The next day, the gates of Barnett studios loomed in front of Clara. She had taken the bus to the studio so she wouldn’t have to park her car.
Clara spent the morning eating a bagel and drinking endless cups of coffee at a sidewalk café, as she watched people move in and out of the studio gates. She listened to the surface of their thoughts, and smiled when she found the man who would get her inside.
He was short and harried, with a clipboard clutched in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was a second assistant director for a feature film, and he was late for that day’s shoot. He had gotten drunk at a woman’s house the night before, only to wake and find that his car wouldn’t start. He now stood outside the studio gates, fumbling in his pockets for his pass.
Clara moved to stand
