“If he did, he just put it in his pocket. I didn't pay any attention. I think he got some coffee after I was through with him. Maybe he set it down over there," Maisie said, gesturing to the loaded-down craft service table.

Jake wandered off, looking around the table and taking nibbles of half a dozen things.

“The director hurt himself?" Jane asked.

Maisie started laughing. "It was, honest-to-God, a hangnail. He's just a raving hypochondriac. Oh, dear. .”

A pair of young women were approaching them, one head down, crying. The other had her arm around her and was muttering to her comfortingly. Maisie got up to meet them and as the sobbing young actress raised her head, Maisie said, "Oh, you poor dear. It's chicken pox, you know."

“I can't have chicken pox!" the girl wailed. "I'm not a kid and I've got my first line today! I've never gotten to say a single word in a single movie and I'm supposed to do a whole scene with Miss Harwell this afternoon!" She'd gotten so pale that the telltale spots stood out even brighter.

“I'm sorry, honey, but you're not going to get to say a word in this one either.”

Her friend spoke up. "I talked to Carl in makeup. He said they can cover the spots."

“Maybe so, but that's not the point. Chicken pox is a disease. A highly infectious disease that can be very tough on adults like you who missed having it as kids. I can't let you stay and pass it on to the whole crew — if you haven't already. Thank God we'll be wrapped before the incubation period is over!”

A crowd had gathered around them by this time, clucking curiosity, sympathy, and surprise. But Jane noticed that Jake, standing at a little distance, looked pleased. He suddenly dropped the roll he was munching on into a trash barrel and abruptly plunged between the fake buildings onto the set itself.