Shadow Games by Ed Gorman Page A

again.
    Lilly Carlyle got in one more good glare and then left on Preston's arm.
    "I don't think Lilly's going to invite you to her next birthday party," Puckett said.
    "Good," Anne laughed. "Because I wouldn't go, anyway."
     
    A fter the photographers, after the two wealthy Chicago matrons, after a college drama instructor and his three very cute coeds, after the two overweight leaders of Cobey's Chicago fan club...after all these people, Puckett and Anne finally got to see Cobey ...
    They walked into his dressing room and there he sat, Diet Pepsi in one hand, cigarette in the other, a very good-looking young man in a dark V-neck sweater, jeans, and white Reeboks.
    When he saw who Anne was—when she really registered on his mind—a curious expression filled Cobey's eyes and he jumped up from his chair.
    But then Cobey stopped himself, looking over at Puckett. It was obvious that, at first, Cobey didn't recognize Puckett, even though the man looked familiar somehow.
    Puckett said, "I did some work for your manager, Lilly, a few years ago."
    "Sure!" Cobey said suddenly. "The trip from St. Louis."
    "Right."
    Cobey stuck out his hand. His grin seemed real. "How are you, anyway, Puckett?"
    "Doing fine. Do you remember Anne?"
    "Of course," Cobey said and moved over, as if in a receiving line, to shake her hand, too.
    Puckett sensed something right then, but he wasn't sure what. Just some kind of jolt that passed from Anne to Cobey as they shook hands...a sense that was reinforced by the strange way they stared at each other.
    Then Anne laughed. "I wondered if you'd let me do a follow-up article on you?"
    "Hell, yes, I will. I was very happy with that first one."
    They looked at each other another long moment and then Cobey laughed and said, "How about a Diet Pepsi for either of you?"
    They both accepted.
    Cobey took two icy cans from a small brown refrigerator next to his closet door. He handed them each a Diet Pepsi and then invited them to sit down.
    The dressing room was more like a spare room where odds and ends of furniture had been stored. Only the round, theatrical mirror with light bulbs encircling it bespoke show business. On the long dressing table stood several vases of dead flowers with tiny white note cards taped to each vase—the remains of opening night well-wishing.
    "So how about you?" Puckett asked. "How've you been, Cobey ?"
    The grin again. He'd been a handsome kid and now he was a handsome young man. Especially when he grinned that Cobey grin. "Fantastic. I know that sounds gushy as hell, but it's true. You've heard that two of the networks are talking to us about new shows for the fall?"
    "Congratulations, Cobey ," Anne said.
    "And there's talk about HBO taping this show and running it as a special."
    "Things are starting to roll again for you," Puckett said.
    Cobey hoisted his Diet Pepsi. "As long as I stay on the wagon, I'm fine."
    He was just about to toast his guests when there was a knock at his door and a very pretty, very shy young woman said, "I saw the Dragon Lady leaving so I thought it'd be safe to come in."
    Cobey laughed, jumped up and walked over to slide his arm around the woman. "Veronica Hobbs, this is Anne Addison and Mr. Puckett."
    Veronica Hobbs nodded quietly to them. She was, Puckett guessed, in her very early twenties, blonde and pale, like a beauty from Poe, perhaps, possessing an ethereal quality that only made her gentle beauty more mysterious. In the proper light, those shadowed eyes would be a deep green. And if she ever smiled, there would be as much pain as pleasure in that smile. She wore a simple, green, woolen jumper that flattered her slender but attractive body.
    "'The Dragon Lady' Veronica was referring to is Lilly," Cobey said. "They're not exactly what you'd call the best of friends."
    "She hates me," Veronica said simply. "She wants Cobey for herself."
    There was no humor in her remark and Cobey looked uncomfortable. He guided Veronica over to the last empty chair,