RANSVESTIA

thoughtful, and to Jean's expert gaze, still contained much of the terror that Angie must have felt when Robert Cort had asked to speak to her. In her usual precise way, Angie had already placed Jean's stole back in the open box that Jean had left on the motel room's chester- field before leaving for the club that night. Angie came back to the kitchen and made as if to start making the coffee.

"Leave that for me," whispered Jean. "Go and close the kids' door tight before you tell me anything."

Angie's face showed a flash of worry. "Was Cam up again?” she whispered back. Jean nodded and began to butter crackers to have with cheese and pickles as a snack before bed. Angie disappeared down the hallway and was gone for ten minutes or so. She returned wiping the make-up from her face with a small, blue facecloth.

"I still forget," she smiled, speaking in low, husky tones. "Poor Cam has lipstick all over him again." She sat down opposite Jean, her exotic appearance changed into that of a pert teenager.

"Tell me how it went," said Jean quietly, admiring Angie's natural freshness even at such an ungodly hour.

"He wants me," said Angie shortly. "At least, he wants me in a film, a comedy with some dancing, that Pacific's putting out. One other, a detective story, as the only female lead, the male lead's romantic entanglement.'

"And the rest of the group?" Jean's eyes had become hard.

"Not interested." Angie's eyes were troubled. "He struck a deal with Storey to buy up my contract for twenty-five grand. The legal papers are to be signed tomorrow."

Jean's eyes opened wide at the figure. "Phew! He must want you bad!" Her eyes became more hooded, her expression bland. "I guess he wants other favors from you."

Angie looked startled. "No!" she became agitated. "They only talked about contracts and future pay-offs depending on how well I might do." Her hands fluttered nervously as she spoke.

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