ETHAN AND FRIC STOOD SIDE BY SIDE AT A window in the second-floor drawing room, which was known as the green room for reasons obvious to all but the color-blind.
Ming du Lac believed that no great house of this size could be a place of spiritual harmony without one room furnished and decorated entirely in shades of green. Their feng-shui consultant agreed with this green decree, perhaps because his own philosophy included such a notion, but more likely because he knew better than to cross Ming.
All the shades of green that had been applied herein to walls, upholstery, carpet, and wood finishes were seen by Ming in dreams. You had to wonder what he’d been eating before bed.
Mrs. McBee called this room “the horrid moss pit,” though not within Ming’s hearing.
Beyond the window, the sprawling estate presented better shades of green, and above it all hung a glorious blue sky rinsed clean of even the memory of rain.
From where they stood, they could see the front gate, and the mob of media in the public street beyond. Sunlight flared off cars, news [604] vans, and larger network-television trucks with satellite-uplink dishes on their roofs.
“Gonna be a circus,” Fric said.
“Gonna be a carnival,” Ethan agreed.
“Gonna be a freak show.”
“Gonna be a zoo.”
“Gonna be Halloween on Christmas Eve,” Fric said, “if you look at how they’ll use us on the TV news.”
“Then don’t look,” Ethan suggested. “To hell with the TV news. Anyway, it’ll all blow over soon enough.”
“Fat chance,” said Fric. “It’ll go on for weeks, big story about the little prince of Hollywood and the nut case who almost got me.”
“So you see yourself as the little prince of Hollywood?”
Fric grimaced with disgust. “That’s what they’ll call me. I can hear it now. I won’t be able to go out in public until I’m fifty, and even then they’ll pinch my cheeks and tell me how worried they were about me.”
“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “I think you’re overestimating how interesting you are to the general population.”
Fric dared to look hopeful. “You think so?”
“Yeah. I mean, you aren’t one of those Hollywood kids who wants to go into the family business.”
“I’d rather eat worms.”
“You don’t take bit parts in your dad’s movies. You don’t sing or dance. You don’t do imitations, do you?”
“No.”
“Do you juggle or keep a dozen plates spinning at the top of a dozen bamboo poles all at the same time?”
“Not all at the same time, no,” said Fric.
“Magic tricks?”
“No.”
“Ventriloquism?”
[605] “Not me.”
“See, I’m bored with you already. You know what I think’s got them all excited about this story, that’s really the focus of it?”
“What? “Fric asked.
“The blimp.”
“The blimp,” Fric agreed, “is totally cool.”
“No offense, but a kid your age, with your lack of experience ... I’m sorry, but you just can’t compete with a blimp in Bel Air.”
Out at the north end of the property, the gates began to open.
“Here comes the gang,” Fric said as the first black limousine glided in from the street. “You think he’ll stop out there and give the reporters face time?”
“I’ve asked him not to,” Ethan said. “We don’t have anywhere near enough manpower to police a media mob like that, and they don’t like being policed.”
“He’ll stop,” Fric predicted. “Bet you a million bucks to a pile of cow flop. What limousine is he in?”
“Number five out of seven.”
The second limo cruised through the gate.
“He’ll have a new girlfriend,” Fric worried.
“You’ll do fine with her.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve got the perfect ice breaker.”
“What’s that?”
“The blimp.”
Fric brightened. “Yeah.”
The third limousine appeared.
“Just remember what we agreed. We’re not going to tell anyone about ... the stranger parts of it all.”
“I sure won’t,” Fric said. “I don’t want to be booby-hatched.”
The fourth limousine entered, but the fifth paused outside the gates. From this distance, without binoculars, Ethan could not see [606] that Channing Manheim had in fact gotten out ............