Genuine Lies

asked as he calmly continued to eat, “is wrong with basketball?” Since his gaze was leveled at Julia, she thought it prudent to give a noncommittal shrug. She looked amazingly beautiful when she was flustered, he thought. Her skin heated up, and she had that sexy way of nibbling on her bottom lip. He decided he’d be certain to nibble on it, and other areas, himself a little later.
    “You wouldn’t go with me,” he reminded her.
    “No.”
    “If I’d asked you to, say, a Three Stooges retrospective, would you have gone with me?”
    “No.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Because you made me nervous.”
    He reached across the table to toy with her fingers. “And if I asked you now?”
    “You still make me nervous, but I’d probably risk it.”
    As he picked up his wine, he looked toward his father. “It seems my ideas work well enough. Lily, the duck is excellent.”
    “Why, thank you.” She chuckled into her wine. “Thank you very much.”
    It wasn’t until coffee and brandy were served back in the cozy sitting room that the subject of Eve Benedict was broached again. Julia was still casting around in her brain for the most tactful way to begin the interview, when Lily opened the door.
    “I was sorry we weren’t able to attend the party Eve gave recently. Surprised to be included in the invitation, and sorry to miss it.” She tucked up her legs cozily, revealing their longlength. “Rory tells me that she’s always given incredible parties.”
    “Did you give many when you were married?” Julia asked
    Rory.
    “Several actually. Small, intimate dinner parties, informal barbecues, glitzy soirees.” He circled a hand in the air. His gold cuff links glinted in the firelight. “Your birthday party, Paul, do you remember?”
    “It would be hard to forget.” Because he understood it was an interview, he looked at Julia. He noted Lily had settled back to listen. “She hired circus performers—clowns, jugglers, a wire walker. Even an elephant.”
    “And the gardener nearly quit when he saw the state of the lawn the next day.” Rory chuckled and swirled his brandy. “Living with Eve brought few dull moments.”
    “If you could use one word to describe her?”
    “Eve?” he thought for a moment.
“Indomitable
, I suppose. Nothing ever held her back for long. I remember her losing a part to Charlotte Miller—a tough pill for Eve to swallow. She went on to play Sylvia in
Spider’s Touch
, won in Cannes that year, and made everyone forget that Charlotte had even done a film at the same time. About twenty-five, thirty years ago it was becoming difficult to find good roles— actresses of a certain age were not courted by studios. Eve went to New York, plucked a plum in
Madam Requests
on Broadway. She ran with it for a year, won a Tony, and had Hollywood begging her to come home. If you’ll look back at her career, you’ll see that she’s never chosen a bad script. Oh, there were some uneven ones in the beginning certainly. The studio pushed her and she had no choice but to follow. Yet in each one, even the poorest of them, her performance was that of a star. It takes more than talent, even more than ambition, to achieve that. It takes power.”
    “He’d love to work with her again,” Lily put in. “And I’d love to see them do it.”
    “It wouldn’t be awkward for you?” Julia asked.
    “Not in the least. Perhaps if I didn’t understand the business, it might be difficult. And if I weren’t sure that Roryvalues his life.” She laughed, rearranging those smooth, shapely legs. “In any case, I have to respect a woman who can remain friends, real friends, with a man she was once married to. My ex and I still detest each other.”
    “Which is why Lily hasn’t left divorce as an option for me.” Rory reached out to link his hand with hers. “Eve and I liked each other, you see. When she wanted out of the marriage, she went about it in a courteous, reasonable way. Since the failure was mine, I could hardly hold grudges.”
    “You say it was yours—because of other women.”
    “Primarily. I imagine my … lack of discretion where women are concerned is one of the reasons Paul’s always been so cautious. Wouldn’t you say?”
    “Selective,” Paul corrected his father.
    “I was not a good husband, I was not a good father. The examples I set in each were less than admirable.”
    Paul shifted uncomfortably. “I did well enough.”
    “With little help from me. Julia’s here