Maggie and the Black-Tie Affair

by Barbara Cool Lee

"I'm not offended, really. I got it."

  "I actually meant you look very pretty. I don't dare have any more fillers myself, and I'm older than you. There's only so much Botox you can inject before you become a cartoon."

  "Especially as an actor," she said.

  "Exactly. After a while your face gets that frozen expression and you can't do the job."

  "Especially in high def," she agreed.

  "Yeah. The close ups are brutal. If you're a man, the age lines give you character. If you're a woman, you're just old and ready to be traded in on a new model."

  She gave him a baleful look. "Thanks a lot."

  "Don't mention it," he said with a grin. "I haven't had an on-screen love interest in my age range since I was twenty-five."

  "Or off-screen."

  "Touché."

  "I get it," she said. "This is the world we live in. My husband hired a twenty-three-year-old to play a teen's mother in his latest movie."

  "Ah. You saw the rushes of Mac's new family-friendly blockbuster."

  "I mean, twenty-three, Reese? Really? Do they think adults don't go to the movies?"

  He laughed. "Don't ask me. I'm just an actor. I recite the lines and collect my paycheck. I have no clue why they make the marketing choices they do."

  "Playing dumb?"

  "I'm good at it," he said.

  "No. You really aren't."

  "Thanks. I'd rather hang out with you than listen to another lecture on box office receipts, too."

  She laughed. "So where's the brain trust you came with?"

  "She doesn't need me any more. I got her in the door. Now she's hunting for a steppingstone to the next level."

  "Who's she targeting now?"

  He chuckled. "She just tried to seduce Sam and it didn't quite pay off. She ended up spilling wine on her dress and went to wash up."

  Sam was a director well-known for his innovative indie films. He was also openly gay and would not have been impressed with Felicia's routine.

  "I wish I had seen it," Maggie said wryly.

  "Yeah. It was something."

  "Don't you get tired of all this, Reese?"

  "Tired of it?" His expression was deadpan. "Some magazine just named me the sexiest man on the planet. How could I possibly be tired of all this?"

  He bent down and ran a hand through the pool water. Then stood back up and shook his hand to dry it. "When I was wasted out of my skull, I would have just dived in."

  "Tuxedo and all?" she asked.

  "Tuxedo and all." He paused, then said, "listen, about Felicia. I'm really sorry I invited her."

  "No problem."

  "Yes, she is a problem. She was very rude to you and I feel responsible. I met her at another party last week, and well, she just sort of talked me into bringing her along. And now she made a big scene and interrupted your party."

  "Probably livened up the joint," Maggie said with a shrug. "I really don't care, Reese. But she doesn't really seem like your type, to be honest."

  He smiled faintly. "I think it was Mick Jagger who said, I don't get the women I want; I get the women who want me."

  "And she wanted you," Maggie said.

  He shook his head. "She wanted to come to this party. I'm incidental. She's ambitious, and so far, her career is not exactly setting the world on fire."

  "So you're the match."

  "Yeah. I'm the match to get her little flame going."

  "You don't mind being used like that?"

  He shrugged. "It's better than being alone. And isn't everybody using everybody else, anyway?" He caught a glimpse of her unguarded expression. "Okay. Not everybody. But it feels like that sometimes, doesn't it?"

  She didn't want to tell him she'd been thinking the same thing earlier, so she just shrugged. "How about a cup of coffee? Unless you'd prefer strychnine."

  "Coffee would be wonderful."

  Inside, Maggie led Reese through the living room toward Casablanca's front door.

  At the entry, the housekeeper was letting in an already inebriated cinematographer who came lurching toward them, Jack Daniels bottle in hand.

  "That's the last thing I need tonight," Reese muttered.

  "This way," Maggie said.

  They ducked in a side door and shut it behind them.

  They were in a wide hallway that led to the guest suite and utility rooms.

  "The kitchen's full of catering staff," she explained. "But there's a morning bar in the hall here where we can make coffee in peace."

  She quickly found the French press and he rummaged for the coffee, and soon there was water heating in the microwave.

