Straight from the Hart

by Tracie Banister

  Who knew when I got dressed this morning that my behind would be admired by straight and gay men alike? This charcoal gray pencil skirt I’m wearing is form-fitting, but still comfortable enough to sit in. I bought it because it has some feminine flair with a sassy ruffle that travels from my left hip down to the hem and I paired it with a sleeveless, cherry red top with a cowl neck that gives the allusion of a bust since my B-cups can use all the help they can get.

  “Thanks,” I whisper back to Cole before we reach Aubrey who’s in a huddle with the photographer and videographer. I confer with the guys for a few minutes, reminding them to be as inconspicuous as possible so that the couple can enjoy their evening and each other without feeling like they have to be “on” for the cameras.

  The three of us move on to the large, well-appointed kitchen, which will be our mission control center for the night. My team and I need to stay out of sight, but still be close by to make sure everything goes as planned. Our chef for the evening is bustling around, stirring, seasoning, and sautéing as he works to recreate a gourmet meal Astra and Xander shared when they were in Vegas.

  When he sees me, Chef Rodier says in a heavy French accent, “Bien. You are here. I have prepared zee tasting menu for your approval.” He waves me forward. “Tout d’abord,” he presents me with a platter that has four oysters on the half-shell arranged artfully on a bed of seaweed, “we have zee poached baby Kusshi oysters avec French salted butter.”

  I grab a shellfish fork from the kitchen island and spear an oyster, then pick up a cocktail napkin to hold beneath the buttery morsel as I lift it to my mouth. “Mmmmm,” I groan in appreciation as I chew the expertly prepared appetizer, which is also an aphrodisiac, making it the ideal starter for a romantic evening. “Parfait, chef.”

  A grin spreads across his jowly face. “Merci. Et maintenant we have zee Wagyu beef ribeye avec potato purée.”

  I take a bite of the beef, and it’s melt-in-your-mouth good, but . . . “Amazing, but this is a little on the rare side and my client prefers her steak to be cooked medium.” Astra was very adamant about this. According to her, bloody meat sets off her gag reflex and the last thing we need is for her to start dry-heaving in front of the man she’s hoping to entice into marriage.

  “C’est un sacrilège!” Chef Rodier declares, tossing down a dish towel in disgust. “Zees ees not zee drive-zru at zee Burger King. I refuse to overcook zees beautiful piece of meat.”

  “I think it’s pretty darn tasty as is,” a voice with a pronounced Tennessee twang says, and I turn to see a tall man with a black pompadour and mutton chop sideburns wearing the requisite white, fake jewel-encrusted jumpsuit with a huge belt wrapped around his sizable gut.

  Velvet Elvis (that’s not just his stage name; he had it legally changed and that’s who I’m supposed to make the check out to for his work tonight) is holding the steak I set down just moments ago between his fingers and is happily chomping away.

  “Thanks for the input, Velvet, but you’re not the client,” I say, hoping to shut him up, but the beef already seems to be doing the job as his mouth is now stuffed with it.

  “Chef Rodier,” I address the culinary master once more, “I appreciate that you have very strong feelings about the proper cook of the ribeyes, but can you please meet Ms. Langdon halfway and cook the steaks a little more? This is a very special night for her and we want her to be happy. Don’t forget that Ms. Langdon’s father is a very influential man in this town, and her family has a lot of wealthy friends who might require the top-quality dining experiences you provide.”

  “I will do zee steak medium rare, but no more,” he concedes.

  “Merci beaucoup, chef.” Hopefully, by candlelight it will look like the ribeye is done the way Astra ordered.

  “I’m still hungry. Can I get another steak?” Velvet Elvis wonders. “And maybe a loaded tater to go with. Purées ain’t very fillin’ an’ I gotta show to do.”

  “Speaking of which, Cole needs to go over the new set list with you, and I’m sure he can rustle you up a peanut butter and banana sandwich.” I toss a “Get this guy out of my hair!” look at my assistant, and he immediately rushes over to take Velvet by the elbow.

