by Jan Moran
It was a warm evening, and he had the top down. As he opened the door for her, his glossy black hair shimmered in the evening lights. “Are you hungry?”
“A little. Dinner was somewhere over the Atlantic.” Scarlett slid into the car.
“Want to head over to the hotel? Lance is working on some new dishes tonight.”
“I’d like that,” Scarlett said, finally relaxing after the long flight. She never had to be anyone other than who she was with Johnny. Why can’t romantic relationships be like this?
As Johnny drove, they talked about their friends, Verena and Lance, who had been dating for a while. Lance was the executive chef at the Beverly Hills Hotel, the legendary pink palace on Sunset Boulevard in Beverly Hills, a favorite hotel of Hollywood stars throughout the decades. Johnny was the maître d’ at the Polo Lounge, where the beautiful people still gathered and felt at home.
To the people who’d lived in Beverly Hills for many years, like some of Scarlett’s friends and their families, the five-square-mile community would always be a little village, where doctors still made house calls, shops had private house accounts, and restaurants and delicatessens let regular customers run a monthly tab.
Today, Van Cleef & Arpels and Cartier glittered on Rodeo Drive, and tour buses lumbered along pristine residential streets, but the city still maintained its charm among residents, who could walk almost anywhere in the city—a rarity in the car-dependent culture of Los Angeles.
Not that many of them did, of course.
Johnny parked and they threaded their way through the back entrance of the luxury hotel. Outside, under pink archways, the open air terrace dining area was ablaze with red bougainvillea, green garden chairs, and white tablecloths.
They reached the front of the Polo Lounge, where Johnny showed Scarlett to a booth in the bar area. Dark green walls created a clubby ambiance, mirrors reflected the dazzling array of guests, and polo pictures and a green-and-white striped ceiling harkened to the hotel’s early days. Strains of jazz floated in the air.
“Scarlett, welcome home,” said a slender blond woman who was already seated in the booth. She wore a creamy silk sheath dress and pearls.
“Verena, it’s so good to see you.” Scarlett hugged her friend and scooted in beside her. “I feel like I’ve been gone forever.” She loosened the collar of her blouse and smoothed her hair back.
“Seems like it. A month, wasn’t it?” Verena’s fair porcelain skin seemed to glow in the low lights. Whether it was from happiness or her new skincare line, Scarlett couldn’t tell, but she was glad Verena was doing better. After all she’d been through with her business and her family, she deserved it.
“That’s right. Milan, Florence, Paris, London.” It sounded exciting, but she’d often worked sixteen hour days. Still, she had to admit she met amazing people and dined in all the best restaurants. Working at the firm was like having velvet shackles.
“Has Johnny told you the news?” Verena could hardly contain herself.
“No, what’s going on?”
Verena looked like she was going to burst with happiness. “I’ll let him tell you.”
Johnny winked at her. “I’ll get Lance.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
“Did Lance propose?” Scarlett touched Verena’s left hand, which was bare.
“No, not that. Too soon for us.” Verena’s blue eyes were as brilliant as sapphires, and they glowed with excitement.
“When you’re ready, we should talk about prenuptial agreements.”
“I lost everything, remember?” Verena laughed. “But we’re happy.”
“You’re creating new intellectual property now, trademarks, copyrights, service marks.” Scarlett started to launch into a legal discourse, and then she caught Verena’s amused expression. It was late, and she was being overzealous again. She couldn’t help it; it was in her blood.
“Relax, Scarlett. Everything in time, Mia says.”
At the mention of Verena’s grandmother, Scarlett pressed a hand to her heart. “How is she?”
“Much better now. She’s been released from the hospital. She’s a real fighter. In fact, she and Camille went shopping today. You can’t keep a fashionista down when Neiman Marcus has its Last Call sale.”
Scarlett smiled, imagining the two doyennes of beauty together. Camille was their friend Dahlia’s grandmother; Camille had founded a perfume empire decades ago. Originally from Switzerland, Mia had established a skincare salon in Beverly Hills in the 1940s. After Verena’s parents died in a tragic accident, Mia raised Verena and her two younger twin sisters.
