et.

Even now he's coming out of the hotel! she thought. Or he sees me from
the Window!... I can't wait here; I'll have to run; I'll....

A chartreuse convertible with its top up drew to a stop in front of her.
The driver opened the door by pressing a button on the dash. The
upholstery was made of tiger skin. He smiled nervously. "Going down this
way?"

She hesitated only an instant. "My God, yes!" she said.

"Get in."

She got in and slammed the door. "Let's go! mister."

"When you're in a hurry, these cabs ... you never can find one."

He wore a sports jacket, most of which was canary yellow. He had thin,
delicate hands; his face was lean and sunless; his eyes were sad and
misunderstood. The hands threaded the convertible into traffic.

Julia fidgeted. She kept glancing behind her.

"Somebody following you?"

Julia shuddered. "I hope not."

The driver waited. Julia did not amplify; she was half turned now, so
she could see out the rear window.

"I had to talk to someone," the driver said apologetically. "I was
driving along, and suddenly I had to talk to someone. You know how it
is?... Then there you were; you seemed in such a hurry."

"I'm sure glad you stopped, mister!"

"I mean," the driver said intently, "I get wanting to _talk_. My name's
Green. You may have heard of me. I produce pictures--motion pictures.
I'm a producer."

How can I ever get away from Walt! Julia thought. He can run me down
whenever he wants to!

"Nobody hears of producers," the driver said. "That's all right with me.
Let other people take the credit. I don't like to call attention to
myself." He brought out a monogrammed cigarette case and flicked it
open. "Cigarette?"

"No, no, thank you." Julia twisted at the strap of her handbag.

"Who can you talk to, I mean really? All _they're_ after is your
money.... I'll tell you what I really want. I want a farm--no, don't
laugh: it's the truth--a little piece of land. I want to settle down,
you know. Most people don't understand how it is." He gazed sadly down
Hollywood Boulevard. "To be famous, I mean."

* * * * *

Julia was scarcely listening. She bit her lip.

"My wife, now, she's an actress. In her next picture, she opens a beer
can with her teeth. Not a bottle; anyone can open a bottle. She doesn't
understand me. She's an actress." One of his delicate hands moved over
the tiger skin toward Julia. "I'd like--sometimes to get away. Go away