you afraid to use my first name?"
She faltered a moment, but let her hand lay unresisting in his. Because it's too personal, she thought.
"Afraid?" she countered.
"Reluctant?" he suggested, allowing his fingertip to trace the back of her hand.
"Immaterial." Gently she removed her hand from his. "I was told you'd be shooting here for about six weeks." She lifted the cover from her plate and set it aside. "Is that firm?"
"According to the guarantors." Phil muttered, taking another sip of wine. "Guarantors?"
' Tyco, Inc., completion-bond company."
"Oh, yes." Tory toyed with her chicken. "I'd heard that was a new wave in Hollywood. They guarantee that the movie will be completed on time and within budget— or else they pay the overbudget costs. They can fire you, can't they?"
"Me, the producer, the stars, anyone," Phil agreed. "Practical."
"Stifling," he returned, and stabbed into his chicken.
"From your viewpoint, I imagine," Tory reflected. "Still, as a business, it makes sense. Creative people often have to be shown certain...boundaries. Such as," she continued, "the ones I outlined this morning."
"And boundaries often have to be flexible. Such as," he said with a smile, "some night scenes we'll be shooting: I'm going to need your cooperation. The townspeople are welcome to watch any phase of the shoot, as long as they don't interfere, interrupt or get in the way. Also, some of the equipment being brought in is very expensive and very sensitive. We have security, but as sheriff, you may want to spread the word that it's off limits."
"Your equipment is your responsibility," she reminded him. ' 'But I will issue a statement. Before you shoot your night scenes, you'll have to clear it through my office."
He gave her a long, hard look. "Why?"
"If you're planning on working in the middle of the night in the middle of town, I'll need prior confirmation.
In that way I can keep disorder to a minimum."
"There'll be times I'll need the streets blocked off and cleared."
"Send me a memo," she said. "Dates, times. Friendly can't come to a stop to accommodate you." "It's nearly there in any case."
"We don't have a fast lane." Irresistibly she sent him a grin. "As you discovered."
He gave her a mild glance. "I'd also like to use some of the locals for extras and walk-ons."
Tory rolled her eyes. "God, you are looking for trouble. Go ahead," she said with a shrug, "send out your casting call, but you'd better use everyone that answers it, one way or another."
As he'd already figured that one out for himself, Phil was unperturbed. "Interested?" he asked casually.
"Hmm?"
"Are you interested?"
Tory laughed as she held out her glass for more wine. "No."
Phil let the bottle hover a moment. "I'm serious, Tory. I'd like to put you on film."
"I haven't got the time or the inclination."
"You've got the looks and, I think, the talent."
She smiled, more amused than flattered. "Phil, I'm a lawyer. That's exactly what I want to be."
"Why?"
He saw immediately that the question had thrown her off balance. She stared at him a moment with the glass to her lips. "Because the law fascinates me," she said after a pause. "Because I respect it. Because I like to think that occasionally I have something to do with the process of justice. I worked hard to get into Harvard, and harder when I got there. It means something to me."
"Yet, you've given it up for six months."
"Not completely." She frowned at the steady flame of the candle. "Regardless, it's necessary. There'll still be cases to try when I go back."
"I'd like to see you in the courtroom," he murmured, watching the quiet light flicker in her eyes. "I bet you're fabulous."
"Outstanding," she agreed, smiling again. "The assistant D.A. hates me." She took another bite of chicken.
"What about you? Why directing instead of acting?"
"It never appealed to me." Leaning back, Phil found himself curiously relaxed and stimulated. He felt he could look at her forever. Her fragrance,
She faltered a moment, but let her hand lay unresisting in his. Because it's too personal, she thought.
"Afraid?" she countered.
"Reluctant?" he suggested, allowing his fingertip to trace the back of her hand.
"Immaterial." Gently she removed her hand from his. "I was told you'd be shooting here for about six weeks." She lifted the cover from her plate and set it aside. "Is that firm?"
"According to the guarantors." Phil muttered, taking another sip of wine. "Guarantors?"
' Tyco, Inc., completion-bond company."
"Oh, yes." Tory toyed with her chicken. "I'd heard that was a new wave in Hollywood. They guarantee that the movie will be completed on time and within budget— or else they pay the overbudget costs. They can fire you, can't they?"
"Me, the producer, the stars, anyone," Phil agreed. "Practical."
"Stifling," he returned, and stabbed into his chicken.
"From your viewpoint, I imagine," Tory reflected. "Still, as a business, it makes sense. Creative people often have to be shown certain...boundaries. Such as," she continued, "the ones I outlined this morning."
"And boundaries often have to be flexible. Such as," he said with a smile, "some night scenes we'll be shooting: I'm going to need your cooperation. The townspeople are welcome to watch any phase of the shoot, as long as they don't interfere, interrupt or get in the way. Also, some of the equipment being brought in is very expensive and very sensitive. We have security, but as sheriff, you may want to spread the word that it's off limits."
"Your equipment is your responsibility," she reminded him. ' 'But I will issue a statement. Before you shoot your night scenes, you'll have to clear it through my office."
He gave her a long, hard look. "Why?"
"If you're planning on working in the middle of the night in the middle of town, I'll need prior confirmation.
In that way I can keep disorder to a minimum."
"There'll be times I'll need the streets blocked off and cleared."
"Send me a memo," she said. "Dates, times. Friendly can't come to a stop to accommodate you." "It's nearly there in any case."
"We don't have a fast lane." Irresistibly she sent him a grin. "As you discovered."
He gave her a mild glance. "I'd also like to use some of the locals for extras and walk-ons."
Tory rolled her eyes. "God, you are looking for trouble. Go ahead," she said with a shrug, "send out your casting call, but you'd better use everyone that answers it, one way or another."
As he'd already figured that one out for himself, Phil was unperturbed. "Interested?" he asked casually.
"Hmm?"
"Are you interested?"
Tory laughed as she held out her glass for more wine. "No."
Phil let the bottle hover a moment. "I'm serious, Tory. I'd like to put you on film."
"I haven't got the time or the inclination."
"You've got the looks and, I think, the talent."
She smiled, more amused than flattered. "Phil, I'm a lawyer. That's exactly what I want to be."
"Why?"
He saw immediately that the question had thrown her off balance. She stared at him a moment with the glass to her lips. "Because the law fascinates me," she said after a pause. "Because I respect it. Because I like to think that occasionally I have something to do with the process of justice. I worked hard to get into Harvard, and harder when I got there. It means something to me."
"Yet, you've given it up for six months."
"Not completely." She frowned at the steady flame of the candle. "Regardless, it's necessary. There'll still be cases to try when I go back."
"I'd like to see you in the courtroom," he murmured, watching the quiet light flicker in her eyes. "I bet you're fabulous."
"Outstanding," she agreed, smiling again. "The assistant D.A. hates me." She took another bite of chicken.
"What about you? Why directing instead of acting?"
"It never appealed to me." Leaning back, Phil found himself curiously relaxed and stimulated. He felt he could look at her forever. Her fragrance,
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