A Perfectly Purloined Pinot (Nikki Sands' Mysteries)

by Michele Scott

  Nick toasted me. “You’re on your way, kid! And speaking of, I know a producer, one of the best, coming in next week to hear you.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Can’t say, but I can tell you he’s the man and I told him you were terrific. He’s excited to meet you.”

  “Great,” I said, but a little uncomfortable Nick wouldn’t tell me who the guy was. Why all the mystery? But that was Nick. Sort of a mystery himself.

  Nick held up his beer and hollered, “Everyone…” Everyone consisted of Mumbles, Candace, and three other people I didn’t know), “…cheers to Evie! She got a great new job today and she’s going to be the next music sensation!”

  Mumbles stood up and mumbled something like, “Evie, good deal, girl. The best. Good girl.”

  “To Evie!” everyone sang out.

  Maybe this was the City of Angels of after all.

  ***

  Cass and I offered to lock up that night and although it felt sneaky, we slept in one of the booths inside the bar and I got ready for my first day of work the next morning in the bathroom. I knew Nick wouldn’t be opening until ten, so I had time to get ready and get out. The one problem was, I had no idea what to do with Cass. I decided to leave her in the van and crack the windows. I’d check on her at lunch.

  So, I started my new job at the Nordstrom on La Cienega at The Beverly Center. I liked it. I really did. But I was exhausted by the third day. Here I was, sleeping with my dog in a booth at Nick’s every night, closing the bar for him, and trying hard to get out of there in the mornings before he came in. I checked on Cass on my breaks and took her out for quick walks. I hated leaving her in the van all day. I was still trying to find a place but my hours at MAC and then at Nick’s weren’t too conducive to finding an apartment. I thought about asking Nick if Cass could stay with him during the day. But I didn’t really want to impose, and then he’d know I was in need of a place, and honestly, I didn’t want that.

  At the end of the week, I was at my wit’s end and thankful it was only two more days until my day off. I was determined to take the first apartment I could find and now that I had two steady jobs, I felt reasonably comfortable I could make it.

  I was finishing up for the day. The store would be closing in thirty minutes, which meant I would be running from the store to Nick’s.

  A young woman approached the counter. “Hi. I need a new look. My sister is the gorgeous one and I’m tired of being called cute. Can you make me look hot?”

  “Well, we are getting ready to close.” I really did not want to do a makeover. I always had to be careful about touching skin. I knew that I could heal in some ways, but seeing random people’s traumas and feeling them had a tendency to really bring me down, and so I exercised caution and did my best to use only tools to apply makeup for makeovers. I just wanted to get out of there, take care of Cass, and eat something before I set up at Nick’s.

  “This is important. I want to look fabulous for a major party tonight.”

  I eyed my boss who was watching me from the behind the cash register and smiled. “Of course I can help.” Thirty minutes later the young woman who told me her name was Brenda looked like a movie star. Even my boss said she couldn’t have done it better. I gave her a smoky look around the eyes to bring out the blue in them, and a dusting of soft pink across the cheeks, with just the right peachy-pink gloss on her lips for a pouty, kissable look. What I did not know as I rushed out the door, was that Brenda’s new look would change my life and my lifestyle in less than twenty-four hours.

  Next day while behind the counter, this guy approaches me (scared me half to death, too, because he was all decked out in black, with slicked back hair, dark eyes—very Godfather-esque, but handsome in a Vegas-y way). He cleared his throat and asked, “Are you Evie Preston?”

  What I wanted to say was, “Who wants to know?” But I figured that wouldn’t go over too well with my manager so instead I replied, “Yes, how can I help you?”

  He handed me a card with the name ‘Simone’ written on it. I looked down at the card and then back up at him, “Simone?”Cute and show-boaty replied, “Yes. I’m Dwight Jenkins and I represent Simone. You know, Simone, the singer?”

  I took a step back, glancing around me. “Am I on one of those T.V. shows where y’all have hidden cameras? Do you mean the Simone?”

  “No hidden cameras, I assure you. Yes, I’m referring to the pop star, Simone.”

