“Hey, is everything okay with you? You seem kind of tense.”
Lauren sighed. “I am. A little. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Taking a banana out of her giant handbag, she started to peel it. “Were you out late singing last night?”
“Yes.” Lauren paused, not sure if she should mention her recent windfall.
Brandy took a big bite of her fruit and chewed while she talked. “Something else happened, didn’t it?”
Lauren looked to her left and her right before leaning in and whispering, “I met supermodel David Randle last night at my gig, and he took me out to breakfast this morning.”
Brandy had her mouth wide open about to bite down on the soft banana and stopped in mid-air. It looked like she was frozen mid-blow job. She slowly withdrew the fruit from her lips. “What?”
Lauren nodded and blushed. “I can’t stop thinking about him. He invited me to be his guest at his sister’s wedding tomorrow, at Callanwolde.”
Brandy swallowed and calmly started wrapping the peel back around her snack. She set it on top of the upright piano and wiped her hands on a napkin. “Lauren…, this is freakin’ major, you know that, right?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip.
“How are you even here today? You should be shopping for the perfect dress for this wedding and getting your nails done or getting a massage. Girl!”
Some of the students were trickling back into the classroom and looked their way when Brandy squealed.
“Shhh… I know. I have a lot to do.”
“Go,” Brandy insisted, standing and gathering Lauren’s things together.
“What?”
“I said go…. I got the second half of class.”
Lauren smiled, pulling her friend in for a bear hug. “Thank you!”
“You just better fill me in on all the gory details!”
She nodded, pulled on her coat, and quickly made her way through the building out to the parking lot. Breathless, she sat for a few moments while her car engine warmed up, gathering her thoughts and trying to figure out what to do first. She decided to stop by her favorite second-hand store, Consigning Women, to scope out the perfect dress for a wedding with a supermodel.
Several minutes later, when she entered the shop, an ancient bell attached to the door hinge alerted the middle-aged, red-haired owner who seemed to recognize Lauren immediately. A few customers lazily sorted through racks and racks of clothing looking for treasure among the used items as an Adele CD crooned over the speakers in the ceiling.
“Looking for anything special today?” The owner asked with a glint in her eye. Lauren was probably one of her best customers and rarely left the store without a purchase.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
Chapter Five
“A courier dropped off a letter for you,” Jordan yelled.
Lauren was trying to steer through the tiny hallway, holding her purse, a backpack and a large bag from the consignment store while not bumping her freshly manicured fingers.
“Oh?” She let the backpack fall with a thump at her feet and glanced into the common area of their apartment where she could see the back of Jordan’s blue head still parked on the sofa that took up the middle of the room. As she came around the side of the furniture, her roommate sat cross-legged with the computer in her lap wearing the same pajamas as if she hadn’t left that position all day. The girl could sit there for hours and watch Netflix or socialize over the internet surrounded by bags of half-eaten snacks and cups of cold coffee. She worked as a nurse in the cancer ward at the Children’s Hospital of Atlanta, her schedule varying week to week, usually working twelve to fifteen hour shifts with two days off in between. In her off time, she was a home body addicted to movies, social media, chat rooms and her orange cat, Morris. The young patients loved the outrageous scrubs with vibrant comic book characters all over them she always wore to the hospital. Her hair color was another story, always a different hue, ranging from fire engine red to her current state of blue, adding even more color to her image, much to Lauren’s chagrin. She wasn’t particularly close with the indigo haired nurse, but the two made good roommates and she was thankful for their laid-back friendship. She wished Jordan paid a little more attention to the bills she was in charge of, but that was the only drawback living with her. Jordan often joked that Lauren was the princess and she was the court jester, assigned to entertain her.
“Yep—got it right here.” She held up a small, white envelope sealed with a gold St. Regis emblem.
Lauren immediately knew it was from David and hurriedly set the rest of her things down. “Do you mind opening it for me? I just got my nails done and they’re still a bit tacky.” She stood behind her roommate, her French manicured fingers splayed in the air.
Jordan tossed the laptop to the side and ripped the envelope open, handing Lauren a folded card with the embossed emblem of the St. Regis Hotel on the front. Her eyes traced the beautiful, handwritten sentences from David and a smile bloomed across her face.
“What does it say?” Jordan asked leaning her elbows on the back of the couch with anticipation.
Lauren cleared her throat and read out loud. “Dearest Lauren, The wedding of my sister, Catherine Randle, starts at half past five at the historic Callanwolde Mansion located at 980 Briarcliff Rd NE, Atlanta, GA 30306. Your name has been added to the guest list. My sister insists all guests wear semi-formal attire, preferably in white or cream, as she would like to be the only one in a vibrant color. (She’s a rare one, my Catherine…) I look forward to the nearness of you again. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough… Fondly, David”
Lauren stared at her roommate, wide-eyed and breathless. Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the card David had couriered to their apartment. It was official. She was David Randle’s date at his sister’s wedding.
Jordan grinned from ear to ear. “You are the luckiest bitch I know!”
She exhaled deeply. “I guess I am.”
“So, you got your nails done. Did you buy a new dress?”
“I did. And matching shoes.”
