by Julia London
Lola wasn’t home when he finally arrived, exhausted and filthy, on Saturday night. But he awoke on Sunday to the sound of feminine chatter in the living room. He stumbled out, desperate for coffee and a couple of aspirin. Lola and Mallory were in the living room, and there were several dresses draped over the back of the couch. Lola was wearing a red one that was sexy as hell, turning this way and that for Mallory.
“There he is! What do you think, Harry?” Mallory chirped when she saw him. She gestured grandly to Lola. “Which should Lola wear to Birta’s dinner party tonight? The one she is wearing? Or this one?” she asked, and held up a long blue dress that looked to have rhinestones glued to it.
“Ah . . .”
Lola twirled around for him; the skirt on the red dress flared out, giving him glimpse of her excellent legs.
“That one,” he said, pointing at her. “Hands down.”
“Ooh, hands down,” Mallory said, nodding in agreement.
“I knew you were going to say that,” Lola said with a sigh.
“Don’t listen to her, Harry,” Mallory said. “I found this dress in the city yesterday and I thought Lola would look fabulous in it, so I brought it back with the rest of these.”
“Don’t you like it?” Harry asked curiously.
“I love it,” Lola said, then whispered loudly, “But it’s six hundred dollars.” As if Mallory didn’t know how much she’d paid for it.
“Wear it tonight, return it tomorrow,” Mallory said with a shrug.
“No!” Lola said, aghast.
“Then I’ll loan you the money,” Mallory said. She fell onto one of the couches and propped her feet up on the ottoman.
“No, Mallory.”
“Then it’s a gift!” Mallory exclaimed. “You have to wear it, Lola. You look fantastic. Doesn’t she look fantastic, Harry?”
“She does,” he said. He was ogling her, he realized. She was gorgeous, really, and he had to be honest—highly fuckable—which is exactly where his male mind went. Kudos for Mallory; she couldn’t seem to dress herself, but she had picked out a perfect dress for Lola.
“That good, huh?” Lola said.
“That good. You look beautiful, Lola.”
She glanced down, considering it. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, okay, I’ll take it. But I’m not borrowing money and you’re not giving it to me. I’ll buy it. Somehow.”
“Yippee!” Mallory said, clapping her hands. She didn’t seem to understand Lola’s reluctance, which was really unsurprising given that Mallory had obviously been raised in crazy wealth. Like him, Mallory probably didn’t understand crazy poverty.
“Now Harry, I didn’t bring anything for you,” Mallory said as she twirled a tassel on her shirt around her finger. “Do you have something to wear to Birta’s tonight?”
“I do,” he said as he headed for the kitchen. “Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” Mallory said. “Lola, we better get going.”
“I’ll just change,” Lola said.
“Going where?” Harry asked, feeling mildly disappointed that she wasn’t going to be around on his day off.
“Baby shower,” Mallory said. “I made Lola promise she’d go with me. I hate baby showers. All those rattles and diapers.” She shuddered, as if these were reprehensible things.
Lola returned later that afternoon carrying a plate with tiny baby bottles glued to it. Harry stopped constructing his sandwich and looked at the thing with all due suspicion.
“I knew the most baby trivia,” Lola said. “And this is my prize.” She put it down on the kitchen bar and shook her head, too, as if she couldn’t make it out. “Harry! We’re leaving in an hour for a dinner party. Are you going to eat that sandwich now?”
“I am,” he said, and took a healthy bite. He held it out to her.
Lola rose up on the toes and took a bite. “God, that’s good,” she said, her mouth full. “I can’t watch you eat that,” she said. “I might pass out from hunger. I’m going to get ready. We can’t be late, Harry!”
“We won’t be late,” he assured her, and true to his word, an hour later, he was sitting in the living room when Lola emerged from her bedroom in the red dress. She had on red heels, too, and a long gold chain with a gold heart charm that draped down her front, the heart dangling above her waist.
Harry stood up, taking her in. It was amazing to him that she could transform from someone covered in cake batter to this. “Gorgeous,” he said.
