The stormy tirade drew more than just Ben's attention as the portly man scurried after the dame like a pug looking for a handout. A hush of whispers and muttering bemusement drifted through the heated California air, loud enough to mask the click of a camera's shutter. Ratcheting the lever, Ben snapped another, and another; a slideshow of Mrs. Schultz's ire and discontent.  

[i]Jackpot,[/i] Ben thought with the faintest smirk of self-satisfaction. Easy money for the books. Tilting his head to watch the woman move and lend an ear to the conversation between Jacqueline and the writer. It was no small wonder that she got into films. She was a looker and then some, putting the pin-up gals his fellow soldiers ogled on the long boat ride to Italy to complete shame. She was art in motion and living color, all pale skin, bright eyes, red lips, and hair like dark silk. 

[i]And killer gams...[/i] Ben thought, appreciating the woman's shapely legs as she stormed back into her trailer for a moment. Ben took a gander at another photo of the trailer, snapping the number. Deftly slipping his camera back into his jacket, Ben polished off the last fingerling sandwich on his plate as he crossed the warehouse plaza and avenue just as the surly starlet was making her exit. Keeping his hat low, Ben kept pace in a casual stride, letting his long legs make up the difference at first, but quickened as the crowd failed to pay the same deference to Ben's bulk as they did to Jacqueline's sheer force of presence. 

As he moved, Ben catalogued the information he gleaned from the spat between talents. Jacqueline was just as concerned with the paparazzi as her husband, fiery enough to stick up to the writers and directors of the studio in her first picture. A kraut-fable, no less. At least it wasn't some post-war propaganda. From the sound of things, Ben didn't presume that Mr. and Mrs. Schultz spoke much about their day jobs over dinner, but if the writer, Jerry, was any indication, this wasn't the first time that the esteemed Mrs. Schultz raised some cane over the production. The gal was smart and knew what she was worth to the studio, and shrewd enough to put pressure where it counted. 

Ben found himself smirking, a dimple flashing at his cheek as he followed the steady staccato of the starlet's heels. Now all he had to do was tail the broad and see what her haunts were outside of work. There was no evidence or indication of on-set indiscretion, but Mrs. Schultz was an actress. If she wanted to, she could slip on a different demeanor like a shawl if she wanted to. Mr. Schultz, the luck bastard, wouldn't be satisfied unless Ben dotted every "i" and crossed every "t" in his investigation. As it stood, this was quite a haul for a first day of work. 

Keeping several paces behind, Ben followed Jacqueline out of the exit, tipping his hat to the gate guard before snapping off the badge and slipping it into his pocket. Ben paused for a moment, shaking out a cigarette from his case and lighting up with a flick of his lighter. It allowed him to keep eyes on his mark and put some distance, just in case she got wise to her tail. A cool breeze from the Pacific brushed against Ben's cheek lazily, as if ushering him on in the wake of the starlet. Taking a long drag, the pale smoke curled along ahead of Ben as he resumed the casual chase.