by Jan Moran
As he’d promised Lance, Johnny immediately began making phone calls to people he thought might invest in their restaurant. They were the usual sort of exuberant people who expressed interest: the trust fund babies who needed a profession to satisfy their parents, the retirees who longed to stay in the game, the Hollywood producers and stars who wanted a personal playground.
After a few hours on the phone at his kitchen table, Johnny was dejected. Everyone wished him well, but no one was willing to invest.
He drummed his fingers on the plan he and Lance had drawn up. Johnny had transferred the numbers to a spreadsheet and prepared a summary of their business plan for investors to review.
Someday he’d be in a position to write a check. He knew many people thought he was a playboy, but he’d learned a great deal by observing people at the Polo Lounge, a destination for the power lunch crew. Every day he overhead business conversations, including negotiations, investment strategies, startup issues, fundraising, and so much more.
Whenever Johnny heard a new business term, he jotted it down and looked it up later online. He started reading the Wall Street Journal and the Harvard Business Review. What he lacked in education, he was determined to acquire through independent learning. He had the confidence to speak to anyone, and wanted to converse on their level, understanding what they did and how they thought. And I want Scarlett to be proud of me.
Whoa, where did that come from? He corralled his thoughts. He really hadn’t seen Scarlett that much since she’d left for New York. When she visited Los Angeles, she spent most of her time with her mother and friends. But now that she’d returned for work, he discovered how much he’d missed her. There was no one else quite like Scarlett.
He thought of all the people who came into his restaurant, and mentally sorted through them, discarding the flakes and the unscrupulous, and those he didn’t know well enough.
One name kept popping into his mind. Maude Magillicutty. She had been a girl-next-door child actress who blossomed into a blonde bombshell in the early 1960s. She was proud of saying she’d been the highest selling pinup poster girl for soldiers during the Vietnam War.
Maude had given Johnny a couple of bow-ties from famous leading men she’d known. One from Gregory Peck, and another from Cary Grant. He didn’t ask how she came by them, but Maude was a collector of many things. Real estate, stocks, artwork, businesses, and men. She was on her fifth husband, Patrick, but only because the last two died, she always said.
Though she seldom appeared on screen anymore, except for the occasional highly acclaimed cameo role, he knew Maude had a keen appetite for deals. He’d overheard a few of her lunch meetings, and he’s been impressed with her business acumen.
Johnny picked up his phone and dialed.
“Hello, Maude?” Johnny clutched the phone and mentally rehearsed his pitch for the restaurant. “It’s Johnny from the Polo Lounge. Do you have a moment to talk?
“Why, Johnny, darling,” Maude exclaimed, her deep voice still as vigorous and sensual as it had been years ago. “It’s truly my lucky day. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
Johnny quickly told her about his idea. “And Lance, the executive chef at the Beverly Hills Hotel, is an equal partner.”
“It will be sad to lose you both there, but sounds like you’ll have a marvelous new restaurant to visit. I sent my husband to Shanghai to visit his son, but I’d like to hear more. Unfortunately, I’m down with a sprained ankle. My doctor tells me that if I have any thought of walking across the stage and accepting an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress, I should stay off this ankle now.” She gave a throaty laugh. “At my age, it might be the last little golden statue I’ll see.”
“Nonsense,” Johnny said. “Lance can make dinner, and we’ll come to you.”
“Johnny, you always have the best ideas. I’d love that. How’s tonight? My cook is off, and the housekeeper burns water. I’ll provide the wine.”
They agreed to meet, and Johnny hung up the phone. He punched in Lance’s number. “Hey buddy, I’ve got a VIP order tonight. To go.”
Later that evening, Johnny parked in front of Maude’s mid-century modern home above Sunset Boulevard in Beverly Hills. He straightened his Cary Grant bow-tie and stepped from his car. He carried two large insulated bags to her front door. Unlike some celebrities who fenced themselves off from the public and their neighbors, Maude’s home was accessible from the street.
