More on Britt, just a speck of light over Bogart’s shoulder: Hula Troop, that whole catastrophe, had been meant to make her a star. Then last night, the ghost of Riggs, haunting the curtains in his fedora, came to her in a dream. “Britt,” he said, “I’m aware that you had your horse Thumper kill me. I warned you against Hawaii. Surf pictures are the Fat Man and Little Boy of movies…..” She frowned. “I mean like bombs,” he said. She snorted. Then she woke up, went into the kitchen, and scooped herself a rare bowl of ice cream just to get away from his dream words.⠀