*******129:

Dinner had been lovely, the screening a blast, now, at the after-screening party, she felt relaxed, and recovered. Her father and Julian had opted to babysit rather than watch the film, or attend, and they had been vehement about her not going. But she'd told George she would go with him, and she intended to keep her word, this stupid current wasn't going to get her down. She just hadn't counted on the kind of party animal he thought he was.

"You sparkle." George squelched noisily, inexpertly jostling her across the dance floor. "You have the grace of an angel."

His breath in her face was musky with alcohol. Tracy turned away to avoid coming in contact with it. The night was growing weary with half veiled suggestive complements "The sparkle is likely residue electricity, and the grace is five years of dance lessons."

"And the angel?" she looked up into very suggestive brown eyes, under heavy silver brows, his clever hands gathering the folds at the back of her dress. Tracy shrugged to remove his inept embrace and let her eyes wander over the assembled menagerie of celebrity. She knew how to manage this situation, she thought. She'd become adept at reading drunken pervert celebrity, and getting rid of them. Above the linen-clad shoulder a familiar face loomed. She waved. She'd met Blaze Phelps a couple of times, but had never spoken to him. Now might be the time, with George Lanning, way too old for her, and being a little drunk and suggestive, clawing her dress off in public.

The actor in question's eyebrows rose, and a finger pointed at his chest, while he mouthed the word, Me?

An imperceptible nod, accompanied a cross-eyed look of exasperation as the minute jerk of her head indicated her discomfiture. Rakish long hair in gelled disarray, Blaze's mustache and goatee were trademark, and they visibly twitched in acknowledgment. He was a newcomer, discovered by Nicholas Cage, and had just finished screening his third film, and people were beginning to take notice. He'd also just dumped, or been dumped by his third Hollywood Deb, Winona Ryder. Clad in flashy tux, he set his drink on a nearby tray and donned a slightly perplexed smile as he approached.

George whirled her just as Blaze would have cut in, and so came face to face with the handsome young actor. Tracy gave him a brilliant smile. She tossed those dazzling sparkling tresses that were her trademark and let go of her current beau, to shake Blaze's hand.

"How good to see you here!" The handshake turned into a finger kiss, as he suavely brought her fingers to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. He pulled her close, dramatically, for a dance, and Tracy tossed her head at George, who was looking chagrinned, to say the least. "You don't mind, Georgie, do you?" She called as Blaze whirled her away.

"That was immaculate." She said softly as he twirled her even further from the older gentleman who had been so nice to her in the day, but had turned dirty old man as the evening wore on.

"Not practiced." He said, and his voice was musical to her. The band stopped playing and he ushered her quickly toward an outlet to the patio, catching George's pretended nonchalance. He'd gotten himself another drink, and was well on his way to getting rip-roaring drunk. Tracy saw Jake discreetly follow her, and smiled. Blaze kept her hand, in fact, held it quite close to his chest forcing her to step daintily beside him. His other hand on the small of her back branded her, as it crept to her side carelessly. They arrived outdoors, and he twirled her out a bit. "All rescued, madam?" He grinned like a fox. Tracy bowed her head and looked up at him through her lashes as a waiter came by and Blaze took two drinks from a tray and gave one to her. Tracy took it, and held it, but when the waiter had passed, dumped hers in the nearby shrubs.

Again the subtle raise of the eyebrows. "You don't drink?"

"No."

"Pregnant?" He whispered in her ear, coming closer again, pretending to gaze out at the thriving party around them, searching for familiar and unfamiliar faces to be seen with, when his attention was really on her.

Tracy laughed. "No." She said again softly, feeling a little bemused at the way the evening was turning out, and remembering many such parties when she was much younger, she'd been noticeably out of this loop for a couple of years.

"Oh, that's right, you're Mormon." He said this as if the lights were just coming on. His fingers laced with her free hand. "You won't sleep with me either, will you?"

"Even if I wasn't Mormon." She smiled enigmatically.

"Are you still married? I had heard...."

Now she shook her head. "You heard right, my husband was killed last year in a fire, along with my son." Then she gazed at him frankly when he would have offered condolences. "What about you, are you free?"

"Hell no, I cost..." He eyed her speculatively, and then lowered his gaze to her parted lips. "Maybe not as much as you do."

Tracy chose to ignore the innuendo; she was good at fielding these types of comments. Most guys would lose interest after about 20 seconds of her not buying into their come on lines. "I hear you're the up and coming thing in Hollywood."

He cocked his head to one side, catching on much quicker to her lack of interest in the typical celebrity games. He pulled her with him toward a garden, where other couples were either partying or walking fashionably.

"So, we've never really met, although we've been in the same room a dozen or more times." Tracy said. "I thought you had a band of your own years ago."

Blaze nodded, still holding her arm very close. Tonight she really was beautiful, and it wouldn't hurt to be seen with her. The curvy figure encased in midnight purple shimmers, floor length and trailing, not too low cut, with simple capped sleeves, no jewelry except simple dangles in her ears, hair piled up and left to drift coyly around her shoulders. Her features were exquisite up close, he thought, much sexier in person than on stage, and she was dynamite on stage. What was the question?

"A band? Oh yeah, I had a band. I've had several, and played with several. Not right now, though. I just finished another flick and my stint at a film arts school, to make myself legit." He said.

"Really? A college boy, are you? I didn't have you pegged that way."

"You gotta play the game the right way, even in Hollywood." He said with a tinge of regret.

"It wasn't what you went there for, was it?"

"What? Acting? No, but I enjoy it."

"You're good at it." She agreed.

"But you've heard me play?"

"I think I've seen a music video of your performance with Tom Petty."

He grinned. "Yeah, those were the days."

"Do you still play for fun?" she asked, tossing her hair, and feeling his hand raise on her back to touch it. Guys did that, they loved to touch her hair.

"Always."

"Maybe you'd like to get together sometime and jam?"

His heart did a sort of flip-flop double beat at the thought of jamming with Tracy McCaffrey. "When?"

Her laugh rang out in genuine mirth. "Yeah, tonight?"

He loved that unexpectedly real laugh. "Where are you staying?"

She told him and he nodded. "Perhaps you'd come to my place? I've got a condo on the river, not far. It might be more conducive...."

Tracy shrugged. "Sure. You wanna....?"

"What, now?" he blurted again, feeling a restless excitement permeate him, he hated these affairs, couldn't wait to get out of there and go smoke, and right now this goddess was giving him an even better alternative.

She turned to him and looked him straight in the eye. He could see for himself she was serious. "Oh, baby." He laughed and pulled her back the way they had come, "Did you bring a wrap?" At her nod, he took her easily to the coat check and asked for her cloak, asked that they tell George Lanning that she'd left with him, and then asked for his car to be brought. They only waited a few seconds, chatting amiably, and then he helped her into his limo.

*****