Gus was one of those people who could survey a room in an instant. He was interested in seeing what sort of group Ray had put together to meet Marcia Clark, who was the name on every lip in Los Angeles, and the trial hadn't even started. There were fourteen for dinner. An eclectic mixture, Gus thought. A little of the new power of the industry--David Geffen and Ron Meyer. A little of the old-time Hollywood glamour--Kirk Douglas. A little Los Angeles society--Betsy Bloomingdale. Gus knew everyone except a young man who was staring intently at Monet's painting of the water lilies at Giverny, one of the treasures of the Stark collection. "Who's the Latino staring at your father's Monet?" asked Gus.

"Some trick Skip Hartley brought," replied Wendy. "Wouldn't you know my father would seat me next to him at dinner? I wanted to sit next to you."

"What's his name?"

"He told me about three times, and I forgot it three times," said Wendy. "He said he went to Bishop's School in La Jolla."

"That's where Peach went," said Gus. "He doesn't took like the Bishop's type. What did his place card say?"

"The calligrapher only used first names. Andrew. Andrew somebody. Cooney. Cunihan. Cunanan. Something like that."

"He certainly likes your father's pictures," said Gus. "He's moved on to a Picasso."

"The kid's got taste," replied Ray, walking up. "Gus, you know Betsy Bloomingdale, don't you?"

Betsy and Gus looked at each other. "I was a character in one of his books," said Betsy. "Not to mention his miniseries of the same name, which, thank heavens, I never saw."

"God, I forgot," said Ray. "What do you mean, you were a character in his book? You were the plot."

"This is my least favorite conversation," said Gus, blushing. "It's time for you to appear, Marcia Clark, and get me out of this."

Kirk and Anne Douglas joined them. "This is going to be some trial, Gus. Did you ever see anything like this guy Shapiro? He thinks he's a movie star, for God sakes. My son Michael--you know Michael, of course you know Michael--saw him at the fights in Vegas last week, and he got a standing ovation."

"What is this telling us?" replied Gus.

"Anne and I were at the same party 0. J. was at the night before the murders, a charity thing at some guy's house in Bel Air," said Kirk Douglas. "I had a talk with him. What can I tell you? The guy was charming."

"When we read about the murders two days later, we couldn't believe it," said Anne Douglas.

"He was with Paula Barbieri," said Kirk. "She's gorgeous."

"Paula used to go out with Bob Evans," said Wendy. "Remember, Ray? Evans brought her here one night to see a picture."

Ron Meyer joined the group to get into the conversation about 0. J. Simpson before Marcia Clark arrived. As Gus moved around the room saying hello, everyone told him something about 0.J. Simpson, or something that related to him. "Has anyone ever told you the story about 0.J. being at the Daisy on the night his daughter drowned in the pool?" "Paula Barbieri was with Michael Bolton at the Mirage Hotel in Las Vegas on the night of the murders." . . . "Gus, did you ever hear what Bill Bixby said about Al Cowlings before he died?" . . . "Bob Shapiro was Tina Sinatra's lawyer in her stalking case against Jimmy Farentino." .... "Rosa Lopez used to work for some close friends of mine before she worked in the house next door to 0. J., and I know for a fact they'd be happy to talk to you about Rosa."... "Shapiro got Marlon Brando's kid a plea bargain when he killed his sister's boyfriend."

"Marcia Clark just arrived, Ray," said Wendy. "Remember, no questions about the trial," said Ray to the room.

Everyone turned to the entrance of the living room, where Marcia Clark was standing, to look at her as she stared back at them. Her face had become instantly recognizable, with the kind of fame usually reserved for film stars. Ray and Wendy hurried forward to greet her. Everyone had watched her on television at the preliminary hearings, and the consensus was that she had acquitted herself magnificently. They believed in her. They felt confidence in her. They wanted her to convict 0. J. Simpson, whom they all felt was guilty of the murders with which he was charged. Stark's guests, all famous themselves, moved in to meet her, in the way they do at the great houses of Hollywood when stars like Barbra Streisand come to dinner. They crowded around her, eager to talk to her, eager to listen to her, biting their tongues to keep them from uttering the questions they longed to ask her. Gus waited before he went up to speak to her. He wanted to be alone.

