Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery) (33 page)

“That’s rich. They’ve turned our world upside down.”

“And we’ve done the same to them. A lot of the younger Álfar prefer our world to their own.” I gave her a smile. “Which sort of implies we’re way more awesome than they are.”

She chewed on that for a moment. “So, if we don’t join in this arbitration—”

“And tone down the public protests,” I interrupted.

“You have one in mind?” Cartwright asked shrewdly.

“The Oscars,” I said.

“So if we don’t picket at the Oscars, you won’t publish this story.” She shoved the pages back toward Maslin.

“As much as it pains me to say this: yes, I won’t publish,” the journalist answered.

She stood and extended her hand. “Then we have a deal. Now I need to see about replacing a source of funding. If you’ll excuse me.”

We wound our way through the desks and the hardworking volunteers all diligently trying to hold back the tide and stepped out into the parking lot of the strip mall. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Well, that went better than I expected,” I said.

Maslin gave me a curious sideways look. “You ever considered a career in politics?”

“God, no. What made you say that?”

“You do seem to appeal to people’s better angels.”

“Right now I’m just trying to keep a lot of people from joining that heavenly choir. Shall we go?”

*   *   *

I was late meeting Kate. She was already in the Elie Saab store on Rodeo Drive, and under her guidance a couple of saleswomen were filling a rolling clothes rack with gowns. As I studied the tall, elegant, perfectly groomed, perfectly coiffed, chicly dressed women, I wanted to slink back out of the store. My professional woman’s uniform—straight gray skirt, black jacket, scoop-neck pale yellow shell, sensible pumps—seemed unbelievably dowdy. I gazed at the dresses on impossibly tall, slender mannequins. I was short. Really short. I was going to look so stupid in these clothes. No one this short could possibly—

“Oh, Linnet, good. I think we’ve got some great choices for you,” Kate said, and pulled me over. “This is Glynis and Julie. They’re going to help us.”

“How do you do,” I mumbled. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” I added.

“Nonsense,” trilled Glynis. “You’re lovely.”

Then we were into it. It was like an explosion in a fabric store. Silk, taffeta, satin, chiffon. A rainbow of colors. There was one red dress with a gathered bodice that kept the left shoulder bare, but created a wide strap effect across the right shoulder. The dress flowed to the floor and the fabric looked like it would cling to the legs. A bit of material formed a train that flowed out behind the skirt. It was gorgeous and it had me fantasizing about walking down a curving staircase to meet an elegant gentleman, taking his arm, exiting to our waiting limo—

I reluctantly and sadly put it aside. “I really need to be able to move easily. Would it be awful if I didn’t wear a floor-length gown?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Julie said, and she pulled down a dress of deep indigo blue with silver and white embroidered flowers.

It had a one-shoulder fitted bodice; an asymmetric hemline; beaded, stylized flowers in trapunto on chiffon. The design of the flowers reminded me of Elizabethan crewelwork, and it was done using gold and silver thread and silk embroidery floss. I had a feeling that the asymmetric hemline would leave my right leg bare nearly to the hip. My left arm was going to be bare, the right arm partially covered by translucent chiffon of a pale teal color.

I touched the material and felt it catch on the rough tips of my fingers. I snatched my hand back. “Don’t worry, it’s not that fragile,” Kate said with a laugh. “Go try it on.”

“Would you like a glass of champagne?” Glynis asked.

“Uh, it might be a little early,” I said.

“I’ll make it a mimosa,” she said with a wink.

“Well, okay.”

Julie, carrying the dress reverently draped over her arms, led me back to the dressing rooms. No tiny cubicles here. Each fitting room was large, carpeted, and lined with mirrors. There was also a comfortable armchair. “For the gentleman in a lady’s life if he would like to see the transformation. Otherwise we have a waiting room in front with magazines, comfortable chairs and couches, and a beverage selection,” Julie explained.

“Oh,” I said, inanely.
So this was how the very rich lived,
I thought.

Glynis arrived with my mimosa in a crystal goblet. I gulped down a sip. Fortunately there was more orange juice than champagne.

Julie hung the dress, and they both stepped out while I removed my clothes. “Ready for me to help you?”Glynis called.

“Uh, yes, please.”

