by Molly Bloom
I had noticed the impact of presentation and I worked on mine. I bought expensive clothes and shoes. I hired a trainer, got facials, manicures, and pedicures, got my hair done at the best salons, and went back to Valerie’s for the works. I barely recognized the girl in the mirror.
I also wanted to work on my mind. I took French lessons, studied art, and read books on business and strategy. I absorbed the knowledge thrown around at the table like a sponge. I became great at math, as I had numbers in my head all the time. I watched the guys play, watched them lie to each other, learned their strengths, weaknesses, and their tells.
Chapter 16
Reardon and I became best buds. I helped train his constant stream of new assistants (no one lasted more than a month), and he advised me on business. He was still crazy, but that was who he was and I grew to love his idiosyncrasies. He called me one afternoon while I was updating my spreadsheets by the pool.
“Coming to get you, be outside in five.”
“Reardon, I can’t. I’m not dressed and I’m in the middle of something.”
“Just be outside, five.” And he hung up. I ran upstairs and threw something over my suit and put my hair up in a quick ponytail. In some ways I would always think of him as my boss. I had no idea where we were headed. But I was standing outside as ordered, in five minutes.
He looked at me when I got into the car.
“You look different,” he said.
“Different, how?” I asked
“Better.” He grunted. “Not so much like a homeless girl from Colorado.” Reardon loved to tell people he found me on the streets of Beverly Hills with a backpack and no home. He wasn’t that far off, but it was his favorite story to exaggerate. I guess the slow process of my L.A. makeover was complete.
“Thanks, dick, and I wasn’t homeless,” I said
His phone rang, he answered, and the rest of the way, he was screaming on his phone and driving 100 mph, as usual. He whipped his car into valet at the Beverly Hills Hotel and strode purposefully down the red carpet. I practically had to run to keep up with him. We took our seats at the counter and Reardon slammed a stack of newspapers down on the chair next to him. I was used to this behavior. Even though it was just the two of us, he demanded a table for four—partially because he liked to order the whole menu and partially because he hated to be close to strangers and their germs, unless, of course, those strangers were naked women. He glanced over at me and smiled.
“McCourt’s meeting us,” he said. It was surprisingly sweet the way Reardon was trying to play matchmaker.
My stomach did a little belly flop and I kept my head down as I saw Drew approaching out of the corner of my eye. I pretended to be engrossed in the paper.
“Hi, Molly,” he said warmly
“Hi, Drew.” I grinned.
I hadn’t seen him for quite a while, but I thought about him often. He was the only guy I had met in L.A. who made me think twice.
Drew and I talked throughout the whole meal while Reardon texted, e-mailed, ripped through the paper, and ran off every five minutes to make a call. It was so easy to talk to him. After the three of us finished lunch, Reardon shoved a wad of cash into my hand, saying, “Pay for this, I’ll be back.”
That was Reardon’s way of saying, I’m leaving you here. Fend for yourself.
“So what are you up to this afternoon?” asked Drew.
“I was working until I got hijacked by that terrorist.” I motioned to Reardon’s disappearing figure. “Who may or may not be leaving me here with no ride.”
I silently cursed Reardon for putting me in this awkward position with the only guy I had liked in a long time.
Drew laughed. “I’m going to stop by my friend’s house. He lives next door. Want to come along?”
Of course I did.
A FEW WEEKS LATER, I was helping Reardon’s new assistant, Jenna, prepare for a dinner party at Reardon’s new house. Reardon wanted it to go off perfectly and had requested that I show Jenna the ropes. Jenna was a gorgeous brunette, not particularly smart, and for the record, had not been my first, second, or third choice among the interviewees. I had found skilled, professional women, and, of course, Reardon chose the one that looked like a lingerie model. By the way she fluttered her eyes and sashayed across the room, it was clear that she possessed a specific type of skill and knowledge, even if it had nothing to do with running an office.
Jenna was adept at getting what she wanted from men and women alike. She batted her huge brown eyes at me. “Thank Goddd you’re helping me! You are saving my life. I have sooo much going on; it’s crazyyy.”
“Good stuff, I hope!” I said, knowing she was a struggling actress.
“I’m having an affair with a married man,” she confessed. “And he’s not treating me like a proper mistress.”
That was not the response I was expecting.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He isn’t paying enough attention to me, or taking care of my bills,” she explained, her mouth in a full pout.
I winced.
“Well, you have a new job now, so you can pay them yourself!” I responded encouragingly.
“That’s not the point,” she whined. “I’m going to fix it, though.”
“How?” I asked, horrified and intrigued at the same time.
“Well, he’s a famous rock star, and I was in his music video. He said he and his wife are not getting along, and are probably headed for a divorce. They all say that, though.” She tossed her head. “The last time he came over I made a video of us without him knowing. If he doesn’t start treating me right, I’ll release it!”
My eyes shot open wide. This was exactly the kind of assistant Reardon didn’t need.
“That’s so smart!” I said, keeping up my encouraging tone, as if we were best girlfriends. “Where did you hide the video?”
“In Reardon’s guesthouse.” She giggled. “That’s where I made it!”
