Celebrity in Death

vid, and the two people you’re trying so hard to mimic are the only ones who count. It’s insulting. So why don’t you give it a fucking rest, set up your threesome with Marlo and Dallas on your own time? Some of us are trying to eat.”
    In the beat of horrified silence, Eve studied K.T. down the length of the table. “Peabody?”
    “Yes, sir,” Peabody said, shoulders hunched.
    “You know how I occasionally mention the possibility of kicking your ass?”
    “I’d term that as regularly, but yes, sir, I do.”
    “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. “Ifyou 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.”
    A fter 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