  “A PB&B would definitely hit the spot, but it has to be fried,” the impersonator tells Cole as he’s led away.

  “My apologies, chef. Now about the last cour—”

  A breathless Astra totters into the kitchen on her strappy, silver stilettos, looking flushed and frazzled. “Xander just called!” she announces, holding up her phone as proof. “He made better time than I thought he would and he’ll be here in a few minutes. A few minutes!” she squeaks.

  “It’s fine,” I assure my client, placing my hands on her shoulders to calm her. “We’re ready for him, and you look incredible.” The royal blue mini dress was a great call. It’s sleek, sexy, and perfect with Astra’s coloring and shape. Xander will be so wowed he won’t be able to say anything but “Hell yes!” when she proposes to him.

  “I do, don’t I?” She smiles brightly. “Xander is a lucky man.”

  I chuckle. “That’s the spirit! Now, head on out to the bar to wait for him and go easy on that cocktail. It packs a punch, and you want to be clear-headed so that you can remember everything that happens tonight.”

  “Thank you, Vanessa. You have done a stupendous job with all this. I couldn’t have imagined a more fun and romantic way to kick off my happily ever after with Xander.”

  She gives me a grateful peck on the cheek before tottering off again, and I feel tears pricking my eyes because this is exactly why I do what I do. It’s all about love—showcasing and celebrating it at whatever stage of a relationship a couple is in and giving them special moments they can cherish forever. Sigh.

  Retrieving my phone from the island, I pull up a group text message to go to everyone scattered throughout the house. Activating the spoken text feature, I say into the microphone, “Look alive, people. It’s showtime!”

  CHAPTER 8

  Two hours later, I’m picking at a tarte Tatin made with caramelized apples and drizzled in salted caramel when one of the bedazzled waitresses returns to the kitchen with a tray full of dirty plates and glasses.

  “They’re done with dinner and have moved into the game room,” she reports, and a jolt of excitement shoots through me.

  This is it! The big moment when all of my hard work will come to fruition. I did a count earlier today and Astra’s proposal will be my one hundredth, which is significant for me both personally and as a businesswoman. Knowing there are ninety-nine couples whose marriages got off to an amazing start because yours truly orchestrated the perfect romantic proposals for them fills me with pride and a sense of accomplishment. And all of those lovebirds are still together! Not that I’ve been doing this very long, but any marriage that makes it to the first anniversary is considered a win here in LA, where people trade in their significant others for an upgraded model as often as they do their iPhones.

  If all goes well tonight, which of course it will because no one ever says no to a proposal planned by Straight from the Hart, then I can look forward to years of working with Astra and Xander. I’ll be invited to their wedding at the Bel-Air Bay Club in October and play a pivotal role in who knows how many special date nights, birthdays, anniversaries, and maybe even baby announcements in the future.

  “Get the champagne ready so that they can toast each other once they’re officially engaged,” I tell the waitress, “but give the confetti some time to settle before you go in. We don’t want any of it floating down into the glasses. Cole, text our people in the game room to remind them to set off the confetti launchers as soon as Astra puts the watch on Xander.”

  “On it,” he says, already typing the message on his phone.

  The confetti is my little surprise for Astra. It’s silver and gold foil, which will reflect light and look pretty in photos as it rains down on the happy couple’s heads. Confetti is a nightmare to clean up, but the
crew I hired will be equipped to take care of it after Astra and Xander come down from cloud nine tomorrow and return to their lives. I know they’ll want to be alone here in the house tonight so that they can have a private celebration of their newly betrothed status, so my team and I will be clearing out once the engagement is a fait accompli.

  “Are you gonna eat the rest of that?” Velvet Elvis is ogling the tart I’ve barely touched.

  “It’s all yours.” I shove the plate toward him. “You’ve earned it.”

  His performance really was amazing. I could hear his rich, multi-octave voice belting out those classic Elvis tunes just as clearly in here as if I was sitting at the table in front of the stage with Astra and Xander, and Velvet sounded like the real deal. He even threw in the King’s signature “Thank you very much” after receiving a round of applause at the end of his set.

