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Most funerals have neither security nor a paparazzi line, but this was not a regular funeral. It was the hottest ticket in town and standing room only.

This being a Hollywood party, everyone was watching the door, and as Julia entered the chapel, there was a discernable shift in energy. To be fair, she did take three steps inside the room and pause, head tilted to catch the slanting light from the chapel’s stained glass windows, knowing instinctively (and from decades of practice) how to hit her mark. Plus, she wasn’t going to waste all that steaming.

There was an audible gasp. After all, both TMZ and the Los Angeles Times had reported her arrest for the murder of the dude currently reclining in a box at the front, so the word “nerve” could be clearly heard, along with “chutzpah,” “cojones” and, more predictably, “balls of steel.” Julia angled her head one final time, in case anyone was filming (someone almost certainly was), then started threading her way through the crowd.

“Stay with me,” she muttered to Mason. “I don’t think anyone’s going to take a swing, but you never know.”

“I’m your sponsor, not your bodyguard,” Mason muttered back. “If they swing, you’d better duck lower than I do.”

“Look, just pay attention. I didn’t kill Tony, but I am willing to bet actual money that whoever did is in here somewhere. I want to be near the front, though, so I can make sure Tony stays in the casket.”

“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” said Mason. “The man is dead. He was dead in your swimming pool. He’s been dead ever since.” She turned to Archie. “You’re tall. Can you see any empty seats?”

It wasn’t going to be that easy, unfortunately. If you’re the center of attention at a Hollywood event, it won’t be long before somebody sidles up and tries to become center-adjacent. The first person to impede Julia’s forward momentum was a tall, dark-haired woman who reminded Mason irresistibly of an ostrich. It was something in the head movements, she reflected, rather than, say, her inability to fly. Mason realized she was getting hungry and wondered if there were going to be snacks at this funeral. Low blood sugar is the enemy of the alcoholic: hungry, angry, lonely, tired—the four horsemen that will carry you off to a relapse if you’re not watching your back. Hungry rides in front and causes a lot of damage.

“Julia, my love,” said the ostrich lady, “how extraordinarily brave of you to show up today.”

“Why’s that, Camilla?” Julia leaned forward so the two women could air-kiss, which really cemented the ostrich-y vibe.

“Well,” said Camilla, “you did get arrested for killing the man, so it’s possibly a little gauche to be here. Not to mention you’re the personification of the Codex Curse right now, and no one wants an evil fairy at a funeral.”

“I think you’re thinking of christenings, and maybe she’s checking her work?” said Mason, unable to stop herself. She really should have eaten.

Julia’s mouth tightened. “Tony and I were old enemies. It’s only polite to pay my respects.”

A man appeared at Camilla’s elbow. He literally had a mustache drawn on his upper lip; Mason could hardly tear her eyes away. “Julia, how lovely to see you.” He lowered his voice. “Is it true you’re going to remake The Codex ?”

“No,” said Julia, evenly. “I am not. I’m long retired.”

“Great actresses never retire,” he replied, waggishly. “They merely wait for better lighting.”

Julia smiled and tried to keep moving. But the dam had been breached now, and Mason suddenly realized there was a line forming.

“Julia, I heard you’re filming a sequel to The Codex ?”

“Julia, is it true you were suing Tony to prevent him from remaking The Codex ?”

“Darling, can you put in a word for me with the right people? I’d love to score the remake.”

“I know a wonderful seamstress who can get you back into that catsuit, just say the word…”

Mason turned to Archie, who looked as nonplussed as she felt.

He said, “There’s a seat near the front behind a row of family and power people. If we can shake Julia loose, we can put her there.”

Mason sighed, watching her boss, who was still surrounded. The crowd was moving in fits and starts all around them, and it didn’t seem like the funeral was going to begin anytime soon.

Archie looked sympathetic. “While we wait, want to know who’s who?” he asked.

“Sure. Julia showed me a picture of his ex-wife already. She’s in the front, right?”

Archie ran his eyes over the room and nodded. “Yeah, that’s Helen. Next to her is Christine Greenfield, his second-in-command at the studio.”

Mason nodded. “The one who had the accident…And Jade Solomon is sitting over there with a bird on her hat.”

“Not a real bird.”

“No, unless it’s super well trained.”

They both looked at the actress, who bounced light even better in person than she did on film. It isn’t always the case. Mason knew lots of young actors who looked kind of gawky and big-featured in real life but simply amazing on-screen. Jade was wearing a tiny hat with an even tinier bird that only someone who looked like that could pull off.