Johnny appeared at the table, and with him was Lance Martel, the executive chef. They all greeted one another and sat down.
“I told Scarlett that you’ve been experimenting with some new dishes.”
A half smile tugged at Lance’s mouth. “Salmon or pork?”
“Salmon,” Scarlett said.
“Good choice. I’ll whip one up for you. Did Johnny tell you?”
Scarlett shook her head. “No, and I wish someone would. You’re all killing me. What’s going on?”
Johnny and Lance traded a look. “We’re starting our own restaurant,” Johnny said. “We’ll finally be in a place of our own.”
“Why, that’s wonderful.” Scarlett was truly happy for Johnny. Both men were talented, and had devoted followings. The restaurant business was tough, but if anyone could do it, these two could. “Congratulations. When, where, and what’s the name?”
“Scarlett, slow down,” Johnny said. “We just decided. As usual, you’re several steps ahead of us.”
Scarlett felt her cheeks grow warm and she laughed. “Occupational hazard.”
Lance excused himself and went to prepare Scarlett’s meal while the three friends caught up. When Lance returned with the salmon dish, it was one of the best preparations she thought she’d ever had. It was perfectly moist, and seasoned with fresh herbs. A citrus reduction sauce was just the right accent, and a bed of spaghetti squash and spinach balanced the fish. Scarlett realized she was starving.
After she’d finished eating, Verena and Lance left. Scarlett watched them go. She was elated for them, but she also wondered where the magic was that had brought the two of them together. Where was her magic?
“Would you like to have hot chocolate by the pool before I take you home?” Johnny asked.
Johnny knew her well. She’d almost forgotten how they used to drink hot chocolate together. “I’d like that.”
They strolled through the hotel, past the old soda fountain shop and out to the pool. A server delivered the hot chocolate he’d asked for. They were seated at a table when Scarlett said, “You know what I’d like to do?”
“No telling,” Johnny said, watching her with dancing eyes, dark as mahogany.
Scarlett slipped her feet from her high heels and rolled up her trousers. Johnny laughed and followed suit. Soon the two of them were sitting at the pool, dangling their legs in the cool water, and cupping hot chocolate in their hands.
Scarlett tilted her head back and gazed up at the full moon, which cast shimmering shadows on the rippling water.
Johnny touched her chin. “Hold it right there. You have cat’s eyes in this light, a gorgeous golden green. Simply beautiful.”
As was Johnny. Lots of women adored him. Scarlett noted a dimple in one of his cheeks when he grinned. “What a funny thing to say, Johnny.”
He shrugged. “I’m noticing the little things more.” He waved a hand around. “Look at us. Good friends, a good place in our lives. We’ve come so far, chica. Let’s savor our success.”
“Who has time?” The partner track had sapped her energy. The memory of Lucan assailed her thoughts.
“What a sad comment.” Johnny slid his hand over hers and held it. “We have to make time. Think about it. Life doesn’t get much better than this.”
Scarlett gazed into his eyes. Johnny always spoke with such passion. That’s what attracted her to him. Wh
ere, oh where, is a man like this in my love life?
Still, it was good to have friends like Johnny. If only Franco were here with them now, the three of them laughing and teasing each other like they used to, so long ago. Maybe he was looking down on them.
She rested her head on Johnny’s shoulder and sipped her hot chocolate.
2
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAHLIA,” Scarlett said, hugging her friend before she sat down at the table for lunch at Crustacean in Beverly Hills. “Sorry I’m late.” Her heels tapped along a plexiglass covered stream in the floor that curved through the upscale restaurant, which was beautifully decorated with Vietnamese antiques and fresh flowers.
“Just glad you could make it,” Dahlia said, greeting her with warmth. “I know you’re busy.”
“Aren’t we all?” Fianna swung her wavy red mane over the shimmering, one-shoulder aquamarine blouse she wore, a stark contrast to the black suit Scarlett had on. “I barely beat you here.”
“Hi Fianna,” Scarlett said, embracing her. “Love your outfit. One of your designs?”
