"I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't didn't feel inferior," she said. feel inferior," she said.

"Besides yourself."

"I would hate to spoil your delusions, Mac."

"Thank you. Can you think of anyone who might fit that description?"

She shook her head, then stopped abruptly.

"What?" I asked, and she adopted my scowl.

"I have a stunt double. I never even considered him before."

"Aren't stunt doubles built like ... well, like you you, thereby making her immune to inferiority."

"I'd give an Oscar for his legs."

"It's a man?"

"Emery Greene." She grinned. "We'll discuss Santa Claus later."

"Leave Santa out of this," I said, then, "So why would you suspect Greene?"

"He hasn't ..." she began, then looked surprised and laughed at herself. "Nothing."

I caught the drift. "Maybe he just hasn't gotten around to proposing yet."

"Not everyone has to like me," she said, but there was something in her voice. It almost sounded like insecurity. I hadn't seen that in Laney since she was buck-toothed and built like a chopstick.

"If that's true we have no supporting evidence," I said.

"I love you, Mac," she said, then shook her head and waved away her previous thought. "Come to think of it, Emery just came on board recently. After Stevie broke her arm."

"Stevie?"

"She was my other double."

"Stevie's a girl."

"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 have a viable list. "Who's the king of the heap?" 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 p.r.i.c.kles."

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." 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 o.r.g.a.s.m. 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 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, cla.s.sical 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 feel Solberg pale. I liked this Morab guy better by the moment. 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." 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 too secure." 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 have tiny pores." tiny pores."

"Sergio?"

"Sergio Carlos Zepequeno. Aka Morab. He's Brazilian."

"A Brazilian who you think is hiding his jealousy?"

"I would be if the situation were reversed."

I stared at her. Laney ... jealous? I hadn't seen that since the neighborhood boys had started an all-male clubhouse. "Please don't tell me the Easter Bunny's fictional, too," I said.

She gave me a bland expression. "He once told me there was no one more deserving than I. And he said it with absolute conviction."

"The Easter Bunny?"

"Sergio."

I shrugged. "I concur. With both of them."

She was stellar at ignoring me. "What about the Dalai Lama."

"I wasn't even aware he belonged to the actor's guild."

"You know what I mean," she said.

"Maybe he just admires you. This Morab guy, I mean. Not the Dalai Lama."

"The point is," she said, "no one's completely secure."

"And you think if his act is too convincing ..."

"He's an excellent actor. Worked on Broadway to sold-out crowds."

"Then maybe you can't tell if he's acting or not," I said.

"Or maybe he thinks he deserves more," Solberg said.

"But getting rid of Laney won't help him. It's not as if he can take her place."

"Maybe he's so bitter he doesn't care," Solberg suggested. "You know what those good-looking guys are like.

"Baby," he turned to Laney with panic in his eyes. "We should get you a bodyguard."

We stared at him as if he'd just grown a second head.

"What?" he said. he said.

"A bodyguard," I repeated.

"Yeah."

"Someone big and burly and manly to shadow Laney's every move?" I said, and watched him pale some more.

Laney shot me the kind of look she used to give bullies who were picking on the skinny kids.

"I didn't say Sergio wanted to get rid of me," she said. "It was just ... I thought of him, the unfairness of this business. That's all. He's a nice guy."

"And extremely good-looking." I glanced at Solberg. Sometimes I am am kind of a bully. kind of a bully.

17.

I'd rather be happy than be president.-Jamel Blount, weighing options "How's Jamel doing?" I was back at work. Neither talk of Morab the man-slave nor dead of night shall keep me from my appointed tasks.

Micky Goldenstone sat on my couch. "All right, I guess."

"Is Jackson back home?"

Micky nodded stiffly, then glanced out the window toward the coffee shop. "Back home, filling my son's mind with s.h.i.t."

"What do you mean?"