  My head started spinning. Had she heard me playing at Nick’s? Maybe Nick really did know people in high places and maybe the producer guy who was coming to listen to me next week was her producer. Oh wow, would Betty LaRue be so proud, and my mama and daddy! How had I missed seeing Simone at Nick’s? She had to have been in disguise. That’s how those celebs do it when they want to go out—they go incognito.

  “You made up her sister, Brenda, yesterday,” Jenkins prompted.

  “Brenda is Simone’s sister?”

  He nodded. “Simone was so impressed at how great Brenda looked that she wants to meet you.”

  “Okay,” I stuttered. “I have to sing tonight at this place called Nick’s. I’m off tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” he cut in. “She’d like to meet you now.”

  “I have a job here. I can’t just leave. I have bills to pay and my dog to take care of.”

  Dwight Jenkins called my boss Tish over. “Ms. Preston has a job interview with Simone. She’s going with me.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I can’t do that.” And then what he had just said dawned on me, “A job interview?”

  “Simone would like you to be her personal makeup artist. The pay will be a bit more than here in the cosmetics department.” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “What? Is this for real?”

  Tish, my manager, came around the counter and put her arm around me. “You have to go. Something like this is a once in lifetime opportunity. Do it, girl.”

  I hugged her goodbye and followed Jenkins. He escorted me to a limo where I found Simone and Brenda waiting inside.

  I was speechless as I sat down across from them. Jenkins climbed in the front with the chauffer and the car purred to life, smoothly pulling away from the mall. Simone smiled. “Thank you for coming.”

  As if I had a choice, right? I studied her in awe. She is a true beauty—long blonde hair, big blue eyes, a body men would love to ravish and women would kill for, and a voice that had venues around the country sold out months in advance. She’s a cross between a younger Madonna and Mariah Carey, throw in some Brittney Spears of yesteryear due to some bizarre antics she was known for and there you have Simone. To be sitting across from her was mind blowing and my stomach did this swirly, feel-like-I’m-gonna-puke thing that always happens to me when I get nervous.

  “You are so genius,” Simone said. She took Brenda’s face in her hands and squeezed, bunching it up so she looked like a fat goldfish trying to breathe. “The hottest guy at this party last night came up to my sister and they hooked up. He wanted her not me! And I was so working it, too. He didn’t even look my way. Usually she looks kind of like a dork. A cute dork, but a dork.” She let go of Brenda’s face.

  Brenda rubbed her cheeks. “Gee, thanks, Sis.”

  “I asked her who did her face and she told me this chick at the MAC counter at Nordy’s. I’m like, I so have to meet this woman! And, well, here we are. Is it your fucking lucky day or what?” Simone smiled, shiny, bleach-white teeth gleaming in the darkened limo.

  “Well, thank you for the compliment.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. I mean, what do you say to someone with a planet-sized ego who has graced the cover of Vogue, Rolling Stone, and Vanity Fair, won a handful of Grammy’s, and talks like a truck driver? I almost had to pinch myself to be sure I wasn’t dreaming, but then the car made a quick turn and Simone spilled her glass of champagne in my lap.

  Without an apology, she said, “I need a new make-up assistant. That last one was the shits. O
h, check this out…” she rolled down the privacy glass between us and the driver. “Harvey, take us over to Blake’s place so I can show…” She glanced at me, “Hon, what the fuck is your name?”

  “Evie.”

  “Right.” She looked back at the driver, “So I can show Evie her new digs.” She rolled the window back up.

  “I’m confused. I thought this was a job interview,” I said. Brenda poured me a glass of champagne. “It’s not even noon. I don’t drink usually and definitely not before noon.”

  “First, confusion around my sister happens a lot,” Brenda said.

  Simone punched Brenda lightly in the arm. “Ha, ha, little sis thinks she’s soooo fucking funny.”

  Brenda nodded. “And two…” She held up two fingers, “If you’re hanging with us, which you will be, because big sis doesn’t go far without her makeup and the one who puts it on her, you are going to have to learn to party like a rock star.”

  “Drink up.” Simone clinked my glass. “Cheers. Here’s to your new home.”

