Blossoms of Love

by J. M. Jeffries

  “I followed the comments on the internet, and most of them are very nice, though. Except for this one guy who said your earlobes are fat.”

  Greer touched her ears. “My earlobes are fat? Can earlobes be fat? What a silly comment to make.”

  “He probably wanted to say something really nasty but couldn’t find anything, so he settled for earlobe fat. Your ears are shaped like Grandma DeeDee’s.”

  “What does that mean?” Greer asked.

  “Grandma DeeDee had thick earlobes and always had trouble keeping her earrings on.”

  Greer simply frowned. “I don’t have trouble with my earrings.” She touched her ears again. Her dangling red poinsettia earrings were just where they were supposed to be. “They couldn’t say I’m an award-winning float designer? Why a former beauty queen with chubby ears? That doesn’t define me.” Her anger turned to fury, and she felt like hitting something. How could this magazine so distort the truth?

  “Former beauty queen is sexier than float designer.” Chelsea’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  The waitress brought their salads, and for a few moments they were silent as they ate. A shadow fell across them, and Chelsea looked up.

  “Can I join you?” Logan Pierce pulled a chair over from a vacant table and sat down.

  “I guess so,” Greer said. She really wanted to say no. “When did you get back from New York?”

  “Last night.” He studied her, his gaze lingering on her ears. “I don’t think your earlobes are fat.”

  Greer wanted to punch him. “You read the article.”

  “Of course I read it. Half the fun of being a celebrity is reading the crap they write about you and following the comments on the internet.”

  A couple of teenage girls walked by, their heads turning. At first Greer thought they were admiring Logan, but they whipped out their cameras and took a photo of her. She wanted to scream go away.

  Chelsea started to giggled. “Next week I think you’re going to find a photo of you and Logan on the front of the Celebrity Buzz with the headline Love Triangle.”

  “Why don’t you date my sister so she can go through this misery, too?” Greer suggested.

  Logan laughed.

  “That is really a loaded question,” Chelsea said. “If he says no, I might feel insulted. If he says yes, do you really expect him to date me?”

  Logan gave Chelsea an admiring look. “Dating your sister wouldn’t be a hardship.”

  “I should think not,” Chelsea said, “though I really don’t want my photo plastered all over next week’s tabloids, nor do I want comments about my earlobes.”

  The waitress appeared with a menu for Logan, who ordered a drink and a sandwich.

  “In my opinion,” Logan said to Chelsea, “your earlobes are flawless.”

  “You can dish it, can’t you?” Chelsea fluttered her eyelashes at Logan. “No wonder Greer chose Daniel over you.”

  He sat back, one hand over his heart, pretend hurt on his face. “You are brutal.” He turned back to Greer. “I’m not giving up.”

  “I’m not sure what to say to you.” Greer wanted to stuff her bread stick in her mouth to keep her comments unsaid. “So, what are you doing in town?”

  “Daniel’s doing a segment on my float tomorrow.” The waitress brought his mug of coffee, and Logan took a sip.

  “Your float?” Greer said.

  Logan nodded. “Bottom line, this rivalry we manufacture each year is for charity. We pony up for each other’s charity, and so does our audience.”

  Chelsea finished her salad and pushed the bowl away. “So, this whole competition thing is not about your egos, but about charity.”

  Logan grinned. “Oh, we have egos, but most of it’s for show. Mix in an audience with those egos and we’ve produced entertainment.” He held out his hands. “Ta-da.”

  Greer couldn’t help thinking she liked Logan. If he were just a little less pushy, she might enjoy being with him as much as she did being with Daniel. “I haven’t figured out if that’s brilliant or sad.”

  “Daniel and I have been friends since high school. We both know just how far we can push each other without drawing blood. Our audiences like that we choose oddball things. One year we sponsored a curling match between our two studios. Donations to the little-known US Olympic curling team tripled that year. And when they won the gold medal, interest was really revived in the sport.”

  Greer had no idea what curling was, and the fact that an Olympic team existed surprised her.

  The waitress came back with Logan’s sandwich. As he took a bite, Greer looked out onto the busy sidewalk. She noticed a photographer at the end of the block, his huge camera pointed at Logan.

  “Is that a paparazzo?” She nodded at the man. He was short and stout with a comb-over that flapped in the slight breeze.

  “Yep, that’s Charlie,” Logan said after a quick glance over his shoulder.

  “Can he get a decent photo from there?” Chelsea asked. She pretended to pose and wriggled her fingers at the photographer.

  “I have an injunction against him. He has to stay a minimum of a hundred feet away. He broke into my condo a few months ago to take photos of where I live. Thank God the maid had come the day before. I’d forgotten my phone and walked back in just as he was taking photos of my underwear drawer.”

  “Gross,” Chelsea exclaimed.

  “I hope he stays out of my house and my underwear drawer.” Greer frowned at the photographer. She knew she wasn’t going to enjoy being the target of their cameras.

  “Get security, if you don’t have any, and buy good locks.” Logan frowned at the man.

  “How do you stand living in a fishbowl?” Greer asked.

  “You make a game out of it.”