They came back in and zipped me into the dress. I kept my eyes focused on the dressing room door. I didn’t want to see. I knew I was going to look totally stupid. Julie turned me around to face a mirror. “There.”

“I don’t look like me,” I whispered as I studied my image in the dressing room mirror.

“It looks wonderful on you,” the two fashion amazons said in chorus.

“Let’s go show Ms. Billingham,” Glynis said, and pulled me back out into the store proper.

I stood on a little pedestal while they circled me like sharks, tugging at the material, pinching in the material at my back, pulling up material to expose more of my hip. Pins appeared to reinforce these changes. I couldn’t tell if they were improvements or not. They were so subtle and I was so overwhelmed.

“How quickly can you make the alterations?” Kate asked. “The ceremony is day after tomorrow.”

“We’ll have them done today and you can pick up the dress tomorrow. Or we can have it messengered over to Ms. Ellery,” Julie said as she plucked another pin out of the pincushion she wore on her wrist and reached for the hem of the skirt.

“Wait,” Glynis ordered. “We need the right shoes.” A less exalted salesperson darted away. “Open-toed, ankle strap,” Glynis called after her.

I suddenly remembered trying to get out of my shoes during one of the werewolf attacks last year, and how the ankle strap had made it impossible for me to shed my high heels quickly.

“No strap,” I contradicted. “I want to be able to kick them off. If my feet start to hurt,” I added awkwardly.

“And a purse,” Kate added.

The girl returned with a pair of silver shoes that picked up the color and sparkle of the trapunto flowers. Using Julie’s shoulder for balance I slipped them on and got three inches taller. The purse was a Debbie Brooks clutch bag decorated with a multicolored rhinestone dragonfly swooping over enamel flowers. Kate reached up and pulled my hair out of its twist. If fell onto my shoulders.

Everyone clapped. “Oh, yes, definitely wear your hair down,” Kate said.

I stared at the image in the mirror. I looked sophisticated, chic, maybe even a little pretty. Now, if Qwendar just wouldn’t fuck everything up maybe I could be a princess for a night.

*   *   *

Parlan, flanked by six gorgeous Álfar, was waiting at the curb at LAX. They had a lot of luggage, as in
Oh, holy shit, that’s a lot of luggage
. And of course, being me, I said just that, then added, “Good thing I got a van. But I think we’re going to need a second car.”

“Sorry. None of us were sure what to pack,” Parlan said.

“May we meet this lady?” said the tallest of the Álfar. His long black hair was confined in a ponytail. “Though I assume her to be Linnet.”

“Right you are,” I said, holding out my hand. “Linnet Ellery.”

“Ladlaw,” he said. Then he pointed at the other five, a name accompanying each thrust of his forefinger. “Aalet, Cildar, Donnal, Zevra, and Tulan.”

“Pleased to meet you. Thank you all for coming.”

“Will we get to ride on the airplane going back?” Aalet asked, his eagerness and excitement showing.

“Absolutely.”

“Wonderful.” Tulan cuffed Aalet across the back of the head lightly and affectionately.

I recognized the behavior. “Brothers?” I hazarded a guess.

“How did you know?” Aalet marveled.

“I have one,” I said.

“Condolences,” Tulan said, but the word didn’t match the affectionate glance he bestowed on his sibling.

I called Kobe and outlined my problem.

“I’ll have a limo over to you in about fifteen minutes. We keep a lot near the airport.”

“Thanks. You are a life saver.”

I hung up the phone. I looked at Parlan. “Why don’t you ride with me in the van? We can talk.”

The limo arrived, luggage was loaded in my van, Álfar in the limo. Parlan climbed in with me and we headed out. We negotiated the long horseshoe that was LAX, reached Century Boulevard, and headed for the freeway.

“So many people,” Parlan said softly. “In all of Fey I don’t think there are as many people as there are in this city. No wonder they worry.”

“So, you think Qwendar is right?”

“I think I understand why he wants us separated,”

“And what do you think?” I asked.

His eyes clouded with pain and sorrow. “I think that while I know I’m human, I don’t want to be cut off from my own people.”

“Then let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.” We drove in silence for a few minutes, then my phone rang, but since I was on the freeway I didn’t want to risk reaching into my purse. “Would you answer that for me?”

