“Sip, sip, sip,” Lilac chirped. “I'll be over in a few minutes.”
When Bella left, Lilac said, “Regan, you still haven't had the tour. The tasting room and the candle shop are in a little building next to the meditation center.”
“I'd like to see it all,” Regan said. “How long has Bella worked for you?”
“She just started this week.”
“She did?” Regan was surprised to hear the surprise in her voice.
“She pulled up the driveway, got out, and started chatting up a storm. She just moved down from Washington State a few weeks ago with her husband. He got a new job around here. It turns out that her grandfather owned this place when it went bust because of Prohibition. She'd never been here and wanted to see it for herself. We got to talking, and the next thing you know I hired her.”
“Wow,” Regan said. “What does her husband do?”
“He works in the pub downtown.”
Regan raised her eyebrows. “So they've got beer and wine covered.”
“I guess so,” Lilac said, laughing. “I called Lucretia.”
“Already?”
“Yes. First I called Whitney and left a message on her cell phone, then I dialed Lucretia.”
Thanks, Regan thought. Lilac is a ditz, too. She had obviously forgotten her promise to have Regan with her when she made that call.
“She's coming up here today with her fiancé.”
“You're kidding!” Regan wondered what other surprises Lilac had in store for her as she listened to the story of Lucretia's bad night.
“Well, this should be interesting,” Regan noted when Lilac finished. “I just spoke to my parents, and they'd like to come up and spend the night.”
“Wonderful! We'll have a big dinner.”
“That sounds terrific,” Regan enthused. “We can check out Lucretia's fiancé in the flesh.” She then put her hands together in front of her face, hesitating slightly. “Lilac, I'd really like to try and reach Whitney at the acting workshop.”
“Why?”
“I guess I'm a worrier. I'd just like to know that she got there safely.”
Lilac smiled. “You don't know our Whitney. When she was little, I used to have to pull her head out of the cereal bowl in the morning. She doesn't wake up easily. I'm sure she doesn't even know the dress is missing.” Lilac turned and pulled a number off a bulletin board on the wall. “She did give me the number there. We may as well call.”
“I'll do it,” Regan offered. She took the piece of paper, picked up the phone on the desk, and dialed. The woman who answered the phone didn't speak English very well. Regan had a hard time communicating with her.
“I tell Mr. Norman to call you later,” the woman said. “He busy out in his barn with students. They all screaming and yelling. Sounds crazy.”
“If you could see that he gets the message, it would be great,” Regan said, praying that this woman would pass it along. Somehow she doubted it. They could always call back later.
When Regan hung up, she looked at Lilac. “I'm now about to take my first meditation class.”
“Earl is such an amazing instructor,” Lilac assured her. “You are going to feel so relaxed and stress free.”
We'll see, Regan thought as she headed out the door.
31
Early Saturday morning the reporter covering Lucretia's impending-wedding received a call at home in Los Angeles. Lynne B. Harrison was asleep and reached groggily for the phone. “Lynne, get up,” her boss yelled at her. “You've got to do more on that old lady with all the money who's getting married. We're getting hundreds of phone calls and e-mails.”
Lynne blinked and looked at the clock. It wasn't even nine o'clock in the morning, and Saturday was her day off. She'd been out late last night and didn't expect to waken until at least noon.
“What do you want me to do?” she whined.
“Figure out something. This story has captured people's imagination. The idea that you can find love and big money at such an advanced age has everybody interested. Didn't she invite you to the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“You're going.” It wasn't a question.
“I told her I would. But that's tomorrow.”
“Well, you've got to go out there today and get some more footage. I'll have a cameraman at your place in half an hour. We have Lucretia's address. Go to her house and get more background for the story. Find another angle . . . whatever. As you know, May is sweeps month. We've got to pull up our ratings. And May is the month a lot of people get married. Lucretia Standish is inspiring people to just go for it before it's too late. We have to be there to cover it!”
Lynne sat up in bed. Her boss, Alan Wakeman, could certainly be pushy. He was young and trying to make a name for himself in the business. If he thought a story had “legs,” he ran it into the ground—or had her run it into the ground.
“Okay, Alan. I'll be ready in half an hour.”
32
Lucretia's Rolls-Royce traveled north on Highway 101 with Edward at the wheel and Lucretia sitting shotgun.
“I can't believe you've never been married, darling,” Lucretia-exclaimed.
Edward turned and glanced down at her. “I was waiting to meet the right woman.”
Lucretia giggled. “Why does that line sound rehearsed to me?”
“It's not,” Edward protested. “Lucretia, you know there's no one better for me than you. No one more fun than you.”
“That's true. All my husbands said I was loads of fun.”
Edward felt as if he was driving himself to his own execution. Here he was, on a gorgeous spring day, driving a Rolls-Royce and heading up to a winery, meditation center, and who knows what. And he would rather be almost anywhere else in the world. That stupid television story. If he could just pull off the marriage ceremony, then everything would be fine. The thought of Whitney on the very same property where they were headed made him crazy, even if she was bound and gagged and hidden away.
“I have a great idea,” he announced.
“What, darling?”
