Douglas, Nelson - Midnight Louie 05-Cat in a Diamond Dazzle

"Celebrity authors have always been part of publishing," Kit interjected a little more coolly. "I saw an old book tie-in to Mary Pickford. Gypsy Rose Lee wrote a couple of ghosted mysteries decades ago, and we all know that some celebrity names on mystery and science fiction novels are fronts for the anonymous real writer who produces them."

"Those unsung writers get more ghostwriting than they do for their own books, or they wouldn't take on the work," Lori pointed out.

"And they'll continue getting less money for their work if publishers keep hiring the rich and famous as fronts instead of nurturing real writers' careers." Vivian sat back with an indignant whoosh of the padded vinyl banquette seat for punctuation.

"Oh, please!" LaDonna's eyes rolled over the tops of her half-glasses. "When have writers ever been nurtured? We have to fight for our books, our careers and our survival. If you wanted nurturing, you should have enrolled in kindergarten."

"So . . . who's angriest about the new prominence of cover hunks?" Temple asked.

A moment's silence while mental wheels turned.

"Sometimes even the biggies aren't too fond of the trend." Lori said. "I heard that Mary Ann Trenarry threatened to leave Bard Books when they signed up Fabrizio for all of her future and reissue covers."

"At her career stage, it doesn't matter what they put on her books."

"It does to her. She's been a vocal spokeswoman for the redeeming social value of romance novels, and of her books in particular. This Fabrizio deal has her chewing royalty statements."

"What about the husbands?" LaDonna asked suddenly.

"Huh?" everyone said.

"Temple asked who was angry about the cover hunks. What about the husbands who have to hear about the fantastic Fabrizio' and his ilk?"

"Whose husbands?" Kit wanted to know. "Readers' or writers'?"

"Both, I suppose," LaDonna said. "Maybe especially the husbands of prominent fans, the ones who organize the hunks' fan clubs. They sometimes get to work with them one on one. Most husbands aren't used to competing with perfect media models like women are."

"I did hear something." Lori looked both eager and reluctant.

"Tell us!" several urged.

"That's what we're here for," Vivian pointed out. "To pass secrets."

"And to keep them to ourselves." Lori fidgeted with her dark hair, twirling a long, straight tress on the instant roller of her forefinger. She sighed. "Remember that Ravenna Rivers went on that long book tour with the West Wind imprint's Homestead Man? I heard that afterwards she called him the 'Homestud Man.''

Kit turned to Temple. "Romance publishers will hire a male model as an image/spokesman for a line of books nowadays. As a marketing tool, he gives all the authors' books a signature look; as a media draw on tours, he packs in readers who'd never show up for poor, unexciting us. West Wind's Homestead Man is Dwayne Rand, a Texas frontier type."

"That reminds me," Lori interjected with a giggle. "Ravenna also called Dwayne The Amazing Randy'

after that tour. Do you think she was trying to hint at something?"

Kit ignored the gossip to further educate Temple on current romance-marketing ploys. "Picture Tom Selleck with Wild Bill

Cody Lovelocks, but without the moustache. That's the Homestead Man."

"That's a tough assignment," Temple admitted, recalling her amazement at Max's rather understated ponytail. "And Tom Selleck without a moustache would be roast beef without mustard."

"No moustache," Kit said. "Sorry. Damn few moustaches for cover hunks; same reason newscasters don't wear them. Considered too ethnic."

"That Homestead Man!" Lori was continuing to gush. "He's a Dreamboat with a capital D as in Dishy.

The rumor is that interviewers on Ravenna's tour assumed they were sleeping together. Her husband heard something and came running with his forty-five. For sure the tour was abruptly cancelled."

"I heard she had a book deadline to meet." Vivian looked troubled.

"The deadline was her husband's ultimatum, believe me," LaDonna added. "No more gadding about with good-looking guys."

"I don't know why Mr. Ravenna Rivers's so worried," Vivian put in. "Half of these guys could be allergic to women. Do you know how high the percentage of gay men is among bodybuilders, dancers, actors and models, ladies? Enough that straight men in those fields get a bit defensive about their occupations."

"Sexual preference doesn't matter," Dr. Susan said authoritatively. "It's the fantasy image that counts. Look, most of these women who go crazy over the male models know it's all show and no go.

They're not expecting a relationship. It's an escape at a romance conference weekend, a goal to get an autograph or a photo taken with a cover man. Consider it a scavenger hunt."

"Hunting implies a prey," Temple pointed out. "What about Cheyenne? Any rumors about him?"

"Oh, that's such a shame!" LaDonna looked genuinely grieved. "Such a nice young guy. He was a favorite for the G.R.O.W.L. award at this year's pageant. That's the popular vote. And from what I heard, his routine would have been spectacular."

"He competed at a previous pageant?" Temple was surprised. She had figured Cheyenne for a local male stripper who was moonlighting, not a cover hunk wannabe of any seriousness.

"Sure. Last year in Atlanta."

"So some of the cover model contestants repeat from year to year?"

Lori nodded. "Just like in women's beauty pageants. It takes experience to win. Why? You don't look too happy."

"I'm not. If contestants repeat from year to year, then I assume conference attendees come back too?" They all nodded. "So we've got more potential here for relationships than I thought."

"What's so wrong about that?" LaDonna was defensive. "Sure, there are regulars, both onstage and off. Most of the same authors return every year too. It's our annual chance to chat and back-pat. This is a very mutually supportive field."

"And mostly female," Temple said. "Except for a few good men. And a very few tagalong husbands.

Yet the authors are rivals as well as colleagues. Then add the heightened competition of the pageant.

Like I said, this isn't just an annual convention, it's a traveling carnival of relationships. And I don't have to tell you romance writers what relationships can be in real life as well as in fiction."

"Murder," Vivian said slowly, nodding her head. "They can be murder."

The four conspirators left two by two, apparently convinced that there was less reason to hide their joint outing on the return cab ride.

"We'll say we were doing the Strip," Lori said.

Temple was reflective as Kit bid each one good-bye with thanks and promises of getting together later at the conference.

"Well?" her aunt demanded, scrambling to dig out and light a Virginia Slim. "Hey, don't look at me like that. This is a smoking section. I just refrained while the others were here."

"Why do people do to their relatives what they wouldn't to friends?"

"They expect relatives to understand." Kit's hands had frozen midway to her mouth, slender cigarette in one and upright, poised lighter in the other. "I can wait."

"No, go ahead. I owe you something for gathering the clan."

"What did you think of them?" Kit muttered through the act of inhaling.

"Great sources--do all writers gossip so much?"

"It's not gossip, it's networking in self-defense. Writers are isolated, yet we live and die by the publishing industry. So we grapevine like mad. Writers are also proud, so we tend not to reveal what we get for our books when the pay is stinky. When the advances get to the big time, everybody knows."

"It looks like I should talk to some of these writers with axes to grind. Any advice?"

"Just pass yourself off as a national media person and they'll slit their writers' wrists and let the ink run out. Not even bestsellers get enough attention."