“Of course. And it would look great on you. We need to update your image. Honestly, how many dark conservative suits do you need? Even if they are Armani. Come by the shop and I’ll choose some fresh styles for you.”
“Wish I had time,” Scarlett said. “But my days are booked solid.” And she’d been up half the night thinking about Lucan. His behavior was so disturbing. She could report it to Human Resources, but since Lucan was a partner, it could impact her partnership. Or, he might become overly solicitous, causing other partners to take a harder look at her. Not that she had anything to hide, and her work was outstanding. She stifled a yawn.
Fianna said, “Then let’s meet after hours. I’ll bring in Chinese food and you can play dress up.”
“Promise me fresh coffee, too, and I’ll be there.” Scarlett loved the idea. It had been so long since she’d taken time for herself. Fianna Fitzgerald was the gregarious, outgoing one of their group. With wild red tresses, one blue eye, one brown eye, and a soft Irish lilt, she turned heads wherever she went. A graduate of FIDM, the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles, Fianna was struggling to make her way as a fashion designer. “And I owe you a plan for your licensing strategy, too.”
“If you’re busy, Scarlett, I could look at it for Fianna.” Dahlia ran her family’s perfumery, Parfums Dubois, which had been established by her grandmother, Camille Dubois. “We’ve done so many celebrity licensing deals for perfume. Fianna, you should brand a fragrance, too.” Dahlia was a petite powerhouse who regularly commuted between Paris, New York, and Los Angeles.
“This is why I love my friends,” Fianna said. “You’re all so smart and generous.”
“And don’t forget gorgeous.” Verena slid into a plush chair beside Scarlett. “Every man in the place is sneaking glances at this table.” She placed an oversized Chanel bag beside her chair, and took out two gift boxes. “Happy birthday, Dahlia. The small one is from all of us.”
Dahlia unwrapped the first item and held up a pair of gold chandelier earrings embellished with faceted amethyst drops. “These are absolutely stunning. Thank you all.” Dahlia put the earrings on. “I love them.”
Scarlett said, “We thought they’d be beautiful on you.”
“Elena Eaton made them especially for you.” Verena said, smiling. “Now open the next one.”
“Is this what I think it is?” Dahlia picked up the box wrapped in shiny white paper with a silver bow and wax emblem and unwrapped it. “Your new line! Congratulations, Verena. You’ve worked so hard on this.” She removed several skincare items and opened the serum, which was based on Verena’s grandmother’s formula. “This smells wonderful,” she said. “And the new packaging is so chic. Are you ready to launch?”
“We’re close,” Verena said. Her friends had been testing the line. This was the first time they’d seen the actual packaging. “Dab a little on the back of your hand. I think you’ll love the new consistency. It’s still incredibly effective.” She reached into her purse again. “Actually, I have goodie bags for everyone.”
While they all exclaimed and began sampling the new line, Scarlett inclined her head. “How is your partnership with Wilhelmina Jones working out for the infomercial production and fulfillment?”
“Excellent. She’s a professional, and a welcome change from Herringbone Capital.”
“Enough business for a minute. Am I the only one who’s famished?” said Fianna. As a server sailed past them with a platter of hot dishes, she raised her nose and inhaled. “The scent of garlic is making me hungry.” The friends decided to share appetizers, as well as the garlic crab and garlic noodles, famous An Family specialties from the secret kitchen-within-a-kitchen at the upscale Vietnamese restaurant.
After ordering, Scarlett handed her menu to the server and went on. “When are you filming the infomercial?”
“Soon.” Verena glanced around the table. “And I’d love for you all to be in it. Wilhelmina thought it was a great idea.”
Fianna and Dahlia immediately agreed. Verena told them that another friend, Penelope Plessen, a renowned model, had also agreed to be in the shoot as a special favor. “What about you, Scarlett?”
She shook her head. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid it might be a conflict of interest for other clients I represent.”
Lunch was served and the friends continued to talk as they exclaimed over the crab and noodles. Scarlett was thinking about the episode on the plane again when Fianna snapped her fingers. “Earth to Scarlett. Are you still with us?”
