Chapter NinePARAMOUNT STUDIOS PARKING LOT, THE NEXT DAY
“This’s it,” Clara said, stopping short next to a shiny cherry-red Kissel convertible. “Hop in!”
I took the passenger seat, and Clara fired up the engine.
“Hey, Clara!” a voice called from the direction of Stage 2. It was Buzz Birney, one of the stuntmen I’d seen her spitting with. He dashed up to the car.
“Hiya, Buzz,” she said. She laid her arms on top of the car door and rested her head on them as we idled there a moment.
“Here. I heard about what ya did . . . paying off that loan shark who came around looking for me last week.” He handed her a twenty-dollar bill.
“Dontcha even think about handin’ me money, ya big dummy. Christmas is comin’. Besides, I overheard ya tellin’ Gordie Hudson that your daughter hadda go to the doct