“On the far side of Christine…that’s the mayor…”

Mason shot Archie a look. “I recognize the mayor.”

Archie shrugged. “Keep your hair on. Next to him is our lesser state congressperson, and on his other side is the guy who owns all those fancy outdoor malls and actually runs the city.”

He kept scanning the room, and now he indicated a woman in the second row.

“The blonde behind the mayor is Patty Menninger, who heads up the Academy Museum…you know?”

“The one by the Tar Pits?”

Archie nodded. “Yeah, the movie museum. It’s good. You should go.” He pointed. “There’s Tony’s assistant, Cody, trying not to look like he’s freaking out at all the shit he has to do now that his boss is dead.”

Mason looked. It was true, the guy looked pretty unnerved. However, he was managing to text at a clip that wouldn’t have embarrassed a fifteen-year-old girl, and that’s saying a lot.

Archie continued. “That’s Jason Reed, the director of the Codex remake, at least at last report. Who knows what’s actually happening with that project now that Tony’s dead.” The guy he pointed out was one of a very few people not on their phone. He was looking around at the chapel, as if making mental notes for a re-creation later. Which of course was always possible. Archie went on to point out several studio heads, directors, producers, actors whose names Mason knew but faces she didn’t, and others whose faces she knew but names she didn’t. Some people were tearfully reading the order of service pamphlet, but most of the rest were texting while mourning. If you’d bombed the place, you’d have stopped production on every movie in town, Mason thought, then wondered how long it would take to fill the void and restart filming. About a week, probably.

“How is it you know everyone?” she said to Archie.

He shrugged. “It’s my job. Not only to know everyone, but to know how they relate. For example,” he said, pointing to a plump man a few feet to their left and dropping his voice, “that guy wrote a two-million-dollar check last week to secure the rights to Speaking with the Moon , the winner of last year’s Booker Prize, and currently holds the lead for most popular producer in town, if you happen to be a female actor who can play twenty-two and dye your hair red. That guy”—he pointed again—“lost the bidding war for the book and is currently trying to prevent several prominent actors from reading for the winner while also trying to option the next book by Moon ’s author, who hasn’t even started writing it yet.”

“Why do you care about this stuff?”

“Like I said, it’s my job. Hollywood is all about secret webs of influence and power, and agents sit at the center like proverbial spiders, their many legs outstretched, trying to keep track of which fly is where.”

Mason straightened up; Julia had shot her a look that meant it was time to move.

“Not sure that metaphor really made agents seem all that great, not going to lie,” she said to Archie, as she moved away.

“That’s OK,” he replied, following. “We can take it.”

Mason used her considerable strength to push through the crowd to Julia and her boots to step on enough toes to get them to the front of the chapel. By the time Mason had delivered Julia to her seat, she could tell her boss was exhausted and—and this was more serious—shaky and probably antsy as hell for a drink.

“Did you eat before they released you this morning?” she muttered. Julia shook her head. Mason noticed her own hands were shaking, and she’d actually had breakfast. She looked toward the front of the chapel. Christine Greenfield was approaching the podium, a small set of cards in her hand. She was about to deliver the eulogy.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she whispered to Julia. “We either Irish goodbye it immediately, or we’re stuck here for the speeches.”

“We stay,” said Julia, firmly. “I’m watching for guilt. I’m fine.”

“The room is filled with actors and studio executives,” said Mason. “You’re not going to see a real feeling anywhere. And you’re not fine. We should…”

Julia lowered her voice, but not her vehemence. “Look, for some reason Tony was at my house, which is mystery number one, then someone followed him there and shot him in the back of the head, mystery two, and that someone is probably here, and I am going to find out who it is and send them my pool cleaning bill, if not straight to jail.”

Besides, it was too late to leave. Christine was clearing her throat and gesturing for everyone to settle down.

“Go wait with Archie,” Julia hissed. “I’m fine. If you don’t think I spent my entire twenties hungry as hell and furious as fuck, you really don’t understand the life of an actor. Go!”

Mason frowned, but beat it to the back of the room, where Archie had secured wall space for leaning against. She leaned, and watched as Christine cleared her throat again and began.

“Tony was the kind of man who continued to believe in the magic of movies,” she said, looking only briefly at the cards in her hand. “He still went every week, still ate popcorn, still cried at all the endings, happy and sad. He was a true movie lover, and there are so few of those left in the business nowadays.”

