Indeed, at the appointed half hour their hostess burst into the house and effusively embraced each of them in turn. “Ross Ed, Caroline! Did you have a good morning?” Without giving either of them a chance to answer, she swept past, making a beeline for the fax machine. She’d changed at her office into something light and flowing, halfway between a Paris gown and a Sears bathrobe.

Moments later the door rang, or rather, symphonied, and she rushed to admit three visitors. These she escorted into the den, with its expensive but meaningless modern sculptures, thick carpet, and impressive, filtered view of the sea.

A short, skinny guy with black hair cropped and thinning to match plopped himself down in one of the oversized couches and was nearly swallowed up. He did not removed his dark sunglasses. Buoying him up by sitting down on the other side of the couch was an older man whose haircut would have cost Ross Ed the equivalent of a week’s salary. There wasn’t a patch of skin on him that wasn’t perfectly tanned. Though probably in his mid-sixties, he had the body of a healthy man twenty years younger. Completing the trio, a large woman with a deep, booming voice positioned herself gracefully in one of the big, framing armchairs.

As their hostess directed Ross Ed and Caroline to the couch opposite, Sunglasses leaned back against a cushion, crossed his legs, and announced to anyone who might be interested, ‘they don’t look like much.”

Their female companion had focused on Ross. “Let’s hold the snap judgments. He’s big, anyway. In fact, they’re both big.”

Sunglasses ignored the admonishment. “I don’t see anything here to get excited about.”

Tealeaf smiled encouragingly at Ross Ed. “Go and get your friend, won’t you?”

“Are you sure about these people?” Ross enjoyed the way the two men tensed in response to his query. On Tealeaf’s reassurance, he rose and recovered Jed from where they’d placed him in an empty closet.

When he returned, the newcomers were picking at a tray of hors d’oeruves Tealeaf had set out. It was piled high with sandwiches the size of silver dollars. Was all the food in California miniaturized? he found himself wondering.

Sitting back down near Caroline, he positioned the alien corpse on his left knee. Sunglasses eyed the otherworldly form dubiously.

“Not your usual ventriloquist’s dummy.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Tealeaf enthused.

The large woman spoke up. “If this doesn’t go, you could try them with the World Wrestling Federation. He’s big enough. He could do a Frankenstein, claim the alien was controlling him.”

That brought forth the first smile from Sunglasses. “Not a bad idea. Call them the E.T. Texans, do ’em up in matching spandex, and match them against Bam Bam Williams or Haystack Carfax first time out.”

“We will not,” Tealeaf countered. “Although it’s not a bad idea, Max.”

“All my ideas are invariably good,” Sunglasses allowed, without a hint of false modesty.

The senior tanning poster spoke up. “You spoke of a music career. Can the guy sing?” He was eyeing Ross Ed the way the butcher back home used to size up a fresh side of beef.

“Does it matter?” asserted Max, thereby confirming what Tealeaf had said back in Sedona. “Forty years ago, sure. Not now.”

Suntan ignored Sunglasses. “You said he was a ventriloquist with a twist, Tealeaf.” He smiled hopefully at Ross Ed. “So don’t make us ask, kid. Ventriloquize.”

“Yeah, throw your voice.” Max chuckled.

“Where do you want me to throw it to?” Ross Ed responded in his alien voice, which as always seemed to come from the vicinity of Jed’s head.

The big woman sat up straighter. “Hey, that’s pretty good!”

“No, it’s damn good.” Suntan’s expression hadn’t changed, but his pint-sized companion actually removed his shades, thereby revealing sharply focused, deep-set black eyes resting atop bags that spoke eloquently of too many long nights out supported by periodic overdoses of proscribed pharmaceuticals.

“I swear I didn’t see your lips move, kid. Do that again.” The older man leaned forward intently.

Ross Ed complied. The man whistled appreciatively, Max nodded, and the heavyset woman broke out in a wide grin.

“Can’t you see it?” Seizing the moment, Tealeaf stepped into their midst. “Him doing a concert and making it sound like it’s coming from the dummy? Talk about a new approach!”

The blond-maned man hadn’t taken his eyes from the tall Texan. “How about it, kid? You can throw your voice. Can you throw a song?”

“Can you play an instrument?” the woman wanted to know. “Guitar, kazoo, anything?” From the hors d’oeuvres tray she selected a sculpture of fresh pumpernickel, Iranian caviar, and imported sesame seed. It put Ross Ed in mind of friends back home who occasionally did not have enough to eat.

“I’m moderately handy with a harmonica.”

“A harp player. Excellent!” The AARP poster boy looked to his left. “Max? Who can we put him together with?”

Having redonned his dark shades, the younger man turned thoughtful. “How many sides you want to go with? Two, three, four?”

“Four. He’s new at this and we need to make sure he’s well covered. The singing we can work on.”

“Sure,” agreed the big woman. “Remember Rex Harrison? Never ‘sang’ a lick in My Fair Lady.”

“Bring him to the Melrose studio tomorrow.” Taking pad and pen from an inside pocket, Max scribbled a note and passed it to Tealeaf. “Eleven o’clock. I can get the boys together before then, but I can’t get them up.”

“They need to be good,” Tealeaf warned him.

He offered a wan smile by way of reply. “All my people are good. Don’t worry, we’ll pull it together. Things are slow and there are some fine people looking for gigs. He’ll be righteously backed. Guitar, bass, drums, maybe keyboard. That’s all anybody needs.”

“What about material?”

“No prob.” He adjusted his shades. “We got tons of sheets lying around. Nobody cares about words anyway. Thrash, metal, grunge, industrial, techno, Manchester United; crank it up enough and it all sounds the same from the back of the clubs.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it, Max. You know I can’t stand that stuff.”

“Maybe he can throw the voice around the club,” the blond man suggested. “What about contracts?”

“Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got my people working on it.”

He eyed her without smiling. “That’s why I’m worried.”

“Gustav, have I ever cheated you? Max? Sophia?” When no response was forthcoming, she simply ignored the implications. “We need to put Ross Ed and his act out there fast, before somebody else comes up with the idea. Once the word gets out on the street there’ll be alien bands all over the place.”

Curious to see how Tealeaf’s guests would react, Ross decided to toss a little truth into the brew. “It’s not a gimmick. Jed is a real alien, you know.”

The blond man smiled. “Yeah, sure, kid, sure. Hollywood’s full of ’em.”

Tealeaf escorted her guests our, her patented patter rising above their still-querulous but now mildly excited voices.

“What do you make of that?” Caroline tried one of the tiny sandwiches, frowned, and delicately spat it out into a napkin.

“Hard to say. It sure went fast.” Picking up a remote control from a nearby end table, he switched on the sixty-inch TV and leaned back on the couch, flipping channels in search of something mindless and entertaining.

“You ought to try this.” She offered him something round and red from the tray. “I’ve had them before and they grow on you.”

He eyed the doughnut shape and its pink topping warily. “What is it?”