by Tinnean
“Thank you, sir!”
Ah. I’d risen in the world. “You’re welcome. Have a good night.”
“You too. And good luck.” He winked at me.
“Excuse me?”
“He’s a cute boy. If I had the money—”
“He’s a friend.”
“At least you didn’t say he’s your nephew.”
I could see there was no point in trying to clarify the situation. I slid into the driver’s seat and buckled up.
“What’s wrong?” Val asked. I was a little surprised at how perceptive he was.
“He thought I’d bought your company.” I put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot.
“It’s okay.”
“I’ve never had to buy companionship.”
“You sound just like Vince. Next you’ll tell me they paid you.”
“No…” I angled my head to get a look at him in the light cast by the streetlights. There was a faint smile on his lips, and I had to smile myself.
“Can we get some dessert?” he asked.
“That sounds good.”
“I know a little place a few blocks from Falling Water that makes the best ice cream sundaes.”
“All right, then. Just give me the directions.”
~*~
WHEN I RETURNED to my uncles’ house a couple of hours later, I found Bryan still awake.
“Is everything all right? Tony…?”
“He’s fine.” He studied me carefully. “You’re wearing a suit.”
“Yes.” I removed the jacket and hung it up. It had become my habit when I sat behind the cameras keeping an eye on things. The first few days I’d worn the casual clothes I’d purchased with Bryan’s help. “I was mistaken for a tourist too many times.”
That resulted in me being asked—sometimes not very politely—to leave the set. Of course it had been straightened out, but it had been tiresome, so I’d resumed wearing my business suits, and the difference had been remarkable.
Mark would have shaken his head and no doubt threatened someone with death and dismemberment, but I didn’t see the need to go so far.
“I trust you’re recognized now?” Bryan offered me a brandy.
“Thank you.” I accepted the snifter. “Yes, I am.” The problem hadn’t been the security guards but more the assistants and the assistants to assistants who felt the need to throw their weight around.
“Would you mind joining me in the study? I have something I’d like you to see.”
“Of course.” I followed him down the hallway and into the room which was bright with moonlight. Shelves were filled with all manner of books, fiction and nonfiction, and in a corner was a cloisonné globe on a stand. The drapes for the floor-to-ceiling windows hadn’t been drawn yet.
Bryan flipped on the light switch, tugged the drapes closed, then gestured toward his desk.
Spread out on the flat surface was a map and some papers.
“I asked a friend who lives down in Columbia if she’d look into what might have happened to Mark ten years ago. Have you heard of the town of Barichara?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
He pointed to a spot on the map. “It’s a pretty little town in the Santander Department of Columbia.” Bryan raised his gaze to meet mine. “It has a population of about seven thousand plus.”
“Hmm.” Barichara didn’t sound like a town where a drug cartel would have its headquarters. “And that’s where Mark wound up?”
“Eventually, yes.”
“Ah. Any idea why?”
“Not really. All I can tell you is that the town is about four hundred seventy-eight miles southeast of Cartagena, and he had arranged for a truck to be delivered there. It would enable him to transport his partner’s casket to Cartagena and from there home.”
I remained silent.
“While he was there, he stopped at a bar, La taverna del perro sucio.”
The Dirty Dog? I bit back a laugh. That sounded exactly like the sort of establishment Mark would visit. I remembered the time he’d taken me to a bar called the Sixty-Nine.
“Beyond that,” Bryan continued, “my contact was unable to learn what happened. The bar is no longer there—”
“But the locals remember Mark?”
“The big hombre who was dangerous to even look at the wrong way.”
This time I did laugh. That was my Mark. “Thank you, Uncle Bryan. I’ll mention this to Mark.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t learn more.” He finished his brandy. “I’ll go up now and check on your uncle before I go to bed myself.”
“Are you sure he’s all right?” I wasn’t used to seeing Bryan hover over Tony.
“I am, and he is. Would you mind taking this to the kitchen?” He held out his snifter, and I took it.
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you, Quinn. Good night and sleep well.”
“You too.”
He smiled and left the study.
I wandered into the kitchen, set both snifters on the counter, and once I had my sleeves rolled up, I filled the sink with warm, sudsy water. Those glasses were too delicate to risk putting them in the dishwasher.
While the snifters soaked, I tugged on my lower lip. Would I have time enough for a quick trip to Barichara before returning home for the wedding?
I rinsed and dried the snifters, then let the water drain from the sink and wiped it down.
Mark had insisted I leave my laptop at home in Alexandria. I went back into Bryan’s study, turned on his computer, and began looking into Barichara ten years earlier.
One of the things I found telling was that while there was much about the little town, there wasn’t anything about a tavern called del perro sucio.
I decided to hold off telling Mark what I’d learned until I discovered more.
Meanwhile, I did want to let him know how things were progressing with Cartwright. I powered down Bryan’s computer and called Mark. “How was your day, babe?”
