nine

Barry Meagher was an assortment of exaggerated features. Six-feet-seven and reed thin, he walked with a kind of gangly swagger. His thick silver hair was virtually untamable; no matter how short he cut it, it still managed to stick out in every direction. Coal black eyes, deep laugh lines, a crooked nose, shaggy eyebrows, and a wide mouth made up his face. Alone, each feature was unremarkable, but when combined together, it added up to that mystical x-factor which makes silk purses and wealthy used-car salesmen possible.

“Christina!” he now called out in his gravely voice. “What a night it’s been! Didn’t I tell you? It turned out just like I promised it would!” Christina rose from her chair, just as Barry enveloped her into an enormous hug. “I knew you were going to win the moment I saw the first rushes. You were brilliant!”

Christina hugged him back, a girlish grin on her face. “I never could have done it without you. I’m so glad you won as well!”

Barry smiled fondly down at her. It was no secret that Barry thought of Christina as the child he never had. He was both proud and protective of her, and most in the industry knew that to cross Christina was to cross Barry. “We make a good team,” Barry said now. “And speaking of teams, I am really pushing Frank to cast you opposite John in The Deposition.”

Christina flushed and looked about to protest, when Barry lifted his hand in understanding. “I know things went to crap between you and John,” he said, “mainly because John is an immature ass. But you have to admit, despite his personal failings, you two do work well together. And this role is an Oscar waiting to happen.” He brandished his own Oscar as he added, “In the right hands, of course.”

“I don’t know, Barry,” she began, but Janice cut her off.

“Of course, she’ll take the role,” Janice answered. “Just let me know what I have to do to convince Frank.”

Christina closed her eyes in silent frustration. Barry’s gaze slid to Janice. His lip twitched slightly. “Hello, Janice,” he said. “How are you tonight?”

Janice gave an odd laugh. “Oh, just fine. You know me. Always doing what I can to support Christina.”

“Oh, I know,” Barry said, as if in agreement. Something about his tone, however, suggested the opposite.

A steely expression crept into Janice’s eyes. “People may think I’ve been pushy, but as a single parent I’ve had to do the work of two people.” Pasting a smile on her face she turned to Christina and added, “Not that I minded one minute of it, of course.”

Behind her, Sebastian coughed and repeated, “Of course.”

Barry glanced back at Christina before saying, “No one would dare say otherwise.”

Janice squared her shoulders. “I’d like to see them try.” From her defiant tone, I wondered if she thought one of us was actually going to challenge her on this. Not surprisingly, no one did.

Barry gave Christina’s arm a friendly squeeze, and he turned to the rest of our group. After shaking’s Sebastian’s hand, he focused on Mandy. Giving her a slow once over, he grinned and said, “Mandy, my dear. You look like a raspberry tart in that dress.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Mandy replied with a wink. “After all, who can resist a raspberry tart?”

“Very few people, I imagine,” Barry replied as he pulled her into a bear hug. “Certainly not me.”

Mandy gave a light laugh and said, “You’re incorrigible.”

“Only with you,” he said before his dark eyes focused on me. Releasing Mandy, he took a step toward me and said, “I never forget a pretty face. So I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Despite the obvious line, I found myself smiling in return. Barry Meagher certainly had charm. I extended my hand and said, “I’m Nicole Martini.” Tilting my head toward Nigel, I added, “This is my husband, Nigel.”

Barry took my hand in his and held it while he turned to Nigel. His brows pulled up in surprise. His glance slid to Mandy and then back to Nigel. “Aren’t you the couple who found the tapes?” he asked.

“That would be us,” Nigel confirmed.

“Well, this is fortuitous,” Barry continued, still cradling my hand in his. “I was hoping to meet you.”

“As was I,” Nigel said, as he held out his hand. As Barry was holding his Oscar in one hand and mine in the other, he was forced to relinquish one. It was no surprise when my hand was let go.

“What a great find. When can we expect to see them?” Barry asked as he and Nigel shook hands.

“Not for a few months yet,” Nigel said, reaching for my now free hand. “We still have a lot of editing ahead of us, and I want to tape some interviews with people who were on the set. It might help to put the footage into context for the viewer.”

Barry nodded in approval. “Good idea,” he said. “I’d be happy to do what I can.”

“We all will,” added Janice. “I think we can all agree that it’s vital that we make very sure that the final footage is an accurate portrayal of that time. We all know how easy it is to edit a story to sell a certain slant.”

I was about to ask what slant she thought Nigel and I were planning to sell when a deep voice called out. “Christina! What a perfect night, eh?”

Turning, I saw the original owner of our house, Frank Samuels, walking toward us with a purposeful stride. Although he was in his early seventies, he looked far younger. Tall with broad shoulders, he moved with an athletic gait. His beard and mustache, like the hair on his head, was grey and cut short. In this sense it was at odds with his eyebrows, which were jet black and bushy. Based on his striking similarity to the woman to his right, I guessed her to be his daughter, Danielle. While she lacked both his height and facial hair, she had the same hooked nose and wide-set brown eyes of her father.

Accompanying them was John Cummings and Jules Dixon. Mandy made a soft pinging noise and in a low voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the ‘Shit’s About to Hit the Fan’ light so please fasten your seatbelts and place your tray tables in their upright position. It’s about to get messy.”