Far across the room Archy Grant made a big and noisy entrance. The grin, the wave, lots of glad-handing and calling to friends. In his wake was Ike LaCelle doing much the same thing, and not far behind him stalked the more sober and undemonstrative Gil Dalhauser.

"Well," I murmured, "it's show time. I better catch him before he has any drinks." I stood, but Bobbi put her hand on my arm.

"You'll need some privacy, won't you?"

"That would be a help." And plenty of light, too.

"You won't get it here for a while, people will interrupt. Let me go to him, tell him to meet me in my dressing room in five minutes. I'll make sure he'll be there with bells on whether Ike warned him off or not."

"Angel, you're a devil."

"Just knock first to make sure Adelle's out."

Bobbi wasn't striving for extra attention when she walked over to join Grant, but she got it all the same. Her looks on top of the publicity linking them in a possible romance guaranteed that anyone interested was watching. Her face lit with a sweet unaffected smile, she put her hand out to him; he took it and drew her suddenly in close, but only pecked her on the cheek like a fond brother before putting a friendly arm around her. He was playing it careful, not too little or too much for the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen! My beautiful guest on the show tonight!" he called out, then stood back and applauded.

Bobbi took a bow, then turned to applaud at Grant herself. The mutual admiration display might go on for longer than five minutes; I took the opportunity to get an early start toward the backstage area. With everyone looking at them, no one noticed my quiet exit through the service door to the kitchen, and the staff there was too busy to bother with me. They were used to my mug anyway.

The back hall where the dressing rooms were was nearly cleared out. Just a couple chorus girls remained, and they were too involved talking to see me walk past. I gave Bobbi's door a snappy knock, but happily heard no reply. It was unlocked; I went in and turned on the light.

Flowers. Lots of fresh new flowers had been brought in, roses, big bronze chrysanthemums, humble bluebells, daisies, and I don't know what others turned the place into a crowded and fragrant greenhouse. They were different from the ones Bobbi had had, so I could a.s.sume these were all Gordy's doing. Adelle was going to have a tough job getting this load home-unless Gordy volunteered to help.

I made myself comfortable in a chair by the closet. It wasn't visible from the door, though I could see the whole room fine in the dressing-table mirror. Grant would not, of course, be able to see me.

My wait went on for longer than five minutes. Bobbi must not have been able to get Grant apart from the others long enough to deliver even a whispered invitation. He was probably milking the crowd for every drop of adulation he could get.

After about a quarter hour, though, I heard footsteps approach and pause outside, then the door was pushed open.

It was welcome-to-my-parlor time.

Only the fly wasn't Grant, but Ike LaCelle. With no small disgust for the false alarm, I vanished just as he started to walk in. It made hearing more difficult, but I could follow the progress of his footfalls on the floor. He circled the room once, opened the closet, then checked on the tiny bath. Unhurried, he crossed back to the door.

"It's clear," he said.

Someone else came in.

"This is not a good idea," LaCelle continued.

"The lady wants to see me, who am I to say no?" said Archy Grant. He seemed to be in a remarkably good mood, even for a man whose business it was to be happy all the time.

"She's poison for you, Arch. Lemme fix you up with someone else."

"Tomorrow, maybe. First I find out what I'm getting tonight." Gla.s.s clinked on gla.s.s and I thought I recognized the sound of a bottle being set down.

"That boyfriend of hers is dangerous. I tell you there's something wrong with him."

"Gordy's just got you spooked."

"Fleming's the one who's done the spooking. You didn't have him looking at you like that, like the world was gonna end."

"Ike, you are not scared of some n.o.body kid like him."

"d.a.m.n right I'm scared. I know a creep when I see one."

"I've seen him and he's nothing."

"I just can't talk to you when you're like this."

"So we'll talk later-when I'm a lot more relaxed..." Grant trailed off into a long chuckle, sounding very pleased with himself. "Now get out before she comes. I don't want you spoiling the mood while she's in it."

"You said she wasn't so hot for you last night."

"She just changed her mind, same as the rest. All she needed was a taste of what it was like doing the show."

"Just like that? I don't think so. That broad's got more brains than you think. This is a setup, pal. Her creep boyfriend's gonna come busting in on you both and either he flattens you or they shake you down for dough."

