by Cassie Page
Out of habit, she picked up Brooks’ champagne glass and drained what was left of it. In the old days, they used to joke that they were like monkeys grooming each other, feeding each other, drinking out of each other’s glasses.
“Whoa,” he said, taking the glass from her hand. “Don’t mix that with your meds,” but the last drops were gone.
“What made you think of me now, after all this time? You could have given me this speech months ago while I was still in LA and saved yourself a plane ticket.”
“You know, with all that has been happening to you and having it all over the web and cable news, well naturally they would pick up on our fifteen minutes of fame. I began seeing us everywhere. The LACMA opening, the party to launch that museum I did in Brazil, the night we had dinner with Brad and Angelina. I couldn’t get away from us. It was like a message from the universe. We belong together. I made a mistake. There, I said it. You know how hard it is for me to admit my fallibility, but I finally couldn’t avoid it. You were all over the news and I wanted to be with you.”
Olivia snuggled down into the pillows. The pain had eased but the soft glow from the narcotic and the brief taste of her favorite champagne wrapped her in a sweet cocoon. And best of all, Brooks, here at last. He’d come back to her. Finally. All that misery was behind her. If pining for him for those months, uprooting herself from LA and putting her in financial limbo instead of on top of the heap as she had been down south was what she had to do to get him back, then by golly, it was worth it.
Brooks leaned over into her face to kiss it. “What did you say love?”
“I didn’t say anything.” She closed her eyes to receive his kiss.
He leaned back to look at her. “No, you said something about it was worth it? What did you mean? What was worth it?”
Oops. Olivia realized she’d been talking her thoughts. Please no. Don’t let Brooks know how badly he had broken her heart. A girl’s gotta save face. How much did she say out loud? How much did he hear? Before she could answer herself, her head fell back, completely conked out.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Free At Last
This was why Olivia hated drugs. They drugged her. For days. She always said she’d make a lousy drug addict. She’d never take the damn stuff. Oh, she remembered last night of course. Up until Brooks laid her on the bed. But how did she get into her Goofy nightshirt? She certainly didn’t remember that. Oh no! Did she spend a night with Brooks, FINALLY, and not remember it? That would be layering injustice upon indignity, the injustice losing Brooks in the first place.
Voices drifted down the hallway from the kitchen. Tuesday and Brooks must be having coffee. Yup, she sniffed it. That roused her in a hurry and she made it in and out of the shower and into clean clothes in record time. Blessedly, her hair fell into place without a struggle and a swipe of blush and lip-gloss made her reasonably presentable. The wood floor felt wonderfully cool and grounding under her feet so she kicked aside her flip-flops.
In the kitchen Brooks greeted her with an all-encompassing hug. How thrilling to be reminded of his big, comforting arms, the scent of his imported cologne and the tease of his soft lips.
Tuesday banged the kettle to get their attention. “Hey, you two. Red alert! There’s a lonely old maid in the house. Don’t rub it in with PDAs. I should say get a room, but you’ve just had one. Knock it off anyway.”
Brooks released Olivia. “You? lonely! That’s not the Tuesday I remember.” Brooks laughed and for a moment it was just like old times, the three of them laughing, teasing, comfortably preparing good food.
“Tuesday,” Olivia said, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “Where did you find the bacon?”
“I sent Brookie Boy to Paymoor to exchange a pound of flesh for a pound of bacon.”
Brooks shook his head. “And it just about cost me a pound of flesh. Where does that place think it is with those prices, Beverly Hills?”
Brooks poured Olivia’s coffee and sat her in the window seat at the table. “There’s more to this town than meets the eye,” Olivia told him. “Like lots of the green stuff.”
“I guess,” he answered.
Oh, yes, this was the Brooks she had longed for all these months. And he was back. But that room business. What exactly happened after she passed out? In the old days, she would have laughed and just asked him and he would have mimed the pathetic lover whose advances are so easily forgotten. But this was both familiar and new. Perhaps because his arrival was so unexpected and her head was deeply stuck in her problems that she couldn’t quite connect with him the way she would have expected. There was a little wall between them. Not big enough to erase their easy intimacy, but enough so that she needed to hold something back. Oh well. Probably the drugs. She wasn’t quite herself yet.
