"The privacy thing is huge for so many of these people," Dena Robbins says. "Not just the stars or the cast people or crew, but also for some of the homeowners. Some of them don't want anybody to know they're renting."

That's because of the gawkers, of course.

Renters of Main Line houses can typically get $6,000 to $15,000 a month, she says. Having a star take up residence may seem glamorous, but homeowners only occasionally meet an Owen Wilson or Jennifer Aniston. (Rumor has it at least one star from Marley & Me took up residence on the Main Line last year.) Plus, there are inconveniences: Homeowners have to stay somewhere else (though most have second homes), empty out closets, and move valuables and personal papers.

On this day, friend Doug Mellor, a professional photographer who often travels, shows Robbins around his million-dollar-plus Center City rowhouse, which has housed top crew in the past. It's now for sale. Houses on the market are often available for short-term leases, and Robbins' pitch emphasizes that the fact a star slept there can help move the property.

"They've all been wonderful, very respectful," Mellor says of his Hollywood tenants. He also has a home in Bryn Mawr that has seen a well-known actor or two.

In all the nearly 18 years Robbins has been doing this, there was only one instance of bad behavior: A director for a low-budget movie had several raucous parties.

"I rent my friends' places, and I wouldn't do that if I didn't feel comfortable. The movie people go away, but the others stay. I want to keep my friends and my reputation."

The mother of three, grandmother of seven, and wife of Jerry Robbins of Robbins Diamonds lives in Society Hill. She doesn't really have to work, though she says, "If I didn't work, what would I do? I'd just be this giant pain in the ass to my kids, you know? I'm a pain in the ass anyway."

The film job is the longest Robbins has stayed at one place. None in a string of sales posts over two decades (Norelco rep, real estate, etc.) lasted more than a couple of years. Even entrepreneurial success (she was half of the Galloping Grandmothers, a personal concierge service) occupied only five years.

"I don't like being bored," she says. So far, the film office has not disappointed.

Model tall at 5-foot-9, with a striking figure and curly red hair, Robbins can play the no-nonsense businesswoman or sophisticated charmer. More often, the housing wizard's approach stays down to earth. She calls folks "honey," wisecracks often, and at times peppers anecdotes with the kind of sailor talk that entertains.

"She understands our crazy world," says Grant Grabowski, travel coordinator for the Brooks movie. Robbins, he says, provided relief from the legwork of identifying dozens of accommodations for cast and crew. (No names proffered, but the movie's out-of-town stars include Witherspoon and Nicholson.)

"This is really just a matter of sales," says Sharon Pinkenson, the film office's executive director. "She's a spectacular salesperson."

Robbins, who grew up in Yeadon, studied business education at Temple University but left without a degree to get married. She raised her family before she plunged into sales. Why sales? "Because I have a big mouth," she jokes.

After the Galloping Grandmothers and the creation of a wedding planning book for the jewelry store, she was at a loss until Jerry Robbins asked her to describe her dream job. She said, "Make movies." Out went her resume. Pinkenson hired her into the expanding film office to sell ads for its guide, the bible for the local film industry. That morphed into locating accommodations.

At AKA Rittenhouse Square, which offers luxury short-term leases, Robbins tours the penthouse, a posh, modern design that goes for $10,000 a month.

She opens closet doors, checks views, eyes bathroom counter space.

"Does the fireplace work?" she asks general manager Evan O'Donnell.

"It's decorative," he replies.

"That means it doesn't work," says Robbins, who prefers it straight. "You can say no."