Elly was confused. “Starting out? Where else are we going?”
He gave her a smile in the rearview mirror, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s a surprise, ma’am. But, if I were you, I would stock up on energy drinks and con …,” he trailed off.
Elly leaned forward. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you said something. I am your passenger. What did you say?”
“It was inappropriate.”
“No, tell me right now.”
His eyebrows rose. “Wow. You’re kinda scary.”
“I know.”
“I said, make sure you stock up on energy drinks … and condoms.”
“Ewww!” Elly flew back from the partition. “That is horrible! Why would you say something like that?”
“Because I have been Lola Plumb’s driver more than a couple of times, and I know that when she goes out with them, they go ALL out.”
Elly folded her arms. “She’s engaged, you know; you shouldn’t spread rumors like that.”
“I didn’t mean for her. I meant for you. I’ve met her friends many times, if you know what I mean. And if you are anything like them, you will need a lot of vodka and a lot of condoms. I’ve seen it.”
Elly sat back in the seat and pressed the partition button. “Gross. You’re gross.” The window clicked shut. She suddenly felt very small and insignificant in the back of the limo. The rest of the ride was silent and awkward as Elly watched the old brick buildings of St. Louis give way to the hip areas of the new downtown. With a hard screech, the limo stopped in front of Pierre’s. The window came down a few inches. “We’re here.”
“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. “Do I um, give you a tip?”
Levi looked at her like she was crazy. “My biggest tip was two grand. Can you match that?”
“Nope, but I have a five.” She handed him a crumpled dollar bill from inside her tiny clutch. “Here’s another tip, don’t talk about your clients.” He harrumphed as she very carefully climbed out of the car.
Pierre’s Seafood was one of the swankiest new restaurants across from Citygarden, part of the downtown revitalization efforts. Huge glass globes spun outside the door, reflecting blue light onto the front of the restaurant. Swarms of photographers were gathered outside, looking bored. Were these all for Lola? That was impossible. How many pictures could they possibly get of her coming and going? Also, how did they know she was here? Fame was insanity, she thought as she walked quickly past them, her head to the ground. Elly entered through the bar and lounge area, where beautiful people swirled through large collections of sea-glass art, their thin glass flutes clasped tightly at their sides. In the corner, a jazz pianist played riotous riffs on a baby grand, as waiters in dark-blue windsor suits gave out tiny, artistic appetizers. A crowd of people gathered around a rope divider leading to the second floor. A large black man held out his arm as Elly tried to enter. “Sorry, VIPs only.”
“I’m here to see Lola Plumb?”
“I’m sure you are.”
“No, I really am.” She tried to sneak past him. If she could just see Lola and wave….
She felt a strong hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am, you need to back up. Everyone in here wants to see Lola Plumb. Can’t you see that? Step back.”
Elly ground her teeth together. “I’m in her party. In fact, she is coming here to meet me.” “Don’t play me, ma’am. There are about twenty people up there.”
Elly made a face. “What? That can’t be right. I’m supposed to just have a one-on-one meeting with her about her wedding next week. I’m important! I’m her florist.”
The man made a face. “That’s such a pathetic reason for getting past this rope, I almost believe you.”
Elly tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. “Believe me. I have no interest in taking a photo or getting her autograph. I’m here to talk to her about wedding flowers.”
His lip curled. “Tell me what you know about wedding flowers.”
“Well, for starters, this year’s trends, which are always evolving, are leaning toward the romantic and vintage. I’m seeing a lot of mints, yellows, and subtle gray tones that carry through the weddings’ overall themes. This year’s most popular flower choices are the Queen Anne’s lace, the East Coast variety, and rounded-out black dahlias, to give the arrangements that extra lushness. And that’s just for bridesmaids’ flowers. For the bride, we are talking about a rich bouquet that embraces the European style….”
The man rolled his eyes. “Go on through, but if I see you doing anything other than talking, I will take you out.”
Elly gave an obedient nod. “Noted.” He unclipped the velvet rope, and Elly slid in between the gap, clutching her purse nervously. She climbed the short flight of stairs and followed the signs to the VIP room. Another bouncer gestured to an open door, and Elly gave him a thankful smile as she slipped in.
