass and wound around the gravestones. Just in front of a synthetic marble fountain two cameras sat, watching the children.
The man with the patient voice noticed Easy, waved at him with the clipboard in his hand. “Kids, let’s take five,” he announced. “And, Larry, maybe you’d better stay out of the tree on the next take.”
“But I already memorized the tree swinging part, Mr. Segal,” said the black child. “I was up most of the night preparing, feeling what it would be like. Planning out my movements and reactions.”
“Did you plan to fall on your ass, too?” asked Marylee.
“Kids, kids,” cautioned Ned Segal as he walked carefully down through the tombstones toward Easy. Segal gestured at a pretty Chinese girl who was standing next to one of the cameras with a bundle of scripts clutched to her breasts. “Talk to Marylee, will you, Gina? Explain professionalism to her.”
“I’m John Easy,” Easy said, shaking hands.
“I don’t think I can help you much, Easy,” Segal told him. “Still, as I told your secretary, I’m happy to try. I can’t give you more than ten or fifteen minutes right now. We’re running behind schedule on this commercial.” He was a lean man of thirty, nearly bald, wearing round-framed dark glasses.
Easy watched the frolicking children. “I’m trying to figure out what you’re selling.”
Segal lifted the dark glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “The cemetery itself. I’m doing a minute TV spot for Peaceable Kingdom #2.” He lowered the glasses and called, “Bobby, get off the fountain. Kid actors are a bigger pain than grownup actors.” He walked further downhill and sat on a curb. “As you may have noticed, Easy, this place isn’t doing too well. Only fifteen burials in the five months it’s been in operation. Not that you’re interested, but it’s quite a challenge technically to give the impression you’ve got a crowded popular cemetery when you’ve only fifteen marked graves to play with. Takes a good cameraman to fake it. Larry, I meant it about the tree. Stay on the ground.”
“Why the kids?”
“You probably haven’t thought about the
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