After scraping up the dregs of the creamy scrambled eggs and caviar that Tuesday had whipped up, Brooks cleared the three plates to the sink. He looked out at the garden for a moment. He was a feast for her eyes. The cricket sweater made for him by his great grandmother in Sussex with washed cargo shorts, the touch of casual elegance. The loafers buffed to a blinding shine. All Brooks, all day.
He turned to Olivia with arms outstretched. “Baby, isn’t it time we started doing the Brooks Baker boogie again.” He punctuated his plea with a buck and wing.
Olivia laughed at his signature dance move. He came over and wrapped her in a hug again, then turned serious. “Babe, I’ve got plans. First, we have to get you in front of this media circus. I’m going to call my agent. Have her get Jannie Peters on it. You remember her, my press go-to gal. We’ll have her come up here and do an in depth interview, focus not on the murder but the challenge of moving from the city where it’s all happening to a little burg like Darling Valley. Pitch it say,” he held his hands up like a marquee, “LA design whiz finds her soul in Northern California.”
The wall, as if it had a will of its own, started to grow. Olivia crossed her arms as though protecting herself from an attacker.
“Have you started a blog? What’s happening with your Facebook page and Twitter feeds. We’ll get some pros on board to grow your fan base and post regular updates. And of course we’ll get my profile on it. Lots of pictures of you showing me around town, cooking together here. Real homey. Once the press sees me in the picture it will take the heat off you.”
Olivia winced, as though something had smacked her on the head. “Well, if you think so.”
Tuesday drained her coffee and stuck the mug in the dishwasher. She had a tight line around her mouth. She pulled a very conservative terry cloth robe around her and stared at the clock.
Brooks rushed over and pulled up his chair next to Olivia’s. “That’s my girl. Listen. I knew you’d be on board with this so I called my rep this morning and had her arrange a jet for Jannie. She’ll be here in an hour. We can find a B&B or something for Tuesday. We’ll put Jannie in the spare room so she can keep eyeballs on the scene 24/7.”
Tuesday broke in. “In case you hadn’t notice, I’m sitting here big as life in my comfy robe. Can’t miss me. You might to ask if I want to stick around for the media circus you’re proposing.”
Brooks turned to her. “Oh, sure, Tuesday, if you’d rather head back to LA. I’ll arrange for Jannie’s jet to take you on the return trip.”
And to Olivia, “See how easily things are falling into place? What would you do with out me?”
He leaned over and kissed her nose and then pulled his iPhone out of his pocket.
Tuesday shrugged her shoulders and said, “’Scuse me, you lovebirds. I have to rotate my tires,” and walked to the hallway.
Olivia said, “You know, I’m still a little woozy from the drugs. I need to lie down for a bit.”
Brooks said, “Sure babe. Whatever you need. And then you can change into one of your five star outfits. Something elegant, but San Francisco casual. We want to keep a bit of a city aura. Don’t want to lose our fans who love seeing us around town. Nothing that smacks of Mayberry
, you know what I mean? You gotta work those paparazzi to get them on our side.”
Tuesday followed Olivia down the hall and closed the bedroom door as Olivia fell back on the bed. “How you doing, sugar babe? Has the pain come back?”
“No, my tummy’s okay. Maybe this whole thing is catching up with me. You know, the murder, the money worries, the drugs and then Brooks showing up.”
She put her hands over her face and starting sobbing.
“Sweetie, what is it?” Tuesday sat down on the side of the bed and stroked Olivia’s hair. “I would have thought having Brooks here would make all your worries go away. I know that’s what you’ve wanted since the breakup. Even though you deny it. You two are like bonded at the soul level. You’re in transition. You know what that’s like, one foot on one side of a canyon the other reaching for solid ground. It’s hard. Of course, he still has that it’s my world and be glad I let you live in it vibe going on. But hey, if it works for you . . . ”
Olivia sat up on one elbow. “Tues, did we sleep together last night? Did we do anything? You know what I mean.”
