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"That color wouldn't suit her." Leonardo, his huge hand covering both of Mavis's, looked down at her. His gold-toned eyes shone with love and relief. He was built like a redwood and had the heart, and often the nerves, of a six-year-old approaching the first day of school.
He had indeed, as Mavis had so elegantly put it, woofed before the show.
"Now the green satin…" He smiled shyly over at Roarke. "I admit I had her in mind when I designed it. The color and cut are perfect for her."
"Then she'll have to have it. Won't you, Eve?"
Preoccupied with finding out if there was anything resembling meat or one of its substitutes on her plate, she merely grunted. "Is this chicken buried in here or what?"
"It's Cuisine Artiste," Roarke told her, and offered her a roll the size of a credit chip. "Where aesthetics often take priority over taste." Leaning over, he kissed her. "We'll get a pizza on the way home."
"Good idea. I should cruise around, see if I can find Mira, and if I can stir anything else up."
"I'll cruise with you." Roarke rose, pulled out her chair.
"Fine. It was a great show, Leonardo. I especially liked that green thing."
He beamed at her, then tugged her down to kiss her cheek. When she walked away, Eve heard Mavis giggle and tell Leonardo she needed a tornado to celebrate.
Tables with snowy cloths and silver candles were scattered throughout the ballroom. Six enormous chandeliers dripped out of the lofty ceiling to sprinkle muted and silver light. The wait staff moved around and through, pouring wine, removing dishes with an elegant choreography.
Generous drinks had loosened a few tongues, Eve observed. The level of sound was higher now, and the laughter louder.
Table hopping was a popular sport, and Eve noted as they wandered that most of the diners admired their food but didn't eat it.
"What was this thing, five, ten thousand a plate?" she asked Roarke.
"A bit more, actually."
"What a scam. There's Mira, heading out. Must be a pit stop because her husband's not with her. I'll go after her." She cocked her head at Roarke. "Why don't you play the crowd for me since they're loosening up some?"
"Love to. Then I want one dance, darling Eve, and Pepperoni on my pizza."
She grinned and didn't worry about all the eyes watching when he kissed her. "I could go for both of those. I won't be long."
She headed directly to the bank of doors Mira had used, turned through the sumptuous foyer, and searched out the women's lounge.
Chandeliers twinkled light in the dressing area where a attendant droid in snappy black and white waited to assist or provide
. The long rose-toned counter held more than a dozen individual lighted mirrors, a tidy and expansive array of decorative bottles filled with scents and creams. There were disposable brushes and combs, hair gels, sprays, and shines.
If madam had lost or forgotten her lip dye or any other enhancement, the droid would be more than happy to open the wall cabinet to provide the guest with a wide choice of the best brands in all the popular shades.
Mira sat at the end of the counter on a skirted chair. She'd switched on her mirror so the lights ringing it glowed, but she had yet to freshen her makeup.
She looked pale, Eve thought. Pale and unhappy. Feeling abruptly awkward and intrusive, she nearly backed out of the room again, but Mira caught the motion, turned, and smiled.
"Eve. I heard you were here."
"I saw you earlier." Eve walked down behind the row of chairs. "But then the fashion show started, and we got swallowed up."
"It was entertaining. There were some lovely pieces, though I must admit Leonardo's remain unique. Is that one of his you're wearing?"
Eve glanced down at her skirts. "Yeah. He keeps it pretty simple for me."
"He understands you."
"You're upset," Eve blurted out and had Mira's eyes widening in surprise. "What's wrong?"