“And you,” she said, pointing at him. “That’s a fine suit, Handsome Harry.”
“Only the best for Birta Hoffman. Are you ready? Have you rehearsed your lines?” he asked.
“Very funny. I’m ready. I think,” she said, and laughed nervously.
They arrived at Birta Hoffman’s summer residence ten minutes late, having driven up Hackberry Road to pick up Mallory. They had not factored in how long it took for someone to walk from a room in the Cantrell mansion all the way to the drive.
But now the three of them stood staring at the Hoffman residence as the valet drove Harry’s truck away—everyone on Lake Haven had a valet, apparently.
Lola cocked her head to one side, studying it. “It’s not as fancy as I thought it would be,” she mused.
“It’s a rental,” Mallory said. She had chosen to wear what Harry thought was a muumuu, complete with several long necklaces that reminded him a little of what a fortune-teller would wear. “Property is hard to come by out here,” she added. “Deed restrictions and all that. You two are so lucky Zach is letting you use his lake house.”
Harry didn’t look at Lola, and he was certain she didn’t look at him. “Shall we?” he asked, and put his hand on Lola’s back, guiding her to the door.
Mallory didn’t knock; she opened the door and crooned, “Hello!” before sailing inside. Harry and Lola exchanged a look before following her.
The house was very modern, all glass and chrome and shiny white. The kitchen was to the right and looked out over an expansive dining area and living room. The kitchen island stretched the full length of the kitchen and was laden with plates of finger foods. Soft jazz played in the background, and a man in a chef’s coat and apron was busy at the stove. Two uniformed waiters bowed and held out trays of wine.
“Ah, look who has come!” they heard Birta trill. She stepped through the sliding glass door that opened onto the deck. Her long black hair looked like silk tonight, and she had bangs that hung down almost over her eyes. She was wearing a black, floor-length dress, and around her neck, another monstrous turquoise arrangement. “Hallo, darling,” she said to Mallory, exchanging a couple of air kisses with her. She walked up the steps from the sunken living room. “Lisa, right?” she said to Lola, holding out her hand.
“Lola,” Lola said, and awkwardly clasped Birta’s hand and gave it a shake.
“Yes, yes, Lola, of course. I should remember that—my brother’s cat is named Lola. My apologies.” Birta turned to Harry. “Hallo, Harry,” she said, and presented her cheek to be kissed. Her hand, Harry noticed, landed on his sleeve.
“Lovely place you’ve got here.”
“Oh, thank you. I can’t take any of the credit,” she said, her voice silky and a bit more accented than Harry recalled. “My agent found it for me.”
“Oh, is he here?” Lola asked lightly.
“Cyrus?” Birta laughed. “Heavens, no. Cyrus wouldn’t be caught dead at Lake Haven. It’s not the Hamptons, darling,” she said, as if Lola were a precocious child.
Harry didn’t know what to make of this famous author, but was fairly certain he didn’t much like her.
“Come, now, have some wine,” Birta said. “My good friend Mr. Rothschild sent it from Napa just for tonight. And Chef Donatelli has graciously agreed to prepare our meal tonight. I’m sure you’ve heard of his restaurant in New York, Harry. Aro?”
Harry knew about Aro. Reservations were booked a month out. He wondered idly what the chef was doing here on a Sunday night instead of cooking
at his restaurant.
“This setting is ideal for writing,” Lola said to Birta. “You must be inspired by the view.”
“The view inspires me to nothing but procrastination,” Birta said. “You should see the boat my neighbor Bob had delivered just this week. Come, Harry, and I’ll show you. Lola, darling, you should introduce yourself to Mallory’s friends.”
What the hell? Harry reached for Lola’s hand, but she had glanced away toward Mallory, and Birta had linked her arm in his and tugged him away before he could get Lola’s attention.