Out of habit, he glanced around. Beverly Hills was a far cry from the barrios of East Los Angeles, but Johnny’s routines were long-ingrained. A dark car across the street caught his eye. He pegged it as a security guard vehicle. The neighborhood was full of A-List industry moguls.
Maude’s cheerful housekeeper greeted him at the door, and then ushered him inside. “Right this way. Madam is waiting for you. I understand you brought dinner.”
“I did. Can you lead me to the kitchen?” As they made their way through the sprawling one-story home decorated entirely in white, Johnny caught glimpses of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Los Angeles basin. Twinkling lights below sparkled like diamonds in the night.
“The view is spectacular isn’t it?” Maude limped into the kitchen. Despite her injury, she carried herself with grace. She kept herself in impeccable shape, easily passing for a generation younger than she was. Johnny always saw heads turn whenever she entered the Polo Lounge.
“I’ve lived here since the sixties, and I never tire of this panorama.” She pecked him on the cheek. “I see you’re wearing Cary’s favorite tie.” A wistful smile crossed her face. “I must say, you wear it as well as he did.”
Johnny thanked her for her invitation. “Lance couldn’t join us due to a private party at the hotel, but he sent some of his best dishes for you.” Johnny knew her tastes. He unpacked appetizers, entrees, salads, cheeses, and dessert. After quickly plating the first course, he sat down with Maude at the table.
Maude had uncorked a Château Rothschild from her cellar. “Whenever we shot on location in Europe, we shipped back cases and cases of wine. This one is an excellent vintage. I wanted to share it with you.”
Johnny poured the fleshy red wine into crystal goblets and they toasted. It was indeed one of the finest wines he’d ever tasted. He appreciated Maude’s time and knew she’d be honest with him. She was as smart as she was stunning. In that way, she reminded him of Scarlett.
Maude’s vivid blue eyes sparkled. “Your idea for a new restaurant is interesting. I want to hear all about it over dinner.”
As they ate, Johnny shared their plans. Maude listened, and when he was finished, she began asking questions. Because he’d been in the restaurant business for years, he handled most of them with ease, but there were some points he told her he’d have to research more. He made notes as they spoke.
As they were having coffee and dessert, the phone rang. The housekeeper appeared at the table. “Madam, it’s your husband calling from Shanghai. Would you like to take his call?”
“Yes, bring the phone in here please. I’d like to put Patrick on the speaker phone with Johnny.”
Johnny outlined their plans again, and her husband asked more pointed questions. Finally Patrick asked, “What’s the name of this restaurant going to be?”
Johnny laughed. “That’s the one thing we haven’t thought of yet.”
After Maude hung up the phone, she turned to Johnny. “We’re very interested in backing this endeavor. Many good ideas pass our desks, but we like to invest in people of integrity who will run a business like we would, only better, of course. What do I know about cooking? But I do know about food and ambience and making guests feel welcome. You and Lance have strong followings. I think this might be a huge success.”
They talked about the investment required and the percentages of ownership. “We’re patient money,” Maude said. “We’ll be there for advice and introductions, but we expect you to run your business. Be honest and proactive when you encounter problem
s. There’s nothing that can’t be solved. All we ask is a fair return on our money. And a nice table when we come in.”
Johnny gave her his business plan summary and spreadsheets for their financial and business advisers to review. Their accountant and attorney would handle the due diligence. The documents he and Lance would need to produce would be the usual ones, such as a lease and their personal financial statements and resumes.
“My husband and I will be back in touch soon,” Maude said when dinner was over. Johnny supported her as she limped to the door and opened it. They chatted for a few more minutes on the front steps. “I’m so glad you came over tonight, Johnny. Thank you for that wonderful meal. Give my best to Lance and tell him I look forward to seeing him again.”
“Take care of that ankle, Maude,” Johnny said. He kept one arm around her for support and kissed her on both cheeks. Her housekeeper appeared behind her for assistance, and Johnny closed the front door.