Lola stood to greet her. “Elly! You came! I’m so glad. Everyone, this is my awesome florist, Elly.” Twenty pairs of bored eyes looked up at her, each person with a glass of hard liquor in their hand. Elly had never felt so out of place her entire life. There were two male redheads, twins, at the end of the table, obviously high on something other than life. There was a stunning African-American model sporting huge hair and a see-through shirt, a handsome Scotsman flirting with a wispy blond waif who appeared to be straight out of Dennis’s fantasy novel, two college-age jocks that screamed East Coast money, and a man that appeared to be either a very high-concept artist or a hobo. Lola’s famous entourage was here, and Elly instantly hated all of them. Lola herself looked radiant, as always, but deep shadows marked her sad eyes. She was wearing a minidress made entirely of blue peacock feathers and thigh-high black boots, her hair a tousled masterpiece. She was holding a half-full glass that looked a bit more like vodka than water.
Elly gave her an awkward hug. “Nice skirt,” mumbled someone sarcastically at the table. Sorry, I didn’t know looking like a train wreck was the thing, she thought bitterly.
Lola led her by the hand to the long oak table and sat down. Food covered the table—fresh shucked oysters, chipotle salmon, herb-crusted tilapia, potatoes, and salads—in a bountiful spread, but it seemed no one was eating. A fly circled lazily over a dish of hummus. Lola sat back in her chair. “So! I am sooo excited to talk about wedding stuff! I’m getting married!” Her entourage clapped and whooped.
Elly looked around. “Where’s Joe?”
Lola waved her hand. “He had a last-minute business trip to Greece. He’ll be back in time for the wedding, don’t worry. I didn’t have any plans, so I called my old peeps from LA to fly out so that we could have a proper party … oh yeaahhh!” She raised her glass, spilling vodka on her feathered dress, which was no doubt worth thousands of dollars.
Cringing, Elly reached into her gigantic mom purse and pulled out a Kleenex and a thin manila file. “Well, since you are having such a good time, I won’t be long, I just need to talk to you about….”
“Lame!” yelled one of the redheaded twins, pushing Elly aside and sitting on Lola’s lap.
“Robert, get off me.”
He batted his glitter-covered eyes at Elly. “No way. No files allowed! This is a party, not a meeting. Put that damn thing away.”
Elly squirmed in her seat. The last thing she wanted to do was be the only adult at this party. Actually, truly the last thing she wanted to do was be at this party. Waiting at home for her was a glass of wine, a new rom-com and some flannel pajama pants. And Dennis. Her fantasy faded. Dennis, always there, in “his” room, playing MageCraft until the sun came up. Maybe hanging out for a while wouldn’t be so bad. Either way, she had to get Lola to talk about the wedding flowers. “Thanks, um, Robert, is it?”
He tossed imaginary hair behind his shoulder. “Robbey, with an E Y.”
“I need to talk with Lola for just a few minutes about wedding stuff.”
Lola gave Elly a kind smil
e as she shoved Robbey off her lap. “I promise we’ll do that, but we are actually about to leave.”
Elly looked around. “But you haven’t even eaten your food yet!”
Lola looked confused, her pretty brown eyes widening. “Oh my gosh, we ate a ton.”
Oh, right. Skinny people. “Well, if we just can run over this really quick….”
“We’re leaving, ladies! Get your stuff together!” crowed the gorgeous black girl. Suddenly, everyone was gathering their bags and checking their appearance in a handheld mirror that one of the twins produced. Lola placed her tiny hand on Elly’s shoulder. “We’ll run over it in the limo, promise.” Elly gave a dutiful nod. After several minutes of everyone preening themselves like a pride of lions, they made their way down the VIP staircase.
The murmurs started as soon as Lola hit the floor, rising to a loud hum of excitement as she walked toward the door, her entourage strutting behind her. Elly heard the click of cell phone cameras and the voice of Lola’s bouncer booming over the crowd. “Stay back! No touching Ms. Plumb, please.”
Elly followed behind her, trying to stay level on her heels, looking as suave as ever carrying a manila envelope, intimidated by the noise inside the restaurant. This is madness, she thought, people turning this elegant restaurant into a den of frenzied picture-taking, all because Lola is here. This wasn’t prom, what were they doing? It couldn’t get any worse than the restaurant patrons acting like teenagers, right? Then Elly stepped outside.
