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interview now.”
    “Well, yes. That thought crossed my mind.”
    “You’re right.”
    For the moment, the interview had somehow lost momentum. Marta dragged herself up using the table and tugged at the chair holding the backpack until she had it slid around next to her. Settling down in her chair again, Marta unzipped the outer compartment and withdrew a pen and pad. Folding back the cover of the pad, she scratched away on the paper, until under her pen a tree and gate appeared, followed by a long drive and more trees on either side. It appeared she was doodling the front of the property she’d recently invaded. 
    Marta added a little person in one of the trees near the gate. “This might be a bad move on my part, but I have to ask, why did you agree to the interview? Is it just the pictures?”
    “Obviously, I don’t want you to publish pictures of my daughter. And…”
    “And?”
    “I have to say, I’ve always been a bit curious. People who do what you do. Who is the person behind the big lens? Why do you do it? The money, I know, but it’s a strange life. Why this?”
    “You know what I’m curious about…about your life? How it feels to have all those women drooling over your husband. And the sheer access to women he must have. How do you bear it?”
    Jane laughed at her serious, almost awed expression. “I don’t see any of that here.” 
    “Is that why you stay here?”
    “What an odd question. Would I stay out here to avoid Ian’s fans? No, I like it here.” She hunched her shoulders and brought her hand to her mouth, brushing her knuckles lightly across her lips. 
    “Why don’t you ever go to the premieres or the awards shows? People think your marriage is on the rocks because you’re never with him.”
    Dropping her hand into her lap, Jane looked away and sighed. “I like staying on the farm. That’s the reason. There’s no deep reason having to do with our marriage.”
    “Do you watch his movies when they’re on TV?”
    Jane squirmed, her shoulder rubbing against the wooden dowels of the wheelback chair. It felt more personal than anything else Marta had asked. “Sometimes. We don’t watch much TV because of Tam. I have his DVDs, though. Of course, she can’t see those yet.” 
    Marta fished another notebook out of the backpack and consulted it. “Don’t mind me,” she said. She tapped her pen against her mouth, leaving a small black mark on her lip, and wrote something down. “Do any of his fans ever come out here?” Marta stared down at the notebook.
    Jane got up and poured herself more coffee. She sat down, adding milk and sugar. “Do you want any more?”
    Marta shook her head. “I’m wired enough as it is.”
    “Occasionally they come out here. You might have been one. They don’t usually climb trees, though.”
    “How’d you know I wasn’t?”
    “When I saw your lens.”
    “Of course. Silly of me. I need a non-reflective lens coating, or remember to use a filter,” she muttered. “How do you deal with them?”
    “There haven’t been all that many. I talk to them. They just want to make contact. Not with me, of course, but often he’s not here, so I tell them I’ll say hello, take a note or something. They’re pretty harmless. We live so out of the way it’s been few and far between, really.”
    “I don’t think I’ll write all that,” Marta said, with an expression of distaste. “You don’t call the police?”
    “I’ve never had to.”
    “They could be psychos. Aren’t you scared?” 
    “You could be a psycho, but you’re not. I size them up. Like I sized you up. I was scared as hell of you because of that damn branch snapping. It sounded like you were shooting at me.”
    “Lord, really? I knew it gave me away but I didn’t think of that.” Marta actually looked contrite. “I’d never intentionally terrify anyone.” 
    “You don’t think it might scare someone to find a stranger in camo staked out in their shrubbery? You don’t