PI On A Hot Tin Roof

television.”
    “Fantastic,” Lucy said. “Want to see yourself?” She played the tape back, and Raisa laughed delightedly.
    “Did someone mention ham?” Adele asked, and Talba realized for the first time that Raisa had a sense of humor: She’d simply never bothered to display it before. But the thought of herself in a movie had made her drunk with power.
    “Hey, Lucy, want to see me eat king cake?” she said.
    Talba stared at Darryl, who shrugged. “There’s nothing like an audience. You and I both should know.” He had spoken low, but Adele heard it. She looked from one to the other. “Do you two moonlight as actors or something? You’re attractive enough.”
    Talba felt blood rush to her face, but Darryl laughed. “I’m a musician,” he said smoothly, “and Sandra sings with the band sometime.”
    Suzanne came running down the stairs. “Are the caterers here yet? Ohhhh.” The last part was about Darryl. Talba was so used to him she tended to forget how good-looking he was. He was coffee-colored, tall, reedy, a little bit devilish (as befitted his night job), and a little bit professorial (ideal for his day gig). With fabulous teeth, close-cropped hair, and an appealing, wiry energy, he made a really great first impression, and an even better second one.
    “Darryl Boucree,” he said. “Sandra’s friend.”
    “Oh. Well, I just need to check on the vegetarian stuff.”
    “Come on,” Adele said. “I’ll get you two set up. You’re so attractive—do you mind passing hors d’oeuvres?”
    “Darryl’s the showman,” Talba said hastily. “I’m clumsy as an ox. Why don’t I just stay in the kitchen?” She’d called Jimmy Houlihan, but if Patsy came with him, all bets might be off.
    “Nonsense. I don’t trust these people.” Meaning the caterers. “Sandra, I really don’t know what we’d do without you.”
    Darryl barely had time to roll his eyes before the doorbell rang: the first guest.
    It was five minutes before the next one, but after that, they came thick and fast. In no time, the place was so full that Talba figured she could always duck behind somebody if she spotted the Houlihans.
    But in about an hour, they were the least of her problems. Lucy had disappeared with Raisa, happy to have a new black friend, since Danielle had been disinvited. Darryl was having a ball pretending to be a waiter—and carrying it off beautifully. Talba passed hors d’oeuvres and smiled and even made the occasional joke, not particularly worried about being recognized unless she did see the Houlihans. It wasn’t really a poetry crowd.
    She picked out Brad Leitner, talking to Adele and a guy in cutoffs, various celebrities lite, like local pols (all white, which excluded the mayor), and a few blue-collar types she thought might be cops.
    Automatically, her head turned at the sight of fellow African-Americans, checking out members of her tribe, and indeed there were quite a few more than she’d seen at the Houlihans’ party. Political buddies, she figured. But she almost dropped a tray of Louisiana wild-caught shrimp when she found herself face-to-face with her own brother.
    He nabbed a plump crustacean and let his face crack in a wide grin. “Moonlighting?”
    “Omigod, Corey, think of a cover story, quick. How about this—I used to work for you, okay? Best housekeeper you ever had. If anyone sees us talking. Is Michelle here?”
    “Housekeeper?” he guffawed. “Are you kidding?”
    “Jesus, here comes Kristin. My name’s Sandra, okay? Darryl’s who he is, except not a schoolteacher.”
    “Who’s Kristin?”
    “Quick. Go warn Michelle.”
    But it was too late. Kristin was upon them. Ignoring Talba, she stuck out her hand in Corey’s direction. “Hi, I’m Kristin. Hope you’re having a good time.”
    “Corey, uh, Wallis.” He looked at Talba uncomfortably. They hadn’t consulted about last names.
    Talba nodded at him briefly, to signal it was okay, and got out of Dodge, weaving through the crowd in search of her sister-in-law. She spotted Michelle across the room, taking a cheese puff from Darryl. The bad news was, Suzanne was talking to her. This thing was going south fast.
    Worse, she wondered how the hell her own flesh and blood knew the Champagnes.
    She was trying to get to Darryl for a quick conference when a bell rang, loudly and insistently. Silence fell.
    “Now that I have your attention,” Buddy intoned, causing a few sycophants to titter, and Talba to wish for