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his own theatre. Don’t know where he got the money. Off-Off Broadway, I guess. Shakespeare. Gonna be a one-man show. Produce. Direct. Act. Doing everything himself. Designing. Carpentry. Lights. Built that bookcase for me. The guy should do that for a living. Could make a bundle building things. But he’s an actor. Not a good actor but an actor. He’ll lose his shirt.”
    I asked for Willow Leigh’s phone number as well as Lawrence Dunn’s. While I was jotting them down the phone rang again. This time the call was from an assistant director on a film.
    â€œHow many extras?” Mr. Bean asked, then scribbled a number on a scrap of paper as he listened. “Sure. When’s the call?”
    Mr. Bean looked a bit thrown. “That’s really short notice,” he said. “No. No. You don’t have to call anyone else. I’ve got ’em.” There was a short pause while Mr. Bean took notes. “All right,” he said, reading them back, “you want a teenage couple in love, a homely housewife with a baby, a man with a dog—preferably a schnauzer, two cop types—one big and beefy, one skinny, and a lady over sixty—society type. Ten assorted men, ages twenty to thirty. And eight women—same mix. You want them to report to the Wollman Rink in Central Park at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow. You got it.”
    Mr. Bean took a white linen display handkerchief from his vest pocket and mopped his brow while staring at a large-faced clock on the wall directly opposite his desk.
    â€œMiss Weidenmaier, would you mind handing me that pile of pictures? Got to find all these extras tout suite. There goes my nice hot supper. I’ll be working the phone all night calling actors. It figures. Same movie that Willow Leigh’s in. Nothing but trouble. At least I get a fee for the extras I supply.”
    â€œMr. Bean, what does an extra do?”
    â€œStand around or sit mostly. Background. People walking up and down the street. Sitting at a table talking or eating while the camera focuses on the stars.”
    â€œPerhaps I could be of some assistance,” I said. “I’ve done a bit of acting and I’m certainly the right age for the society lady.”
    Mr. Bean hesitated.
    â€œOne less actor you have to call.”
    Mr. Bean nodded. “Doesn’t pay much,” he said. “You’d be one of the non-union they’re allowed.”
    â€œMoney isn’t everything, Mr. Bean. I’m sure it will be a most interesting experience.”
    Mr. Bean repeated the instructions as he escorted me to the door. “Here,” he said. “No sense wasting the coupon.” He handed me a coupon for a Brownie Bonanza. “Cute girls in Western outfits were handing these out on the streets. May as well try one, it’s for free if you buy a Cowboy Bob’s Big, Bad Burger.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Mr. Dunn wore a royal-blue smoking jacket and an ascot marked with a paisley print.
    â€œA proper choice of wardrobe—casual but dignified,” he told Kevin.
    â€œYou look really great, Mr. Dunn,” Kevin said.
    â€œMy voice will be on the air tomorrow night, Kevin, and it is of no import that the television audience will just hear my voice via the telephone. Remember preparation shows in the performance. Practice day after day, hour after hour. My theatre audience will be disappointed, of course, all lovers of Shakespeare and the theatre will be disappointed. It hurt me too, canceling a legitimate stage performance for television. But I have to be practical. Television, Kevin, is a necessity in these crass commercial times. You will remember tomorrow, Kevin. It will be a memorable Friday, for after Friday, I shall begin my rendezvous with fame.”
    â€œI love Shakespeare and the theatre too, Mr. Dunn.” Kevin smiled at his abductor.
    â€œFame will at last be mine and a bit of well-deserved fortune too. I have scrounged for years