At first, she thought it was daylight, this searing white light. It wasn’t. But it wasn’t night anymore, either. Hundreds of flashbulbs were firing in her direction, one giant spark after another, a symphony of popping flares and loud clicks.
A chorus, a hundred voices strong screamed Lola’s name. “Ms. Plumb! Look over here!”
“Ms. Plumb, is it true you are leaving your fiancé?”
“Lola, are you doing crack again?”
“Lola, what do you have to say to Chloe Britt?” The shouts overtook each other, louder and louder until every sound was drown out by the sea of screaming photographers.
Elly couldn’t see. She. Could. Not. See. She was blind, stumbling down a red carpet—had that been there before?—trying to see the limo, trying to see anything. At one point, she veered toward the crowd, only to be pushed back by people screaming Lola’s name and reaching out for her autograph. After that, it all happened so quickly. The dazzling flashbulbs paused for a mere second, but it was enough to reduce her vision to sudden darkness. Her heel turned, and before she could right herself, she was plunging down toward the velvet rope that held back the hungry wolves. It wrapped itself under her waist, and flung her forward, sending her face first into the carpet. Wedding papers flew everywhere, flurrying like snow on a winter morning, and Elly was vaguely aware that her skirt might have ripped up the leg. A skirt that was so expensive. An awkward hush fell over the paparazzi as Elly pushed herself up. Her face was on fire. She quickly scurried to her knees, prepared to have a million pictures of her black granny panties posted on the first page of every newspaper from St. Louis to New York. But there wasn’t anyone taking a picture of her. All the cameras were following Lola as she climbed into the limo, one hand raised above her eyes to shield them from the blasts of the flashes, the other one wrapped around her bodyguard’s arm.
A man with a camera around his neck reached down and helped Elly to her feet. “Hey, you okay?” He had barely spoken to her before his camera was back up and taking rapid photos of Lola. Her ears ringing, Elly stumbled up to her feet and promptly reached down and took off her heels. Putting her bare feet on the red carpet, she felt more steady, and allowed herself a deep breath as the cameras clicked and whirred all around her. She gathered up the papers, trying to remember to bend at the knees and not moon every member of the St. Louis press.
Lola waved to her out the limo window. “Elly, come on! We aren’t leaving without you!”
Once Lola spoke her name, it was almost as if an invisible hand turned all the camera lenses toward Elly. She understood once Lola had spoken her name, it had brought her into existence with the paparazzi, whereas before, she had just been a part of the background. Ducking her head, a golden curl gracing her face, Elly quickly made her way to the limo. She felt flashbulbs taking her picture and prayed that everything was in its rightful place inside its clothing. She ducked her head and climbed into the limo carefully, very mindful not to give the cameras a second view of her underwear. She could see the headlines now: “Mystery Friend of Lola Plumb Reveals Ugliest and Oldest Panties Known to Man.”
One of the redheaded twins reached over Elly to slam the limo door shut. “That took forever. Nice recovery, though. Let’s get this show on the road!”
“Wait!” cried Elly. “My shoes!”
The twin winked before the limo squealed away from the curb, leaving hundreds of paparazzi cameras lonely and unsatisfied, all the photographers already running for their rental cars. St. Louis had never seen such a frenzy.
Chapter Nineteen
The entourage, all lanky and curled around each other, reminded Elly of a bunch of newborn kittens. Robbey, the redhead, blinked his very pretty eyes at Elly before passing a bottle of scotch to her, which she passed back to him without a second glance. “No, thanks. I’m more of a wine girl.”
The wispy model leaned over Lola as the limo sped up Highway 40. “I just texted the bouncer at the Supper Club. He’s already set up bottle service in the VIP lounge.”
Lola nodded her head. “Excellent. I love that place. It’s the only real club in this town.” She stood up, stumbled across the limo and snuggled up beside Elly. “You’ll love the Supper Club.”
“Oh? Do they have like specials, or….” Elly was pretty sure that she could not afford a meal at any place that Lola Plumb ate, or didn’t eat. The entire limo burst out laughing at this poor, pathetic regular human.
“Oh, Elly.” Lola looked at her with a playful smile.
Robbey leaned forward. “Elly. The Supper Club isn’t a place with food. It’s the only secret nightclub in St. Louis. They have the best parties in town. It’s not Graystone Manor, but it will have to do for now.”
