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that went to the
floor and featured a side split with matching black bows running from the split
up to her hips. "You do a great job with your makeup. Your brown eyes look
huge with that black liner and those thick lashes," she said.
    "Thank you. That's quite a compliment
coming from someone who specializes in cosmetics. I was thinking the same thing
about your makeup. I'm Bebe Bennett, Bradley Williams's secretary at
Ryan."
    I had moved on to a photo of Natalie Wood.
Since there were no chairs, Gloria and I stood in front of the photo, to the
right of where Bradley and Suzie were murmuring to each other.
    Gloria nodded wisely. "Geez, no wonder
you have that tortured look on your face. You must be in love with him."
    Startled that my thoughts flashed like a
traffic caution light, I tried again to adopt a calm, cool air like the rest
of the crowd. I rarely drank, but I snagged a crystal flute of champagne from a
waiter dressed in white. Champagne was the only alcoholic drink I liked, not
that I'd tried them all. With celebrities all around and Bradley misbehaving, I
needed something.
    "What Mr. Williams does out of the
office is hardly my concern. We have a professional relationship," I
recited, lying through clenched teeth.
    Gloria snorted. "Yeah, right. Listen,
I just got here. What's the scene? Lots of pretty faces around."
    "Isn't it exciting? You'd think
everyone's being in black would make for a funereal tone, but instead, it's
very elegant."
    "Black is all Pierre Benoit ever
wears. I've known him for years and have never seen him in anything else,"
Gloria confided.
    We walked together along one wall,
examining shots of Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, Cary Grant, Rock Hudson, Dean
Martin, Lola—the legendary model represented by Ryan—Suzie—I averted my eyes—
and, to my surprise, the Beatles! I was in the same room with someone who had
photographed the Beatles. How fabby!
    We lingered in front of that photo. "I
wish I could have been there the day Pierre took this shot. He really is a
gifted man. Just look at that soulful gaze in Paul's eyes."
    "You like Paul?" I asked.
    "Mm-hmm. And you?"
    "John."
    I had plenty of pictures of John and the
rest of the Fab Four on the walls of my bedroom, but to my mind, Pierre had
captured the boy inside John. The shot was like no other I'd seen. Magical.
    We moved to where a plaque hung prominently
in the center of one wall of photographs. Pierre had written a short biography
of himself, the letters printed in gold on a black background. Gloria and I
read silently.
    Pierre had a tragic childhood. His mother,
a model, and his father, a photographer, were killed in a car crash in their
native France when Pierre was thirteen.
    Afterward, for years he moved from place to
place, working odd jobs and passionately learning his father's profession of
photography before coming to America in his twenties. He was an immediate
success, and currently, in his late thirties, stood at the pinnacle of his
career.
    "What a sad beginning," I remarked
to Gloria, "but with an impressive recovery and now all this
success."
    She snorted again. "Yeah, but does he
use his power for good or for evil?"
    I wondered what she meant, but chose not to
pry, enjoying her company. Darlene had been flying all over the country,
leaving me to my own devices at night. I could use a new friend.
    The Dave Clark Five's "Glad All
Over" played. The upbeat tune had me groovin' to the music. Admiring
looks flashed my way, including one from Tom, the young actor. He winked at me
and shrugged. I smiled at him, not really blaming him for trying to advance his
career by hanging with the big shots.
    All of a sudden, I saw Stu, Darlene's
boyfriend, talking with a man I didn't know. I'd have to go over and speak to
him when he wasn't busy.
    With Gloria, I made my way down the line of
photos. I drank more champagne, and my darn gaze went back to Bradley. On the
positive side, maybe his attention to Suzie was simply to reassure her