Chapter EightGET YOUR MAN SET, PARAMOUNT STUDIOS,
September 1927
Cut!”
“All right, everyone. Half an hour for lunch!”
I’d finished touching up Clara’s ’do and was watching the filming when someone bumped me from behind and I nearly took a header into a big Mitchell Standard on its tripod. He wasn’t much taller than me—around six feet or so. His wavy light brown hair was almost red and had been trimmed short. I had a feeling if he’d let it grow, it would have gone up and out, like a clown wig. His nose was wide, but it pointed straight down at the bottom, like an arrow, toward his semi-crooked teeth. His eyes were warm and friendly like a spaniel’s.
“I’m sorry! I shoulda found somewhere else to stand!” he said, his accent sounding a bit like Clara’s. He clasped my forearms to make sure