"Then I'll lock the door."

"Archy-"

"I can take care of myself, Ike. And if the kid makes trouble we handle him like the others. Jeez, isn't it enough I let you come check things here first? Stand guard in the hall if you want, but get scarce."

Ike went out, grumbling.

"And don't let her see you," Grant said in farewell as he shut the door.

He walked back and stopped before the mirror. When I silently returned to solidity a few feet behind him he was inspecting his teeth and smoothing his hair back. He was a really good-looking man, maybe a little thick around the neck and shoulders, but with striking brown eyes, and an ingrained expression of pleasant humor. He looked like he knew the number on everything and would share it with you for a beer and a handshake. I'd been right about the bottle; he'd brought champagne and two gla.s.ses.

I stood very still, watching him for some time before he started to feel it. Not that I have one of those airs of evil surrounding me; this was the sort of feeling anyone gets when they sense somebody's staring at them.

Grant straightened slow, and used the mirror to check the room, then turned slightly to look toward the door.

That's when he glimpsed what just shouldn't have been there out of the corner of his eye. He twisted fast to face me, drawing in one sharp breath, eyes going wide, and backed hard away, b.u.mping against the table. Things rattled and fell over. The image of the room in the mirror shivered.

His heart was banging fit to burst. I could hear its thudding ten feet away. I'm not like the undead in the storybooks and movies; I don't take pleasure in terrifying people-not usually. But for Archy Grant I found myself making a big exception. His pop-eyed expression of horror was giving me the kind of laugh he'd probably never before inspired in anyone. I couldn't help myself. It was probably just as well, too. Better this laughter than for me to be angry with him.

"Hi, Archy. Great to see you. I really enjoyed the broadcast."

"Wha... you..." His skill for ad-libbing had deserted him.

I fixed my gaze on him, smiling. "We're gonna have a little talk."

10

My head ached like a b.u.m tooth, but it was worth it.

I'd thought everything out, all the stuff I had to make clear to Grant, all the changes I wanted from him. By the time I finished he no longer had any interest in pursuing Bobbi, though he still liked her-but only as a friend, as another colleague in show business. He would always treat her with respect and not do or say anything that would be detrimental to her career. My promise to Bobbi was intact. Maybe he wouldn't go out of his way to promote her, but he sure wouldn't arrange through LaCelle to destroy her.

In light of their conversation, I made sure Archy would be convincing to LaCelle about his change of mind for this particular seduction. I also planted a very strong suggestion that he and Ike stop playing their carrot-and-stick routine with women. The idea wouldn't last long, a couple weeks, maybe even a month. Suggestions that went against a person's normal behavior and inclinations tended to be short-lived and needed periodic reinforcing. If Grant and I crossed paths on a regular basis I would do it as opportunities occurred, but I wasn't counting on that to happen. It'd be up to chance, and I was content to let it remain so. Anything more and I'd be telling him how to run his life. I had my own life to worry about; I didn't have time for his as well.

The concentration necessary for what I was doing cost me, hence the thumping between my temples. I'd have to make a stop later at the Stockyards to balance the effort.

Of course, Grant remembered absolutely nothing about any of it.

He stood calm and blank-faced, staring at air until I got behind him, snapped my fingers, and vanished. I'd seen enough stage hypnotists to have picked up a few theatrical touches for myself.

When Grant quit the room, LaCelle-who had posted himself down the way as guard after all-saw and came over.

I was floating unseen next to Grant and listened shamelessly.

"What? She stand you up?" LaCelle sounded relieved.

"I got to thinking about what you said and you're right. I've got no business going after her." Grant was doing fine, speaking almost word for word what I'd given him.

"What d'ya want me to do about her?"

"Nothing at all. She's a great talent, let her run with it. And lay off the boyfriend, too. No more guys following him around."

"But I thought you wanted to-"

"No more guys following him around," Grant cheerfully repeated.

And that was that.

Mentally dusting my hands, I took myself away to materialize in an unused corner, then went back to the party, feeling very satisfied about myself and the world.

Things had gotten noisier with the booze flowing so free, and the musicians decided to put in some extra playing time. It was much the same as it'd been on opening night, only the attention was divided between Bobbi and Adelle.

