Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [47]
“Bending the genders,” she said. “Anyway, the first letter arrived before Emery.”
“Which doesn’t necessarily rule him out.”
“But doesn’t put him at the top of the list.”
I scowled, hating to agree, but if the truth was told, I didn’t even have a viable list. “Who’s the king of the heap?”
She considered that for a minute, then shook her head. “I just can’t think of anyone who would threaten me.”
“We’re not talking out-and-out threats, remember. We’re talking skin prickles.”
She thought some more, then did a little head tilt.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you know Morab?”
“It’s the language they speak in Morabia, isn’t it?”
Her brows lowered, etching tiny creases in her forehead. “There is no Morabia.”
“Then I don’t know it.”
“Morab,” she repeated. “He’s one of the characters in Queen.”
I shook my head, feeling guilty for my lack of time spent devoted to her rising success. Some say the Catholics have taken guilt to an art form. I would say it’s more like a science. “I haven’t had much time lately to watch—” I began, but she was already shushing me.
“Mine is not a series you should apologize for missing,” she said.
“Not everything has to be the History Channel,” I said.
“You’re too good to me,” she said, but before we got sappy, she continued. “Morab … he’s one of the Withians. His name is hardly ever mentioned, but you’ll see him in the background periodically, looking … shiny.”
“Shiny?”
“These guys could keep Chevron in business.”
I thought for a moment. “Ahh, they’re oiled.”
“Like the Tin—” she began, but suddenly I remembered my wet dream.
“Are you talking about the guy in the loincloth?”
“All the Withians wear loincloths,” she said. “It’s to denote their lowly status.” Her voice was deadpan. Despite her well-fought climb to success, she was not one to overemphasize the importance of pop silliness.
“Yeah, but the guy with the …” I took a deep breath and tried not to burst into spontaneous orgasm. This guy had probably prompted my current fantasies. “The guy with the brand on his …” I motioned vaguely toward my right hip.
“Shall I get you a paper bag?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine as soon as my vision clears.” I shut my eyes for an instant and shook my head. “Yeah,” I said finally, making my tone perfectly matter-of-fact. “I think I might have noticed him.” I glanced at Solberg. For his own self-preservation, he rarely watched Amazon Queen. Thinking of Laney surrounded by beautiful people tended to make him depressed. I figured there wasn’t enough Prozac in all of L.A. County to offset the effects of seeing Morab in a loincloth.
“He has talent, classical training, and an accent,” she said.
“Not to mention the fact that he’s hotter than tamales,” I added, and thought I could actually feel Solberg pale. I liked this Morab guy better by the moment.
“And he’s intelligent. Still, he was cast because of his physique, more than anything else. He exercises like a machine. Cross-training, weight lifting, tria—”
“I think he’s the culprit,” Solberg said.
Laney and I each raised a brow at him.
He shuttled his gaze back and forth between us. “You can’t trust those bodybuilder types. Obsessive-compulsives.”
I blinked.
“Neurotic,” he added. “Maladjusted. Weird.”
I smiled a little and turned back toward Elaine. “Why didn’t you think of him earlier?” I asked, and she shrugged.
“Generally, he seems really secure.” She paused, mouth quirking. “In fact, sometimes he seems a little too secure.”
I considered that for a second. Thought about Emily Christianson, the self-destructive girl who had everything; Micky Goldenstone, uncertain he would make a better parent than a violent crackhead; and Howard Lepinski, still obsessing about sandwich options after umpteen years of therapy. “I rarely see that in my line of work,” I said.
Elaine shook her head and sighed. “I mean … the chances of getting a successful show … they’re astronomical.”
“So?”
“What determines an actor’s success? Besides luck?”
“Tiny pores?”
“Sergio happens to have tiny pores.”
“Sergio?”
“Sergio Carlos Zepequeno. Aka Morab. He’s Brazilian.”
“A Brazilian