CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“She must have headed out with the production team after the shoot,” Linda said, glancing at the pretty Coach watch that graced her slender wrist. “They were starting at one and it’s eight now.”
She, Gail and I were seated on the heavily packed patio of a small cozy Mexican restaurant off Kuhio, sipping fruit-dense sangria and munching jalapeno- and cheese-laden nachos under a ginormous tomato-red sombrero that served as an awning. A light drizzle that had started falling earlier had now stopped, and the night was sultry warm.
“They may still be shooting.” Gail motioned a passing server for more salsa. “Or had technical issues. Six hours doesn’t seem that long to film a commercial and get it right.”
I nodded. “She did this hulaing ham ad that took twenty hours becaus
