by Lee Hollis
“You cannot buy this kind of publicity, trust me on this,” Iris said gruffly before returning her gaze to the two young movers who were still bent over the damaged television set.
“Do me a favor, Iris . . .” Poppy began.
Iris didn’t respond. She kept her eyes fixed on the two young muscular movers.
Poppy folded her arms. “Iris?”
Violet sighed, and nudged Iris next to her. “Will you stop ogling the man candy long enough to answer poor Poppy?”
Iris snapped out of her fantasies and threw Violet an annoyed look, then turned to Poppy. “What?”
“Make sure the movers don’t break everything of value I own.”
Iris nodded. “Of course. With pleasure.”
And then she happily marched over to the two moving men and began barking orders at them. The two young men scurried back inside the truck to join Hymie while Iris lustfully kept her eyes on their backsides as they fled.
“I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, Poppy, how you just picked yourself up by the bootstraps after Chester nearly ruined you. You just plowed ahead, determined to start over, and look at you now, at everything you have accomplished,” Violet said breathlessly.
“Thank you, Violet,” Poppy said. “That’s sweet of you to say. We’ve all worked hard. You, Iris, Matt . . . Desert Flowers is all our success.”
Poppy’s phone buzzed.
She checked the screen.
It was her daughter, Heather, calling.
Hymie breezed past them carrying a box labeled “Kitchen Utensils” in black felt marker.
“Violet, could you follow him and start unpacking that box for me, please? I need to talk to Heather.”
“Of course,” Violet said, and then with a wink, added, “Iris may like the young ones, but that Hymie is more my type, big, rugged, older, calloused hands, a real man’s man.”
Then she eagerly scampered off after him.
Poppy answered her daughter’s call. “Hello, darling, how’s New York?”
“Cold,” Heather said. “And I’m not used to the noise outside my window all night long, constantly.”
“You’ll get used to it once you’re settled,” Poppy promised, having lived in Manhattan briefly when she was a young actress just starting out and fancied herself a budding Broadway star. That lasted about five months before she moved to Hollywood to make her mark in movies.
“Classes start tomorrow, and I’m really nervous about it. I’ll probably be the oldest one there,” Heather said.
“So what? Age is just a number. Believe me, I should know.”
After her release following a stint in prison, Poppy’s troubled daughter had bounced around, trying to figure out the best way to rebuild her life. Her time behind bars had keenly illustrated the pitfalls of the justice system, and so it was from this empathetic understanding of what people like her have to go through that Heather decided to try to become a lawyer. She knew it would be an uphill battle, given her record and the fact that she wasn’t some hotshot college graduate with a 4.2 GPA and high-powered contacts ready to pull a few strings. She was totally on her own. But Heather studied hard, and got rejected by nine schools before NYU Law finally accepted her based on a moving essay she had written about her own legal troubles and road to redemption. One of the admissions officer had copped to crying when he read it. He had told Heather the system needed more advocates like her, and he was happy to help find her a place at the school.
After a flurry of loan applications and much needed pep talks from her mother, Heather had finally packed her bags and flown east to begin a new life on her own.
But her mother wasn’t the only one she was leaving behind.
Matt had dated Heather long before Poppy recruited him to be the face of her Desert Flowers Detective Agency, to play the estimable pretend owner Matt Flowers. And when Heather was arrested and convicted of a crime and sentenced to a year and a half in prison, he had stuck by her, determined to weather the storm, which he did admirably. They had even continued the relationship after her release, but Heather had fundamentally changed. She was lost and unfulfilled, and only when she was accepted into law school did she finally start to rebound. And when she announced she would be moving to New York, there was no invitation forthcoming for Matt to join her.
Matt had insisted they stay together and try the long-distance thing. Heather agreed to give it a go, but was far from optimistic. It appeared to Poppy that she was humoring him, not wanting to hurt him, until she was gone and could set up her new life in Manhattan.
“Are you moved into your new place yet?” Heather asked.
“In the process.”
“Violet e-mailed me photos. It looks beautiful. I, however, am residing in a teeny tiny studio way up in Washington Heights, with a screaming baby in the apartment next door and a forty-five-minute subway ride to school, but it’s a start and I’m not going to complain.”
Poppy debated whether or not she should inquire, but ultimately couldn’t help herself. “Have you spoken to Matt?”
There was a pause.
“He’s left a few messages, but I’ve been way too busy to call him back yet. I’ll probably reach out later tonight.”
“Heather, I hope you’re not stringing him along, you know how he feels about you. . . .”
“Yes, Mother, I know,” Heather sighed. “I’m still trying to figure it all out.”
Heather had wondered aloud many times before she left Palm Springs whether the risks and challenges of a long-distance relationship outweighed the rewards. And she had come no closer to making a final decision when she stepped onto the JetBlue plane at the Palm Springs Airport that was going to fly her directly to New York.
“I’d just hate to see him get hurt,” Poppy muttered.
“I’m your daughter, Mother, you’re supposed to be on my side, not Matt’s.”
