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might fall asleep on your feet and tumble into the pool.”
    Julia shifted away from him automatically. “I swim very well myself.”
    “That may be, but chlorine’s hell on silk.” He pulled a slim cigar from his pocket, and, cupping his hands around a lighter, touched the flame to the end. He’d noticed several things about her that evening, one of which was that she hadn’twanted her child to become dinner conversation. “You could have told Eve you were as exhausted as your son.”
    “I’m fine.” She tilted her head to study his profile as they walked. “You don’t care for my profession, do you, Mr. Winthrop?”
    “No. But then, this biography is Eve’s business, not mine.”
    “Whether you care for it or not, I’m expecting an interview.”
    “And do you get what you expect, always?”
    “No, but I get what I’m after. Always.” She stopped at the door to the guest house. “Thank you for seeing me back.”
    Very cool, he thought. Very controlled, very slick. He might have accepted her at face value if he hadn’t noticed her right thumbnail was chewed down to the quick. In a deliberate test he moved a little closer. While she didn’t jerk away, she did shoot up an invisible wall. It would be interesting, he decided, to see if she did the same with all men, or just with him. At the moment, he had only one priority.
    “Eve Benedict is the most important person in my life.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Be careful, Ms. Summers. Be very careful. You wouldn’t want to have me as an enemy.”
    Her palms had gone damp, and that infuriated her. She coated her temper with ice. “It appears I already have. And what I will be, Mr. Winthrop, is thorough. Very thorough. Good night.”

By ten o’clock on Monday, Julia was ready. She’d spent the weekend with her son, taking advantage of the mild weather by delivering on her promised trip to Disneyland and throwing in the bonus of the Universal tour. He’d acclimated quickly—more quickly than she—to the time change.
    She knew they’d both suffered from nerves when they’d walked into his new school that morning. They’d had their interview with the principal before Brandon, looking very small and brave, had gone off to his first class. Julia had filled out dozens of forms, shaken the principal’s hand, and had remained composed during the drive home.
    Then she’d indulged herself in a long crying jag. Now, with her face carefully rinsed and made up, her tape recorder and notebook in her briefcase, she rang the bell on the front door of the main house. Moments later, Travers opened the door and sniffed as if in disapproval. “Miss Benedict is up in her office. She’s expecting you.” So saying, she turned and led the way upstairs.
    The office was in the center leg of the “E,” with a wide half-moon window making up the front wall. The other threewere lined with shelves that held the awards of Eve’s long career. The statuettes and plaques were interspersed with photographs and playbills and memorabilia from her movies.
    Julia recognized the white lace fan that had been a prop in an antebellum film, the sexy red high heeled shoes Eve had worn when she’d played an equally scarlet saloon singer, the rag doll she had clung to when she’d starred as a mother searching for a lost child.
    She also noted that the office wasn’t as tidy as the rest of the house. It was as richly furnished with a combination of antiques and vivid colors. The wallpaper was silk, the carpet deep and soft. But beside the huge rosewood desk where Eve sat were piles of scripts. A coffee machine, its pot already half empty, stood on a Queen Anne table. Stacks of
Variety
littered the floor, and the ashtray beside the phone Eve was barking into overflowed.
    “They can take their certificate of honor and shove it.” She gestured Julia inside with a smoldering cigarette, then took a deep drag. “I don’t give a fuck if it is good press, Drake, I’m not flying out