“Clever girl,” I said, and sent her out on an errand. Then I went to find Reardon.
“I told you not to hire her,” I said, indignant, hand on my hip.
“You have to fix this, I don’t want this drama,” Reardon said. “And fire her.”
“REARDON!”
“Just fix it.”
I still felt like I owed him, since he had let me have the game.
WHILE JENNA WAS OUT LOOKING for a brand of caviar that didn’t exist, I went into the guesthouse and found the camera and the tape. I made another video of blank footage of the room and pocketed the blackmail tape.
I had a friend who used to tour with the band in question, and he put me in touch with Gage, star of music, and now, a sex tape.
Gage asked me to meet him at his studio, and when I got there, he was behind the glass singing. The whole situation was surreal. His manager greeted me with less enthusiasm than I would have expected, considering that I was saving his premier client from a world of hurt.
“How much?” he asked.
“What? Nothing!” I said, realizing that he thought I wanted to sell the tape.
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” I said, offended.
“Really?” he asked.
“YES!” I said again.
“Gage, come here!”
Gage came out and gave me a sharp look.
“She doesn’t want money,” his manager said.
“Well, what DO you want?”
“Nothing, I just thought you would want it before it gets any airtime.”
We walked to the back and they invited me to sit and chat for a bit.
“You want to come with us to Vegas for our show?” they asked.
I politely declined.
“Should we watch the video?” Gage asked devilishly.
“I have to get back to work,” I lied.
“Thank you so much,” Gage said. “How can I ever repay you?”
I thought about it for a minute. “Do you know anyone who plays poker?
”
THE DINNER PARTY WAS CALLED for the following evening. Reardon’s friends consisted of very wealthy degenerates and young, hot, decorative girls. It was actually nice to observe Reardon’s life from this side.
Sam and Cam affectionately rubbed my head when they arrived.
“Look who’s turned into a piece of ass,” Cam yelled. (Cam didn’t ever have an “inside” voice; yelling was his normal mode.)
I was waiting for someone specific, and Reardon knew it.
“Don’t worry, he’s coming,” he said.
“Shut up, Reardon. I don’t even know who you’re talking about.” I tried not to blush.
“What kind of trouble are you causing now, Green?” said a voice behind me. It was Drew. I spun around and he gave me a big hug.
“Hey, Molly,” he said. “You look great!”
“Thanks, Drew,” I said. I could feel myself blushing.
Cam gave Drew a big backslap.
“McCourt! What’s happening, player. Your Dodgers crushed me this week. Lost a half mil on those fuckers. Needed a Brink’s truck to pay my bookie, I’m not kidding, look.”
He pulled out his phone and showed us a video of himself doing some weird dance in front of a Brink’s truck.
“Look at the next video,” he said. “It’s me giving some girl the baker’s dozen.”
I did not need to see Cam giving any girl anything, let alone thirteen of anything.
“You want a drink?” I asked Drew.
“Sure.” He laughed. “I’ll come with you.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” he said, still laughing as we walked away.
“I don’t work in the office anymore,” I explained. “Just the game. I’m just running the poker game now.”
“What’s going on with you?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“I’m not with Shannen anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, not meaning it.
“It’s a good thing,” he said.
I heard hooting and yelling outside, and looked out just in time to see Cam jump off Reardon’s roof and into the pool.
“Oh, Jesus,” I said. “This is getting off to an early start.”
Drew and I spent most of the night together tucked into the corner of the couch, laughing at the crazy antics happening around us. It was so easy to talk to him. Hanging out with him felt both exciting and comfortable at the same time.
MY PHONE RANG A FEW DAYS LATER; it was Drew, wanting to know if I was free that evening.
“Dinner?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, feigning casual while inside my stomach was doing flip-flops.
“Pick you up?” he asked.
We went to Madeo’s, ordered a bottle of wine, and talked about our families, current events, science, sports. We stayed until the waiters began closing the restaurant. He paid the bill and we walked outside, where a limo was waiting to drive me home.
I looked up at Drew, about to thank him for a wonderful evening, and he leaned in and kissed me. It was a perfect kiss.
The Hammer flashed the limo lights and honked, ruining the moment.
“Okay, bye,” I said reluctantly, and got into the car.
“Is that your man, little shorty?” the Hammer asked.
I laughed. “Maybe, if you hadn’t ruined the moment, the Hammer.”
He chuckled.
“Don’t give up the ass, little lady, make him work for it.”
It wasn’t every day you got advice at midnight from a convicted felon driving a stretch limo, but the Hammer was right. So, like a nice girl, I went home.
A WEEK LATER, I was following the directions Drew had given me to his family’s house. Sunset to Holmby Hills, and then I slowed to make the hard left. There was a bodega on the side of the road offering maps to the stars’ houses. The street widened and then the houses disappeared and there were only massive walls on either side crawling with ivy. All I could see was privacy walls and green, literally and figuratively.