“Yes, of course I know that. You need to do what’s best for you right now. It’s just that I’ve grown rather fond of him. No one is more surprised by that than I am, and sometimes I feel protective of him—”
“Matt will be fine, no matter what I decide,” Heather said. “Listen, I have to go. I have a big day tomorrow.”
“Good luck, darling!”
“Thank you, Mother,” Heather said quickly before ending the call, almost sounding relieved the conversation was finally over.
“How is she?”
Surprised by the voice so close behind her, Poppy spun around to see Iris standing there while inspecting the two young movers, who were now attempting to carry a large oak dresser out of the back of the truck and across the lawn.
“It’s a big change, but she’ll adjust. Heather is very adaptable,” Poppy said.
“That’s it, boys, slow down, this is not a race, be careful, I don’t want to see any nicks or scratches after you get it inside, do you hear me?” Iris warned.
“Yes, ma’am,” one the young men said as they hauled the piece toward the open front door of the house.
“I’m right behind you,” Iris said before turning back to Poppy. “Has she dumped Matt yet?”
“What? No!”
“Not yet, you mean.”
“Iris, we shouldn’t write them off just because—”
“Just because Matt is here and Heather is three thousand miles away for the foreseeable future? Of course the relationship is going to end. It is for the best.”
“I understand that, but Matt—”
“Matt is an adult. He will get over it,” Iris said matter-of-factly. “Heather is starting a whole new life and it is best to be free and unencumbered! Like me! I am always free to do whatever I want!”
And what Iris appeared to want right now was to chase after the two boyishly handsome moving men carrying the dresser inside the house while aggressively barking orders at them.
Which was her German way of shamelessly flirting.
Chapter 4
Sam Emerson always had this rascally
twinkle in his eye that could be intoxicating and exciting. He had a certain way about him, locking into you, making you feel as if you were the only person in the world he wanted to be with at that very moment in time. In other moments, he could also be infuriatingly remote, uncommunicative, private, which unfortunately would on occasion put Poppy on her guard. She had known Sam since her Hollywood years in the 1980s when the ex-cop was a consultant on her series Jack Colt.
The mustachioed cowboy and sharp-shooter who lived in a beautiful cabin high up in the mountains of Big Bear, California, was an old friend with whom Poppy had reconnected when she began this strange odyssey to become a private detective. And he had stuck around, wining and dining her, casually making himself a part of her life again. She reveled in his attention. There had always been a strong chemistry between them that still crackled, and tonight was certainly no exception.
Sam picked up his bourbon and knocked it back, slamming the glass down on the table and staring at Poppy with those sparkling eyes and laconic smile. “I turned down a job today.”
“What kind of job?” Poppy asked, sipping her chilled Sauvignon Blanc.
“Consulting on a new thirteen-episode police procedural they’re making for FOX. The script was well written, but way too dark. Another serial killer show where they just try to come up with the most grotesque, gruesome ways to kill people and shock the audience. Been there, done that.”
“Was it good money?”
“It’s always good money,” Sam laughed. “I need more than that to come down off the mountain and move to LA, even temporarily.”
“You should let people know you are officially retired and not interested in working in Hollywood anymore.”
“I like to keep my options open,” Sam said with a playful wink.
The waiter arrived with their starters, Hawaiian Ahi Tacos and Miso-Ginger Glazed Cauliflower. They were dining at a Palm Springs staple, Copley’s, a rustic chic cottage once owned by Cary Grant in the 1940s that was now a lively, casual but sophisticated desert dining hotspot. Perfect for a date night. Poppy and Sam had been seated outside in the garden as it was a balmy, pleasant evening. The restaurant was only half full, allowing them a more intimate setting at a private table away from the other diners.
Once the waiter set the plates down and scurried off, Poppy excitedly picked up her appetizer fork and dove into the delicious-looking cauliflower. “So what would bring you down from the mountaintop?”
“You, obviously,” Sam said with a grin.
“Besides me,” Poppy chuckled, popping a piece of cauliflower in her mouth.
Sam picked up a taco and shoved it into his mouth, chewing slowly, thinking about the question. “I think I’d like to do more traveling before I get too old and I’m grappling with all the health challenges that come with being an old geezer.”
“You’ve got a ways to go before you’re there, Sam.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Ha, it’s closer than you think.”
“Where would you like to go?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve been browsing some Web sites online in my spare time. There’s a Viking river cruise to Kiev, the Black Sea, and Bucharest, all places I’ve never been, in May that sounds interesting. Also, Istanbul is on my list and there are parts of Germany I still haven’t seen.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Of course, it would be more fun if I had someone to go with,” Sam remarked, eyeing her cautiously.
Poppy slowly set down her fork.
She suddenly knew where this conversation was going. Poppy took a deep breath and exhaled. “Sam, you know I would love nothing more than to drop everything and traipse across the globe with you—”
“I feel a but coming.”
“But . . . we both know I can’t.”
Sam stared at his glass as he jiggled the melting ice cubes around in it. “You should be very proud of what you’ve accomplished, Poppy,” he said quietly before raising his eyes to meet hers. “You’re in a much better place than you were when the two of us reunited a couple of years ago. You found yourself drowning in an abyss and you crawled out of it, spectacularly I might add.”