  I looked out the window and my jaw dropped. Literally. I sucked back the champagne to calm my nerves. This simply could not be happening. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Edie,” Simone started. “I’m pretty sure you don’t live in a place like this…”

  “It’s Evie.”

  She waved a hand in my face. “My buddy Blake, this big producer guy, is in Europe for, like, a year or something and he needs a house sitter. I volunteered Brenda, but she says she’s afraid of the house and won’t do it.”

  “Place is creepy.” Brenda poured herself another glass of champagne.

  “Shut-up,” Simone said. “So if you come on board as my makeup chick, you get to live in luxury, baby. This place is way cool.”

  I had to agree with her. Palm trees and an iron gate, with a retro, Palm Springs look going on and from what I could tell, a view to die for. But what was the catch? I mean, was she serious? I could actually live in this place? “Can I bring my dog?”

  “You can bring fifty fucking dogs for all I care. What do you say, Edie? You in?”

  Evie, Edie, makeup chick, whatever—I didn’t give a damn what she wanted to call me. I was definitely in.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Three weeks later and I was kind of inclined to agree with Brenda regarding the house—mansion, villa, whatever it was—huge house: Blake’s place was a little creepy. And any time I asked about Blake, the owner, I got the brush off. The only thing Brenda had added one day when I was prepping to do Simone’s makeup, and Brenda was busy looting her sister’s closet while Simone soaked in a tub of goat’s milk and tuberose petals (don’t get me started) was that she had heard the place was haunted.

  “Haunted? Really? By who?” I asked skeptically.

  Brenda shrugged. Her eye catching her sister who had walked in, plush robe wrapped around her. “What are you doing?! Talking shit about Edie’s place being haunted. Get the hell out of my fucking closet. Go buy your own clothes and leave her alone. Ghosts! Stupid. You don’t believe in that shit, do you?” She turned to me.

  Here’s the thing. I sort of do, but because of my upbringing, even the mere mention of ghosts and spirits was not allowed. The reason I sort of do though is that I know when I was a kid that I saw one. I did. She was a little Indian girl who strolled past my room late one night. I have no clue why I wasn’t asleep, but I wasn’t. I remember sitting straight up in bed, as this little girl, all kind of white and yes—ghostly walked past the bedroom door. She held a candle and the flame was the only thing with any kind of real color to it—a faint yellow glow. She turned and faced me and with a smile brought her free hand up to her face and shushed me like with her finger. I wasn’t scared. Just shocked. I had wanted to talk to my mother about it. But never did. I always wondered if I had been related to the little girl because on my mama’s side we descend down from the Cherokee nation. But as I got older, a part of me has had to wonder if maybe that had been a dream. It’s the only time I ever saw a ghost.

  “So? You don’t believe in all that. My sister is weird.” She walked past Brenda and smacked her lightly across the top of her head. Brenda rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t believe in it,” I stuttered. What else was I going to say? Not only do I believe in ghosts but I can also touch people and help them process their past sufferings? Sure. One thing I had noticed about Simone when I did on occasion touch her face was that there was nothing that seemed too traumatizing in her past, which made sense. The only thing I did get from her was a sense—it was this sense of aching loneliness, which surprised me and also made me have some real empathy for her, even though she is the most obnoxious person I have ever known. The worst trauma I had gotten for her was an article a few years ago had mentioned she gained some weight.

  Whether or not the house was haunted, I had yet to experience anything there that really scared me. I mean there is no way I could complain. I’d gone from living in my van and sleeping at a bar to staying at this seven-thousand square foot mansion overlooking the city of glitter, gossip, and gluttony. Simone was paying me good money, too. Oh and I got to have Cass with me—at the house, that is. Simone wouldn’t allow the dog anywhere near her.

  So the house was huge and it made me feel, well, uncomfortable, but that was it. I figured in time, I would adjust to the size of the place, which is what I attributed to my discomfort. Even with Cass by my side, it was hard to get used to having all that space…all those empty rooms...to myself.

