seemed to be handling the role of hostesses more than capably. They circulated, made introductions, and bestowed dazzling smiles at random.
âThe ladies have PR firm stamped all over their silk Saint-Laurents,â Annie said.
âLadies?â I said. âWhat ladies? Donât notice any ladies.â
âTell your eyeballs to stop spinning.â
I dipped one of my shrimp into a tomato-and-horseradish sauce of surpassing richness.
âJob like yours,â I said, âa person could blow their cholesterol level off the scale.â
âDonât kid yourself, sweetie,â Annie said. âThis event is the exception.â
âYou telling me life isnât a regular round of wining, dining, and other bribery for you swells on the movie beat?â
âFree coffee at advance screenings,â Annie said. âIn styrofoam cups.â
I was making inroads on a little silver dish of macadamia nuts when someone slapped me cheerily on the shoulder. I turned and found Trevor Dalgleish on my flank. The slap, for all its cheeriness, gave my equilibrium a shake. Trevor packed some heft.
âWell, well, Crang,â he said, âthe movies bring all sorts together.â
âAt this shindig, Trev, Iâm an appendage,â I said. âAnnie hereâs the main act.â
I made the introductions, and Trevor lathered the charm on Annie.
âIâm a fan ,â he said to her. âWouldnât miss you on that morning show. Wednesdays, isnât it, and Fridays?â
Annie answered in words that were suitably grateful and humble, and Trevor followed up with more commentary that proved he really did listen to Annieâs reviews.
Trevor Dalgleish was handsome in a beefy, Teddy Kennedy style. He looked older than his age, which was early thirties, a little grey around the temples, a bracket of deepening lines in the cheeks. But he exuded vigour. The vigour was of an upper-crust sort that usually comes from riding horses and hitting squash balls. Trevor had a faint sound of hoity-toity in his voice.
âTrevâs another one of us,â I said to Annie when Trevorâs gushing wound down. âCriminal lawyer.â
âAn associate of our hostâs,â Trevor elaborated.
âOf Cameron Charlesâs?â Annie said, perking up, maybe scenting some inside dope for her coverage of the Alternate Festival. âReally? And are you involved in the movie end too?â
Trevor assumed a modified aw-shucks look.
âCamâs assigned me to book a handful of the festivalâs films,â he said. âFascinating to see the movie business from a different perspective.â Trevor didnât get any further with his perspective. One of the tall, chic visions interrupted him. She was standing at the fringe of the crowd, waving one arm in the air, and she was asking us in her loudest voice if weâd care to bring our champagne glasses and coffee cups to the other end of the room.
âShowtime,â Annie said.
Three guys who looked more rugged and sweaty than the rest of us guests peeled off and strapped themselves into television cameras that had been resting on the floor behind the serving tables. A dozen others, radio types, got out pocket-sized tape recorders. Annie had a notebook and pen in her hands, and so did everyone else around me. I was the only stiff in the room who wasnât working.
Cam Charles looked sleek. He made his entrance from a door in the wall on the right side of the room and walked to the lectern. Cam had olive skin and black hair that was combed back flat from his forehead. His face and body showed a bit of excess weight, but if he was plump, it was a firm variety of plump. Dark and sleek and plump. Cam looked like he should be mated to an otter. He had on a light grey double-breasted suit, a darker grey shirt with a white collar and white french cuffs, and a blue tie with a delicate pattern. Cam tapped his