"Right. No, I'll be there. Five thirty, right?"
"Five!" my mother yelled into the phone.
"Right." I looked down at my watch. Four forty-seven. Considering traffic on the 134 at this hour, I'd be cutting it close. "I was just getting in the car, Mom. I'll meet you there."
"Good. And don't be late."
I pretended not to hear that last comment. "You're breaking up, Mom. Sorry, gotta go."
* * *
At exactly five twenty-nine I pulled up to Garibaldi's restaurant in Studio City. I might have been on time had I not spent the entire drive over looking in my rearview mirror for any sign of Mr. Nobody lurking behind me. Thankfully, I saw none. But, paranoia lesson number one, that didn't mean he wasn't there.
I found a spot on the street and parallel parked between a Jag and a Dodge Dart on its last leg. Luckily I was wearing my ready-for-anything Spiga slingbacks, so the block and a half hardly even hurt my feet at the near sprint. Faux Dad was outside talking on his cell phone, a frown of concentration on his tanned face. Faux tan of course. When he hit Beverly Hills Ralph transformed himself from mid-western farm boy into Fernando, the European hair sculptor. He figured the chances of 90210's elite frequenting a salon called "Ralph's" were slim to none. Unfortunately, Ralph's family was Swiss German, so to keep up with faux Spanish roots he indulged in magic tan sprays twice a week.
Ralph's face broke into a smile when he saw me and he lifted a hand in greeting, gesturing inside.
The hostess, dressed in all black right down to her black eyeliner and gothic chic black lipstick, directed me to a linen sheathed table in the middle of the room where my mother sat, looking down at her watch and pursing her thin lips.
"Maddie, you're late."
I wished people would stop pointing that out.
I leaned down and gave her an air-kiss. "Sorry, Mom, there was traffic."
Mom rolled her eyes. While they were the same hazelish green as mine, hers were framed in that familiar pale blue eye-shadow she'd been wearing since before it became fashionable again. She had on a pair of black stirrup pants straight from 1986 and a sweater tank embroidered with a calico kitten on the front. I silently thanked the gods I hadn't inherited her fashion sense.
"You completely forgot, didn't you?" she said.
"I would have remembered."
"Right." Neither of us was truly convinced. "Anyway," she continued as I sat down, "I have a preliminary seating chart I want you to take a look at. And," she added, her eyes taking on an evil twinkle, "I found the perfect place for my bachelorette party."
Uh oh.
"Where?" I asked, truly fearing the answer.
"Beefcakes."
The fear was justified.
"Beefcakes?"
"It's full of…" Mom leaned in close, whispering. "Male strippers." She wiggled her eyebrows up and down in a way that made me queasy again.
"You sure you don't want to have a spa day with the girls instead?" I pleaded.
"Oh come on, Maddie. Lighten up. It'll be fun. Besides, I'm getting married, I'm not dead. I can still appreciate the male form in all its glory."
Yep. I was going to throw up.
"Oh, and we need a final count for the reception. I only ordered one tent for the buffet so I only pray it doesn't rain." Mom made a little sign of the cross.
"This is L.A., Mom. It never rains." Slight exaggeration on my part, but since Los Angelinos considered three inches a monsoon, we were probably pretty safe. Not to mention this was July. The weather gods wouldn't dare dump rain in the middle of tourist season. Charlton Heston would be after them with his shotgun.
"So," Mom asked, scanning the patrons behind me, "where's Richard."
That's what I'd like to know.
"He couldn't make it tonight," I answered instead. Hoping she'd leave it at that. I still wasn't sure what to think about Mr. Armed and Dangerous in Richard's apartment, but I knew I didn't yet have an edited-for-Mom version.
"Oh that's too bad," she said.
Luckily I was saved further comment on my boyfriend's dubious whereabouts as an aproned waiter brought three plates of salad to the table.
"What's this?" I asked, realizing I hadn't eaten since this morning and was suddenly famished.
"Ripe summer pears and crumbled gorgonzola over fresh baby greens," Mom quoted.
I took a bite. Delicious. Okay, so maybe I had to hear about the dreaded bachelorette party, but at least this beat the Hamburger Helper sitting in my kitchen cupboard.
I was stabbing a second pear and making little yummy sounds when Ralph finally joined us. He stooped down and deposited a kiss on my cheek before taking the seat beside me. "Sorry ladies, I had to take that. Perm emergency."
"Perm emergency?" Mom asked.
"I told Francine not to re-color her hair for forty-eight hours after her set, but did she listen to me? No. Now she looks like an auburn haired French Poodle. She's coming in tomorrow morning for damage control."
Mom and I both nodded appropriately.
"So," Mom said, folding her hands in front of her and sitting up straighter in her chair. "Now that you're both here, I have an announcement." She looked pointedly at me. "Guess who's pregnant?"
A ripe summer pear stuck in my throat.
There was no way she could possibly know, could she? Was I showing a belly already? Were my boobs swelling? Did I have that rosy pregnant glow? I knew I should have powdered in the car before coming in.
Luckily before I could blurt out that I was just a little late, Mom ended the guessing game. "Molly!"
I swallowed the pear, relief washing over me. Of course. My cousin, Molly. Or as she was known in our family, The Breeder. She'd already popped out three rug rats in four years. I think she was going for some sort of record. Which of course made my grandmother very happy. There's nothing an Irish Catholic family loves more than a prolific breeder.
"That's really great," I said with about as much enthusiasm as a lithium addict.
"Great? It's fabu!" Faux Dad shouted.
Okay, so I was 80% sure he was straight.
"Oh," he said, waving his hands in the air, "One of my clients does the most darling little baby baskets. She takes a bassinet and fills it with organic teddy bears and hand knitted little booties. Stuff so sweet it makes your teeth rot."
"Oh, that sounds perfect! We have to get her one of those," Mom gushed. "What do you say, Maddie? Want to go baby shopping with me?"
Actually I didn't. In fact this whole conversation was making me break out in hives. The more I thought about Molly and her three and a half little munchkins, hand knitted baby booties, and most of all the unopened pregnancy kit sitting on my kitchen counter I wanted to bolt out of the room and scream some choice obscenities at my boyfriend for buying defective condoms. Only I couldn't. Because I had no idea where Richard was and more likely than not I'd just be leaving more messages on his answering machine that Mr. Nobody would later play for his own personal amusement.
"Hey, aren't we missing someone?" Faux Dad asked, looking across the table at the empty seat. "Where's Richard?"
That, as I was about to find out, was the million dollar question.
SPYING IN HIGH HEELS
Order now for Amazon Kindle!
Also available:
Spying in High Heels
Killer in High Heels
Undercover in High Heels
Christmas in High Heels (short story)
Alibi in High Heels
Mayhem in High Heels
Honeymoon in High Heels (novella)
Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)
Fearless in High Heels
Danger in High Heels
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
SNEAK PEEK OF SPYING IN HIGH HEELS
Luck Be a Lady Page 22
