"Lent's a little early this year," she told the bartender. "Soda for my father. Listen, darling, there's no earthly reason why—Hello darling!" She waved to someone who kissed her cheek and clapped Lennox genially on the back. "Why you have to hire a pair of bloody squares from—Hello darling!" Another kiss and another clap on the back. "From Missouri to expert your new show. I'm your girl for the job and—Hello darling!—I'll sleep for it."
"Listen," he said abruptly. "What happened at your place Saturday night?"
"Oh that? I was bloody plastered. You pulled in around midnight with that Bleutcher bitch and—"
"Midnight? You're sure?"
"Of course—Hello darling!—and when Oliver ran out with her I thought the usual had happened." She finished her drink and snapped her fingers to the bartender. "Poor dear, he went out like something after a hot bitch. He came back like something after a cold shower; and I wouldn't turn my electric blanket on for him. What about that job? It's a cozy—Hello darling!—blanket."
Sabatini's was filling with the regular cocktail crowd, the men in the same grey flannel suits with white oxford shirts and large expensive ties, escorting the same pretty girls, exchanging the same dangerous dialogue that flashed sparks like steel knives scraping together. It was familiar and steadying. Sick, it might be, but it was the only life that Lennox knew. He actually was able to grin at Kay.
"I could use your body, love," he said, "but I wouldn't dare touch your dialogue."
"Don't be a bloody bug, Jake. You know I'm discreet on camera, I'd never say—Hello darling!" Another kiss and another clap on the back from somebody who paused to chat.
"What's with Cooper?" he inquired. "I hear he got into some crazy jam and hung himself in the middle of the first commercial."
Lennox looked at him. "It was an accident," he said slowly.