  “No, no, no!” I stop the waitress who’s about to head out carrying a silver tray with a bottle of Dom Pérignon and two champagne flutes. “Use these.” Grabbing a small gift bag sitting on the kitchen island, I extract two tissue paper-covered flutes that I unwrap and place on the tray. One has “Groom to be” engraved on it along with today’s date and the other says, “Bride to be.” I then pull a single red rose from the bag, pluck all of its petals, and am about to scatter them on the tray when I hear a female shriek that makes me flinch and toss the petals in the air.

  Uh oh. That did not sound like a joyful shriek, more like a shriek of outrage, and it’s immediately followed by the loud “POP!” of the confetti launchers along with a string of very colorful curse words from the shrieker, aka my client.

  Mayday! Mayday! The proposal plane is going down, and I need to start handing out parachutes or we’re all going to end up splattered on the ground.

  I hurry from the kitchen, following the sound of Astra’s voice, which is dialed up to an eardrum-piercing level.

  “I can’t believe I wasted five months of my life on this go-nowhere relationship,” she screeches. “Now I have to start all over from scratch with someone else. Screw you and your stupid phone that never stops dinging! I hate you!” Astra emits one final, frustrated scream, then I hear the clack-clack-clack of her heels as she speed-walks toward the entryway of the house, where I intercept my client.

  “What happened?” I ask, keeping my tone calm and composed to counteract her hysteria.

  “He said no!” she wails as tears spill from her eyes and streak down her cheeks. “That’s messed up, right? I mean, look at me!” She gestures at her toned and tanned body, jostling the confetti on her head which falls into a shimmering puddle at her feet. “I’m hot, I’m rich, I give world-class blow jobs. What guy in his right mind wouldn’t want to lock this down? He’s an idiot!”

  No argument there since Xander’s rejection of Astra has effectively ended my winning streak of proposals.

  “You probably just took him by surprise.” I do my best to explain this man’s hurtful behavior in an attempt to salvage things. “Once Xander’s had some time to think about it, I’m sure he’ll realize how wonderful you are and what a good life you could have together.”

  Astra swipes at the wetness on her cheek, which only serves to smear the expensive foundation she had airbrushed on by a makeup artist. “Maybe, but if he thinks I’m going to wait around forever for him to come to his senses, he’s in for a rude awakening. There are plenty of other single guys in LA who would be thrilled to have me, so he’d better get with the program or he’s going to miss out big time.”

  “It would definitely be his loss.” I brush some bits of metallic foil off her shoulder, then give her arm a supportive squeeze. “You’ve had a rough night and aren’t in any shape to drive, so why don’t I have one of the guys take you home? You can soak in a nice, hot bath and get a good night’s sleep, then everything will look brighter in the morning. If you like, I can have my assistant bring over a box of those passion fruit truffles from Monsieur Henri’s that you were such a fan of.”

  “Thanks.” Astra sniffs, and I wish I had a tissue to offer her because snotty isn’t a good look for any woman. “But I’m okay to drive and I have a much more satisfying treat than truffles in mind.” She’s got a calculating glint in her eye now that makes me nervous.

  “Don’t do anything hasty,” I caution.

  “Oh, it won’t be hasty. I plan to have revenge sex all night long with whichever of my former hookups responds to my booty text first. Let’s see how Mr. I’m Too Much of a Commitment-Phobe to Put a Bulgari Watch On It likes that!” she shouts the last sentence over her shoulder before stomping over to the front doors and flinging them open.

  What a freakin’ disaster! I need to fix this. Think, Vanessa, think!

  Okay, if I can get Xander to go after Astra right now and do some serious groveling, there’s still a chance they could make up. I just have to allay whatever his fears are about getting married and give him a nudge (okay, a hard shove) in the right direction. I wish I had time to call my mother to get some psychological tips from her on how to warm up a man’s cold feet. Guess I’ll just have to improvise.