“Whoa, girl. You were there. What do you think?”
“But that’s just it. I don’t remember. I woke up this morning in my nightshirt and don’t know how I got here. Where was Brooks when you got up?”
“In the kitchen making coffee. You know how he is, can’t sit still for two seconds. His hair was wet so he had showered. I assumed he had slept with you. I mean, where else would he sleep?”
Tuesday let out a big sigh. “You know, I think Brooks is right. I should leave. With all that’s going on, I’m in the way now. I’ll pack up my things and take that jet back to LA. He can use the Mercedes and drop it off at the airport before he comes back. I’ll let the rental company know.”
Olivia put her arm on Tuesday’s, stroked her robe. Terry cloth! The towels. She’d have to get them out of the dryer as soon as she got up.
“But I don’t want you to leave, Tuesday. I want you here. I couldn’t have functioned the last few days without you.”
“Yeah, but now you have Brooks. I done my duty as I saw it, captain. Go to sleep.” She gently pressed Olivia down into the soft pillow and waited until she closed her eyes. She tiptoed out of the room.
Olivia’s cell phone jangled her awake. “Hello?” She was half in and half out of a light sleep.
“Miss Granville? Did you get my message about lunch?”
She was about to say who is this, when a bell went off. The garage guy! Mr. Bacon. He’d left a message specifically saying he wanted to meet for lunch today. Had she said yes?
“I just wanted to check that we are still on for Hugo’s at noon.”
Nothing in Olivia’s being wanted to meet him or anyone for lunch today. But this could be a goldmine of a client. She sat up, shook her head to wake up. “Of course we’re on. I have some ideas for you that I think would not only show off your car, the Trident.”
He corrected her. “Talbot, Miss Granville. Nineteen thoity-eight Talbot.”
“Of course, slip of the tongue. We want to show off the car, protect it and showcase its historical context.”
She didn’t know how she had pulled that out of her hat, but as she heard herself describing this sudden vision of the perfect garage, it sounded pretty good. Juke box, little soda fountain in the corner.
“That’s what I’m talkin' about Miss Granville. See you at noon.”
“Can’t wait.” She gave a little laugh. “I’m hungry already.” She looked at the clock. Nine-fifteen. Hmm. What should she wear? Then she flopped back down on the bed and promptly fell asleep.
Brooks woke her with a soft kiss. She opened her eyes and moved into his embrace. He stretched out next to her and took her in his arms. As he began the familiar moves with his hands and his tongue, she came fully awake.
“Wait. What time is it?”
“Ten. We have lots of time before Jannie gets here. She texted she was going to be late. The jet couldn’t get a clearance until noon. An hour flying time, then a what, half hour ride in the limo from the airport?”
Olivia sat up. “An hour with traffic. But I have a lunch meeting.”
Brooks said, “Cancel it. We have things to do.” Then he gave her a sexy grin and kissed her again. “And I don’t just mean creating a public relations strategy.”
Olivia pushed past him and stood up. “No. I can’t cancel. I’ve put this guy off what, three times now. He could be my biggest client. I won’t be more than two hours.”
“Wait a minute. Olivia. Let’s get our priorities straight. I’ve lined things up that will turn all this around for you. You have to get out from under the suspicion of murder. We have to put some good spin on you. Get you back to LA and away from this Keystone Kops scene. You don’t need clients up here anymore. You need them in LA. We’re together again. Like old times, only better.”
“But I don’t live in LA anymore. I live here. I have commitments. And I don’t want your press gal whitewashing my story. I want to find the killer and clear my name. So there will be no doubt about my innocence. And I can’t do that from LA. And I can’t pass up valuable leads. This guy is looking for someone to design a space for a hundred vintage cars. You know what that could do for me?”
“Yeah. I’ll design the building and you do the interior. The two of us together and it would be a bombshell for the design community. I’ve never done a space for cars, but it can’t be much of a challenge. Not after that museum in the African bush.”