Scarlett passed a hand over her forehead. “Oh, sure, I’m here.” She hadn’t caught a word. “Say again?”
“We were talking about the premiere in Westwood this weekend,” Fianna said. “Several of the stars are wearing my designs, so I can bring all of you. Do you have a date, or can you make it? Could be good for business.”
Fianna was right. “No date, but I’ll come,” Scarlett said. How long had it been since she’d been on a date?
“Bring Johnny,” Verena said. “Lance is going, too.”
“I’ll check.” Johnny had been Scarlett’s stand-by date for years. Many people even thought they were a couple. Scarlett had always laughed about that, but if she really examined their relationship, she’d have to admit he was the best date she’d ever had. She’d had some spectacularly bad dates. Hollywood attracted its share of strange characters.
After they ate, Scarlett checked her watch and gulped her jasmine tea. She had to go back to work. “Do you have a date, Fianna?”
“No time for one, I’m afraid. I’ll be working beforehand to make sure my gowns fit the actresses perfectly. I have a seamstress standing by for any accidents. Remember the Golden Globes fashion disaster last year? At least that wasn’t one of my gowns that split open.”
“Thank goodness it wasn’t on stage,” Dahlia added. “The poor girl.” They all remembered the actress who’d literally split her seams laughing at an after party.
“I hate to break this up,” Scarlett said. “But I have a full afternoon of meetings.” And her first one was with Lucan Blackstone. She dreaded seeing him again.
Scarlett stepped into the elevator in a high-rise building in Century City, a community adjacent to Beverly Hills, where Marsh & Gold’s west coast offices were located. She was whisked to the top floor without a stop. Behind the reception area was a wall of glass. On a clear day, even the Hollywood sign in the hills was visible from this high vantage point.
The décor was at once classic and modern. Hunter green walls and sleek ebony furniture met plush burgundy carpet that masked footfalls in the busy office. Scarlett hurried to a glass conference room. She was always early.
Scarlett grabbed a bottle of water and eased into a leather chair at the oblong table. She was organizing her notes when Lucan Blackstone sauntered in.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Scarlett,” Lucan said with a drawl, mimicki
ng a Gone with the Wind southern accent.
The hair on the back of Scarlett’s neck bristled. She hated the nickname Lucan called her when he wanted to annoy her. Clearly he hadn’t forgotten she’d snubbed his advances.
“Lucan.” Scarlett nodded pleasantly, acting as if nothing had occurred between them. Other partners and David would be here any moment. In addition, she’d once heard a rumor that the main conference room had a recording device, though she doubted if meetings were seldom, if ever, recorded anymore. It had to be a holdover from the last decade.
“You missed a good talk with Fleur yesterday evening,” Lucan said, leaning back in his chair. “You should’ve come with us. We met some of her colleagues over dinner. Good thing I was there. We have an opportunity for substantial new business on the table.”
Scarlett stared at him. She seriously doubted that Fleur or her friends had been in any shape to discuss business last night. “That was sure lucky, Lucan. You know, David and I have been pulling all-nighters. Glad you saw to it.” She was fuming under her calm exterior. She consulted her notes. When she looked up, she saw Lucan’s eyes locked on her blouse. She cleared her throat, and he grinned.
Scarlett was appalled. She’d never had this treatment in the New York office. Some of her colleagues there had referred to the Los Angeles office as the “wild west,” but she’d had no idea what they meant by that. She had a sinking feeling that she was discovering their meaning.
In New York, she commanded respect. Her clients were major cosmetic companies and international fashion designers. She’d been transferred to Los Angeles to work with Hollywood clients on licensing agreements. As her mother was here, she’d been pleased when the firm made it permanent, though now she was beginning to regret it. Had Lucan waited until the paperwork was complete to make his move?
David rushed in. His hair was mussed, and his shirt was partly untucked. He plopped down a large cup of coffee. “Scarlett, Lucan, good to see you.”
Lucan slapped him on the back. “David, my man. We’ve got a new piece of business with Grier Pharmaceuticals I’d like you to handle.”
