Free A Job to Kill For by Janice Kaplan Page B

hand against my hip.
    “You said two family headlines,” Dan said. “What’s the other?”
    “Jimmy lost another front tooth.”
    “Did Toothman come?” Dan asked, stroking my bare skin. When Jimmy announced one day that he didn’t believe in the tooth fairy, Dan told him he was right. No fairy flew through the sky to leave money under a pillow. But a superhero did. To the pantheon of Superman, Batman, and Spider-Man, we introduced—Toothman!
    “Toothman left him five dollars.”
    “Wow—is that for a tooth or an arm?”
    “It’s the superhero minimum in this zip code.”
    “Well, I’m glad Jimmy still believes,” Dan said, letting his fingers flutter upward from my waist.
    “Willing suspension of disbelief. I wouldn’t mind if someone left five bucks in my bed.”
    “Would you mind if someone made passionate love to you in your bed?” asked Dan, kissing the back of my neck.
    I turned my head so our lips met and we were face-to-face and skin-to-skin. “Come be my superhero,” I said, snuggling closer. “Make me believe.”
     
     
    The next day, Molly wanted to talk and suggested we connect at the quilting store on Melrose Avenue.
    “Quilting?” I asked, when we met on the corner at noon and exchanged a hug. Despite everything, Molly looked fashionable in a white Helmut Lang blazer and black cropped pants. Her python skimmers weren’t exactly tame, but at least the flat heel meant she wouldn’t break an ankle.
    “Quilting’s the craft du jour in Hollywood,” she assured me.
    “I thought all the chic people took up knitting. All those articles about Julia Roberts and Reese Witherspoon clicking their needles on set and giving cameramen handmade scarves at Christmas.”
    “That’s so last week. Once middle America started copying, the celebrities had to move on.”
    “I hate to break it to you, but the very lovely and talented women of middle America were knitting long before Julia Roberts.”
    “Oh please,” Molly said with a groan. “It’s the old tree-falling-in-the-forest question. If a schoolteacher knits an afghan in Iowa but US magazine doesn’t report it, does the blanket really exist?”
    I laughed. “Only if Rob Reiner buys the rights.”
    “And he turns it into a touching movie starring Meg Ryan that wins a Golden Globe and revives her career.”
    Now we both laughed. Molly, the successful Hollywood insider, could still see an outsider’s view.
    Halfway down Melrose, we stopped at Jenny’s Crafts, a tiny store with classic Americana quilts festooning the window. A handwritten note, hung on the door, said: C LOSED UNTIL 2:30. I’ M AT A GO FOR LUNCH . J ENNY.
    “I have a feeling she’s not living off the proceeds of the store,” I said, laughing. The restaurant Ago happened to be nearby, but with Robert De Niro as one of the owners, it attracted an A-list power-lunch crowd.
    “The store’s probably a hobby,” Molly admitted. “Jenny’s married to someone well known, but I forget who. Everyone successful is connected to someone rich and famous in this town, haven’t you noticed? Makes life easier.”
    I put my arm around her. “I know lots of other ways for women to succeed. You’ve done it. You don’t need to marry rich.”
    “Not marry. But maybe…” She shrugged. “A friend in the business, as they say.”
    “Is that how you saw Roger?”
    “He’s been helpful,” Molly said without elaborating.
    We stood silently for a moment, staring into the window.
    “I’m glad the store’s closed,” I said as we walked away. “The whole quilting and knitting craze feels creepy to me. Why would women who could be running movie studios or programming computers act like Amish housewives?”
    “They can do both. Handcrafts are just a way to calm your nerves, and mine need calming. Let’s go find a Starbucks.”
    “Cappuccino’s not calming.”
    “I’ll get a decaf.”
    “According to one study, what restaurants label decaf still contains caffeine seventy-two