  Greer shuddered. She didn’t think she would ever get used to being followed by photographers day and night, forever intruding in her life.

  The waitress returned with their checks, and Logan grabbed them. “My treat, ladies. I’m glad I ran into you. Otherwise I would have been eating by myself.”

  “We’ve got to get back to work.” Greer pushed back from the table and stood. “Thank you for lunch. And thank you for the roses. You sent so many, I shared them with the folks in the retirement community down the block from my office.”

  “Did you at least keep one?”

  “Of course,” Greer said. “I kept one vase.” She glanced at her watch. “We really have to get back.”

  “How about dinner Friday?”

  She paused, then shook her head. “Sorry, I already have a commitment.”

  “With Daniel?”

  “Maybe.” She threaded her way around the patio tables and stopped to wave at Logan, who sat at the table finishing his sandwich. Chelsea pushed her through an opening in the short fence that surrounded the sidewalk patio. He looked lonely sitting by himself, and Greer was half tempted to go back. She would have, but she had a meeting with the volunteers who would be helping with Daniel’s float.

  Logan smiled at Greer, gave her a small wave and turned back to his lunch.

  Chapter 7

  Logan’s float celebrated triumph over adversity as a celebration of life. He’d kept his design simple, with a bank of storm clouds at the front of the float leading to a brilliant rainbow in the rear. Along both sides of the float were the words After the Storm. Officials from the American Red Cross populated his float, wearing uniforms from different eras, from modern to vintage. Across the front of the float was the word HOPE. Beneath the storm clouds were devastated buildings, and beneath the rainbow were the same buildings rebuilt. The design was both poignant and beautiful.

  On the side of the float, which was still in skeleton format, Logan sat in a director’s chair next to Daniel, who held up the artist’s
drawing of the finished float.

  Greer stood off to the side with a small audience of volunteers, observing the segment for Daniel’s show. She couldn’t help but see the easy camaraderie between the two men.

  The cameraman panned along the edge of the skeletal float and back to Logan’s face as he explained why he’d decided on this design.

  “One of my staff lost her house to Hurricane Sandy, and she commented that seeing the Red Cross setting up food lines and handing out blankets at the different shelters gave her hope,” Logan said. “That’s what I wanted to convey with my float. Hope. Celebrating in the aftermath of disaster is all about hope and the fact that life goes on.”

  “That’s a noble thought,” Daniel said, a glimmer in his eye. “But how are you going to feel after you lose the Sweepstakes Trophy?”

  “I’m not going to lose,” Logan said, his voice lightly teasing. “After all, I’m on a streak, and I see no end in sight.”

  Greer found herself clapping with the rest of the audience.

  “Good.” Daniel said. “Let your confidence soar, because when you plunge to earth after you lose the trophy to me, my victory will be so much sweeter.”

  “You always were a poor loser,” Logan replied with a chuckle.

  Daniel burst out laughing. “And you’re a poor winner.”

  Logan shook his head. “Is there such a thing as a poor winner?”

  “Of course—a winner who gloats.”

  “I never gloat.”

  “Yes, you do.” Daniel smiled directly into the camera. “If you go to YouTube, you can see the Logan Pierce Heisman Trophy dance. That is gloating and embarrassing.”

  Logan laughed and faced the camera. “And I remember you doing the Sugar Bowl Samba.”

  “We won that game,” Daniel put in, defending his college alma mater.

  “Yes, and we all witnessed your end-zone demonstration.” Logan leaned toward the camera. “And that would also be on YouTube.”

  Again the audience started clapping. Greer was fascinated by the two men. Their easy friendship made her a little envious. She’d had friends go in and out of her life, but the most consistent relationships she’d had were with her sisters.

  A third man walked onto the makeshift stage and took a seat. Brian Kellerman from Associated Float Design was a short, round man with a jolly face that masked his competitive nature. He looked like Santa Claus and made the most of the similarity by growing a snow-white beard. Brian had once worked for Greer’s father and learned everything he needed to know in order to strike out on his own and become a main competitor of Courtland Floats and Greer’s nemesis. He was a man who liked to gloat. He might have cultivated his Santa Claus look, but Greer’s father called him the Grinch.

  “This is a winner,” Brian said with an expansive gesture to the structure behind him. “My floats have won thirty-one trophies over the last ten years.” His gaze flashed over Greer as he bragged. She was unimpressed. She trumped his thirty-one trophies with the seventy-four her family had won over twenty years in the business.

  Daniel glanced at Greer, and she could see by the expression on his face that he thought Brian was an arrogant ass, too.

  “This one,” Brian said, half turning to the float behind him, “is my best one yet. I have every confidence we will win the Sweepstakes Trophy again this year.”

  Daniel smirked. “I think I have a pretty good float to offer as competition.”

  Brian dismissed Daniel’s comment with a shrug.

  Logan’s float was sentimental, it told a story and it was beautiful—or would be beautiful once flowers adorned it. Greer could admire it, but the judges had their own way of looking at a float, and it didn’t always coincide with the designer’s vision.

  Brian leaned toward the camera, a pleasant smile on his face. “Greer Courtland is an amazing conceptual artist, but I’m brilliant.”