“Let’s see it!” She stood on the sofa cushions bouncing up and down like a child.
Lauren laughed. “I’ll let you see it when it’s on me. I lucked out. It’s 1950s vintage in the perfect color.”
Jordan stopped bouncing and started to gather up her snack trash and a few empty coffee cups. “You and all your old clothes. Why not go all out and get something new and hip? Show off your boo-tay and your lovely ta-ta’s! You’ll be sure to get a second kiss in an outfit like that.”
“No… I like the old stuff. It’s classic and tailored. You know me. I was born in the wrong decade.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You should have been one of those gals singing in the 1940s swing bands.” Holding an assortment of trash and coffee cups looped through her fingers, Jordan passed her on the way to their kitchen swinging her hip out in a friendly bump.
Lauren carefully grabbed the shopping bag and couldn’t help but start humming Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy to herself as she headed to her bedroom. She hung up her vintage, dark vanilla dress that had a bow sash waistband and swing skirt volumized with extra crinoline. Tracing her hand over the satin, sweetheart neckline with a sheer overlay of light, polka dot fabric, she smiled to herself. The shoes were placed under the hanging dress—three and a half inch glittery, gold, rhinestone platform heels with buckled ankle straps. She knew exactly how she was going to wear her hair and the only jewelry she had in mind was an ivory, double pearled necklace. Taking a step back, she admired her new purchases, and secretly hoped David would find her choices classic and feminine, perfect for a February, late-afternoon wedding. It was going to be a long night ahead anticipating the next day with her supermodel date. When Jordan asked her if she wanted to go in on a pizza and watch The Avengers on cable, she didn’t hesitate.
***
David Randle sat in an uncomfortable
chair at the stuffy Capital City Club in downtown Atlanta nursing his third old-fashioned. The small wedding party had enjoyed a distinguished meal of filet mignon and lobster at the private social club in the beautiful Venetian Dining Room. He found it quite a coincidence that a notable member of the club, Asa Griggs Candler, the eldest son of the founder of the Coca-Cola Company, had built the beautiful Callanwolde mansion where the wedding was to take place the next day. Catherine’s fiancé, Brian Brady was a member of the club, which offered a secure, private place for them to celebrate their rehearsal dinner, out of the public and paparazzi eye.
Being an avid history buff, the antiquity of his surroundings and the portraits of previous members from days gone by intrigued David. He enjoyed observing his older sister flit about her guests among the replica paintings and antique silver, raising glass after glass of pink champagne in numerous toasts, her raven, curly hair bouncing over her shoulders like an untamed lioness. Their parents were not a part of the American festivities—they were elderly and David’s mum refused to get on a jet plane. Catherine and Brian scheduled a second, smaller celebration in the English countryside just for Mr. and Mrs. Randle and some of their closest English friends. It would be during the peak of spring after the February Daytona 500 and March Las Vegas 400 races that Brian was racing in. From their wedding in England, they planned a luxurious one month honeymoon holiday, traveling the globe before settling down somewhere on the east coast of the United States.
“And if it weren’t for my dear little brother, David, we would not be here tonight. As you all know, he introduced me to the love of my life….”
David looked up at his sister who shared his same blue eyes. He smiled warmly at her, his heart tugging with sibling love. Even though he was younger than Catherine, he was incredibly protective, wanting nothing but the best for her future with Brian. Her English idiosyncrasies did nothing but woo her Southern race car driver into a colorful world of love and passion.
“Cheers to you David, my love.” Her eyes pooled with tears. “I shall never forget the sacrifices you have made for me and our family. For always loving me through thick and thin.” She paused, dabbing a white linen napkin above her crimson lips. “And for befriending the most handsome man in the world who knows how to shag better than anyone I’ve ever encountered.” The small, intimate group of close friends erupted in a guffaw of laughter and applause. Catherine raised her flute and downed the last bit of pink champagne before approaching David and sitting in his lap draping her arms around his neck.
“Seriously, I love you,” she whispered before hugging him tight.
“I love you too, Catherine.” He ran his palm across the side of her head in an effort to tame her unruly curls. She pulled back from the embrace and kissed him forcefully on the cheek displaying a perfect, red lip stamp on his skin.
Brian knelt next to them holding an amber beer bottle. He was a true Southern boy, preferring hops and barley to blended grapes. Catherine immediately put her arms around both men, pushing their heads against her cheeks. “Thank you, for making me the happiest girl on the planet!” Brian helped her up keeping one hand on her rear end. She hung off his neck with flushed cheeks.
David motioned at his Cartier watch. “Isn’t it about time for you to say good-bye for the evening? You know it might be bad luck for the groom to see his bride on the day of the wedding. You don’t want to turn into a pumpkin after midnight, do you?” he teased, looking up at the couple.
Catherine pouted, pulling Brian in for an even tighter embrace. He placed his beer bottle on the table and peeled her arms off, holding her hands in his own. David couldn’t help but overhear him whisper.
“I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow, Catherine. I love you.” They kissed lightly.
A familiar pang traveled straight to David’s heart. He had never come anywhere near walking down the aisle, but seeing his sister and Brian so joyous and happy together made him wistful, a longing in his spirit to experience what they obviously shared.
