Rune said, "I don't know a whole lot about plays, but I liked it. I didn't, you know, understand everything, but usually, if I don't understand stuff all the way, that means it's pretty good."
"The reviewers like it. They're talking of taking a road company to New York. It'll hurt like hell but I won't be able to go with them. Not now. Not for a few years. That's my plan, and I'll have to stick to it. Let Shelly rest in peace for a while."
"You happy here?" Rune asked.
She nodded her head upward. "I'm nearly broke, living in a third-floor walk-up. I pawned my last diamond bracelet last month because I needed the cash." Shelly shrugged, then grinned. "But the acting, what I'm doing? Yeah, I'm happy."
Rune looked at the twisty wrought-iron gate. "We've got kind of a problem."
"What's that?"
"There's a film about you."
"The one you were working on when I was killed?" Shelly looked at her curiously. "But after the bombing ... Well, there was nothing more for you to make a film about. You stopped working on it, didn't you?"
Rune leaned against the grille and turned to face Shelly. "It's slotted on PBS."
Shelly's eyes went wide. "Oh, Rune, you can't ... PBS is national. Someone here could see it."
"You don't look like you."
"I look enough like me so people could make the connection."
Rune said, "You used me. You weren't honest with me."
"I know I don't deserve to ask--"
"You didn't want to help me make my film at all. You just used me."
"Please, Rune, all my plans ... They're just starting to work out. For the first time in my life I'm happy. No one knows what I did--the films. I can't tell you how wonderful it is, not to be looked at like a thing. It's so wonderful not to be ashamed...."
Rune said, "But this is my one big chance. I've lived with this film for months. It's gotten me fired and nearly gotten me killed a couple times. It's all I've got, Shelly. I can't let it go."
Tears formed in the actress's eyes. "Remember in your houseboat, we were looking through the mythology book. The story about Orpheus and Eurydice? Shelly Lowe is dead, Rune. Don't bring her back. Please, don't." Shelly's eyes were round and liquid with tears. Her hand closed on Rune's arm. "Look at me, Rune! Please. Like Orpheus. Look at me and send me back to the Underworld."
The Hudson was choppy; a storm was coming. Rune was afraid she'd lose electricity.
That's all I need tonight. My television premiere and all of New York has a blackout.
A flash of lightning over Jersey froze the image of Sam Healy, opening two cans of beer at once.
The rain began, whipped against the side of the houseboat by fast, surprised sweeps of wind.
"I hope the moorings hold," Rune said.
Healy looked out the window, then back at the dinner resting on Rune's blue Formica coffee table. The cold anchovy pizza seemed to bother him more than an unplanned voyage into New York Harbor.
"They pay you much for your film?"
"Naw. This is public television--you do it for love," Rune said, turning on the TV. "And because, if I'm lucky, a lecherous producer with a ton of money he's dying to give away is gonna be watching."
"You use your real name?"
"You don't believe Rune's my name?"
"No." He sipped the Miller. "Is it?"
"The credit line is Irene Dodd Simons."