Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(58)

“Mr. Pell certainly makes it feel real,” she said.

“It is real.” Matthias tightened his hand on her bare back, pulling her closer. “At least for a night. That’s why it works.”

Real for a night. She decided not to pursue that cryptic thought. There are dangerous forces at play here. Matters of life and death and, oh yeah, national security. Stay focused, woman.

“I think Lorraine Pierce is sizing you up for another headline,” Matthias said.

Amalie groaned. “What makes you say that?”

“Something about the way she’s watching you.”

“She recognized me?” Amalie asked, startled.

“Vincent Hyde must have pointed you out to her. I’ve got a feeling she’s planning to ride her story about the Psychic Curse Mansion as long as she can. And Hyde is probably encouraging her. After all, he’s getting a lot of press out of it, too.”

The music drew to a close. Amalie ruthlessly suppressed a wistful sensation. Matthias took her elbow and steered her off the dance floor. The route he chose took them directly past the booth where Vincent Hyde and a woman in a dark red evening gown sat smoking cigarettes and sipping cocktails. Both were cloaked in the dramatic ennui that only genuine celebrities could successfully project.

Lorraine Pierce’s hair was as red as her gown and piled high on her head in a cascade of curls. She was, Amalie decided, one of those women who must have been stunningly beautiful in her younger days. She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties now. The bones were still elegant but the face had a hard, tightly drawn appearance that was only somewhat softened by the candlelight.

Vincent smiled his silver-screen smile and raised his glass in a mocking salute.

“Good news, Miss Vaughn, I have survived the Psychic Curse Mansion for yet another day,” he announced. “I may live long enough to pay my bill.”

Lorraine managed to look dryly entertained by the remark but the sharp glitter in her eyes told Amalie that she was practically holding her breath in anticipation of a response to Vincent’s little joke.

Rule Number One when you’ve got an audience: Make ’em wait for it.

Amalie summoned her most dazzling smile.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying the atmosphere of the Hidden Beach Inn,” she said. “As I recall, you did say you thought it would provide the perfect inspiration for your next role.”

Vincent chuckled. “No doubt about it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amalie saw Lorraine’s mouth open on what would no doubt be a highly charged comment or question.

Rule Number Two: See Rule Number One.

Amalie turned to Matthias. “Will you excuse me? I want to powder my nose.”

Matthias’s brows rose a little. He probably assumed that she was trying to escape.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll wait for you in the bar.”

“I’ll just be a moment,” she assured him.

She turned to walk toward the shadowed doorway marked with a discreet sign.

Lorraine started to slide out of the booth. “I’ll come with you.”

Amalie pretended not to hear her. She went swiftly toward the entrance to the hall that led to the ladies’ lounge.

Rule Number Three: See Rule Number One and Rule Number Two.

Aware that Lorraine was hurrying to catch up with her, Amalie slipped through the doorway and went quickly down the short hall. She pushed open a door and entered a lush, glamorously decorated chamber.

The ladies’ lounge looked as if it had been designed by someone who created movie sets for a living. Now that she had met Luther Pell, Amalie was sure that was the case. The walls were covered in flocked red and gold velvet. Satin-covered stools were positioned in front of the black lacquer dressing tables scattered around the room. Large mirrors framed with dressing room lights glittered at each table.

Through an arched doorway two rows of stalls and sinks could be seen. A uniformed attendant stood at the ready in front of a cabinet that held a variety of necessities, including a stack of pristine white towels and a fully equipped sewing basket.

Several women in silk and satin gowns were seated at the dressing tables applying powder from jeweled compacts. Others carefully refreshed their lipstick in various fashionable shades of red.

Amalie sat down at one of the dressing tables and opened the tiny beaded evening bag that had once belonged to Madam Zolanda. Approximately three seconds later Lorraine burst through the door of the lounge and paused just long enough to make sure that she had the attention of almost everyone in the room. She was not a star, but she partied with stars and she published their secrets. That was more than enough to make her a celebrity in her own right.

A hush fell on the ladies’ lounge.

Lorraine looked at Amalie and arched her carefully drawn brows.

“Are you enjoying your evening out, Miss Vaughn?” she said.

“It’s been delightful,” Amalie said. She removed her lipstick from the small bag and uncapped it. “Until now.”

The women seated at the nearby dressing tables froze. Amalie could have sworn she heard some actual gasps of astonishment. Several toilets suddenly flushed and stall doors banged open. A scene was taking place in the ladies’ room of the Paradise Club. No one wanted to miss it.

Rule Number Four: See the first four rules.