“Don’t ask,” he groaned.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“What’s going on?”
“We have to go to a wedding in a few weeks, right?”
“Yes.” I turned off the lights in the study and began going through the house, making sure all the doors and windows were secured.
“And we’re supposed to bring an appropriate gift, right?”
“But Mark, I though you said we were giving them a bicycle built for two,” I teased, my tongue firmly tucked in my cheek, reminding him of what he’d said a couple of months ago. I’d been distracted, trying to come up with a way to tell him I wanted to stop using condoms, and his ridiculous suggestion had almost gone over my head.
“Will you be serious?” He sounded insulted.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
I swallowed a laugh. No, I wasn’t. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Yes. You know shopping isn’t my favorite thing.”
I made a noncommittal sound. Mark was willing to spend whatever was necessary—I thought briefly of the gifts he’d given my uncles for Christmas—but if he could get away without visiting a store, he’d be very happy. Even when grocery shopping, he liked nothing better than getting in and out, which was how I’d managed to slip a box of fiber cereal into our bag without him being aware.
“Well, I had dinner with your mother the other night, and the subject of Theo’s wedding came up. She decided we had to shop for a wedding present.”
“I see.” I cleared my throat. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Mark growled. “Do you have any idea how many places in the DC area sell Waterford crystal?”
“I can’t say that I do.”
“We hit just about every single one.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Did you pick out anything, or do we need to go shopping again when I return home?”
/> “Yes. And no.”
“Mmm-hmm. So what are we giving them?” I asked.
“Theo likes to bake. Portia thought a crystal footed cake plate would be nice.”
“And for Matheson?”
“Two champagne flutes with their names and the date engraved on them.”
“Which did you choose?”
“Both of them.”
“Excellent solution.”
“I had a feeling you’d think so.”
“Are they Waterford?”
“Do you think Portia would shop for anything less?”
“Well, you know I’m good for my share.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings.”
“You are so full of shit.”
“I’ll have you know I’m quite regular.” I made my way up to my bedroom.
He fell silent, and I waited to hear how he would respond to that. He choked, and then he laughed.
And I found myself growing hard.
There was a bed before me, and I had Mark on the phone.
“Now. Are you naked yet?”
V
I MADE A POINT of calling Mark about 10:00 p.m. Eastern time on July 25.
“Hi, babe.” He sounded cheerful. Considering this was the evening of the Christmas in July meeting of the Aspen Reach condo owners’ association, I was suspicious.
“Hello. How did the meeting go?”
“Great.”
“Who did you have to kill?”
“Quinn, I’m hurt that you would think something like that.”
“Bullshit.”
“Swearing, Mr. Mann? Shame on you.”
“Okay, seriously, why are you in such a good mood?”
“I got voted into the position.”
Now I became extremely suspicious. “You’re awfully happy about that.”
“I’m gonna tell you why. This thing with the COA is temporary.”
“I thought that was obvious.”
“No, the people here just keep voting the same people in again and again.”
“All right, but that still doesn’t explain—”
“The association members have to live in Aspen Reach.”
That made sense, but, “We live in Aspen Reach, Mark.”
“Not for long. We’ll be moving out, yes?”
“Well, yes. But—”
“I called Theo earlier and told him to lean on his architect. Even if it takes six months, you’ll only have to do this coming Christmas.” He sounded so smugly pleased with himself, I couldn’t help laughing.
“Me, Mark?”
“You bet. It was your idea.”
“I have to admit it was.”
“And besides, I’m a big believer in delegating. So while you’re out in LA, start thinking about how we’re going to decorate this building.”
I laughed harder. “Yes, Mark.”
“Cool. Now let’s get down to the important things.”
“Which are?”
“Are you in your bedroom? Are you naked?”
“The answer to both those questions is the same—no. But give me three minutes, and I will be.”
VI
THE FOOD OF LOVE had been given a five-week shooting schedule, and filming was winding down, with only a few days left.
Dan Conroy, the director, called, “Cut. Okay, people. That’s a wrap.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Brad Cartwright took his leading lady’s hand, turned it over, and brushed a kiss over her wrist. “That’s how acting should be done.” He smirked.
Delinda Kelly gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and brushed her wrist against the pale yellow linen slacks she wore. “If you don’t mind, Dan, I’d like to call it a day.”
“Sure, Delinda. You can watch the dailies in the morning.”
This time her smile was warm. “’Night, everyone.” She left the soundstage.
“Bitch,” Cartwright muttered. “Thank God this disaster is almost done.” He trailed after her.
“What disaster? We’re on time and under budget. The asshole.” Conroy shook his head. “And you didn’t hear me call him that.”
“Call who what?”
“Thanks.” He gave a sour chuckle. “I can’t figure out why he fought for this role.”
“Is he trying to sabotage someone’s career?” I asked mildly.
He met my gaze, almost seeming surprised. “You got that impression?”