I pulled up to the gate and pressed the call button. I was used to this routine now. Someone answered and I announced myself. The large gate swung open and I started up the driveway. I drove up the hill, and it just kept going and going. I looked around; the property must have been many acres because there were no other houses in sight. At the top of the driveway was a huge fountain surrounded by smaller fountains. The driveway was circular and the house itself, when I finally found it, was monstrous. I sat in the driveway taking deep breaths. I had seen fancy houses, but this was on another level: it was different when those fancy houses belonged to people who were my boyfriend’s parents. Suddenly I was very self-conscious.
Get out of the car, Molly. They’re just people. I stepped out gingerly, debating which entrance to approach.
Thankfully, at that moment Drew walked around the corner.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said, keeping some distance between us.
“Do you wanna come in or you gonna just stay out here?” he asked. He then gave me a hug and I felt a little better.
I FOLLOWED DREW through the massive doors into a huge marble foyer. The ceiling must have been fifty feet high. The artwork on the wall was breathtaking, and the air smelled of fresh-cut flowers. We walked through a formal dining room that held the biggest table I had ever seen, and into the open kitchen, where Drew’s mom was standing in front of the stove, cooking. Jamie was tiny, barely five three, pretty and blond. She put down her spatula and came over to me, extending her hand.
“I’m Molly,” I said.
“Of course you are,” Jamie said. Her eyes were kind and sincere. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
The rest of the family trooped in. Drew’s father, Frank, shook my hand genially. Frank was tall, and handsome; he and his wife made a fantastic-looking couple. Drew’s three younger brothers, Travis, Casey, and Gavin, were all handsome and sweet.
“Can I help with anything?” I asked, remembering my manners.
“Oh no! But sit and chat me with me,” Jamie said.
I perched at the bar in the kitchen and Frank and the boys sat in the other room, watching baseball highlights. Jamie and I had an instant connection. It felt so normal to be chatting with Drew’s mom that it was easy to forget that we were in a thirty-thousand-square-foot mansion. While she diced, sliced, and simmered, she told me that not only was she the vice chairman of the Dodgers, she also had a law degree from Georgetown, a business degree from MIT, and had apparently gone to culinary school in Paris.
I helped Jamie carry the dishes to the table, and she called for the guys, who completely ignored her in a perfect approximation of every cliché about what guys were like when they were watching sports. So Jamie, all hundred and ten pounds of her, marched into the living room and laid down the law. They dutifully followed behind her and I watched her, in awe.
Dinner was better than good, it was mouthwatering, and easily one of the best meals I had enjoyed in L.A. The conversation ranged from sports, to politics, to business. They asked me about my family in Colorado and my event-planning business; I answered all their questions smoothly, telling myself that I wasn’t really lying. I really did run my own business . . .
The night was filled with laughter and a natural ease. As I watched Drew joke around with his brothers, I was overwhelmed. I knew that I had growing feelings for Drew, but tonight was the kicker. The lifestyle, combined with closeness and normalcy . . . how could I not be falling for him? Plus, I loved his family. Minus the trappings, they were just like my family, and exactly the kind of family I wanted for myself someday.
By the time we finished drinking the Brunello that Frank had selected from the wine cellar, it was late. The boys had already gone up to do their homework, and Drew and Frank were discussing business in the living room.
“Molly,” Jamie said. “It’s so nice to see Drew so happy; he really likes you.”
I smiled back at her and said quietly, “I really like him, too.�
�
The truth was I was falling in love, hard and fast.
Chapter 17
Going to baseball games with Drew’s family was nothing like going to games with my brothers when I was a kid. When I was young, we sat in the nosebleed section in jeans and sneakers, ate junk food, and got rowdy with the crowd. With the McCourts, I was well groomed and civilized. There were no Dodger dogs or beers. The family was dressed to the nines, sitting next to the dugout and always entertaining someone important. It was a pretty serious affair. They had invested a lot of money, time, and passion in the team, so every game was a major event.
This night, I was sitting between Drew and former Dodger manager Tommy Lasorda, watching an L.A.–San Diego game. I was grateful to have Tommy there. He lightened the mood and sang songs to me in between hitters.
“Having fun, Molly?” asked Tommy.
“Oh yes!” I said with enthusiasm, and he nodded and then turned back to talk to Frank
I may have elevated my poker game from the basement to the penthouse, but the empire over which I ruled would always be too unsavory to trot out at dinner parties. Certainly, it was not fit for the company I kept during my outings with the McCourts. Even Drew didn’t know the full extent of what I was up to. All he knew was that I was sometimes vague and busy when I should have been giving him my complete attention.
THE STADIUM WAS ON FIRE. We were all witness to one of those incredible baseball comebacks that has a whole crowd hyperventilating, the kind of game that the phrase “edge of their seats” was coined to describe. The Dodgers were battling back against the Padres, and suddenly notched two more runs. Nomar Garciaparra got up to bat, and at the exact moment when he swung and connected perfectly, sending the ball high into the stands for a game-tying two-run homer, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. It was Tobey.
Ben is calling you now. I gave him your number, MAKE SURE HE PLAYS.
The crowd was on its feet. The McCourts were hugging me ecstatically. My phone started ringing.
Ugh, of course, this had to happen. How could I possibly leave at this moment?
I wiggled out of the mass celebration and gave Drew an “I’m sorry” look. He didn’t look happy, but I had no choice. I had to take this call.