“Thank you, Sam,” she said.
“I read about your recent purchase in the Desert Sun,” he said, signaling the waiter to bring him another bourbon.
“Oh, God,” Poppy groaned. “So did everybody in the Coachella Valley. If I had known Ava Gardner had once lived in that house, and it would turn out to be such a big deal, I never would have bought the place!”
“I think it’s great, you carrying on the tradition of living in a home with a long history of beautiful and talented actresses.. . .”
“Now, you’re just teasing me,” Poppy scolded.
Sam leaned forward, suddenly serious. “I just think you ought to enjoy the fruits of your labor, take a long vacation, let Iris and Violet and . . .”
“Matt,” Poppy reminded him.
“Right, the great Matt Flowers, let them run things for a month or two while you run away with me on a little adventure. Treat yourself. Or better yet, let me treat you. The way you deserve to be treated.”
He was convincing.
And she could not deny how kind and generous and, yes, sexy she had found him since they had rekindled their friendship. There was also a big part of her that was afraid if she did not commit just a little more to him, she might lose him. And she didn’t want to fathom that thought. But still, she knew it had not been an accident that the Desert Flowers Detective Agency had flourished these past few months. It had been a direct result of their hard work, grit, and determination. And she feared if she relaxed, let up on the gas pedal even just a tiny bit, this ascension could stall and die out. And at least at this point, Poppy was not willing to take that risk.
“I’m sorry, Sam, but this whole private eye endeavor is just too important to me. I need to stay focused. For the first time in my life, I feel as if I’m in control. And it would be too hard for me to give that up, at least right now.”
He reached out across the table and took her hand in his. “I understand.” But his face couldn’t lie. He was disappointed. And she knew it. So he felt the need to add, “Honestly, I do.”
Poppy’s phone buzzed.
She knew without looking it was a text from Matt.
He had been sending her texts all evening with quick updates. He was currently on the set of Palm Springs Weekend shadowing their client Danika Delgado, making sure she was never left alone while they were shooting some night scenes at the resort. Poppy assumed this was one more briefing, just to let her know all was quiet so she could enjoy her Roasted Scottish Salmon entree at Copley’s. As she scanned the text, her mouth dropped open in surprise. This was not what she had expected.
Sam picked up on her reaction immediately. “Everything okay?”
Poppy shook her head. “No. My daughter just broke up with Matt by text and he’s devastated.”
Chapter 5
Poppy, overcome with nausea, fled to the bathroom of her private room in the Sundial Luxury Resort with its sunken Jacuzzi tub and expensive marble sink, and threw herself down on her knees, flipping open the toilet lid and lowering her head over the bowl. She waited, her stomach churning, her head pounding, but she didn’t get sick. It was a false alarm.
After waiting another moment just to be sure, Poppy climbed back up to her feet, checked herself out in the wall-length mirror, scooped up a perfume bottle of her favorite Dolce & Gabbana fragrance, and sprayed a light mist onto the side of her neck. Then, she took a deep breath and silently prayed she would somehow get through this.
She had been holed up in her room all morning studying her script, making sure she had all of the lines down for her first scene to be shot. Despite being strong-armed into accepting the role, she had decided to just do her best with the hope that she would not embarrass herself. Matt had told her acting was like riding a bicycle. Once you learned the craft, you would never forget
how to do it. Of course, Poppy had not been on a bicycle in over thirty years either so she could not be sure Matt even knew what he was talking about.
The scene was a simple one. Poppy behind the reception desk of the resort checking in a rowdy gang of college kids for a wild weekend of fun, their client Danika Delgado’s character, played in the original by Connie Stevens, among them. She had a few easy lines, nothing too taxing or complicated. It should be a breeze. But the fear of freezing up, of drawing a complete blank when her admiring director called, “Action!” was almost too much to bear and it was suddenly taking a physical toll.
There was a knock on her door.
Poppy knew the makeup and hair team would make sure she looked presentable when the time came to shoot the scene, and so she decided to ignore the fear and self-doubt that was making her sick to her stomach, and just get on with it. She left the bathroom and crossed over to the door, opening it to find the bright-eyed production assistant Timothy smiling at her.
“We’re ready for you on set, Ms. Harmon,” he said in a chipper tone. It wasn’t hard to pick up on her nerves and so in an effort to calm her, he added, “You’re going to crush it!”
“I don’t even know what that means. Is it good or bad?”
“Good! Crush it. Like, nail it, do great.”
She squeezed his arm, which she found surprisingly muscular. “From your mouth to God’s ears, Timothy.”
“Shall we?” He crooked his arm so she could slide her own through it and escorted her out to the set. The kid was certainly a gentleman, not to mention a reassuring presence for which she felt grateful.
“Would you like me to swing by craft services and get you a cup of coffee?” Timothy asked.
“Lord, no! I’m jacked up enough already. The last thing I need is a shot of caffeine!” Poppy wailed. “But thank you, Timothy.”
“Okay,” Timothy chuckled. “By the way, last night after we wrapped, I looked up some old clips of your show Jack Colt on YouTube. Trent was right. You were awesome. You totally—”
