a little more privacy. Discreet lighting made the cavernous studio into an Aladdin’s cave, and the brightly coloured dresses and sparkling jewels added an air of festivity.
Paul smiled round. “We’ve made quite a good turnout, haven’t we?” he said, and Larry grinned, as though amused by Paul’s identification of himself with the company.
The girls talked about clothes, and the latest Robert Redford film, and later Paul took Julie to meet a couple of producers and their wives with whom he had worked, and Julie felt a little disturbed by Paul’s obvious pride in herself. They returned to Larry and Jane, and as quite a lot of people were dancing now, Larry asked Julie whether she would dance with him.
Julie agreed, and Paul followed suit and asked Jane. Afterwards they exchanged partners regularly, and made the evening more enjoyable. Larry and Paul were both good dancers, and between dances the girls talked together and listened to the boys talking shop.
Jane grimaced, and said: “Have you noticed how people in television think there’s no other kind of existence?” she laughed. “Be warned, Julie. If you marry Paul, you’ll have to suffer this kind of thing every time you meet a colleague. Can you stand it?”
Julie flushed. “I don’t know. Is it to be recommended?”
“Well, that depends on the man.” Jane frowned, and leaned towards her. “I think Paul is an awfully nice boy.”
“Yes, so do I,” murmured Julie slowly, wishing she felt more certain of herself, and her feelings.
Once while she was dancing with Larry, he said: “Old Paul certainly knows how to pick them. When are you going to get hitched?”
Julie had to smile. “It’s not definite yet,” she prevaricated. “Tell me, what do you do here? Are you on the production or presentation side?”
“I’m assistant to the producer’s right-hand man,” he replied, chuckling. “Sort of dogsbody’s dogsbody.”
Julie laughed, too. “Still, I suppose you meet all sorts of exciting people, don’t you? There are always heaps of stars appearing.”
“I meet some of them,” admitted Larry, nodding. “But my work doesn’t encompass all the studios, and naturally there are people coming and going who I never get to see.”
The evening wore on. They had supper together, and several other couples stopped to chat for a while and then drifted on. It was a friendly affair, and there was no consciousness of boss and employee.
Jane and Larry left them for a while as Larry wanted to introduce his wife to his immediate superior, and Paul got himself and Julie another drink.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, offering her a cigarette.
Taking it, she nodded. “Very much. Are you?”
“Yes, I am rather. Larry and Jane are a nice couple. I’m glad we palled up with them.”
Julie smiled. “Where is your boss, anyway, Paul? You know, Mr. Parrish, the one you’re always quoting to me.”
Paul smiled now. “Don’t be facetious. Actually, he never comes to these affairs. Someone has to keep things ticking over while this jamboree is going on, and Mr. Parrish does just that thing. You realize there are programmes being transmitted this evening, don’t you?”
“Of course. I never thought of it.” Julie drew on her cigarette thoughtfully. “It always seems so exciting, television. I mean, there’s never a dull moment. At any time you might meet your favourite film star, or some comedian or singer you admire. I think I should like to work in television myself.”
Paul grinned. “Apply for a position. They can only refuse you.”
Julie shook her head. “No, I’m not all that keen, I don’t think. And anyway, I like my work at the store. If I changed at all, it would be to something entirely different; like nursing, or looking after children, or something like that. Sometimes I wish I’d become a nanny. I should like to take care of some of these children whose parents don’t give a damn about them except to see that they’re fed and watered, and dressed in pretty clothes.”
“Marry me, and we can raise a family of our own.” Paul’s face was earnest, and Julie was sorry she had invited this.
“Give me time, Paul,” she pleaded. “Look, who’s that who has just come in? It looks like … it is! Manuel Cortez. Oh, Paul, I love his music. You didn’t tell me he was doing a programme for Phoenix!”
Paul had risen to his feet, his face flushed. “That’s Mr. Parrish with him,” he said, in a voice that sounded slightly awed. “Good heavens! I never thought to see him come here.”
Julie rose also, glancing strangely at Paul. “Why do you suppose he has come?”
“To show our distinguished visitor around, I suppose. How the staff of Phoenix Television take their leisure.” His voice sounded normal again. “I forgot about Manuel Cortez’ programme, though. I know you’re a fan of his. Attractive man, isn’t he?”
Julie nodded. “Very. He probably knows it, too. A man in his position couldn’t fail to be aware of his assets.”
Paul shrugged. “Come on, let’s get a drink. Mr. Parrish won’t have any time for me tonight.”
But in this he was wrong. As they passed the arched entrance on their way to the buffet, Neil Parrish hailed his young assistant jovially, as though he too had been imbibing rather freely.
“Well, Paul, enjoying yourself?”
Paul’s expression became annoyingly subservient, and he smiled ingratiatingly. “Very much, thank you, Mr. Parrish. Are you joining us?”
“Afraid not.” Neil Parrish glanced at his companion. “You know Señor Cortez, don’t you, Paul?”
“Yes. Good evening, señor. Have you finished the show now?”
Manuel Cortez nodded, his eys on Julie, and Julie, conscious of his scrutiny, returned his gaze coolly. She was used to the bold glances men cast in her direction. But Manuel Cortez was not quite like them, she had to concede. To begin with, he was a very attractive man, tall and lean, his dark face dominated by tawny tiger’s eyes which were enigmatic in his appraisal. His dark hair curled down to his collar and sideburns, which Julie had personally always abhorred, darkened his already swarthy complexion. He was dressed in a dark lounge suit and when he moved he had a sinuous feline grace which was purely sensual in its appeal. His mouth, too, was rather sensual, and Julie felt a kind of breathless suffocated sensation, as his eyes met hers, causing her to drop her lids defensively.
Linking her fingers tightly together, she became aware that Paul was still talking to Neil Parrish about something, and a moment later she was drawn forward and introduced first to Parrish himself, an elderly man with greying hair, and then to Manuel Cortez.
When Manuel Cortez spoke, his voice with its American accent tinged with Spanish was soft and husky, and Julie’s stomach was now behaving very peculiarly.
“How do you do, Miss Kennedy,” he said lazily, and she felt his cool hard fingers curve for a moment about hers.
“Tell
