Ashwood was there to intercept him on the far side of the hall, away from the open bar.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” he told her.
She sipped at her glass as she observed the milling crowd of crew and performers. “Most guys your age would think of it as interference, not a rescue.”
“I know, but I get so damned tired of women looking at me like that.”
“Awww. Poor boy.” She patted him on the cheek, having to stand on tiptoes to reach his face. “Life’s such a trial for you.”
“You don’t have to patronize me,” he grumbled. “I didn’t say I didn’t like who I was, just that that sort of thing gets old when you have to deal with it day after day.”
“Still want to see my secret?”
“Oh, all right. What’s your secret, Marjorie?”
“Y’all have to come out to the trailer.”
“Whoa. I just got through thanking you for rescuing me from one situation.”
“It’s nothin’ like that, handsome. Not that I’d be averse, mind. You really are a beautiful young man. But I promise that’s not what I’ve got in mind.”
He dismissed the party. “Why not? This was old before it got started.”
They exited the hall and found themselves in the courtyard of the rambling suburban motel in which cast and crew had been housed. He followed Ashwood along a concrete walkway, past the pool, and up one flight of stairs. While his guide fumbled with her room key he wondered if she was being straight with him. He looked worriedly in both directions, wondering where Trang Ho was. This kind of publicity he didn’t need.
The room had been cleaned earlier. Two fully packed large suitcases lay open on the bed. Piled on the small dinette-style table were several boxes and the wardrobe mistress’s laptop. She sat down and turned it on.
As she worked, words appeared and scrolled up the screen. They were accompanied by drawings and maps.
“There it is,” she told him. “This is my secret.”
“You’re going too fast for me to read anything.”
She looked up at him. “Remember the disc we returned last week?” He nodded. “When some sucker offers a reward for the return of information, wouldn’t you be curious to know what it consisted of?”
He should’ve guessed. “Marjorie … you didn’t copy his disc?”
“Just as a precaution. Don’t look at me like that, gorgeous. I could’ve kept the original. And don’t tell me you ain’t interested.”
“I’m not.” He moved to leave.
“Well, since you ask,” she said slyly, “taken as a whole, I think it’s some kinda treasure map.”
He halted, turned. “You’ve been using my rejected scripts for reading material.”
“Are you sayin’ there’s no such thing as treasure?”
“What kind of treasure?”
She looked back at the screen. “Well, it don’t exactly say that there’s a treasure. But it hints, and gives directions.” She smiled brightly. “And I’m gonna go find it.”
He gaped at her. “What about your work?”
“The next picture I’m contracted for don’t start principal photography for six months yet. I’ll just tell my people not to sign me up for anything interim. I was plannin’ on taking a little vacation anyways.”
He couldn’t keep from asking, “Where’s this treasure supposed to be, anyway? Off the coast here?” Like anyone else who watched TV he knew all about the Spanish galleons that had been salvaged off the Florida Keys.
“Wrong coast. We’re talking South America. Peru, to be exact.”
Carter considered. “You don’t want to go there. It’s swarming with drug runners and Maoist guerrillas who think Stalin was a raving liberal.”
“Listen to me, sonny-boy.” She switched to the voice she’d utilized briefly in Bruton Fewick’s study. “There’s plenty you don’t know about me. To you I’m just Granny Marj, the lady who darns your jockey shorts. But before I started stitchin’ I did other things. I can take care of myself.”
“That so? What did you do that qualifies you for a trip like this?”
She backed off abruptly, as though she might already have said too much. “Let’s just say it involved a lot of travelin’ around, and that I learned how to handle myself on the road. I’m only tellin’ you any of this because I thought you deserved to know, you havin’ found the disc an’ all. Now go back to your party. Go on.” She waved at him as if trying to shoo a puppy.
He didn’t stir. “My next film, if I decide to sign the contract, doesn’t start for a number of months either. It’s supposed to shoot in the Amazon somewhere. I wonder if Manaus is close to Peru?”
She made a face. “Not hardly.” She tapped the screen. “Where I’m going there won’t be any air-conditioned, bugproof rooms or eager gofers waiting on call with iced drinks.”
“It would still be like research for the picture.”
“What would be like research?” she asked guardedly.
“If I went with you. You can’t really be thinking of going by yourself.”
“Matter of fact that’s just what I was thinkin’.”