He strolled toward his car, hands in his pockets, grinning at the prospect of a partnership with Maude and her husband. He was so excited over the meeting with Maude, he became lost in the countless details running through his mind.
4
SCARLETT WAS DYING for a margarita. After she’d left Fleur at the Chateau Marmont and returned to the office to retrieve her car, she’d been tempted to deaden her misery. She’d been sober for two years now, a fact she was terribly proud of. Fleur wasn’t worth breaking her record. Scarlett turned her car for home.
Her father had been an alcoholic, and he’d put her and her mother through emotional hell. Watching him die of liver failure in the prime of his life had left an indelible scar on her. Scarlett enjoyed a cocktail as much as anyone, but when she realized she was drinking alone more often than not after long days and her anger had quickened, she swore off the sauce. She knew of her high risk for continuing down the same dreadful path as her father, and she wanted a long, successful life instead.
As she threaded her way through residential streets to her townhouse south of Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills, she thought about what Fleur had told her. Lucan had planted seeds of discord in Fleur’s mind before their meeting with High Gloss, but why? How would it benefit him?
Lucan was a smart man; he hadn’t become partner on his good looks alone. Was this about her spurning his advances, or did it go deeper than that? She couldn’t imagine that Lucan would destroy a deal simply because she refused to play in the mile-high club.
There had to be more to this than she was seeing right now.
Scarlett stepped into the townhouse she’d rented after she’d been transferred to Los Angeles. Her heels echoed in the empty rooms. The only furniture she had was a bed and a desk. She kept meaning to call in a decorator, but she hadn’t had time to look for one.
As she was kicking off her shoes by her bed, her phone buzzed and she answered it.
“Scarlett, it’s Katherine. I received the most disturbing call from Olga a few minutes ago. Our deal was ready to go, but it seems Fleur really rattled Olga, and she’s not one easily shaken. What happened to your client? Or is this a last minute tactic for more money? If it is, I have to tell you I’m appalled. I would never have expected this from you.”
Scarlett had been expecting this call from Olga’s attorney. “Katherine, I assure you that’s not the case. This is our third transaction together for High Gloss, and I’d like to continue this relationship. Fleur never mentioned any of that to me before.”
“It wasn’t just Fleur’s play for more money. It was also her attitude and her ideas. She was disrespectful toward Olga. And what’s with the black-and-white cosmetics bit? That’s far too avant-garde for a top prestige line. You can’t believe that would actually sell.”
Scarlett sat on her wrinkled, unmade bed and sank her forehead into her hand. She didn’t blame Olga. “Tell Olga I’ll get to the bottom of this as soon as I can.”
“Honestly, I don’t think it matters. Olga is livid. I’ve never seen her this upset. She said she wouldn’t work with Fleur for half the price.”
“Katherine, surely we can work this out. Fleur has been under a lot of pressure lately.” Scarlett had pulled many deals back from the brink of disaster. “Let’s arrange another meeting.” In the meantime, she could coach Fleur and choke Lucan.
“I’m sorry, Scarlett, but Olga refuses to move forward with this. The deal is dead, and not even you can resuscitate it.”
Scarlett felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. “The last thing we want to do is inconvenience Olga and High Gloss. I’d feel terrible about leaving them without a partner and spokesperson for their line.” She was pleading now, something she seldom had to do. But then, she rarely had clients go berserk on her. “Does Olga have other options?”
“Not at this time. She was all in with Fleur. I don’t have to tell you I’ll be working all weekend on this.”
“Give me until end of business tomorrow, Katherine. I promise I’ll come up with something.” Olga might not be her client, but High Gloss was an important ally. Scarlett had made deals for other clients, and she had to continue working with Olga on their behalf.
Scarlett and Olga often spoke on panels together at Fashion News Daily’s annual retreat for CEOs of cosmetic companies. At her level, it was a small world, especially for women at the top in the beauty industry. Word traveled fast. One wrong move and she’d stand to lose clients.
