Free Aurora 07 - Last Scene Alive by Charlaine Harris

place to be private in there. I stood by the pay phone when I’d emerged, trying to decide who could come get me without asking too many questions. I’d just look like that dreaded thing, a Bad Sport, I finally decided, and stomped back to our private room.
    Along the way, a starstruck girl asked me to get Celia Shaw’s autograph for her and a man who was trying really hard to look like Johnny Depp told me he could give anyone in that room—male or female—an unforgettable sexual experience. I had no idea what to say to either of them, so I just shook my head.
    The food had come while I was gone, and everyone was eating, but there was a testy silence in the room that tipped me off that something had gone wrong while I was out.
    I slid into my place and spread my napkin, hoping this wouldn’t be the time I’d spill barbecue sauce on my blouse. I don’t think I’ve ever concentrated so hard on eating neatly.
    Every sixty seconds one of the servers would circulate around the table, asking each person individually if he or she had enough to drink, was satisfied in every way.
    I was so self-conscious, thinking of the young woman across from me drinking in my every move and gesture, that I couldn’t enjoy a thing. I wished I’d just said to hell with it, and walked right out of the restaurant. I could have called Shelby Youngblood or Sally Allison. Had I been under the spell of Hollywood glamour as much as everyone else? Was that why I’d agreed to come out with these people? I put down my fork with as little noise as I could manage, patted my lips with my napkin, and set it by my plate.
    “Ready to leave?” Robin murmured.
    “They’re not through eating,” I whispered.
    “We can go,” he said. “I called a cab.”
    “Thanks,” I said, realizing as he said it that I wanted to leave more than anything. In a regular speaking voice I thanked Celia for the meal, and though I sounded stiff and hostile I had fulfilled the letter of courtesy. Celia was sulky and on the verge of a tantrum. She muttered something at me. I didn’t try to decipher it on the spot; nodding and getting the hell out seemed like the best thing to do.
    Robin slid in the cab with me, told the driver where to go, and stared straight ahead.
    “Thank you,” I said carefully.
    “For being there while you were exposed to Celia at her worst?” His voice was dry and brittle. I realized there had been a serious quarrel when I’d left the room. I was petty enough to be glad.
    “I guess she was just doing what an actress has to do,” I answered, hoping to make him feel less culpable. “Anyway, that was certainly an experience.”
    “They get so used to being the center of the universe,” Robin told me. “I don’t think I ever see it as clearly until I see them away from L.A.”
    I felt uncomfortable. There wasn’t a response, so I didn’t attempt one.
    “She’s gotten worse lately,” he continued. “She’s absent-minded, and she forgets her lines.
    She’s . . . it’s like she’s going off the tracks, somehow.”
    I had to tread carefully. No matter if she and Robin had quarreled about how she’d treated me, this woman had been Robin’s girlfriend. “Does she use, ah, recreational stuff?” I asked, as delicately as possible.
    “Drugs? No. Celia might take a hit off a joint if it’s going around, but she doesn’t buy it herself and she doesn’t take pills.”
    Somehow, discussing Celia’s problems didn’t interest me right now, but I felt obliged to listen if Robin wanted to discuss them. Up to a point. But Robin sat in brooding silence all the way to my house, where he told the cab to wait while he walked me to my door. I’d unlocked the door and punched in the security code, he took one step inside.
    For a moment I felt awkward, in that lit-up kitchen with a man, alone. Then I thanked Robin for the ride home and for my interesting evening, and he gave a snort that suddenly made me feel at home with him. He seemed much