Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [61]
She smiled. “And I’m always amazed at your talents.”
Sergio glanced from Laney to me, then lit up like a Greek god in a bonfire. “Ahh yes,” he said, beaming at me. “You were in Morel’s film. The one with Liam Neeson.”
Laney was frowning, but then she brightened. “Of course,” she said. “The prostitute.”
I gave her a look.
“A very well-cast movie,” she said. “But I’m even more impressed with your current role.”
“Current role?” Ethan asked.
“Fani is working in Minsk,” Sergio said.
Oh, dear God!
“Minsk,” Laney repeated. “I didn’t hear about that one. I’ve always wanted to go there. I hear it’s beautiful. But how do you feel about the Belarus Democracy Act, Fani?”
I resisted gritting my teeth at her. “I did not have a great deal of time while there,” I said.
“Busy, were you?” She said the word kind of funny, as if she might burst out laughing at any moment.
“Quite,” I said.
“Film or television?”
“Television.”
“HBO?”
“Lifetime,” I said.
“Who’s the producer?”
So she wanted to play. I tightened my grip on my overloaded plate and lobbed back a name I’d heard bandied about at such parties. “Terrence Riglio.”
“The director?”
“Madeline Futone.”
She raised one brow a tiny amount. “How about the set designer?”
“François,” I said, remembering the good friend I kept in my bed-stand drawer. “François Desmarais,” I said.
“Really? I thought he was dead.”
“He’s not,” I said.
She did laugh now. Sergio was looking puzzled. But Ethan was just tripping along. “What’s Riglio like to work with? I heard he can be kind of an ass.”
In for a penny, I thought. “He is like the Hulk Incredible when he is angry.”
“So he’s a monster?” Laney asked.
“Oui,” I said.
She nodded. “I’ve known a couple of those. Even created a few.”
I gave her a nod for her wit.
“Who’s the cinematographer?” Ethan asked.
Laney was smiling, happy as a songbird.
“Georgianna Winstead,” I said easily. ’Cuz, shit, I was in too deep to back out now. Might as well employ another woman while I was making crap up.
“I don’t think I know her,” Ethan said.
“She is young,” I said. “But has much talent. Do you not agree, Ms. Ruocco?”
“I think I’m feeling a little nauseous.”
“Perhaps it is the champagne,” I said.
“I think it’s the baloney,” she countered.
“They’re serving baloney?” Ethan asked, and Laney broke eye contact, calling an unspoken truce.
“I think it might already be gone,” she said, and smiled. “I heard they—” she began, stopping abruptly, and I knew immediately that I was in big-ass trouble, because her eyes were shining with manic happiness. I stiffened even before she spoke. “Look who just arrived.”
“Who?” I asked. I had lost my accent, and possibly my mind. I was scared to turn around. Terrified to look.
“Rivera,” she said.
“You’re lying,” I hissed.
She raised her perfect brows. “I don’t lie, Fani.”
“It is true. She does not,” Sergio said.
But I was already clasping Laney’s arm. “You’ve got to get me out of here.”
“Out of here? Don’t be silly. The party’s just started,” she said, and patted my hand like I was a wayward child. “You’ve already met Brad without swooning. Mr. Rivera will be a piece of cake.”
“I’m serious, Laney,” I said, but just then I felt someone approach from behind and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my remaining minutes were limited.
21
Of course I hate her. I just don’t know why yet.
—Christina McMullen,
on more than one occasion
I felt the hairs creep up on the back of my neck. Felt my face redden and my pulse fire up like a rocket ship. Lieutenant Rivera was right there, behind me. Why? I didn’t know. Maybe Laney had suspected I would come here and worried for my safety. Maybe Murphy’s Law was simply overactive during this particular phase of the moon. Or, for all I knew, Rivera might be invited to all the Hollywood shindigs. It wasn’t as if I knew every intimate detail about him. Then again, it wasn’t as if