“You didn’t? I’ve seen Valentine’s acting in that slasher movie, as well as his episodes of CIA, and he struck me as quite good.”
“He is. I directed him in In the Dark of the Night, you know, and that was why I suggested to Jerry we cast him as Charlie Caesar in this.”
I rose from my seat behind the cameras and stretched. Val hadn’t been on set this afternoon. While Conroy shot the scenes with Cartwright and Delinda Kelly, the second unit director, Locke Ryder, had been filming Val and another actor on a different soundstage.
“Want to come see the rushes?” Conroy asked. “Locke sent me the raw footage he shot, and something’s happening I’d like a second opinion on.”
“I’d love to, although you do realize my uncle is the one in the business. I’m just along for the ride.”
“You’re along to keep that octopus Cartwright from getting too grabby with Spike is what you mean.”
“He’s just lucky Mark isn’t here.”
“You’ve got that right. I’d have to find a new leading man and reshoot the entire film.” He gestured toward the screening room. “I’ve always wondered… How is he related to Spike?”
“He’s not. Val is the friend of a friend.” I didn’t think I’d ever become comfortable calling him Spike.
“He’s extraordinarily protective of him. When Jerry and I were setting up production for In the Dark of the Night, Mr. Vincent literally threatened us with hell and damnation if we put any kind of moves on Spike. This in spite of the fact that we’re both too old for him and we’re both straight.”
“Mark would say age and sexuality don’t matter.”
“I wish I could have persuaded him to sign a contract. He would have been perfect for a part in the political thriller we wrapped up a few months ago.” He paused at the door to the screening room. “I understand you’re a writer.”
“I am, although I have to wonder how you’re aware of that.” This was the first time Conroy and I had ever had an in-depth conversation. “I write under a pseudonym.”
“Would you mind telling me what it is?”
“Challenger Deep.”
His jaw dropped, and he stared at me. “You’re Challenger Deep?”
“Yes.”
“You wrote Mind Fuck?”
How had this information gotten out? “Yes.”
“Are you interested in doing the screenplay?”
I grinned and held my hand up as if to stave him off. “I’m sorry. I’m still waiting to start the first round of edits.”
“That’s a pity. I’ve heard good things about it, and I’d like to option it.”
“You’ll have to speak to my agent.” I pictured Mark as my agent, and I had to struggle to refrain from laughing. “I thought the spy genre was becoming passé.” Although I imagined James Bond couldn’t be included in that assumption. The newest 007 movie had been released the year before.
“Like everything else, it goes in cycles. I’m hoping if I get the movie rights to your book, I’ll be able to regenerate interest in it.” He looked pensive for a moment, then shrugged. “I’d just have one request.”
I gave him a wry grin. “Change the title?” I was surprised the publishing house hadn’t objected to Mind Fuck, but I imagined it was still early days yet.
“Bingo.” He grinned back at me. “Well, we’ll see how it goes.”
“Speaking of seeing how it goes, I have to admit I’m surprised at the lack of chemistry between Val and Cartwright.”
“Yeah. As I sai
d, I don’t know why Cartwright fought so hard for this role. Jerry and I made it obvious from the start there would be a gay subplot to the story.”
“May I ask why you decided to go with that?”
“My sister’s son came out earlier this year.”
“I see.”
“When he sees Spike… well, the kid’s adorable, and Mason’s been begging me to bring him over to dinner.”
“You’re aware Val has a partner?”
“That would make it ideal. Mason is fourteen. I’d like him to see a successful gay man in a stable relationship.”
“You’re a good man.”
“I love my family. Now, you may not know The Food of Love is based on Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night…”
“I’m aware.”
He frowned. “How?”
“I was there when Val got the script.”
“Oh.” He opened a door and gestured for me to enter.
“Was it supposed to be a secret?” I bit my lip to prevent a smile. Where CIA operatives were concerned there were no secrets.
“Well… no. But you know what today’s audiences can be like. If there’s even a whiff that this movie is really Shakespeare, the audience I plan on targeting won’t walk out because they wouldn’t have walked in.”
“A version of Much Ado About Nothing came out about ten years ago, and I enjoyed it a good deal.” It had been released in DVD format earlier in the year. I’d buy a copy and watch it with Mark.
As for The Food of Love, I had a feeling it would do at least as well.
Twelfth Night was a comedy of mistaken identity. Viola, who believed she was the sole survivor of the shipwreck that took her twin brother’s life, changed her name to Cesario and dressed as a man to obtain employment with Orsino, the local duke. The duke was attempting to woo the Countess Olivia, who was in mourning for her dead father and brother, and with the arrival of “Cesario,” the duke came up with what he perceived as a clever ploy: he’d send Cesario to woo in his stead. Instead of working in his favor, his plan backfired, with the countess falling in love with Cesario. It ended on a happy note, when Viola’s brother arrived, very much alive, and married the mistaken Olivia, while Orsino decided he really was in love with Cesario… that was to say Viola… and planned to marry her.