Bobbi was busy for the moment, but I spotted Madison Pruitt at the chow line. I could take care of my business with him to fill the time until she was free.

Maybe he wasn't a creative type, but I did know better than to get between him and food and waited until he'd loaded a plate and carried it off to a table. He'd apparently been grazing for a while, as his area was crowded with empty plates containing identical remains of what he was now digging into. When Madison found something he liked, he stuck with it.

"How you doing?" I asked, walking over.

He looked up, mouth full, and said something unintelligible, but friendly in tone, gesturing for me to sit. For the amount of food he was always packing away he was ever on the gaunt and gangly side. His loose clothes were informal tweeds, lots of them, with two knitted vests under the coat. Either he was cold all the time or trying to pad out his thin form. I hadn't seen him for the last few months. He'd been injured by scabs at an auto-plant sit-down strike, who gave him a concussion and broken arm. Both seemed healed up; he wore no cast, but there was a white scar over his left eyebrow that hadn't been there before. He looked a little older, a little more worn.

"Heard you had some bad luck with strikebreakers," I said. "Glad to see you're up and around."

He pushed his thick-lensed gla.s.ses back with a knuckle and bobbed his head. "Yeah, that's what happened. They were animals in the pay of the fascist overlords. I tried to tell them about being exploited, but they wouldn't listen. Too busy hitting me."

I knew what I'd let myself in for, but was resigned to it and listened as he gave me a very thorough account of his a.s.sault. He was grimly proud of it, and stopped eating long enough to show me the scarring on his left arm where it had been broken during his clubbing. I could admire him to some extent; qualities in him that could be seen as faults had given him a kind of obtuse courage. Maybe I thought he was nuts for what he was doing, but at least he was out doing it. I winced appreciatively for what he'd been through and told him he'd been badly used. He wholeheartedly agreed, and that led him off on another tangent about the parallels between the strikers and the Spanish Civil War. It was pretty convoluted, and he talked too quickly for me to even try to follow. When he paused for breath I broke in to bring the conversation around to where I wanted.

"Ever heard of a guy named Jason McCallen? He might be a member of the party."

Madison looked cagey. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just trying to get a line on who he is. Someone told me he might be a communist, and from what I've seen he's probably a good one for the cause. He's a big guy, very intense, Scottish accent."

"A Scotch communist?"

"Scots," I said, parroting Escott. "Scotch is a drink."

He thought for a bit, then shook his head. "I've never met him, but then the meetings can be pretty large. We don't all know each other."

I shrugged. "Okay, it was a long shot."

"I could ask around."

One thing I didn't need was Madison accidentally putting his foot into a bear trap. He'd been banged up enough.

"That's good of you, but don't bother."

"Why you want to know about him?"

"Just a little business deal I'm thinking about I wanted to see how steady he was."

"Business deal?"

"It's nothing. How's the American party doing these days?"

The subject change was all I needed to keep him from asking more questions. He bent my ear until I happened to notice Ike LaCelle watching me from a few yards away. I didn't think he'd heard anything, but wouldn't put it past him to read lips. He broke into an instant smile and strolled up. Despite my having spooked him, he never once let it show and glad-handed me like we were the best of friends. I wondered what the h.e.l.l he wanted.

"Fleming! Good to see you!" His booming greeting had its effect on Madison, startling him so he paused a moment in his plate grazing to stare. LaCelle was practically sparkling with fond fellowship. "That was a h.e.l.l of a show tonight, wasn't it?"

"Which one?"

"Why, both of 'em, of course. Bobbi's on the ladder to stardom, I'm sure of it, and Adelle's never been better, don't you think?"

I agreed and introduced him to Madison, who stopped eating again long enough to shake hands.

"I've heard of you, Mr. LaCelle," he mumbled around his latest mouthful.

"Oh, yeah? Well, don't believe a word of it, I was drunk at the time."

Madison stared, uncomprehending. "I didn't mean to imply anything about you in a negative sense, far from it.

Marza-Bobbi's piano player-told me what an important and influential man you are." I could almost hear the acid in Marza's voice were she to hear herself described as a mere piano player.

"I've got the ears of a few people here and there," said LaCelle. "Mr. Fleming can tell you."

To be agreeable, I nodded and resisted asking what other things besides ears he might have as trophies. He would not have been able to appreciate it.