“Why don't we drive to Las Vegas? We can get married there. We'll get away from the prying eyes of the world. We'll get away from those tomato throwers and all those other nasty people who don't want to see us happy.”
Lucretia actually looked as if she might consider his proposal. She blinked several times. “That would be too lonely.”
Lonely? Edward wanted to scream. Instead he said, “But we'd be together. And that's all that counts.”
Lucretia smiled at him. “We have the rest of our lives to be together. I want my family at the wedding.”
“Of course,” he said as he snapped on the radio.
“A wildfire is spreading in the area northeast of Santa Barbara. Firefighters have not been able to get it under control.”
“That's where we're going.” Lucretia sounded alarmed. “I hope it doesn't hit their property, the poor darlings.”
Oh my God, Edward thought. Whitney is in an abandoned building. How close is the fire? Would Rex leave her there if the fire became life threatening?
Yes, he would.
Edward stepped on the gas as a car full of teenage girls drove by, obviously recognized them, and started honking the horn. The driver rolled down her window, stuck out her hand, and gave them the thumbs-up sign.
“Congratulations!” she cried.
It took about two seconds for Lucretia to stick her head out the window and wave back. One of the girls took a picture.
Lucretia laughed gaily as she pulled herself inside, sat back, and smoothed her hair. “Those girls remind me of the fun I had when I was young, before I went to Hollywood. My two best friends and I were inseparable. We used to love to go over to the graveyard at night and sit around and talk, and promise that we'd always be friends no matter what. We even drew blood from our fingers and mixed it all together. We were closer than sisters.” Lucretia sighed.
“What happened?” Edwar
d asked.
“After I left for Hollywood, I never went back. I was so busy making movies, and my parents had moved away. Then my career failed, and I was embarrassed.” Lucretia shrugged. “I was always sorry that I never got in touch with them again. Polly and Sarah. Two of the best friends you could ever have.”
“Where are they now?” Edward asked dutifully.
“I have no idea,” Lucretia said sadly. “If they were alive and I knew where they were, I'd invite them to our wedding.”
Spare me, Edward thought, but he reached over and put his arm around Lucretia. “I'm sure they'd be happy to know that you're happy.”
“I know this much: They'd be surprised that I'm marrying you.”
Edward didn't quite know how to take that. But he did know that he wanted to do anything he could to delay their arrival at the winery. “Why don't we stop for lunch along the way?” he asked. “Just the two of us. Our last meal alone before we tie the knot.”
Lucretia smiled up at him. “Our last meal alone.”
33
At their home in the mountains above San Luis Obispo, Lucretia's two childhood friends stared at the television.
“Can you believe her?” Polly asked, shaking her head that had been covered with white hair for over thirty years now. “She's doing it again, and we're not invited.”
“Well,” Sarah replied as she rocked in her chair. “We didn't invite her to either of our weddings. She got too big for her britches.” Sarah leaned in closer to the television set. “Can you believe how young that guy is? It's a shame.”
“I wouldn't mind stepping out with a young guy,” Polly shot back. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Oh, I suppose not.”
The announcer urged viewers to e-mail their thoughts on anything they'd seen on the newscast to the address scrolling across the screen.
Polly and Sarah looked at each other. They'd been living together for fifteen years, since both of their husbands had died. They had many hobbies, liked to take long walks, and lately had become fond of the Internet.
“Why don't we send an e-mail to Lucretia?” Polly suggested.
“What will we say?”
“Remember us?”
They both laughed.
Polly got up from her chair and walked over to an antique hutch. She opened a drawer and shuffled through a pile of pictures. “Here we are.” She stared at the image of three teenage girls, their arms around each other and smiling at the camera. She handed it to Sarah.
“Remember the secret the three of us had?”
“How could I forget?”
“A lot of time has passed.”
“Sure has.”
They both ran to the computer and fired off an e-mail to Lucretia in care of the news channel. They had no doubt they would hear back from her.
34
When Regan stepped outside, the sun's rays warmed her face. If it weren't for this class, I'd go for a walk through the vineyards, she thought. But she wanted to check out Earl's class, so she walked across the parking lot to the little cluster of buildings opposite the main lodge. The architecture reminded her of an old cowboy movie. She could just picture riding a horse up the dirt road, sliding down out of the saddle, and hitching the reins to a post the way cowboys seemed to do so easily in those old westerns. But there wasn't a horse in sight. The only animal nearby was Lilac's cat, sitting in the shade of one of the lemon trees looking bored.
My first meditation class, she thought as she stepped into the wooden structure with a sign above the door that read DEEP BREATHS. Regan had taken plenty of aerobics and stretch classes at the gym, but never yoga or meditation. The screen door slammed behind her, disturbing the early morning quiet. She jumped and looked around.
Now I really need some relaxation, she thought. Off to the right was a spacious room that resembled a dancer's studio, with its polished wood floors and mirrored walls. A black barre ran the length of the far wall, reminding Regan of the ballet class Nora had enrolled her in when she was five. Regan remembered hanging on to the barre as she attempted to shuffle her little slippered feet in the directions commanded by her teacher, who turned out to be a monster. After a couple of lessons Regan bailed out, and Nora signed her up to learn how to play the piano. Another lost cause.
