The phone rang in the cutting room, and Lambro picked it up. It was a girl’s voice. “You have the wrong extension,” Lambro told her. “There’s no Paul here.” “That’s for me,” Polanski said, reaching for the phone. Lambro had earlier browsed an adult newspaper left in the cutting room, glancing a personal ad, circled, fifteen-year-old girl, “confidential, likes relationship with European man in forties.”
