“Lovely dress. When you walked across the room, I could see the entire inner curve of your thigh.”
“Mr. Smith,” I crooned. “You’re an insufferable toad. If you don’t move your hand, I will emasculate you with the zipper of that rented monkey suit. Capiche?”
“Capiche,” he laughed. “I’m familiar with your films, Miss MacGowen. Brilliant work. I’m not sure I can agree with the liberal undercurrents, but I can’t fault the craftsmanship.”
“What do you know about filmmaking?”
“The two essentials: Profit and Loss. I know that a good, low-budget product with long-term potential is a far better investment in this economy than a blockbuster that’s top-heavy with star salaries and perks. Good and cheap, that’s what you deliver consistently, Maggie. Films that will accrue earnings into the millennium.”
“I don’t do theatrical films.”
“You will,” he said smugly, maneuvering me into a dip. “Come see me after the holidays.”
“I’m going to Ireland after the holidays on a project.”
“Oh? Another paean to the IRA?”
“Not this time. We’re going to talk with young Irish women about coping with the chronic shortage of marriageable men. I think it will be fun.”
In the same tone he might quiz a leper, he asked, “Are you a feminist?”
“Are you?”
Garth and Celeste were beside us. “May I?” Garth asked, and I simply danced into his arms before T. Rex could answer. T. Rex grasped Celeste around her tight waist and they glided away into the crowd.
“What a workout,” I said, as Garth waltzed me off the dance floor. “Learn anything?”
“Celeste will meet you out on the terrace in five minutes. I’ll stay outside the door and run interference for you.”
“How did you manage it?” I asked.
“Easy. I told her I had been working on Emily’s video obit and Celeste’s face kept showing up in the file footage. She asked what it would take to be forgotten. I said she had to talk to you. I told her you were the boss on the project.”
“You’re a genius. Thanks. I’m going to the terrace now. Keep an eye on Celeste. Make sure no one slips her anything like cyanide or a nine-millimeter slug before she joins me.”
“That isn’t funny,” Garth said. “You keep a sharp eye out for yourself. And a clear head.”
My head was already a bit muzzy from the champagne. I knew better, but when I walked past a waiter bearing a full tray, I said to hell with it and took a glass. Sipping champagne along the way, I went out through a side door that led to a small balcony overlooking Avenue of the Stars.
I wasn’t nearly drunk enough not to feel the cold. I was thinking about going back inside for my coat when Celeste came.
She stayed near the door, ready for flight. I could see that she was nervous about being with me.
“I received the message you left at my house this morning,” she said. “You said, Aujourd’hui Emily est morte.’ But Emily didn’t die today, did she?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say she had?”
“To see if you remembered.”
“Oh, yes, I remembered.” She relaxed a little. “That’s the opening line from The Stranger. I remember throwing Camus at your head once when you were being especially awful.”
“It wasn’t Camus you threw; it was a guide for making explosives.”
“Was it?” She smiled. “Such a long time ago.”
I was sorry to hear about your daughter,” I said. I never met her, but I have a daughter of my own and I can’t imagine going on with life if I lost her.”
“Who says I’ve gone on with my life?” Her chin quivered slightly, the first show of genuine emotion I had seen from her. “Have you ever lived with an addict?”
“No.”
“Then you have no idea.” She came further out onto the balcony, the movement of her feet hidden by the long red dress so that she seemed to float toward the rail at the edge. She seemed weightless, so otherworldly that I wondered how gravity managed to keep its hold on her. If there hadn’t been a Plexiglas windscreen behind the rail, I would have worried about her blowing away. Or jumping. She had a scary, desperate quality about her.
“Do you have other children?” I asked, holding us to this world.
“Yes, two.” She looked at me over her shoulder. “Paix graduates this June from Princeton, and young Rex is a freshman in prep school.”
“Paix,” I repeated. “The name means peace, doesn’t it? He must be graduating young.”
She laughed softly. “You always were nosy, Maggot. In June, he will be twenty-two. What does that suggest to you?”
“Suppose you tell me.”
“My eldest was born exactly nine months after I saw your brother, Marc, for the last time.”
“Are you saying my brother was the father?”
She gave me a small sardonic smile. “Check the calendar. Could have been Marc. Could have been Ho Chi Minh, or maybe a redcap at the Honolulu Airport. You would have to look at Paix and decide that for yourself.”
“I’d like that. Tomorrow morning all right?”
She sagged against the balcony rail. “Oh, Maggie, never mind.”
“If he is Marc’s son, he’s my nephew. And I mind very much.”
“No point. Rexford accepted him, and that’s all that matters to me. Paix grew up, and I grew up along with him. Everything that happened before was nothing more than youthful folly.”
“It was a great deal more than folly,” I said. “People died.”
“Tom Potts,” she sighed as she reached for what was left of my glass of champagne. “I’ve worked so hard to put all that behind me. Won’t it ever end?”
“You brought it up.”
“Emily called me yesterday,” she said. “Such a surprise. I hadn’t spoken with her for years. She wanted to see me. When I heard what happened to her… “
“Did she say why she wanted to see you?”
“A reunion, she said. And a memorial service for Marc. I couldn’t possibly go. Not with this bash happening tonight.” A sudden breeze made her shiver. “The whole idea gave me the creeps. We’re only entitled to one funeral per customer. I always thought Emily’s attachment to Marc was a bit perverse.”
“Perverse?”
“Poor Jaime. Can you imagine what it must have been like to go to bed with a woman who was fixated on her dead brother?”
“Watch yourself, Celeste. Don’t forget who I am.”
“None of this ever occurred to you? My God, poor Marc had to go to Vietnam to get away from Emily. And still she followed him. She killed him, you know. The trip to Hanoi, the Berkeley demonstration, all the publicity.”
“You were with her through it all. Does this mean you share some blame?”
“No,” she snapped. “Emily choreographed every step we took. She and Aleda. They insisted we stop over in Honolulu to see Marc on the way to Hanoi. I thought it was a waste. Who did Emily think she was, anyway, dragging us along behind her? Queen Emily. Queen Bee Emily.”
“You’re so bitter.”
“Perhaps I have a right. Maggie, have you any conception what that little epoch cost me?”
“Suppose you tell me.”
“It cost me my life.”
“You hardly seem deprived,” I said, noting the way her rubies seemed to sparkle even in the near-dark. “You’ve married a rich and powerful man; you have access to the movers and shakers.”
She was shaking her head. I didn’t marry a rich and powerful man, I made one. I bought him access to the movers and shakers. But it means that Rex is having the life that should have been mine. Don’t tell me not to be bitter.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What was to stop you from doing anything you wanted?”
“Surely you’re not so naive. It happened to all of us, Maggie.”
“What did?”
“The dirty suggestions,” she seethed. “We would apply for jobs and someone would show up to plant the seeds, show copies of our FBI files to the right people, make vague threats. We were blocked from the work we wanted to do, should have been doing.