  “I see,” Daniel said, his voice neutral.

  Greer shook her head. She heard the same nonsense from Brian every year. One thing her father always said about Brian was that he was a lavish creative force, but he didn’t always understand the mechanics needed to make a float work properly. Many of his designs had to be scaled back to become reality. Fortunately for Brian, he had a good partner in his wife, who kept him in check. In fact, Greer was surprised Petra wasn’t here. She was normally the spokesperson for the company.

  “How do you like working with Logan?” Daniel asked, his voice polite.

  “He has good ideas.”

  Greer caught Logan’s eye roll. Obviously Logan was not an admirer of Brian, either.

  “This is hilarious.” Chelsea nudged Greer. “Brian never gets tired of listening to himself.”

  “Unlike the rest of us,” Greer half whispered. When Brian got nasty, everybody needed to get out of his way. She figured he’d control himself while on national TV. “It’s a beautiful design and perfectly mirrors the parade theme.”

  “So does Daniel’s float.”

  “Daniel’s float is fun. And that’s okay. Life should contain humor and whimsy.” And what better symbolism than the monarch butterfly from caterpillar to winged beauty?

  When the interview ended, Daniel announced a commercial break and wandered over to Greer. “So, what are my chances of winning that trophy?”

  “Yours is a good float. But the judges have the final say. Too bad it’s not a personality contest, because I’d win hands down.”

  Daniel laughed. “No kidding. How about dinner tonight?”

  “I’m in. Why don’t you come to my house and I’ll cook.”

  “Sounds like a date.”

  “Seven?”

  He nodded and wandered back toward the temporary set.

  Before Greer could return to work, a copy of the tabloid with her and Daniel’s photo was shoved in front of her face.

  “Can I get an autograph?” Brian asked.

  “Of course. I’d be delighted. Do you have a pen?”

  Brian glared at her. “Sleeping with your client, are you?”

  “I have incredibly good taste.”

  His eyes narrowed. Before he could say something else, Chelsea rescued her. “We have to get back to work, Brian. See ya.” She dragged Greer away.

  “Thank you for that,” Greer whispered.

  “My pleasure.”

  * * *

  Greer took one last look around her living room. Everything was in order. She wasn’t the neatest person in the world, but neither was she a slob. The dogs waited expectantly at her feet. The cat lay across a pillow on a chair she’d long ago claimed as hers. Everything had been dusted and tidied in a whirlwind of activity the moment she walked in the door. Her Stickley sofa and chair gleamed with leather cleaner, and the faint scent of vanilla wafted through the house from the candle she’d lit. The ambiance was perfect.

  When she heard a knock, Greer opened the front door and stood aside for Daniel to enter. He stepped inside and presented her with a bouquet of daisies and a bottle of white wine. Immediately the dogs surrounded him, sniffing the bottoms of his jeans and looking up with the pitiful expressions on their faces that said pet me. Daniel obliged.

  “Lovely,” she said. “Daisies are my favorite flower.”

  “You never did strike me as a rose kind of girl, even if you were Rose Queen. Besides, just to be certain, I called Chelsea.”

  Great. Chelsea was probably right this moment sharing with Rachel, who would share with their mother, that Greer was entertaining Daniel with a home-cooked dinner.

  Daniel stood up from petting the dogs and looked at her. “How about that segment today? I couldn’t help but detect some tension between you and Brian Kellerman.”

  “That’s a long story.” Greer led him into her cheerful blue-and-white kitchen
and rummaged for a vase while he stood at the patio door, gazing out at the garden, which looked a little barren in December except for a few hardy blooms on her plumeria plants. She found a vase and arranged the daisies in it, setting it in the center of the kitchen table, which she’d already set.

  He leaned against the door and crossed his ankles in a casual pose. “I have time.”

  “My dad hired Brian when I was around ten. He looks harmless, but he isn’t. When I was sixteen, my dad fired him. I found out later that Brian had decided to start his own company and was trying to steal my dad’s clients. Brian was really angry, even though he’s the one who was in the wrong. He talked trash about my family to the parade board of directors. Fortunately for us, my dad’s reputation was such that Brian’s accusations didn’t take hold.”

  “This parade stuff is serious business, isn’t it?” Daniel said.

  “Pasadena has made the parade a way of life. A lot of money is on the table. A small float can cost upwards of $250,000 to $300,000. A large float with all the bells and whistles can cost three-quarters of a million dollars. And each parade contains around sixty floats. So do the math. In the float community, everybody knows everybody.” She opened the wine and poured a glass, then checked the oven to see if the chicken was finally cooked. She hadn’t cooked for herself in so long, she’d almost forgotten how to turn on the oven. “Sometimes the right word in the wrong ear can ruin somebody’s career. I’m lucky. My parents made it a point of maintaining a high level of ethical behavior.”

  “My parents do have a high opinion of yours.”

  “Nice to know.”

  “So, how do you like having your photo plastered all over the tabloids?”

  “I now know I have fat earlobes.”

  Daniel looked confused. “What?”

  “According to one man on the internet, my earlobes are fat.”

  “Please don’t read the comments. I never read them.”