Parlan pawed through my bag and finally emerged, first with my compact and then the cell phone. He gazed at the screen and figured out how to answer. He then handed it over to me. It was Jeff.

Without salutation or preamble he said, “Linnet, I think it’s on.”

“Wha … why … how do you know?”

“A doc friend who works at Cedars-Sinai called me. Someone broke in—”

Memories tumbled into place. Parlan’s descriptions of blood magic, Connie telling me about the Álfar blood supply. “To the supply of Álfar blood they keep at the hospital,” I interrupted. Dread for what was coming clawed at my gut.

“How did you know about that?”

“The EMT on set told me about it.” I beat the heels of my hands on the steering wheel in a frenzy of guilt and anxiety. “I should have thought of this. Warned them to move it, hide it.” The words tumbled over each other.

“And they wouldn’t have listened to you! You’ve done nothing wrong. If it weren’t for you, we’d have no idea what he was planning. As scary as this is, again because of you, we’re ready for him. We’ll stop him and no one else will get hurt.”

“I wish I could share your confidence,” I said quietly.

There was silence for a moment, then Jeff said, “This silly case that brought you out to LA—it sure doesn’t seem very important now, does it?”

“Actually, Jeff. I think it’s very important. It’s about how we all treat each other and live together, and it means David and I better find a Salomon-like solution in this fraught atmosphere.”

“Yeah … well, I’m glad that’s your job and not mine.”

*   *   *

The next day found us prowling through the Kodak Theatre. On stage the emcee for the event was going through his schtick, dancers were rehearsing, cameras were being set, singers were warbling through the nominated songs, presenters were parading on and off the stage. When they weren’t playing for a singer the orchestra rehearsed movie themes in stuttering, disjointed snippets of music. The musicians looked like an accidental gathering of random people off the street. Instead of tuxes and long gowns the musicians wore blue jeans and T-shirts. Over all the other cacophony there was the whine of power saws and sharp staccato of hammering, sounds that echoed oddly through the nearly empty hall.

We had come in through a freight door, and we drew more than a few glances as we wandered about the auditorium. Understandable because we were a motley crew. There was David, Hank and me, Maslin and Merlin, Jeff and Kate, Parlan and the six Álfar, which Merlin remarked sounded like a ’60s rock band. That earned him a glare from David and an elbow in the side from his brother. As we wandered I found myself wondering what we should call our little group of plotter-protectors. A gaggle? A herd? A flock? Or maybe a murder—as in crows. Then I decided no, all the murdering was going to be on the other side. Unless we stopped it. That thought removed any humor from the moment and had my stomach once again huddling at the back of my spine.

I was feverishly turning over every possible permutation to our plan when the flaw in my logic leaped out and slapped me upside of the head. It was so obvious and so devastating, that I just collapsed into a seat. The paper that was set on the cushion with the name of the actor for whom it was reserved crackled as I landed on it, and an official started hustling toward us.

“What?” David asked.

“Qwendar was not on the set when Jondin went nuts. He was on the lot, but not on the actual set. He wasn’t in the car when Kerrinan fled into Fey. What if he doesn’t show up here tomorrow night? The best we can hope for is to prevent or reduce the carnage, but we’ll never tie him to the events.”

The tall Álfar, Ladlaw (I was proud that I remembered his name), laid a hand on my shoulder. The long hair brushing at his shoulders was black with a green tinge, like sunlight on leaves. “Mere proximity is sufficient with a single individual. The blood enables you to ride in the mind of the thrall, holding the reins of their spirit, feeding the emotion you have teased forth from deep within them.” The stilted delivery, faint accent, and florid word choice marked him as old, not all that familiar with the human side, and it was totally charming. I had to force myself to concentrate and not lose myself in the soft velvet voice. “But when you attempt to control many thralls, that is not possible. You must be able to see them in order to guide them. He will be here.”

Maslin gave me a pat on the shoulder. “And just to be sure, let me take a look at some video from the car chase. With some enhancement I bet we’ll spot Qwendar in the freeway traffic.” So we all began scanning the theater looking for that vantage point.

Jeff pointed to the rear of the theater, up toward the ceiling. “The light booth. That’s got to be it. Since Linnet is convinced he can’t effect her, we station her up there.”

“But it could be in the upper level of seats,” Merlin countered.