  She was just starting to get out the mugs when Reese said, "Do you hear that noise?"

  She heard it, too. A scraping sound, like someone was dragging heavy furniture across the oak floor.

  They followed the sound down the long hall, past the laundry room and wine cellar.

  A cute girl of about nineteen, one of the temporary help, was picking up towels in a guest bath when they passed. "Did you hear that scraping?" Maggie asked her.

  "Yeah," the girl said. She was a study in black and white, dressed in the same uniform all the temp workers wore: white shirt, black polyester pants, and clunky black shoes. She had glossy black hair to her shoulders, and her dark eyes were wide behind black-framed glasses that matched her hair color. The only interruption in the black-and-white theme were her cheeks, which were rosy with exertion.

  "Are you okay?" Maggie blurted out, then remembered Mac's déclassé comment.

  "Yeah," the girl said. "It's just kinda creepy working all alone here with that weird noise. It's been going on for a while. I don't know what it is but I wish it would stop."

  "Don't worry," she said. "We'll check it out."

  She and Reese continued on until they reached the guest suite at the end of the hall.

  "Oh," Maggie said, realizing what the monster behind the closed door was. "The poor thing."

  She opened the door and surveyed the destruction inside.

  All the furniture had been herded into the center of the room, except for the bed, which was too big for even an eighty-pound dog to move.

  But a side table, a small chair, a footstool, and an Aubusson rug that was now ragged at one edge were all piled in the center of the room like a postmodern artwork.

  And sitting up on the chair, white paws together, long mane ruffled by the ocean breeze flowing through the open window, head tilted to one side, and sporting a wide, open-mouthed grin, was the most beautiful dog in the world.

  "Wow!" Reese said. He went straight to the dog.

  The Sable and White Rough Collie, the spitting image of Lassie, gazed adoringly at the people who had come to rescue him from his boredom.

  The dog jumped down from his art installation and began rubbing himself on Reese.

  "What's his name?" Reese asked.

  "Jasper McJasper," she said sarcastically, unable to avoid the scorn that crept into her voice.

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope."

  The dog had shown up at Mac's studio out of the blue just a few weeks ago, and Mac had shipped him up here to Carita to get him out of the way.

  The animal had been a token of appreciation for her husband, who had waxed rhapsodic about a country childhood on the farm with his pet Collie while pitching a Christmas movie to shareholders.

  He neglected to mention that his childhood farm had been a New York City brownstone, and that his country life had been spent at a boarding school upstate, and that he'd never even owned a pet hamster, much less a big, rambunctious dog.

  So when the movie deal had been signed, the investors had thanked him with the gift of a pedigreed Rough Collie just like the childhood companion he'd tearfully described.

  So now Jasper, who Mac McJasper had egotistically named after himself, followed around at his heels whenever he came to Carita. The housekeeper took care of the beast, giving him long runs on the beach and making sure the groomers properly
maintained his magnificent coat. And the dog sat and waited for its new owner to have some time for it.

  She told the story to Reese, whose frown made clear he understood what she wasn't saying, about Mac's indifference, his lack of interest in anything that wasn't furthering his own ambitions.

  "He's not cruel of course," she hastened to add. He just ignored the dog's pleas for attention, treating it much like—

  Like he did her. Like he'd gotten a shiny new toy that had been fun for a little while, but now was a dull obligation to be managed by his staff while he went about his business of being rich and important.

  Jasper wagged his tail tentatively at her.

  "Yeah," she said to the dog. "I know the feeling, you good boy."

  Jasper's tail wag grew more enthusiastic at the simple words of praise, and she watched the thick sable brush of it sweep across the side table, taking glossy magazines, coffee table books, and—

  "Not that!"

  The crystal candy dish hit the oak floor with a dull thud.

  Maggie bent to pick it up. The heavy crystal was undamaged, but the wood floor showed a substantial dent.

  She'd have to get that fixed before Mac saw it. He was particular about his homes, and wouldn't accept anything less than the best.