The women Regan had seen earlier were sitting cross-legged on mats chatting quietly. Regan took a mat from the pile in the corner and dragged it over to what she considered was an appropriate distance from a fellow meditator. Four or five other people wandered in after Regan, including the guy who had come into the lodge last night, the only other visitor. What was his name again? Oh, yes, Regan remembered. It was Don.
“Hello,” she said.
He nodded back and quickly shut his eyes.
I guess he's really into this, Regan thought. She was surprised. She wasn't quite sure why, but he just didn't seem the type for meditation. Maybe it was because of his tough guy appearance.
Earl appeared in the doorway and made an entrance befitting the Dalai Lama. As he swept across the room, he chanted, “We live in a time when there are many ways available to us to make our bodies comfortable. Good food, good wine . . .”
There's the plug for the wine, Regan thought.
“. . . creature comforts are plentiful. But we still experience stress and suffering. I say that we must slow down and focus our awareness. Our busy lives agitate our minds. We are here to relax our body and calm our mind. I want you all to take off your shoes and socks and lay back on the mats.”
It took Regan a few moments to unlace her sneakers. While she did so, she glanced over at Don. The T-shirt he was wearing rode up as he stretched out on the mat, revealing a taut stomach covered with blond hair. Regan found herself staring at the tattoo of a skull and crossbones just below his navel. How special, she thought. She then looked at the mass of thick black hair clinging to his skull. She hadn't really had a close look at him last night across the candlelit room, but she had sensed that his hair was dyed. It's more than that, she thought. He's wearing a wig and a lousy one at that. Why would he go so dark when the rest of the world usually lightens up? He was a natural blond, as they say.
As though sensing her gaze, Don opened his eyes. For an instant the look on his face was downright hostile. But then he attempted a weak smile as he pulled down his shirt. Regan did her best to pretend she hadn't been staring at him. Her heart started pumping a little bit faster as she lay back, just a foot from this curious stranger. Come on, Earl, she thought. Make me feel harmonious. I'm getting edgy here.
Earl inserted a cassette into the stereo. The sounds of waterfalls and rushing water, accompanied by music designed to inspire tranquillity, filled the room.
“Your mind is like a monkey, swinging uncontrollably from branch to branch,” Earl began.
I'll say, Regan thought.
“Meditation gently returns your mind to one focus of attention.”
Like where the heck Whitney is, Regan wondered.
“Our minds jump back and forth all day long. Memories, worries, thoughts, feelings. Flit, flit, flit. We must slow down the monkey. We must make friends with ourselves. We must smile into our internal organs.”
Huh? Regan thought.
“I want you all to close your eyes. We are going to concentrate on letting go of the tension in our bodies so we just melt into the floor. Start by focusing on your breath. Breathe deeply. In . . . out . . . in . . . out. Now I want you to wiggle your toes. Wiggle . . . wiggle . . . wiggle. . . . Become aware of every part of your body.”
For the next hour Regan followed Earl's instructions as he led them through a series of stretches and poses and lunges, ending up in the lotus position. She tried her best to get into a relaxed state of mind, but all she could think about was Whitney and her dress being left behind in the driveway. What had happened?
With a few minutes left, Earl turned out the lights. “I want you to clear your mind of all thoughts,” he said. “Take a deep, deep
breath . . . and another . . . and another. Very good. Now just a reminder: Candles and incense are available next door. Use them to set up a little meditation center in your own home.”
Business is business, Regan thought.
The lights were barely back on when Don stood up, slipped into his shoes, and picked up his mat. Regan watched as he deposited it back in the pile in the corner and hurried out of the room. He doesn't seem so relaxed, either, she thought.
And what was he doing with that god-awful hairpiece?
35
Phyllis was utterly depressed. And more than a little nervous. After Lucretia left, Phyllis sat in the kitchen, not knowing what to do.
Phyllis expected $200,000 in “commissions” once Lilac and her family made it to the wedding. Her plan had been so perfect! Better than any game show past or present. Entice the family to the wedding by secretly telling them Lucretia is planning to give them $2 million each, but only if they show up, then convince Lilac to get them all to give Phyllis money “off the top” for her assistance, and everybody's happy. So what if Lucretia was planning to give them the money no matter what? When you're getting $2 million, what's $50,000 more or less?
The way Phyllis saw it, Lucretia wanted nothing more than to have Haskell's family at the wedding. When it became clear to Phyllis that Lilac had no intention of making the effort to attend, Phyllis cooked up her scheme, a scheme that ensured the family would show up in their Sunday best, which would make Lucretia very happy. Phyllis felt she deserved to be paid for that. Lilac had promised to keep their agreement quiet. It wasn't really that hard because if it looked as if Lilac and her family were showing up just for the money, it would make them look bad, too.
But now that they were all going to be together at the winery, Phyllis was afraid that what she had done might leak out. Lilac might say something about the money by mistake. Or, who knows, maybe even intentionally. If she did, Phyllis would lose her commission, and Lucretia would probably fire her.
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