Genuine Lies

roles. Julia…. Julia and the boy didn’t quite fit the parts Eve had cast them in. How the hell could she have anticipated she would begin to care where she had expected only to use?
    Then there were the notes. Eve spread them out on her dressing table to study them. Two for her, and two for Julia, so far. All four were in the same block letters, all four trite sayings that could be construed as warnings. Or threats.
    Hers had amused her, even encouraged her. After all, she was far beyond the point where anyone could hurt her. But the warnings to Julia changed things. Eve had to find out who was writing them, and put a stop to it.
    Her hard, coral-colored nails tapped on the rosewood table. So many people didn’t want her to tell her tales. Wouldn’t it be interesting, wouldn’t it be plain good fun to put as many of those people as possible under the same roof at the same time?
    At a knock on her bedroom door Eve swept all of the notes into a drawer of the dressing table. For now they were her secret. Hers and Julia’s.
    “Come in.”
    “I’ve brought you some tea,” Nina said as she walked in with a tray. “And a few letters you need to sign.”
    “Just set the tea by the bed. I’ve got a couple of scripts to look at yet tonight.”
    Nina set the Meissen pot and cup on the nightstand. “I thought you were taking some time off after the miniseries.”
    “Depends.” Eve took up the pen Nina had brought and dashed her looping signature on the letters without bothering to read them. “Tomorrow’s schedule?”
    “Right here.” Always efficient, Nina opened a leather-bound day book. “You have a nine o’clock appointment at Armando’s for the works, one o’clock lunch at Chasen’s with Gloria DuBarry.”
    “Ah, yes, hence the works at Armando’s.” Eve grinned and opened a pot of moisturizer. “Wouldn’t want the old bat to spot any new wrinkles.”
    “You know you’re very fond of Miss DuBarry.”
    “Naturally. And since she’ll be eyeing me over her scrawny salad, I have to look good. When two women of a certain age dine together, Nina, it’s not only for comparisons, but for reassurance. The better I look, the more relieved Gloria will be. The rest?”
    “Drinks with Maggie at four. Polo Lounge. Then you’re entertaining Mr. Flannigan here for dinner, at eight.”
    “See that the cook prepares manicotti.”
    “Already done.” She closed the book. “And she’s making zabaglione for dessert.”
    “You’re a treasure, Nina.” Eve studied her own face as she swooped the cream up over her throat, her cheeks, her brow. “Tell me, how soon can we put together a party?”
    “Party?” Frowning, Nina opened the book again. “What sort?”
    “A large sort. An extravagant sort. Say, two hundred people. Black tie. An orchestra on the lawn, dinner and dancing under the stars. Gushers of champagne—oh, and a few well-heeled members of the press.”
    Even as she did mental calculations, Nina flipped through the book. “I suppose if I had a couple of months—”
    “Sooner.”
    Nina let out a long breath as she thought of frantic calls to caterers, florists, musicians. Well, if she could rent an island, she could do a black tie in under two months. “Six weeks.” She noted Eve’s expression and sighed. “All right, three. We’ll slide it in right before you leave for location.”
    “Good. We’ll go over the guest list Sunday.”
    “What’s the occasion?” Nina asked, still scribbling in the book.
    “The occasion.” Eve smiled as she sat back. In the lighted mirror of the dressing table her face was strong, stunning, and smug. “We’ll call it an opportunity to relive and revivememories. An Eve Benedict retrospective. Old friends, old secrets, old lies.”
    Out of habit Nina walked over to pour the tea Eve had forgotten. It wasn’t done in the manner of an employee, but as a longtime relation used to caring for others. “Eve, why are you determined to stir up trouble this way?”
    With the deft skill of an artist, Eve dabbed lotion around her eyes. “Life’s so deadly dull without it.”
    “I’m serious.” Nina set the cup on the dressing table, among Eve’s lotions and creams. The scent of the room was pure female, not floral or fussy, but mysterious and erotic. “You know—well, I’ve already told you how I feel. And now … Anthony Kincade’s reaction the other night really worried me.”
    “Tony’s not worth a moment’s worry.” She patted Nina’s