Ad Lib Exit

Ad Lib ExitBradford Crane crossed the dressing room to his littered makeup table. He moved with a boxer's occupational grace -- even resembled a boxer in his stained silk robe and the towel around his neck. The loop of bulbs bordering the mirror shed a hard shadowless light. Beneath it he examined this season's face, each profile separately, like a butcher inspecting a side of beef for spoilage. It had heavy hair and eyebrows, a strong nose that saved its olive handsomeness from delicacy. But it...