“I’ve been known to.”
“Planet Plague’s the number one original series, two years running. Zombie apocalypse never goes out of style.” He jerked a thumb behind him at one of the posters, depicting a tough but beautiful woman, armed with a crossbow, and a hard-bitten yet handsome man with a katana surrounded by what certainly looked like walking corpses.
“Last year, it took makeup, original score, best guest appearance, and capped it off with best actor, original series.”
“Nice.”
“Oh, yeah. Awards aren’t just shiny, they can translate into ratings and funds, and ratings and funds translate into more creative productions. And don’t get me started.”
On a half laugh he swiped a hand in the air. “We’re building something solid. We’re doing what we always dreamed of doing. Neville’s been shattered and shaken, and he’s just coming back. It’s been a hard road. Having him hit, seeing Rosa hit, with more cops, more questions, it can’t help him.”
“Reality doesn’t wrap up when the director says cut, or the screen goes to black, Mr. Knightly. What you do may give people a break from reality, and that’s all good. But we’ve got to come back to it.”
She pushed to her feet. “I appreciate your time, understand your concerns. Now we both better get back to doing our jobs.”
He rose with her. “We put in a bid on the Icove project.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Nadine Furst’s book. We tried to get the rights to it, but it was above our reach. Congrats on the Oscar noms.”
“Okay.”
“They announced them this morning. It’s up for seven Oscars—best actress, best supporting actor, best director, best adapted screenplay, best editing, best sound, and the holy grail of best picture. You didn’t hear?”
“I’m a cop, Mr. Knightly.”
“Kyle. And you’re the Icove cop.”
“No, I’m the NYPSD cop.”
She stepped out, headed in the direction of the main reception, tagging Peabody as she walked.
“Where are you?”
“One floor up in Makeup. Jesus, Dallas, I met Adrianna Leo. I talked to her while she was getting hair and makeup for a scene. Then Joe P. Foxx just strolled right in, and I could’ve passed out!”
“Do I have to come up there?”
“What? No, I covered it.”
“And your face? What’s on your face?”
“Um. Makeup.”
“Get your made-up face down to the garage.” Eve clicked off, reminding herself she’d been the one who sent Peabody into the damn candy store.
She rode down on the elevator, ignoring other passengers who seemed buzzed on Oscar talk, until one of the women stared at her.
The woman’s eyes popped. “Oh my God, you’re Marlo Durn!”
“No, I’m not.”
Obviously undeterred, the woman continued to chatter while digging in her rhino-sized bag. “Oh, I’m such a fan. I just have to have a picture with you.”
“I’m not Marlo Durn.”
’Link already in hand, the woman frowned at her. “Are you sure?”