"Marcia, I'm Gus Bailey," he said.

She turned to him, smiled, and gave him her full attention.

"So you're Gus Bailey. I read all your coverage of the Menendez brothers' trial," said Marcia. "Is Leslie Abramson giving you a big welcome to L.A. party?"

They both laughed.

"David Conn told me you were coming out for the trial. He's going to be the prosecutor in the second Menendez trial."

"Sure, I know David," said Gus. "I saw him in action at the Cotton Club trial. He's great. I hope he can take on Leslie Abramson."

"Oh, he can, believe me," said Marcia.

"I know we're not supposed to talk about the case tonight, and I won't--I don't want to get on Ray's bad side, or yours, either--but I'm sure it's okay to tell you you've been great in the hearings."

"Thanks, Gus."

Then he added quickly, "And I wish the trial wasn't being held in downtown Los Angeles instead of Santa Monica. Gil Garcetti's going to rue the day he made that decision."

"No comment," she replied, smiling.

"Do you like being so famous?"

"I don't think so," she said with a shudder. "This has never happened to me before. I can't go to the supermarket anymore. People crowd around me, and it's bewildering for my little boys."

"We're going into dinner, Ms. Clark and Gus," said Wilbur.

"I hope I'm sitting next to you, Gus," said Marcia.

"You're not. I already checked. You've got the big guns on either side of you. Not what anyone in his right mind in this town would call a bad seat."

"Oh my," said Marcia.

"But remember this, you're the power in this house tonight. They're more interested in you than you are in them, and that doesn't happen very often in this crowd."

Ray Stark was a stickler for time. There was never lingering over drinks at the Starks'. Ray liked the movie to start promptly at nine o'clock. Movie people got to the studios early, he often said. Immediately following the creme brulee, he led his guests from the dining room into the library, which had been transformed during dinner so that all the seats faced toward a cinema screen that had been lowered from the ceiling. There were plates of candy and chocolate pretzels on every table. Wilbur was serving coffee and drinks at the bar. The Picasso paintings on the wall opposite the screen rose at the push of a button, revealing the windows of the projection room behind.

"Now, everybody, keep quiet about seeing this picture," said Ray as a warning to his guests. "The studio hasn't seen it yet, and even the producer doesn't know I have it."

Gus sat on a chair by the wall. He watched Marcia Clark chat with Betsy Bloomingdale as they were taking their demitasse cups to their seats. Marcia seated herself on a sofa and sipped her coffee as she glanced at one of the art books on the table in front of her. Suddenly, she looked up and saw Gus looking at her. She smiled at him, tapped the seat next to her, and signaled to him with her head to come and sit by her.

"Is this your kind of life, Gus?" she asked him in a low voice, indicating with a hand gesture the transformation of the library into the screening room. "You act like you're used to all this."

"I suppose you could say it's one aspect of my life, not all of it," replied Gus.

"Pretty ritzy, Gus," she said in a teasing voice. "You don't seem intimidated by any of these movie moguls."

"I don't need anything from any of them anymore, that's why," said Gus. "I left the business and went into other fields, like covering trials for Vanity Fair, or I'd probably be over there at the bar right now sucking up to David Geffen or Ron Meyer, like I used to when I was still in the picture business."

They both laughed.

"This is all new to me, people like this, houses like this, showing movies after dinner. For years, I've been reading about Betsy Bloomingdale in the society pages and fashion magazines, and here I am talking to her about the clothes I'm going to wear at the trial, as if I knew something about fashion, which I don't."

Gus laughed. "You're holding your own," he said. "I was watching you across the table during dinner. You had the moguls enthralled."

"You say all the right things, Gus," said Marcia. "Is that why everyone talks to you?"

"Maybe one of these days you'll talk to me, Marcia," said Gus. "I'd really like to write about you."

She smiled and changed the subject. "Didn't I read a book you once wrote about Betsy Bloomingdale?"

"Yeah, probably."

"And she speaks to you?"

"She's a classy lady."

"So this is society, huh?"

Just then the movie started.