Katherine heaved a sigh on the other end of the line. “I don’t know what kind of magic you can come up with, but I can tell you straight up, it better not include Fleur. Olga never wants to see her again. She can’t imagine Fleur going out on personal appearances on behalf of High Gloss. Frankly, neither can I. No telling what would come out of her mouth.” Katherine paused. “You’ve got until five tomorrow, Friday afternoon.”
Scarlett punched her fist in the air, vastly relieved. “I’ll call you then.”
Scarlett woke the next morning at sunrise still dressed in her suit trousers and shirt from the day before. She’d fallen asleep working up a plan she hoped would be amenable to Fleur and Olga.
Her phone vibrated with a text message. Scarlett found her phone under a pillow and looked at the note. Her heart fell. Fleur texted to say she’d changed her mind and had just boarded a commercial flight to London. Scarlett immediately tried to call Fleur, but her message went straight to voice-mail. “Damn it.” She wouldn’t be able to reach her other than by email for twelve hours. Now what?
Her next call was to Lucan.
“I need to talk to you about Fleur,” she said.
“I’m running.” Lucan’s voice sounded labored. “Can it wait?”
The clock was ticking on Katherine’s deadline. “The meeting with Fleur and Olga yesterday was a disaster. Fleur said you told her she was worth more, and she relayed that to Olga. Now High Gloss has pulled out of the deal. Olga won’t work with Fleur.”
“High Gloss was committed. What happened?”
“It was contingent on the meeting with Fleur, and she blew it.”
“Didn’t you try to salvage it?”
Scarlett wanted to scream. “After what you said to Fleur? How could I?”
“That’s what partners do, Scarlett. We’re a team.”
“Okay, then. I need your help, Lucan.” She’d never asked him for help before. Is that what he wanted to hear?
“Can’t do it. I’m wrapped up today. And it sounds like it’s too late. Take the day off, Scarlett. I don’t want to see you in the office.”
What? She’d never heard that before. A chill spiraled through her. Before she could reply, he disconnected the call. The fine hairs at her nape bristled and she rubbed her neck. Besides being a disaster, something wasn’t right about that call.
Scarlett threw her phone on the bed, crumpled the plan she’d worked on, and flopped back onto the bed. The deal was dead. She’d call Katherine later.
She stared at the ceiling. She’d been working nonstop for s
o long. What did one actually do on a day off?
She rolled off the bed, showered, and pulled on jeans and a bright coral shirt. Maybe it was time to take a break.
“Scarlett, what a surprise,” Verena said. She waved her to the film set, which was a modern setting accented with orchids and large posters of Verena’s new line, Skinsense.
“Hi, everyone,” Scarlett said.
On high stools next to Verena sat Penelope, Fianna, and Dahlia. The skincare products were displayed on a table between them. Scarlett liked the new azure blue and white packaging. “I can’t join you on set because of client conflicts, but I thought I’d come and watch. Is that okay?” Not being at the office today, she felt out of sorts. She couldn’t get Olga, Fleur, and Lucan off her mind.
“Of course. And there’s coffee and biscotti if you haven’t had breakfast.” Verena turned back to a hair stylist who was arranging her hair.
Scarlett glanced around. The film crew was checking lighting and sound levels, a wardrobe stylist was steaming garments, and a makeup artist was organizing her brushes and tools. A guy in jeans with a laptop leaned over the teleprompter to make adjustments.
Scarlett was impressed with the professionalism on the set, but she would’ve expected nothing less. Verena’s partnership with Wilhelmina Jones looked like it was going to be successful. She poured a cup of coffee and sat in a director’s chair near the set.
“Good morning. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Mia, it’s good to see you.” Scarlett embraced Verena’s grandmother, who had founded Valent Skincare in Beverly Hills in the 1940s. “You’re looking well.”
“The doctors say I’m fit as a fiddle, too.” Mia patted her silvery blond hair and eased onto a chair beside Scarlett. Her skin was still flawless, a testament to her treatments and products. “I like to think I got a tune-up for the third act. Plus, I’m on camera later.”
“Are the twins with you?”