  "Enough of that, boy," Reese said. He got down on his knees on the floor and played with the dog, who responded with unbridled joy at the attention.

  Reese laughed—for real now, not the stage laugh actors used to express polite interest in so many official duties. He was like a boy, rolling on the floor and wrestling with the dog.

  The two of them looked like perfection, and she realized she fit the scene, too, in her glittering custom evening gown.

  This would make a great magazine spread, with the stunningly beautiful golden blond man, the picture-perfect dog, and her silvery gown and diamonds, all staged against the backdrop of this pretty, over-decorated room.

  She stopped herself. What had happened to her? When had she become unable to just relax and enjoy a moment without seeing the superficial veneer?

  When had the fairy tale become all about image and impressing others?

  When had she become Maggie McJasper, Hollywood Wife?

  Reese was sitting on the floor and staring up at her. The dog panted happily at his side.

  "What are you thinking about?" Reese asked her.

  "That something went wrong somewhere," she said.

  He got it right away. He always did, which was something she'd always enjoyed about talking to him. "This is the life we signed up for," he said. He put his arm around the dog and gazed out the window at the sweep of moonlit sky. "We're stuck with it."

  "Maybe," she said.

  Reese stood up, brushing off his tuxedo. "You got a plan, Maggie?"

  "You're covered in hair," she pointed out.

  He shrugged. "I'm Reese Stevens. Nobody will care. So what's the plan?"

  She was tired of being an accessory. Tired of being all image and no substance. She turned to Reese. "I have no idea what my plan is."

  "Let's start with coffee," he said.

  They went back down the hall to the morning bar, the big dog following along. The bathroom was now clean and empty, and the washer in the laundry room was rumbling away.

  The girl who had been cleaning was heading out the door to the exit, book bag in hand. She froze when they came near, like a felon caught in the act of escaping the scene of the crime.

  She didn't glance their way, but stood, one hand on the doorknob, the other clutching her book bag. She was hunched over as if she expected a knife between her shoulder blades.

  "What's going on?" Maggie asked.

  "Nothing," she said, but then Felicia pushed the door open and burst in, the housekeeper Mrs. Queen at her heel.

  Abby started to head back down the hall toward the guest suite.

  Felicia pointed at the girl. "She's probably got them in there!"

  "Come back here, young lady," Mrs. Queen said firmly.

  The girl turned around slowly and came back.

  "What's going on?" Reese asked Felicia.

  "That girl stole my earrings!"

  "What?" Maggie noticed Felicia wasn't wearing the beautiful Miyamotos anymore. Even her little diamond ring was gone. "How did she get them away from you?"

  Felicia's face was red with anger, making her a little less pretty than before. "They're in there." She pointed at the girl's bag. "I've gotta get those earrings back. I can't afford to lose them."

  "But how did this girl take them? What's your name?" Maggie asked the girl.

  "Abby Xiong," she said. "And I didn't steal any stupid earrings. I just cleaned the bathroom like I was told to." She glared at Felicia. "She made a big mess and it took me a long time to clean it all up. And then she came back and started yelling at me. So I just decided to leave…." She trailed off. "I didn't do anything wrong."

  "I took my jewelry off to wash up after I spilled wine on myself," Felicia said. "And then when I realized I'd forgotten my stuff and went back to the bathroom, this girl was running away with my jewelry."

  "I didn't steal your stuff. I didn't." The girl's voice quaked with fear.

  "All right," Maggie said. "Let's all settle down and talk about this. You sit here," she said to Abby, motioning for her to take a stool at the bar. "Why were you running out the door like that?"

  "Because she called me a thief. Who's going to listen to me with all these rich people around?"

  "Okay. May I take a peek in your bag?"

  "No." The girl got a stubborn set to her jaw. "I've got rights."

  They heard the doorbell ring again.

  "Who could that be?" Maggie asked. "I thought all the guests were here now."

  Mrs. Queen went to answer it. She came back with a big graying man who looked one part annoyed and two parts grim.

