The women had decked themselves out, absolutely dripping bangles and beads and other jewelry, he noted. They wore layers of perfumes and silks and lace. Overdone, in his estimation, like the decor. He preferred Laura’s simple and feminine choice. It was class, he supposed, that set her apart. Simple class that came straight through the blood and bone. He might have mentioned it to her, but she had drifted away quickly, making, as he termed it, her Templeton rounds.

Most of the men were in tuxes. A little fact that Josh had conveniently neglected to mention. Not that Michael minded. He wouldn’t have worn one anyway. If he’d had one to wear.

Still it gave him another bone to pick with his old friend. If the slippery son of a bitch ever showed up.

On the bright side, he had a cold beer in his hand. The finger food spread out artistically on buffet tables looked delicate, but it tasted fine. He’d already enjoyed a mild flirtation with a woman who mistook him for some Hollywood young gun. Michael hadn’t bothered to disabuse her.

He was considering wandering about, maybe taking a turn outside in the fresh air or checking out one of the other rooms. He might find that pool table and a few suckers to fleece. Then Laura moved back to him.

“I’m sorry. There were a few people I needed to speak with.” In a gesture that was both absentminded and automatic, she accepted a glass of champagne from a roving waiter, murmured her thanks.

“No problem.”

But it was, she thought, her problem. She’d had some time to think about it. “I am sorry, Michael. I was annoyed with Josh for maneuvering me into this evening and I took it out on you.” When he didn’t respond, she drummed up a smile. “So, what were you and Kitty Bennett talking about?”

“Who? Oh, the ditzy brunette with all the teeth.”

Laura choked on her champagne. She’d never heard the chair of the Monterey Arts Council described just that way. Or quite that accurately. “Yes.”

“She dug my last flick.”

“Did she?”

He decided to be friendly, smiled. “Not Braveheart, though I had a couple of nice stunts in it. She thought I was the director of some art house film. Something about foot fetishes.”

“Mm-hmm. And you discussed the metaphoric twists on our sex-obsessed society, along with the multiple layers of symbolism representing moral decay.”

He started to feel better. “Something like that. She thinks I’m brilliant, and underrated. I think I might be getting a grant.”

“Congratulations.”

“Of course, she really only wanted my body.”

“Well, an artist must make sacrifices. Ah, there’s Byron and Kate.”