  I hustle through the house, making good time to the casino, where I motion for the dealer, photographer, and videographer to leave so that I can have some privacy with Astra’s not-fiancé. He’s still sitting at the blackjack table where he refused her proposal, but he’s turned around, hunched over his phone, texting away, which to be quite frank, pisses me off. This jackhole just broke a woman’s heart and torpedoed my company’s flawless track record, and he thinks now is a good time to reply to messages? No wonder Astra was so angry about his phone earlier. By all appearances, he does seem to care more about that device than her.

  “This evening didn’t pan out as Astra hoped it would,” I tell her boyfriend’s back, “and she’s very upset. I think it would go a long way toward making amends if you were to—”

  My let’s-get-this-train-back-on-the-tracks speech comes to an abrupt halt when the man I’m addressing lowers his phone and swivels around to look at me. Seeing his face gives me such a shock that my knees go weak and I have to grab onto the craps table to keep myself from collapsing into a heap on the floor, which is ironic because seeing my ex under these circumstances is indeed very crappy.

  “You’re Xander?” I query, my jaw going slack with horror, as he stands and my eyes confirm that he’s really here and not just some vivid figment of my imagination.

  He shrugs his broad shoulders, which are encased in a beautifully-cut, light gray suit that he’s paired with a pale blue dress shirt and navy tie, and smiles in that sheepish way I adored when we were first dating and he still had some of that humble, aw-shucks charm that had been instilled in him by his middle-class, Midwestern family.

  His phone dings with a notification, but he ignores it to explain, “When Astra and I met, she said the name Alex was too ordinary and she wanted to call me something that had more flair.”

  That does sound like her.

  Dammit! Why did I never get her boyfriend’s last name or ask her to be more specific about what he did for a living? If I had known she was dating and wanted to marry a “Xander” Farr who worked in the entertainment industry as a publicist, I would have been able to put two and two together and come up with four, as in forget it. There’s no way in Hades I would have taken a job that involved me planning a proposal for another woman to make to the former love of my life.

  His phone dings twice more, sounding more strident and impatient each time. Rather than checking the incoming messages, Alex turns it off and stows the device in the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “So you were the mastermind behind all of this, huh?” He sweeps an arm around the casino. “I am impressed. You always were very creative, especially when it came to romance. I’m glad you were able to take your talents and turn them into a successful business.”

  I glare at him. “It was successful up until tonight, but you just screwed that up for me. Weeks of planning and coor
dinating, finding the perfect venue for a Vegas-themed proposal, a private chef who specialized in French food, and do you know how many terrible Elvis impersonators there are in LA? Because I do, and not only did I have to listen to the off-key stylings of more than a dozen of them, I had to fend off advances from the one who thought I looked like Ann-Margret and wouldn’t shut up about her torrid affair with the King.” I shudder with disgust at the memory of that sleazeball with his dyed black hair and fat, sausage fingers, one of which I threatened to break if he tried to touch me again.

  “If Astra had told me at our first meeting that you were the man she was pinning all her hopes and dreams for the future on, I could have told her to put away her checkbook and spared her the humiliation of tonight since I know from firsthand experience how opposed to being domesticated you are.”

  Alex frowns, which pushes out his slightly fuller lower lip and reminds me of how much I used to enjoy nibbling on it and what an incredible kisser he is and— No! Stop right there, Vanessa! You’re not allowed to remember anything positive about this jerk. He hurt you terribly, and you will despise him for the rest of your life and probably the next one too.

  “It’s really not fair to compare my relationship with Astra to what happened with us,” he asserts. “They’re two totally different—”

  “I’ll tell you what’s not fair,” I cut him off because I really don’t want to hear any of his excuses or rationalizations. “Leading a woman on for months, or years in my case, then when the subject of marriage, children, or even living together comes up, you’re all, ‘Ooops, my bad. I’m not interested in doing any of that because I love my career more than you.’”

  Alex’s jaw clenches, a sure sign that I’ve hit a nerve. Good to know that revisiting the past is just as unpleasant for him as it is for me.

  “You’re oversimplifying things and putting words in my mouth,” he says. “I couldn’t give you what you wanted four years ago because I was at a critical juncture in my career—”