Olivia turned to him, outraged. “You want to take my gig away from me? I make the connection because of the work I’ve done establishing myself in this town and you want to steal my thunder?”
“Babe, look. Face it. We know who’s got the juice here. Nothing against you, but how many times have you been on the cover of Time? This would be good exposure for me. We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
The fog of drugs and intoxicating presence of Brooks lifted. Olivia saw thing’s clearly now. She faced Brooks.
“I see what you’re doing. We weren’t in this together when you were out with your starlets and models and calling me your client. Now, whether I like it or not, the media is after me for, what are they calling it, the crime of the century. Murder in Billionaire Hollow. And you want in on the action. You’ve got your people on it. But did you ask me what I wanted?
“How dare you throw Tuesday, my friend, out of my own house? How dare you set up blogs and tweets and media stories without asking me? And what’s going to happen when the media storm is over and the guy who did this is caught and then I’m just the same old antiques dealer and designer of bathrooms and the next model of the month drifts by? Did you even ask me if I wanted you here? You just assume you can walk back in my life whenever you feel like it.
“God I hate feeling like I’m in a soap opera. And I’m not going to. You’ll be on the jet back to LA, with your go to publicity gal. You left me to handle my life on my own. And that is what I am doing. Thank you very much. Now I have to get dressed for a business meeting. TUESDAY? Unpack your bags. You’re not going anyplace.”
“STOP! YOU’RE KILLING THEM!”
Olivia raced into the yard and grabbed the hose out of Tuesday’s hands. It whipsawed into the air like a green snake on steroids, dousing both of them before it finally fell into the dirt, pouring water down the driveway.
Tuesday, her clothes plastered to her skin, mascara spreading in a coal black river down her cheeks, fake eyelashes hanging off one lid, hair a bright pink wet beanie stuck to her scalp, was spitting out the rivulets of water dripping from her nose and upper lip.
“What the . . .”
Olivia ran to the spigot to turn off the flood, screaming, “You aim the water at the roots, not blast the roses to kingdom come with a water canon!”
She pulled her sopping hoodie away from her chest and pointed to the naked branches and carpet of waterlogged petals under them. “Look, there’s nothing but hips left on
that one. It was my prize floribunda!”
Tuesday was near tears, peeling off her eyelashes. “How am I supposed to know? I have plastic flowers. I was just trying to stay out of the way.”
Olivia came to her senses and ran back and hugged Tuesday. “So sorry, so sorry, SOOOOOO sorry.” Now she was crying. “It’s not your fault. I’m a prizewinning bitch for going off that. It’s just. Well, could the house be more uncomfortable? Brooks went for a run to kill time until Jannie arrives. But that’s three hours away. Some delay with the plane. He told her not to come, but they were already on the runway. So she gave him what for--believe me, you don’t want to be around her if she so much as has to wait for a light before she crosses the street. Then he turned on me,” she shivered at the memory of Brooks bellowing at her, “and now he’s parked in front of the TV sulking.”
The two friends looked at one another. Olivia quoted her grandmother. “Do him good,” and they burst out laughing. Olivia said, “We’re good?”
Tuesday flicked her eyelashes into the roses and giggled, “We couldn’t be more good. Let’s get cleaned up. I feel like channeling Cher.”
Olivia stopped her. “Not Turn Back Time. DV isn’t ready for that.”
“Course not. That’s evening wear. How about Mary Tyler Moore, then. I have some bell bottoms with me.”
Half an hour later, Olivia passed Brooks in her skin tight, low cut, knock-em-dead-at-the-client-meeting dress with the do-me shoes, zillion inch heels and straps wrapped around her ankles up to her knees. He avoided looking at her as she strutted by, but she heard him stretch his neck to check her out as she picked up her purse and went down stairs.
On the way to the Mercedes, she saw Tuesday hunting for her eye lashes under the drowned rose bush. "I didn’t bring an extra pair,” she explained, then stopped Olivia. “You can NOT go out in that dress without some bling. I’ve got the perfect scarf. Wait here.”
