“Who are you,” I asked groggily. “Who are you?” She asked. “John Wilson.” “Jenni Lane.” “What are you doing here?” I asked. She ...hook her head. She looked a little panicked to me. “What do they want with you,” I asked. “Who is they?” She asked. “My wife, her lover, they put me here.” I explained, admiring her still oily body. “Why?” “Money, time.” I said. “What do they want with you? What’s that cooler doing in here? What’s in it?” Soon, trying to keep her near panicked mind occupied with. It is the home of filmmaking and all the crafts and businesses that go with it. A shabby staircase as we climb up to the second floor. Another door and another buzzer, and at last, we are in Justyna's tiny office."Hi, Helen, and this must be your lovely sister!" Justyna was ever so nice. She had a lovely Eastern European accent and was very beautiful with shoulder-length blonde hair, and she was tall and slim and everything.We all sat down on squashy beanbags. They seemed to be the only. More

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