Franca wants to come along. And Andrew doesn’t tell her no. Why, I have no idea. Jeremy seems to have decided his point has been made, so he leaves, promising to return to the set that afternoon, presumably to get back to spying on his client.We walk with Franca ten steps ahead of us, her head buried in her cell phone, thumbs all atwitter with texting. I’m still waiting to learn why we didn’t just go back to his place or part ways until after the afternoon’s shooting.It could be that we’re blowing off steam. Andrew’s brow is a dark line, and his hands are buried in his pockets. His shoulders and his hood are up. Everything about him right now says hostile. I feel a knot forming sympathetically between my shoulder blades.He smokes too, and for the first time he seems to be doing it without thinking. He finally speaks, through gritted teeth. “I told you I like structure, but there comes a point when even the most docile farm animal strains against the yoke. I usually do what I’m told, but this sucks.”“I don’t know what to say.”
