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turned and looked at the eight-topper round teak tables sitting under a marquee awning close to the house, next to which a catering team in white jackets and chefs’ toques presided over a row of gas grills.
    “You think the tables are okay without cloths? George told me that’d make it look too much like a wedding.”
    “Well, if it isn’t the elegant Anna!” She turned to see George bearing down on her. The formerly scruffy, bearded hippie philosophy instructor was now a clean-shaven, balding country squire. All that was missing was the ascot.
    Fame had settled on George Berger’s spindly shoulders with a vengeance. He’d become embarrassingly pompous, considering that his success sprang from highbrow folderol about vampires that was, nonetheless, utter trash. The new George had handily forgotten the old George’s failure to get tenure at a series of Midwestern universities. While the new Jan had retained her down-home style, George had tried remaking himself as a bon vivant, an experiment as fruitless as his tenure attempts.
    “Swell party,” she murmured, air-kissing a cloud of aftershave.
    He gestured expansively. “I think you’ll enjoy the food,” he promised, his tone insinuating that others rarely got to dine as sumptuously as did the Bergers. To his wife, he said, “Now can you see how gauche white tablecloths would have looked, sweetheart?”
    Jan flushed at George’s dry chuckle, while Anna mentally cringed as he grasped his spouse’s elbow and pulled her to her feet, his smile patronizing. “And now I need to take my lady wife away to greet some of our other guests.” Jan followed like a chastened child.
    “Whoa! What was that ‘lady wife’ stuff? And treating Jan like she’s twelve?”
    Allie shook her head. “I shouldn’t say it, especially now that George is my client, but he’s become unbearable. You don’t see them often, or you wouldn’t have been surprised that Jan worries he’ll get tired of her. He treats her like the hired help.”
    “And she just takes it?”
    Allie shrugged. “When they’re alone, who knows? She’d never cross him in public. And even if she fears being suddenly the fired help, she’s still in awe of him. Of course, poor Jan’s in awe of almost everyone. Don’t let her fool you, either. She—Oh, hell, here comes Nadine Metzger.” Her voice dropped. “Simply the most boring producer in—Hey, Nadine, how’s life? Do you know my friend Anna?”

    After the most elaborate barbecue Anna had ever been served, everyone filed dutifully into the screening room. In a world where even lowly assistants had monster flat-screen TVs on their walls, the Bergers’ setup raised the bar for aspirants. As the guests entered, the back wall slid open to reveal a screen of multiplex proportions; the rest of the room was given over to overstuffed armchairs set in pairs next to small tables. A built-in bar was staffed by a man as handsome as Tapp Blaine, the film’s young star, who had suddenly materialized to soak up his share of attention, giving George a brisk man-hug before turning to greet those more pivotal to his career.
    To Anna’s surprise, the hostess plopped herself down on the chair beside hers. “Aren’t you going to sit with George, Jan?”
    “Nah.” She shrugged. “Hey, lemme get us some wine before he starts yakking. He’ll kill me if I interfere with his moment!” Before Anna could say she didn’t want more to drink, Jan was on her feet, bumping into a few tables on the way to the bar, having clearly imbibed plenty already.
    She came back followed by the bartender, who carried a bottle of white wine in a chiller and two glasses.
    “Ah, here goes,” Jan murmured as those in front took their seats and the lights faded.
    “Have you seen it before?”
    “Not seeing it would be grounds for divorce.” Jan snorted. “It isn’t bad, though.”
    Anna supposed that, as far as contemporary vampire films went, it would be bearable. George wasn’t