“You may get the chance to watch me kick your fake ass while you sit comfortably on your own. That’s an opportunity that doesn’t come around every day.”
“You don’t worry me.” K.T. sneered at her.
“I ought to. Anybody who shows their ass that big in public’s just asking to have it kicked. But maybe it’s better to just leave it hanging out there, all pink and shiny while the grown-ups talk.”
“Well done,” Roarke said when Eve shifted back again, picked up her fork.
Julian grabbed his wineglass, drank deep as conversation circled the table in fits and starts. “I’m sorry.” The instant the server topped off his glass, he drank deep again. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I wasn’t—”
“It’s okay, pal.” Eve tried more of the fancy lobster on her plate. “If you had been Roarke would have kicked your ass already.” She gave Roarke a grin across the table. “Real love’s beautiful, elusive, and mean as a snake.”
“I’ll deal with her,” Roundtree said, and in a cool, flat tone that told Eve he meant it.
“No big. Actually, all this feels less weird now.”
“Can I ask you something?” Marlo leaned toward Eve, kept her voice low.
“Sure.”
“If you decide to kick instead of hang, can I watch, too?”
“The more the merrier.”
After dinner came a buffet of desserts, brandy, liqueurs, coffee, all set up with style in Roundtree’s lower- level theater.
“Hell of a deal here,” Eve commented.
“It is, yes.”
She watched the way Roarke studied the massive screen, the arrangement of thick, cushioned leather chairs, cozy sofas, the lighting, the bar. “I can see the wheels turning.”
“I’ve thought of doing one, but hadn’t decided on design, layout, or location.”
“You just like the really big screen. It’s a man and his dick thing.”
“It may be, and I do enjoy indulging mine.”
“Tell me about it.” Eve glanced around idly. “So where do you think Connie pulled K.T. off to, and how scalded will her pink, shiny ass be when she’s done?”
“Somewhere private, and very. He was hitting on you, however.”
“Reflex, not targeted.”
“Agreed, which is why he lives.”
Nadine, who’d gone with the little black dress and a half dozen ropes of pearls, walked up to tap her brandy snifter to Eve’s coffee cup. “Roundtree promises us an entertaining screen show shortly, but I’m not sure it could live up to the little scene at dinner.”
“Fake Peabody is rude and a moron. I don’t mind rude, but combined with moron makes me want to punch it in the face.”
“You wouldn’t be the first, the last, or the only with that sentiment. Roundtree works with her because despite her rep for being difficult, she delivers. And I’ve seen some of the cuts. She’s nailed Peabody.”
“How long did she and Julian do the nasty?”
“Caught that, did you? Once or twice, and some time ago. Julian’s pretty, has a genuine sweetness, an innate charm. He does his job very well, and will do the nasty with anyone, anytime. He’s a man-slut, but he’s so affable about it.”
“Is this from personal experience?”
“Not so far, and not likely ever. It’s tempting, but just strikes me as too predictable. And he was surprised, but good-natured about the no, thanks.”
Nadine scanned the room with its conversational groups and pockets. “Joel’s pushing a Durn/Cross affair in the publicity machine. It’s classic and never hurts the numbers. Julian, being Julian, would be happy to oblige, plus I think he’s talked himself into being in love with her. Part of his process. It really does come off on-screen.”
“Is this a vid about sex or murder?” Eve demanded.
“Both fuel the machine,” Roarke commented. “It looks like our hostess has finished scolding her rude guest.”
“Fake Peabody doesn’t look repentant,” Eve noted as the two women came into the theater. “She just looks pissed. And adding fuel to that machine,” she added, when K.T. went straight to the bar.
Shrugging, Eve turned away, decided the woman had had enough of her attention.
For the next half hour there was more small talk and schmooze, more food and drink as people circled the room or went out, came in. Eve figured she’d just about hit her limit when Roundtree walked to the front of the room.
“Everybody grab a seat. Dallas and Roarke, right up front here. I’ve put together a short preview of
“Let’s see how we do,” Roarke said, taking Eve’s hand as Roundtree led them toward the front-row seats.
Eve leaned toward Roarke as people shuffled into seats and sofas behind them. “Are we supposed to pretend we don’t hate it if we do?”
“How do you see through those rose-colored glasses?”
He gave her hand a squeeze as the lights dimmed, and the music came up.
She’d give the music a nod, Eve decided. Strong, kind of pulsing and haunting at the same time. The instant she relaxed, Marlo’s face—so like her own—filled the massive screen.
“Record on,” she said. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”
The camera panned down, drew back until it held on Marlo and the body in a high-backed desk chair.
“Victim is identified as Wilford B. Icove.”
When she started to crouch down, the body let out an explosive sneeze.
“Bless you,” Marlo said without missing a beat. She looked up as people off camera laughed. “The vic appears to be allergic to death.”
It was silly, Eve thought, but helped her relax again. The screen rolled with gags, flubs, intense moments broken by screwups. Andi, as Mira, blew a line and laughed out a stream of bawdy and inventive curses. Marlo and the actress playing Nadine broke off in mid-dialogue to grab each other in a steamy kiss.
That bit of business got a round of applause from the audience.
Matthew tumbling out of his chair as the comp he worked on as McNab collapsed. Julian mangling a line, switching his accent to Brooklyn.
The audience in the theater responded with laughter, applause, catcalls.
“How do they get anything done if they screw up so much?” Eve wondered.
“That’s why they call it ‘take two,’” Roarke told her.
It looked like plenty of take twos, and threes, and more to Eve. But everybody appeared to have a good time doing it—again and again.
The gag reel ended with the camera once again on Marlo, this time in the long black coat, weapon drawn, a breeze ruffling the short cap of hair. “I’m a cop,” she said, eyes fixed and fierce. And when she flipped back the coat to holster her weapon, she missed, with the stunner bouncing on the ground at her feet.
“Aw, fuck. Not again.”
Roundtree ordered the lights on and stood grinning and stroking his goatee as the applause rolled.
“It wasn’t an easy edit, with the amount of screwups I had to wade through.” He dropped down beside Eve, commanded her attention. “You have to have some fun with it.”
“I’d say you did.”
“I’ll add and edit more. This’ll go on the home disc extras. People love seeing actors screw up, blow lines, fall on their asses.”
“I have to admit, I did.”
“We’re going to have individual interviews with the main cast. I’m not going to push you—that’s Joel’s territory—but I want to add my bit here. It would enhance the home package considerably if you’d do an interview.
