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After 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 that machine,” she added, when K.T. went straight to the bar.
Shrugging, Eve turned away, decided the woman had had enough of her attention.
For the next half hour there was more small talk and schmooze, more food and drink as people circled the room or went out, came in. Eve figured she’d just about hit her limit when Roundtree walked to the front of the room.
“Everybody grab a seat. Dallas and Roarke, right up front here. I’ve put together a short preview of The Icove Agenda for a private screening here tonight. I hope everyone, especially our special guests, enjoy the sampling.”
“Let’s see how we do,” Roarke said, taking Eve’s hand as Roundtree led them toward the front-row seats.
Eve leaned toward Roarke as people shuffled into seats and sofas behind them. “Are we supposed to pretend we don’t hate it if we do?”
“How do you see through those rose-colored glasses?”
He gave her hand a squeeze as the lights dimmed, and the music came up.
She’d give the music a nod, Eve decided. Strong, kind of pulsing and haunting at the same time. The instant she relaxed, Marlo’s face—so like her own—filled the massive screen.