  He held out his identification and Maggie checked it over. "What can we do for you, Lieutenant Ibarra?"

  "You called to report some missing jewelry."

  They all turned to Felicia.

  "Yes. I called," she said. "I told you, I need those earrings back and the girl was running away with them. Once she's gone I'll never see them again."

  "I didn't do it!" Abby shouted. "Stop accusing me!"

  Jasper moved in front of Maggie, protecting her from the yelling. She patted his long snout.

  "Who else could have done it?" Felicia turned to Lieutenant Ibarra. "I want my earrings back. I don't care about her going to jail, but you've just got to get them back."

  "Don't you call me a thief!" Abby yelled.

  Jasper let out an ear-piercing bark to add to the shouting.

  "Oh, my!" Mrs. Queen said. "That bark would carry over ten miles of heather!"

  "Hush!" Maggie said to the dog, who looked crestfallen at being singled out for scolding.

  "All right," Ibarra said calmly. "First, I want everyone to shut up."

  "Yes," Maggie said. She gave a quick glance toward the open door that led to the entry. The party could be heard out in the living room, and luckily was loud enough to keep anyone from noticing the chaos in the hall.

  She nodded her head, and Mrs. Queen shut the door and turned the latch to lock it. "That'll give us a bit o' peace from the hoity-toity."

  Maggie patted Jasper's ruff, and he leaned against her hip, almost knocking her over. He grinned to let her know he forgave her for yelling at him.

  Lieutenant Ibarra pulled the two bar stools away from the bar. He put one stool against one wall, and the other against the opposite wall. Then he motioned to the two women.

  "Both of you just sit down and be quiet."

  Abby sat. Felicia sat. The dog sat. On Maggie's instep.

  She stifled a yelp and gently removed her Manolo-clad foot from under his belly.

  The lieutenant took out a notebook and opened it to a fresh page. He went to stand in front of Felicia. "Now," he said. "Start from the beginning."

  In a sl
ightly calmer way, Felicia told the same story she'd shouted at Maggie and Reese before. She took off her jewelry when washing up, and then left Abby to clean the bathroom. When she returned, the jewelry was gone.

  He went over to Abby and asked her the same thing. She said she'd just cleaned up and had no idea what had happened to the jewelry. She'd gone back and forth from the bath to the laundry several times, but passed no one in the hall.

  "Do you mind if I check your bag?" he asked Abby.

  She clutched it protectively to her chest.

  He glanced at the others.

  "Okay," Felicia said. "If you need to check." She handed him her small evening bag.

  He gave it a quick search. "Thank you," he said, handing it back to her.

  Mrs. Queen opened her wool sweater, showing the flowered shirt beneath. "You want to pat me down, young man, you go right ahead," she said briskly. "I don't carry a purse when I'm working."

  His gaze briefly touched Reese and Maggie. "I think we can eliminate you two as suspects."

  Reese opened his tuxedo jacket and turned his pockets inside out. "It's only fair to check us all."

  Maggie turned around in her clingy gown. "I don't have anywhere to hide anything, I'm afraid."

  The lieutenant shuffled his feet like he was uncomfortable, then he just gave a curt nod, dismissing them. "I know you people aren't suspects."

  "Why?" Abby said. "Because they're rich?"

  "Yes, Miss," he said. "Because they're rich. They could buy that jewelry a hundred times over."

  "And they weren't around," Mrs. Queen said. "Only you were in this hall, little miss."

  "That's not true," Maggie said. "We've been in here making coffee, and we went down the hall to check on the dog."

  The cop perked up at that. "Did you see anyone else when you were here?"

  Maggie hesitated. "Um…, only Ms. Xiong."

  They all stared at the girl.

  "I'm sorry," Maggie said to her. "It doesn't mean she did it," she pointed out. "It just means no one saw who might have done it."

  "I was by this door the whole time, Mrs. McJasper," Mrs. Queen said. "No one could have gotten past me."

  "You took my coat when we arrived and hung it up in that closet across the entry," Reese said. "Have you been doing that all evening?"