Harry allowed Birta to escort him out onto the deck, and looked down at a boat that didn’t seem particularly noteworthy to him. He was determined to curtail her interest in him, and managed to detach himself from her grip. “That’s a great boat,” he said just to get it over and done. “You may not be inspired by this view, but I know Lola has been very inspired.” He looked at Birta. “I hope you meant what you said at the Cantrell party and will look at her book when she’s ready.”
“Ah, yes, the book,” Birta said, as if annoyed by it. “If I take a look, what will be my prize?” she asked, putting her back to the water so that she might prop her elbows on the railing and gaze up into his face.
“My undying gratitude.”
“Is that all? You seem a savvy man to me.” Her gaze flicked over him. “I’m sure you know that the odds of any one person actually seeing a book published are astronomical. And I’m talking about writers who have talent. We’ve not yet determined if your girlfriend has that essential ingredient.”
“There is only one way to find out,” he said, smiling. “Read it.”
“Oh, I’ll read it,” she said smoothly, and pursed her lips. “But it’s going to cost you, love.”
Women had come on to Harry, but in all honesty, he’d never met one so bold about it. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Birta.”
“Am I?” She stepped closer. “She’s just a girl, Harry. But you? You’re a man.” She touched his shirt and trailed her finger down his abdomen.
There wasn’t enough booze in the world to make him want Birta, especially now. “It’s not working,” he said.
“No? Just how badly do you want me to read your little girl’s book?” she whispered with a sultry smile.
“Ah . . . hi.”
Birta sighed and turned away from Harry, because Lola and Mallory were standing one step up. Lola was looking at Harry, her expression one of irritation and confusion.
“Lola, I’m glad you’re here,” he said, reaching for her, his hand finding hers. “Birta is excited to read your book.”
“She is?” Lola asked skeptically.
“I am excited,” Birta said unenthusiastically. But then she said suddenly, “I’ve an idea, darling,” and put her arm around Lola’s shoulders and drew her companionably into her side. “I could use a bit of help day to day.” She fixed her gaze on Harry and said, “What would you think of offering an hour or two each day to apprentice with me? I’ll take a look at your pages, and you can mail things for me, or tidy up—whatever I need.”
Harry’s gaze narrowed on Birta. He wasn’t certain of the game she was playing and Birta knew it—she smiled triumphantly at him.
But Lola’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“Of course!”
God help him. “What about your book, Lola?” Harry asked. “You really don’t have the time—”
“Oh, I could definitely carve out a couple of hours each day,” she said excitedly.
“You don’t have a car,” he reminded her. “How would you get up here?”
Lola shot him a look that he read as a warning not to ruin this for her. “I have a bike. I’ll figure it out.”
“Then it’s settled,” Birta said brightly. “All right, then,” she said, slipping her arm through Harry’s again. “Shall we go and see what the chef is preparing?”
It was another quarter of an hour before Harry could put some space between him and Birta and join Lola. She was with Mallory, who had introduced them to her friends, amazingly the legendary rock star Everett Alden, and his girlfriend, Mia Lassiter. Harry hadn’t expected any celebrity sightings tonight, and he was a little starstruck. He also noticed that Mia was wearing the most interesting conglomeration of fabrics he’d seen on a woman.
As much as he wanted nothing more than to hang out with Everett Alden, there was something more important. Harry excused himself and Lola and pulled her away.
“What are you doing?” Lola moaned. “That is Everett Alden.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m a huge fan of his. But he doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, and I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About Birta, Lola. She is asking you to be her assistant, or whatever, because of me.”
Lola blinked. And then she laughed. “Okay, Harry. You’re a good-looking guy, but you don’t honestly believe that.”
“Yes, I do—”
Lola laughed again. “Stop!” she playfully protested, pushing against him.
“Listen to me—”
“I mean stop,” she said, and her smile faded. “I’m not blind. But just because she is hot to trot for you doesn’t mean I don’t need her help. If she will look at my book and give me some feedback, it’s totally worth it. Seize the moment, right?”
“Even if she is using you?” he asked.
“My eyes are open,” she said, and smiled. “Just think about what a great opportunity it is!”