“Oh.” Sorry I assumed that a supper club would actually have, you know, dinner. The bottle of scotch came back around, and again Elly passed it on, purposefully handing it over Lola.
“What’s the matter? Don’t want our little bride to be to drink?” The wispy blond sneered at Elly from the corner, where the robust Scotsman kissed her neck. “We are partying tonight, right Lola? What are you here for again?”
“Funny you should ask.” Elly whipped out the manila envelope again and the entire limo gave a collective groan.
“Shush,” murmured Lola. “It’s fine.”
“Lola, if I could just have, like, ten minutes to talk to you about your wedding flowers, that’s all I need.”
Lola leaned her head back against the seat. “A distraction would be nice,” she whispered to Elly, her voice breaking over the words. She was trying, Elly could see, trying to be good.
Elly looked around the car, realizing instantly why it was so hard for a celebrity on this level to stay sober. And she decided that she would stay with Lola all night, if that’s what it took. Lola Plumb would not end up naked under the arch tonight, not on her watch. She could be the friend Lola needed, not the friends who were trying their best to fling her off the wagon. She shuffled the papers in her hand. “Well, about the navy-blue flowers, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about….” Everything went dark, and then some hidden button was pushed, and suddenly the limo became a haven of spinning lights and club music. “Um, excuse me, I can’t—I can’t see my file?” said Elly, feeling increasingly like a dowdy chaperone.
“Too bad,” someone snapped in the darkness, followed by annoying giggles. Couples began groping each other in the dark, and more alcohol was passed around, each drink more potent than the last. She turned her head so that
she could see Lola, who was almost removed from it all, her face focused on the open sunroof, her teary eyes trained on the stars. Poor Lola. Resisting this temptation seemed almost impossible when those around you needed it to continue to have the lifestyle they desired. As the limo roared through the night, Lola began clenching the seat cushion with one hand. Elly reached down and grabbed it in the dark, wrapping her solid fingers around Lola’s tiny hand.
Lola turned her wide eyes to Elly, and Elly could see that in this frenzied light, the gorgeous Lola Plumb looked much older than her years. “Elly?”
“Yup.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
Poor Lola. Elly smiled at her. “Nothing. There is nothing wrong with you.”
“Then why does everyone hate me?”
Elly patted her hand gently. “I don’t hate you. I think that you are the nicest celebrity I have ever met.”
“Am I the only celebrity you’ve ever met?”
“I met a news anchor once.”
Lola laughed. “That’s funny. You’re funny, Elly.”
“You’re the first, but I think you are definitely the best.”
“Thanks.” The rest of the group was whispering to each other, and texting frantically on their phones in between hungry gulps of hard liquor, straight from the bottle. The wispy blond girl pointed a manicured finger at Elly. “You’re killing the mood.”
Elly bit her cheek. “I could care less about your mood. I’m here for business.” She looked back at the girl, who arched her eyebrow like a James Bond girl. “What are you here for, exactly?”
The girl sat back with a huff. “Whatever. They probably won’t even let you into the club.”
“Brittany, shut up,” moaned Lola. “Who are you texting all the time? Every person you know is riding in this limo.”
“Whatever.” Brittany turned away from them and began sloppily kissing one of the redheaded twins.
Ugh. Elly’s empty stomach gave a lurch. The limo came to a hard stop and they tumbled out of the car like drunken clowns, one right after each other, leaving Elly and Lola behind. Elly let Lola get out first, and again there was the blinding lights of the cameras, the screaming of her name, the yelled accusations of cheating, drinking, everything. After Lola passed inside the door, Elly climbed out of the limo. Luckily, no one cared. Elly had never heard of the Supper Club before, which was surprising, since she had heard of almost all of St. Louis’s venues. Whereas the entrance to Pierre’s had been well marked with a popular storefront, the Supper Club was at the back of a warehouse, with only a small hand-painted sign to mark it. It was that cool. Three bouncers let them pass through, eyeing a barefoot Elly with confusion as she walked in while talking quietly to Lola. They walked through two grimy metal doors, and then through a pair of exquisite white curtains. The linen parted and suddenly Elly found herself at a loss for words. The club was like stepping into another world. High ceilings covered with mirrored tiles arched overhead, and just beneath them, a scantily clad aerialist swung by her knees over the crowd, occasionally grabbing someone’s drink from her trapeze bar.
Elly in Love (The Elly Series) Page 24
