Amelia Wong’s entourage flocked around her, wafting her into the limo-cum-rec room.
Temple ended up, sans bottled water and built-in bar, riding up front with the chauffeur, Yokomatsu. She learned nothing about the limousine’s exotic inner workings, except the automatic shift, which was very old news to her. The chauffeur’s given name? Charlie, of course. An unemployed twenty-sixyear-old blackjack dealer with a degree from Caltech, delivering a monologue on the pits a down economy was for the freelance soul all the way into town.
Temple began to enjoy herself for the first time that morning.
Lacey Davenport was adamant, and willing to say so.
“I’m sorry. The green room can’t accommodate a crowd like this. Especially not now. We had a sudden opportunity to book some normally reclusive Las Vegas celebrities. We have the white tigers and lions with us today.”
“So does a zoo,” tall, dark Pritchard said.
“This is a very rare TV appearance for two very endangered species,” short, dishwater-brown-haired Lacey Davenport answered. Firmly. “And Siegfried and Roy are heroes in this town, especially now. It was an eleventh-hour photo op, so we simply can’t accommodate you all in the Green Room. Not with lions and tigers in residence. It’s not safe.”
The bears, Temple thought, would be the Wong entourage. Ill-tempered bears.
“Ms. Wong requires all her personnel with her at all times,” Pritchard said.
Lacey leaped. “In that case, we have an empty office down the hall. But you’ll have to crowd in. And there are no mirrors.” “Foul feng shui,” Amelia Wong mentioned to the ceiling.
By then the party had swelled with the addition of Kenny Maylord, CEO and president of Maylords. Maylords home furnishing store was new to the Las Vegas market and aimed todebut with a splash, perhaps of fountains, thanks to week-long special appearances by Amelia Wong.
“The lions and tigers can move,” Pritchard said. She herself moved toward the closed door behind Lacey.
Something within roared. Not growled, not snarled. Roared.
Pritchard jumped back. “This is ridiculous. Ms. Wong is a billion-dollar corporation. You can’t palm a mere office off on
Wong Inc.”
The men in black, still wearing sunglasses, either placed their hands over their hearts in preparation for reciting the pledge of allegiance or to massage their not terribly well-concealed Glocks.
Temple cleared her throat. Her voice always had a slight raspy tone, which served well for catching people’s attention.
“Lacey, isn’t Studio B empty right now, until the noon news? Couldn’t you install the Wong party there? There would be plenty of room, and … no one would expect them to wait there, so security measures would be even better.”
Lacey loosed a deep sigh. Temple had worked with her many times before. “Sure. If that’s what you want.” She flashed
Temple a relieved grin. “We’ll send in pages with soft drinks.”
“No soft drinks.” Pritchard again. “Our faxes clearly stated that only Vita Clara lime-flavored bottled water is used by Ms.
Wong. Her associates prefer Evian.”
She glanced at the distinct midwesterners in the party: the intimidated Kenny Maylord and Temple. “I don’t know what these people drink, but all of our needs were clearly laid out. Didn’t you get my faxes?”
_ “Yes, but all the bottled water we have has been put out for the lions and tigers,” Lacey said, deadpan. “They get agitated in a TV studio, where the lights are hot, and they pant. A lot. They use roasting pans for water dishes when they’re away from their compound. And the Cloaked Conjuror and Shangri-La are also here with their leopard and panther, so there isn’t a drop of bottled water anywhere, except the nearest convenience store.” She eyed the entourage. “Perhaps someone on your crew could dash out-”
Even more clear than bottled water was the fact that it was bad feng shui for a Wong flunky to fend for oneself. “We’ll wait
in the studio,” Pritchard said shortly.
The bodyguards flowed into lockstep behind Lacey as she led the way down the hall.
Baylee looked worried, and Amelia Wong looked as though she were on another plane-or wished she was, literally, one out of this tank town-ignoring all the fuss about arrangements.
Baylee caught Temple’s arm and held her back from the parade for a while.
“Is it always like this in Las Vegas?” she asked in a whisper. “Like what?”
“Lions in the Green Room?”
Temple nodded. “You have to understand. Las Vegas is home turf to the world’s most exotic acts. Visiting celebrities seldom can compete with the homebodies, especially if the locals weigh a few hundred pounds and are lavishly furred. Sort of like Liberace on testosterone.”
That image stopped Baylee cold for fifteen seconds. Then she frowned. “Ms. Wong isn’t used to this sort of treatment.”
“Luckily, I am.”
“So. Thank you for coming up with an alternative to the Green Room. And a page boy dashed out for the requisite brands of bottled water. If he hadn’t volunteered, I thought Pritchard was almost ready to set the two Dobermen on somebody?’ Temple smiled at Baylee’s nickname for the Wong muscle.
“They’ll be kept busy now,” she said. “The studio is huge and filled with dozens of cables of uncertain origin. Checking them out should keep the Dobermen occupied until showtime. I asked Lacey to make sure a healthful appetizer tray is delivered too. Nothing like gnawing on crudit�es to soothe the savage soul. Funny how white lions and tigers and media stars like their meals raw these days.”
Baylee’s smile was nervous. “I see why you’re needed here. Our party’s endangered predators should be purring by now.”
“Thanks. And now I’ll leave things to Team Wong. I need to check out something back in the Green Room.”
Temple was pleased to notice Baylee watching her exit with aslight expression of dismay. Apparently not all of the Wong minions had been browbeaten into institutional arrogance.
She turned and retraced her steps, pausing when she was out of sight around a corner. Then she waited. Two minutes later, a harried Lacey Davenport came along on her soundless Nikes, all the better to not disturb filming.
“Temple!” Lacey jumped back as she rounded the corner at a speedy clip. “You scared me. Are these fen shouey people from Mars or what?”
Lacey was solid through and through, from her hefty but deft figure to her unflappable attitude.
” Tung Schway,’ ” Temple said. “I hope the interviewers got the phonetic pronunciation I wrote out for them or there’ll be
Hong Kong to pay.”
“It’s on their cheat sheets, but I don’t have to bend myself out of shape trying to remember it now.” Lacey shook her no-fuss permed head. “Why aren’t you baby-sitting that crew? They could use it:’
“They made clear that they want to stew over the situation without an outsider as witness. Besides, I’m more personally
interested in your first act.”
“That’s right. You have a cat at home. These animals are magnificent!”
“This is a spot to support the Siegfried and Roy zoo breeding program?”
“Of course.”
“And the Cloaked Conjuror and Shangri-La serve as spokespersons now that Roy has been so badly injured? Will their leopards be on camera too?”
“Leopard and black panther. Yes, but leashed.”
“Not to worry. They’re the same critters, all leopards. Just the color is different. Listen. Can I hang out on the studio fringes to watch the cat act?”
“I don’t know. We’re taping the Big Whites from the Green Room, can’t risk them on the set with people after what happened when Roy’s tiger dragged him offstage by the throat. Imagine: Las Vegas’s hottest ticket and a new multimillion-dollar ‘lifetime’ contract history in just a few seconds! That’s the trouble. We now know anything can happen with the big cats. You know how to behave yourself on a set, Temple, but … why are you so hot to watch this segment in person?”