TWO
The cops talked to all of us for far too long. They interviewed me longer than anyone else. I kept saying, “They were actors. It was an audition. They didn’t mean to scare anyone.”
“How do you know?”
“They told me.”
“Why did they tell you? Did you know them?”
“No! I saw they had f*****g squirt guns,” I said. “I figured they were out of their depth. I just wanted them gone so I could finish my breakfast, which is cold now, thank you very much.”
In fact, it was way into the lunch hour.
Donna, the owner of Juliet’s—she always wanted to be a Juliet—had her crew make us another breakfast, after she found them. They had all run off when they’d heard the gunmen come into the restaurant.
The media showed up. The paps and legit apparently. (They all look alike these days.) The maitre d’