Harry didn’t think it was a true opportunity at all, but there was a sudden flurry of activity at the door, and he and Lola turned with everyone else to see who had come in.
“Well it’s bloody well time, Andy,” Birta said, sailing across the living room to the door to greet a man. He was tall and lean, like a swimmer. “You know how I feel about tardiness.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” the man said. “The traffic from the city is horrible.”
“Everyone, this is the Andy Carson, the man who handles my publicity,” Birta said. “And this lovely young woman will be taking over for him this fall. Melissa Fulton.”
Shocked, Harry stared at the brunette with the long dark hair and the skin-tight gold dress. Her gaze met his, and widened with surprise.
“Melissa!” Lola said.
Before Harry realized what was happening, Lola was walking forward. “Small world, huh?”
“Oh! Hi, Lola,” Melissa said, and glanced nervously at Harry.
Harry was staggered—Lola knew Melissa? How was that even possible? For a moment he couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. The shock of seeing Melissa so unexpectedly—and with Lola—was like a bucket of ice to his brain.
“Fabulous, we are all here,” Birta said, clapping her hands. “Now we can dine. Places, everyone! You’ll find your names at your seat. Andy, Melissa, you can meet everyone at the table.”
They began to move toward the dining room, but Melissa paused before Harry. She looked nervous. Insecure. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said.
“What?” Birta asked. “You two know each other?”
“We know each other, all right,” Melissa said. “We were almost married.”
Harry heard Lola’s sharp intake of breath . . . but it was nothing compared to the roar in his head.
Twenty-one
Everyone in the room went quiet for a few seconds, their gazes going from Harry to Melissa. “Well,” said Birta stiffly, breaking the awkward silence. “This should make for a very interesting evening.”
Interesting was not the word that Lola would have used. Disastrous, maybe. Terrifying. She was still trying to wrap her head around it all. Melissa. Lissa. How could the Melissa she’d met—and liked—be Harry’s Lissa? How was she here, now? Had she known Harry would be here? Did she know he was at the Cantrells’ last weekend?
There was no time to make sense of it, or to ask Harry what the hell was happening, b
ecause Birta was instructing everyone to take their seats, and he was escorting her to the table. He held her elbow as they began to move toward the table. “Lola—”
“Harry, you’re here,” Birta said, putting herself in their path and directing Harry to a seat at one end of the table. Apparently, she’d made up place cards, and Lola was sitting at the opposite end of the table from Harry. Harry glanced at Lola as Birta pushed him toward the other end of the table.
Lola was seated between Birta’s doctor, Mr. Rosenthal, and Mia Lassiter. At the other end, Harry was between Everett Alden and Melissa. Talk about adding insult to injury—not only did Harry get the woman he wanted to marry, he got the rock star.
Across from Lola was Andy Carson, seated next to a surprisingly sullen Mallory. Birta sat in the middle of the table, across from Mrs. Rosenthal, so that she could join conversations at both ends.
Lola couldn’t keep her mind on the conversation around her. Her thoughts were spinning, and she kept stealing glimpses of Harry, watching him swivel between Everett Alden and Melissa. What were they talking about? What were they saying to each other? More importantly, where did she and Harry stand? Was it over now? Melissa was smiling at him, a soft, intimate smile, and Lola damn sure noticed the way Harry looked at Melissa. It was heart-wrenching.
“I love your dress.”
It took Lola a moment to realize Mia was speaking to her. “Oh, mine,” she said. “Thank you. Yours is really gorgeous.”
“Mia is a designer,” Mallory said.
“An aspiring designer, anyway,” Mia said with a smile. “I haven’t seen you around East Beach, Lola. Are you visiting?”
“No, I’m, ah . . . I’m here for a few weeks.”
“Visiting friends?”
“Actually, I’m writing a book.”
Mia’s face lit with delight. “Really? Have you written any books before?”
“This is my first. And it might be my last,” she said, stealing another glimpse of Harry. “If I can’t get it published, I’ll have to get a job.”
“I think that’s really cool,” Mia said. “I love to read.”
