Author's Notes: It's nice when reviews are specific about what works and what doesn't. In this case, I agree. I did think the Boreanz link was cheesy when I wrote it. I have therefore edited it out. This note's here so you can make sense of the first review (which I appreciate... those quotes were my favorite bits too). Thanks!
Talking About Booth
By Babblefestival
"My god, he looks even better in person." My publicist looked Booth up and down from head to toe. Luckily for me, he was too far away to hear her. Hodgins had trapped him into listening to his latest conspiracy theory. "Temp, honey, if anyone sees him for real, there's no way you'll be able to deny the characters in your books are for real. Look at those shoulders." She took in a decisive breath. "You'd be answering the romance question forever."
"As if they haven't been asking me about that already." Interviews were fast becoming the bane of my life. I gathered my coat and purse from my office. "And no, I'm not going to ask him to come with me," I said, forestalling an old argument. "Selling my books isn't his job."
She placed her manicured hands together as if in prayer. "But think of the possibilities." Her look of calculation began to worry me. Maggie worked public relations with the efficiency of a shark. "Just one little interview together." Her eyes glinted. "He's such good eye candy. We could get you both on Oprah. She'd love him. He wouldn't have to say anything. Maybe sit there and look broody and protective."
"Broody." I often found myself repeating her words out of sheer confusion.
"Book sales would go through the roof."
"It's already number two," I reminded her. Booth always kept track for me.
"Nothing counts but number one." Maggie liked to win. "Would help us ink a TV deal. Think of the residuals."
"I don't need the money."
The flick of her hand dismissed my words. "Who could play him, I wonder." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "Clooney's too old." She snapped her fingers. "Christan Bale. Right intensity for the big screen."
Another set of names to Google when I got home. "I assume these men are both structurally appealing."
"Structurally," Maggie said dryly. "Temp, the man's incredibly sexy."
I'd lost track of which man we were talking about.
"Your partner," she said. "Oodles and oodles of sexiness. He doesn't have to say anything, Temp. A smile once in awhile, that's all. Better still if he directs it at you. He could sit next to you and look heroic. It wouldn't matter if you messed up a question here or there. Just as long as he sat beside you. Your partner. Your rock. Your, your, your something." One hand clawed upward in emphasis. "He could smolder."
"Smolder?" I liked Maggie, but her line of reasoning was sometimes hard to follow.
"God, I'd watch that show. With the right clothes..." She sighed. "Oprah, honey. We're talking about Oprah. Temp, could you please do me a favor? Could you please, please, please buy a TV? With cable. A DVD player too."
"I don't need…"
"Don't you ever get anthropological stuff on DVDs?"
"I watch them here."
She gave a delicate snort. "You live here, Temp. Don't you ever go home?"
I dangled my purse in front of her face. "I'm trying to. It's been a long day. Let it go," I said as Booth joined us.
"Let what go?" He flashed an easy smile.
"An interview she wants me to do," I said, preempting her. A quick, "Bye, Maggie," and I was headed for the door. I'd had enough of publicity for a day.
Booth fell in step as I made my way to the Jeffersonian's main doors. "You going to tell me what that was about?"
"She thinks someone named Christian Bale should play you in a movie," I said, settling for the condensed version. "She said if you sit beside me while I do an interview with Oprah, my book will go to number one."
"Why?"
"Because you have oodles and oodles of sexiness."
He seemed taken aback. "Sexiness?"
"Oodles."
He laughed. "Oodles and oodles," he said. "Get the details right, Bones."
"Congratulations." I didn't know why I had told him.
"About the oodles or the sexiness?"
"Take your pick. She also said you could sit there and smolder."
"What?"
"Like a slow burn."
"I know what 'smolder' means. I get what she means too." Exasperation always made him curt. "What kind of publicist is she?"
"A good one, actually."
"Other than the fact she uses words like oodles."
"She's smarter than she sounds."
"If you say so, Bones," said Booth. "So, Christian Bale's me. Who's you?"
"No one." I pushed through the heavy doors and stood for a moment, enjoying the evening sky. "She was speculating. There is no TV show, there is no movie."
He went down a few steps, turned and studied my face.
"What?" I frowned. He had the singular talent of making me self-conscious.
"It would be tough to cast you," he said at last.
"Why?"
"Because it would be." He waited for me to catch up to him before continuing down the steps.
"That's hardly a rational explanation." I said.
"TV or movie?"
"What?"
"For your books. Which one do you want?"
"TV." I stopped short.
"What?"
"I have to buy a TV."
"A TV." He sounded incredulous. "You?"
"I had one once," I said in irritation.
"You haven't owned a TV in the two years I've known you. I don't think you watched it even when you did have one. So, why now?"
"Maggie says so."
"Since when do you care what Maggie says?"
"Since she taught me interview protocol. It's made things much easier."
"Yeah, I saw the last one. It was pretty good."
"Do you think so?" For some reason, his opinion mattered to me.
"You did good, Bones."
"Thanks." I gave myself a mental kick. "About the TV…"
"Definitely a widescreen," he said. "At least forty-two inches."
"That sounds a little bigger than I had in mind."
"Bigger is always better. You'll need a sound system too. Surround sound." He held his hands apart to indicate stereo. At least, I assumed so. "And a DVD player. You want blue ray?"
"What?"
"Oh, wow. You don't have a clue, do you, Bones?"
I was getting tired of the accusation. "Are you going to help me or not?" Proof once more that Angela was right. I did not know how to ask for help properly. I did not like asking for help period.
"Me?" He pointed a thumb at his chest. "You want me to help you?"
All I could do was nod. I had no interest in wasting time researching something I didn't really want in the first place. It seemed simpler to ask Booth.
He rubbed his hands together in transparent glee. "When?"
"Whenever you have the time."
"This Thursday? I'm picking Parker up on Friday."
I mentally reviewed my schedule. "That'll work for me."
"I'll tell you what, Bones. You measure the space where you want to put the TV and book the cable guy for Wednesday. Get high definition, get the works." He must have sensed my scepticism. "How do you know what you don't want unless you sample all of it first? Think of it as an ongoing exercise in cultural anthropology." He was getting better at imitating squint talk.
"That's not my field, Booth."
"Then it's time to learn." The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable. "I'll pick you up after work on Thursday. We'll go get you your TV with all the fixings and go back to your place. If you make me your mac & cheese, I'll set everything up for you. Deal?" He looked unusually happy at the prospect.
"Deal." I suspected I was in for a very expensive shopping trip.
"We'll have to test everything out, of course." He took me by the elbow and guided me to my car. "Setting up the sound properly takes awhile. It's all about balancing the bass and the treble. You'll need a good subwoofer. You'll love it."
"Like the basketball game?" I wasn't entirely clueless.
His smile was pure innocence.