“I’ll be the one by the Vicar… the one not all in white,” she giggled.
David had been instrumental in helping her relay her bridal gown vision to his friend and British fashion designer, Vivien Westwood. The eccentric designer was famous for her punk infusion into fashion, much to Catherine’s delight. Her wedding gown turned out to be a one-of-a-kind beaded, Chantilly lace mermaid gown with a deep V-neckline that accentuated her Double-D’s. The tulle, handkerchief skirt started out white at the waist, but was infused with various shades of pink blending effortlessly into a bright fuchsia hemline. She planned on wearing her dress at both ceremonies, “tickled pink” at how her vision had come to fruition with the help of her supermodel brother.
A black Suburban with tinted windows drove off down Peachtree Street, taking Catherine and her female entourage back to their hotel. It was a quarter till midnight, the mature magnolia trees casting shadows along the city pavement by the light of the full moon. David waved at the vehicle before pushing his hands deep into his pants pockets and staring up at the sky. He smiled, thinking about Lauren. The hesitation he had felt in telling his sister about his unexpected date quickly dissipated when she threw herself into his arms, delighted he would have a dance partner at her wedding.
Over the years, Catherine had tried to set him up with various friends. But when he was catapulted into his career, his social life was suddenly shoved to the wayside. Sure, he had dozens of opportunities to accompany beautiful women to the hippest clubs and best restaurants across the world. He was even briefly linked to a trendy British pop singer, their schedules eventually preventing them from seeing each other for more than a few days a month. He shrugged off the whole dating scene altogether, preferring solitary confinement in his off time, listening to Tony Bennett and reading a good book. His greatest source of meditation was driving his cars. He would often wake in the wee hours of the morning and drive just to catch the sunrise over an asphalt hill, the hum of the engine lulling him into a state of pure contentment. Having a woman by his side to share in his simple pleasures was always something he had hoped for, eventually.
His thoughts reverted back to his sister when Brian patted his shoulder. “How about a nightcap—brother?” he grinned devilishly.
Chapter Six
The impressive bar at the Capital City Club was empty except for two famous men downing the last of their cocktails. David paused, staring at the maraschino cherry at the bottom of his old-fashioned, the image of Lauren’s full lips coming to mind. He had lost count of how many drinks they’d consumed and realized he was completely shit-faced. Blinking several times, he tried to focus on Brian’s animated face as he continued to tell him about the time his racecar almost crashed. He was vaguely familiar with this story, thinking Brian might have told it several times before—always at the end of an alcoholic binge.
“Dude, I saw my life flash before my eyes…. I could have lost control on that fast lane turn and struck the wall, but I guess it wasn’t my time.” He chugged the last of his beer in two gulps. “I was able to maintain control and keep her on the track. Fucking insane!” Slamming the empty bottle on the bar dramatically, David jumped.
Standing, he drained the last bit of whisky out of the heavy, crystal glass, and skewered the bright red cherry between his teeth. “My sister will never forgive me if I don’t get you home in one piece,” he slurred.
The tab was paid, and the two bumbled through the deserted lobby area to meet their driver who would take them back to the St. Regis. David noticed a beautiful flower arrangement on a small table made entirely of red roses.
Rose… he absentmindedly plucked one of the flowers from the vase.
They drunkenly slid into the back of the car, Brian immediately pulling his phone out of his jacket and texting Catherine.
“I just gotta tell her I love her one more time,” he garbled holding up one finger. His eyes were droopy and bloodshot.
David snorted, his head feeling h
eavy on his shoulders. He leaned back in the seat closing his eyes and brought the rose up to his nostrils, deeply inhaling the scent. A random thought crossed his mind, and he suddenly sat up and leaned forward tapping the driver on the shoulder.
“You need to stop by an apartment on our way to the hotel…. Just for a minute.”
“Yes sir. What’s the address?”
***
The muted television in Lauren’s apartment was on a random channel advertising the newest weight loss craze, casting shadows across Jordan’s face as she slept on the couch with Morris perched near her blue head. A faint knocking on the door slowly woke her up. She opened one eye sleepily looking around the room before sitting up and scratching her head, not sure where the sound was coming from. The orange cat stood and stretched before jumping off the couch and meowing. The knocking grew louder.
“Okay, okay….” Her blue hair was matted on one side of her head and swirling straight up on the other making it look like cotton candy on a stick. Peering through the peep hole of the front door, she gasped, and immediately pulled back to rub her eyes. She looked through the tiny hole again and could see none other than supermodel David Randle standing outside in the hallway. His tie was loosened around his neck, a faint five o’clock shadow grazed his face, and his hair looked like he’d just been thoroughly fucked. The man was gorgeous.
“Umm… who is it?” Jordan rolled her eyes knowing full well who it was and why he was there.
“Hello? I’m looking for Lauren… Lauren Rose?”
Jordan smoothed her hair back from her face and unlocked the deadbolt before slowly opening the door, her eyes wide with anticipation.
The Nearness of You: A British celebrity, standalone love-at-first-sight romance Page 4