  The house was tastefully decorated—all in whites, pale yellows, and light greens, with hardwood floors, and lots of bamboo and bougainvillea. There were a handful of Buddha statues and crosses scattered throughout (at least all my spiritual bases were covered, although my daddy would have had a heart attack seeing Jesus hanging with The Buddha, even if only in décor form). It was as if a fancy Cancun hotel lobby had mated with an Asian-themed resort spa.

  There was also a boarded up guest house on the back forty. Now, that place really creeped me out. It looked like a smaller version of something out of The Amityville Horror movie that I’d seen one night when I was a kid spending the night at a friend’s house. Never told my folks about that one. The property was on two acres and the guest house stood down a rolling bank underneath a group of pepper trees.

  Cass absolutely loved the place, except even she was wary of the guest house and I had taken note that she kept her distance. I decided to do the same. Let things be.

  Another thing that I had noticed was there was the frequent smell of marijuana in the air. Not that I have ever smoked pot, but I’ve been to the occasional concert where it was definitely in the air wafting about. And, like most teenagers I had been to a party or two back in the day where the m.o. was to get stoned. I never stayed long at those things. If I had ever come home reeking of pot…I couldn’t think about it! The only thing I could figure was that maybe the neighbor below me liked to get high, and the way the wind carried on occasion, it made its way up to my house. That was my best guess. I had begun shutting the windows when I caught a whiff.

  Other than the freaky guest house Cass was very content in our new palatial surroundings. She immediately took to the swimming pool, and spent at least an hour or two a day swimming in circles and diving in to retrieve the toys I threw in for her. She was doing just that one afternoon when Simone called to say she actually didn’t need me for the night. That was a first. In the few weeks I’d been working for her, she needed me pretty much night and day to do her makeup, change her makeup, fix her face—do it Goth, do it like Garbo, do it like Gaga—you name it, Simone wanted it.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Simone sniffled. “I mean, no. I’m fucking sick! Me! I have a cold. I was going to tell you to bring me soup, but Bren’s getting it. She said I work you too hard.” She paused for a moment, “Do you think I work you too hard?”

  “Um…no. I’m good.”

  “I thought so. Oh! But I do have
a photo shoot in the morning and I cannot look like death warmed over,” she said in a congested-sounding voice. “And my nose looks like Rudolph the red-nosed fucking reindeer. Hate that stupid song. My mom used to make us go caroling as kids. Fuck!”

  I cringed. Her constant use of the F-bomb was rapidly becoming my least favorite part of her personality. “I can fix that. Don’t worry.”

  “Good. Be here by seven, and bring me a double-shot, skinny, pumpkin spice latte and don’t let them give you any shit about how they only sell pumpkin lattes during the holidays. They have it. I want it. See you tomorrow.”

  I placed the phone back on the cradle and sighed. “Early morning tomorrow, but I get tonight off.” Cass, who sat at my feet, wagged her tail in approval. “Let’s go to Nick’s!” I grabbed my guitar, promising Cass some fish tacos once we got there. It didn’t take much to convince her. She flew into the back of the VW and we headed toward La Cienega.

  The usual crowd was there, including Becky who had become a frequent flyer—one who constantly fawned over Nick. I had the impression Nick liked Becky fine, but Becky was way into Nick. Meanwhile, Candace seethed every time Becky came in.

  Mumbles was on his forty-fifth gin and tonic, and Candace was happily nursing a “Candace Special,” which as far as I know has Midori and pineapple rum in it. At least that’s what I put in when I make them for her and she hasn’t complained yet. I shudder when I think about the state of her liver.

  Becky, on the other hand, never strays from her chilled Chardonnay.

  I noticed Jackson was back in his corner booth, laptop propped in front of him on the table. He glanced up at me and gave a brief wave. He was definitely distracted. Whatever he was writing was obviously important. It was kind of odd, since our initial sort of flirty conversation, Jackson had never really made good on that rain-check. In fact, as good looking as the guy was, he was a kind of hot and cold person. One night he’d be pleasant and sort of flirtatious with me. The next night he’d be cold and act almost like I wasn’t there. I didn’t know what to make of him. I have never been one to make the first move, and honestly with him being wishy washy, I had pretty much lost interest in him as a prospect. Not that I was prospecting.