Page 41 of Dark Ugly Places

His words ripple through her like a shock wave. Stupid? He doesn’t mean stupid. He means reckless. Like posting an anonymous post on Craigslist, for example. Bambi smiles to herself at the secret.

He pulls back from her and finds a server with a tray of champagne flutes and plucks two off. He hands one to her, then sweeps his eyes across the room. Bambi gets a pang in her middle. “Will she be here tonight?” she says, keeping her voice low.

“Who?” Jason asks, playing innocent.

“Lauren.”

Jason shakes his head and looks away. “I think she’s already in Europe.”

“Oh,” Bambi replies and stares into the bubbles floating up from the bottom of her glass.

A tray of hors d’oeuvres passes by. Jason reaches out and grabs one. “I’m starving,” he says as Bruce returns with a gaggle of young women and men dressed in suits.

“Here he is, the man of the hour!” Bruce chimes. “Everyone, meet Jason Redfern. And this is his wife, Bambi.” The women’s eyes flick to Jason, then quickly to her, and back to Jason. Bambi loops her arm in his, but Jason removes it as he steps forward and shakes each of the men’s hands.

“We loved you in The Hostage,” one of the women, wearing bright turquoise earrings, offers. “Great movie. You were great. Just great.”

Jason lifts an eyebrow. “Great, huh?”

She nods eagerly as another smacks her lips and steps toward him. “Of course, my favorite film was Nightfall. Oh no, Strangers at Midnight. Yes, that’s the one.”

Jason gives a tense smile that Bambi knows means he’s displeased. “You know, I was nominated for an Oscar for Bring Me Caramel.”

“Oh, I didn’t see that one,” the woman with the earrings replies.

“You should watch it,” Jason advises. “You should watch them all. I don’t make bad movies.”

Bambi scoffs a little under her breath. Jason turns to her.

“I don’t make bad movies,” he repeats.

“Well,” she finds herself saying. “The Telegraph. That wasn’t so great.”

Jason turns and stares at her, then puts his arm around her, pulling her close. He squeezes the flesh of her upper arm hard. “My wife is such a joker,” he says, crushing her arm. “It’s the Scandinavian in her. They have such a strange sense of humor.”

Bambi smiles weakly. “It’s true, though,” she says to the group. “The Telegraph wasn’t a good movie at all. It got really bad reviews. Don’t you remember, babe?”

“I do remember, babe,” Jason says through gritted teeth. A server appears in the center of the group with an enormous smile. “Hors d’oeuvres?” she offers.

Everyone grabs a few morsels from her tray, including Jason. He sniffs a cracker with a circle of piped cream on the top, then shoves the whole thing into his mouth. “This is delicious,” he says to the server.

She nods expectantly. “That’s our crab-infused ricotta on an olive oil ciabatta crouton.”

Jason reaches for a napkin from her tray and spits the last morsels into it. “What?”

The server stares at them, alarmed. “Crab-infused ricotta?”

“Fuck!” Jason shouts. “I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Oh my God,” the server intones. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

Bruce appears at their sides. “What’s wrong?” he says, taking in Jason’s expression. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

“What the fuck, Bruce?” Jason shouts. “Fucking crab? You could have killed me with this shit! You know I’m allergic to shellfish!”

Bruce nods, a panicked look on his face. “Yes, yes, I’m so sorry, man. I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

Jason turns to Bambi, eyes aflame. “Don’t just stand there. Get my EpiPen.”