She decided that Penny Cho was a holoform. The actress never moved from the same spot. Same with Nick May. The Nick May. She’d sure like to tickle his ribs. Not really, of course. That was what movies were for. With a movie she could think about it all she wanted and not have to deal with the consequences.
He stood by the sushi tray, smiling at people who looked admiringly at him as they walked past, like a good holoform. Fidgeting even, with those gee-whiz boyish good looks that made him a heartthrob. The wine kicked her over the edge.
She approached him from behind, a little to the side. She’d do it. She’d have to, to get to the sushi. Reach right through the holographic light stream to the tekka maki. How amusing.
Her hand touched silk. The slick blue silk of Nick May’s shirt. Nick May turned to look at who had poked him in the ribs.
Solid flesh stood between Cass and the sushi. Solid flesh, looking back at her with interested eyes.
“You’re not a holoform. Um—” Oh, wow. “You’re Nick May.”
“Yeah. And you’re Cass Nellis.”
She wrinkled her brow. She wasn’t famous. Then—the link hooked to his ear. Right.
“Yeah,” she said weakly. She stuck out her hand. He actually shook it.
She hated making conversation. Never mind conversation with famous people. She was a great listener, and she liked talking to her friends. But this— He wasn’t saying anything. And he wasn’t going away. He was smiling. Boy, was he smiling. “So. Um. What brings you here?”
“Schmoozing.”
“Huh?”
“Old Hollywood term. You know—schmoozing. Networking. Chatting up people who can get me a job.”
“You need a job?”
“In on-location film, yeah.” He looked into his glass of wine and shrugged, his smile turning into an almost embarrassed wince. “I’m trying to get into real film. See if I can do something cutting-edge for a change. Respectable.”
“That’s cool,” she said with a vague smile.
Vim needed to hear this. No, not Vim. Nathan Pauli, the creative force behind RealCity and the spearhead of the revival of on-location filming, needed to hear this. If they could get a name like Nick May aboard—the publicity of casting the best selling body in bluebox interactive movies would guarantee success for the film.
She must have been staring, imagining this scene for way too long, because he cleared his throat and said, “Your file says you’re an accountant for RealCity.”
She shrugged, as if in apology for not being something more interesting. Truth be told, she was the accountant for RealCity, but they were supposed to be playing Big Time here, so she nodded. “Yeah. I add numbers for people who can’t.”
“Aren’t there computers that do that?”
“That’s the beauty of it. Not only can’t they add, they can’t use the computers that can. I can. So really, I don’t even do what they’re paying me for.”
“That’s Hollywood for you.”
She giggled, shaking her head. “You don’t know the half of it. Vim has spent more time planning this party than gearing up for production. Here they are trying to be all artistic and new, and—”
“So RealCity’s in production? That’s not on any of the news feeds.”
She narrowed her gaze and gave a lopsided smile. “You going to start chatting me up for a job?”
“I could just start chatting you up.”
Her knees went weak and she bit her lip to try to keep from smiling wide enough to split her face. Failed. His eyes really were that clear rich brown, no tell-tale line of colored contact lenses in sight.
“Hey, you gotta know, I don’t have any pull with these people. If you’re thinking that I’m a good contact, or a good networking prospect—nobody listens to me. I tell them not to spend too much money on parties and they don’t listen. They just need me to make sure the credit stays good.”
He switched off the link, pulled the device off his ear, and shoved it in his pocket.
“I didn’t feel much like working anyway.”