Mason looked over the crowd. Jade Solomon—she of the accident and the millinery bird—was staring at Julia with such intensity that Mason was amazed Julia wasn’t getting a sunburn. Julia was actively ignoring Jade, but there was no way she didn’t feel it.

Christine was still talking. “Tony’s interest was never in rehashing the past, but in improving on it, reinterpreting it. While other studios made sequel after sequel, or shot-for-shot remakes of classic films, Tony always urged us to reinvent. Reinvigorate. The upcoming renewal of The Codex was to be his greatest achievement, and it will surprise no one here that he left exhaustive memos about how everything is to be done.”

There was laughter around the room, and some relief. Mason wondered if being such a control freak had made Tony many friends, or just anxious colleagues. Would any of them be anxious enough to wield a rifle in the middle of the night?

“The LAPD has assured me they will not rest until his killer is in custody and justice has been served. In the meantime, the studio will move forward with the projects Tony cared so deeply about.”

There was a ripple of applause as she stepped down, and then a Grammy winner sang “Rainbow Connection” and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

Except for Julia’s, of course.

As the funeral crowd made their way en masse down the hill to where the body would be interred, a middle-aged man scurried up to where Julia, Archie and Mason were standing.

“Mrs. Mann?” he asked, even though he presumably knew exactly who she was.

Julia nodded.

“I’m Frank McClennan, of Nutter, McClennan and Fish?”

“Tony’s personal lawyer,” murmured Archie, proving again that he knew everyone.

“Yes,” replied the lawyer. “I wanted to ask you to attend the reading of Tony’s will. It’s Monday morning at ten.” He paused, and handed over a business card. “At our offices.”

“Obviously,” said Julia, “but why do I need to be there?”

“Because you’re a legatee, of course. A named beneficiary.”

Julia made a face that clearly expressed what the fuck? “You must be mistaken, Mr. McClennan. Tony wouldn’t have left me anything.”

The lawyer rubbed his hands together, reminding Mason of a mouse, though she wasn’t sure why. “But he did, Mrs. Mann. You don’t need to attend the reading if you don’t want to; we can provide you with the details of the bequest another way, once the rest of the beneficiaries have heard the details.”

Julia opened her mouth, then closed it again. The crowd eddied around them, and she suddenly started walking down toward the graveside.

“Actually, I’m happy to attend. Give the details to my assistant.” She got a few feet away, then turned to add, “I’m sure it will be interesting to see how much trouble Tony can cause from beyond the grave. Always a director, to the end. Of course,” continued Julia, raising her voice to make sure everyone could hear, “it doesn’t matter what he left me. Whatever it is, I’m simply going to set fire to it.” She disappeared into the crowd and Archie went after her.

Mason turned to the lawyer and grinned. “I’m the assistant,” she said. “I’ll be the one carrying the matches.”

After they’d dropped Archie at his place and returned to the house, Julia climbed out of the car and addressed Mason.

“Go home. Tomorrow morning go talk to Becky Sharp. Archie will meet you at Cedars. I’m cooked. I’m going to eat something and lie down.”

Mason leaned across and studied Julia. She looked ashen, exhausted.

Mason said, “It’s been a long, tough day. Let’s eat together and I’ll take you to a meeting. You’ll feel better.”

“I won’t.”

“You will, and you need to get your court card signed. I’ve never gone to a meeting and regretted it.”

Julia made an incredulous face. “Then you haven’t been to enough meetings. I once had a chair thrown at me in a meeting.” She paused. “I don’t actually regret that particular meeting; it’s the boring ones I regret.” She closed the door of the Rolls and leaned down to speak through the open window. “Go away, Mason. I’m fine.”

Mason shook her head, stubbornly. “You’re on day five of not drinking. You haven’t been to a meeting. You’re making it harder on yourself.”

“I was sober before you were born.”

“And you were drunk last week.”

Julia frowned. “You’re very rude.” She turned to walk away, moving stiffly. “I’ll go to one online.”

“Text me which one. I’ll see you there.”

“No, stop bugging me. Go away.”

Mason opened her mouth to speak. Julia didn’t even turn around, but said, “Whatever you’re about to say, swallow it. I’m not going to drink today. I make no promises beyond that.”

She went through the door and closed it behind her.

Mason put the Rolls-Royce in gear and started a three-point turn.

“Mother. Fucker.”