Once Tania Marie stalks off, the room is mine. I check out Bobby Warren, who has left the good-looking couple and is involved in an intense conversation with Rochelle McArthur.
He’s tall, craggy and older than he appears—surprise, surprise—in the Killer Body literature. His hair is a brittle gray pressed flat to his head. His posture is as attention-getting as Princess Gabby’s, only on him, it looks natural. Although his attention is focused on Rochelle, he stands like a Thoroughbred in the winner’s circle. Yet this Thoroughbred is not aware that the prizes have already been given out and that the crowd left for home years ago. Nor is he aware of the muscles that no longer ripple to attention and the spread beneath his shirt that, like a snowball gathering speed will very soon, if it isn’t already, mushroom into a potbelly.
He stands, caught in a memory of what he was, looking into Rochelle’s smile for a reflection of it. Only in his dark eyes do I see a trace of what, many years ago, made him Mr. Universe and drew the country’s attention, much as Schwarzenegger did later, to what could be accomplished by weight training.
As they talk, I can see the hard points of Rochelle’s nipples poking through her crocheted dress. She cannot possibly dig this old man. Shecan’t.She must be a better actress than I guessed.
“Excuse me,” I say.
Bobby Warren gives me a bright-eyed smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I was cleared through your marketing people.”
“I’ll have to speak to Luke.” He takes my hand and draws me closer to him, as if trying to read my name tag. Only I’m not wearing one. “Luke knows I like to be alerted when there are lovely ladies on the premises. I trust you’ve met Shelly.”
“I spoke with her husband briefly.” I glance around for Jesse and spot him across the room, captivated by something Princess Gabby is saying. Rochelle sees him, too.
“What is it about royalty?” She shakes her head and turns to Bobby Warren for an answer. Her scent is as strong and overpowering as her voice. I feel it is covering something; I can detect another scent beneath it—cigarette smoke, I’d bet.
“It has its charm,” the old man says.
“How else could someone with nothing but a phony accent get invited to every talk show in the country?”
“You surely don’t mean Princess Gabby?” Bobby Warren throws her a look of chastisement, although his voice remains friendly. “Gabby’s a wonderful talk show guest, so refreshing and honest about her past difficulties.”
“I heard she’s trying to get her own show,” I say, hoping to stir up Rochelle once more.
“And if she’s lucky, she just might. I certainly hope so,” Warren replies.
“No question that she’s lucky.” Now Rochelle’s husband is laughing at something the princess has said. Rochelle turns her back on the scene.
“A major reason she’d want to be the Killer Body spokesmodel?” I ask.
Rochelle nails me with an emerald-green gaze that matches the stones around her neck. Contacts, for sure—not just a subtletint but blatant color, as fake and in-your-face as her jewelry. “Who are you, anyway?”
I tell her my name, including my famous last name, the name that got me in the door:Valley Voicenewspaper. Pleasant View, California.
“You’ve invited a reporter to take part in this?” she asks the old man.
He stands even taller, his smile—in spite of his age—all John Wayne and Gregory Peck, a man who can make you believe that he’s one of the good guys, and that, whatever happens, anything he does is okay.
“Absolutely. It’s a major undertaking for Killer Body, and we welcome the media’s interest and support.”
Rochelle takes his arm. “We need to talk, Bobbo.”
“Of course. But first I need to greet some of our other guests. I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing you, dear Shelly.” In spite of his tenderness, there is something dismissive in his tone that neither of us misses.
He drifts off in the direction of Tania Marie, leaving the two of us facing each other. Rochelle glances over at her husband again, then back at me, and I feel as if she’s trying to decide which is the lesser of two evils.
“Why do you want to be the Killer Body spokesmodel?” I ask.
“Is this on the record?”
“Always.”
“Then, let’s just say that I respect the way Mr. Warren runs the company, and I want to serve as motivation to the many who have been helped, as I have, by the Killer Body program and the fine example set by Julie Larimore.”
I grind my teeth and don’t even bother reaching for my notebook.
