Lavish Loving

by A. C. Arthur

  “Why in the heck didn’t you say so?” Ace picked her up and ran down the stairs. “Let’s go!”

  Ace’s silly antics continued once they got in the car. He sped through the streets of Paradise Cove, his Porsche’s wheels hugging the turns. Once they reached the straightaway to Paradise Valley and Warren’s ranch he “blew out the car’s cobwebs,” as his stepfather, Hank, would say. At 140 miles per hour, he ate up the five remaining miles to their destination in just over two minutes flat.

  They pulled into a party in full swing. Nannies chased kids running across the Drakes’ vast front yard. Music drifted from the backyard, along with the smell of roasting corn and grilling meat. In the backyard, they greeted the crew. Even Reginald and Julian were there. Ace followed London over to where a tall man wearing a cowboy hat expertly flipped a slab of ribs.

  “Your brother Warren?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  Warren turned around. “Hey, London.”

  “Hey, bro.”

  “And you must be Ace.” Warren wiped his hand against the apron he wore before reaching out to Ace. “Heard you play a little ball.”

  “Every now and then.”

  “Well, I’ve got a full court out back. We’ll get a chance to see what kind of player you are, what you’re made of.”

  “Hey, man, the way you’re handling that slab of meat, you’re my kind of player already!”

  “Ha!” Warren looked over at a pretty, slender lady wearing jean shorts, a tee and cowboy boots. “Hey, baby. Do me a favor and get Ace a beer.”

  The woman reached into a tub filled with bottles and cans, pulled out a beer, brought it over and handed it to Ace.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Hey, London.”

  “Hi, Charli.” The women hugged. “Charli, this is Ace.”

  “So nice to finally meet you.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Are you the one London says rides a horse better than most men?”

  “I don’t know about all that.”

  “She’s being modest,” Warren said. “Girl is one of the baddest horse riders this side of the Mississippi.”

  “Do you ride?” Charli asked.

  “Not horses.” Ace kept a straight face. London nudged him.

  “London, come with me for a sec. I need your help with something.”

  “Sure.” She kissed Ace’s cheek. “Be right back.”

  London and Charli went inside and walked down a short hallway into a large, airy kitchen that rivaled commercial grade.

  “I know you don’t cook much,” Charli began.

  “Make that at all.”

  “Ha! That’s okay. You can help me with this part. Just a little slicing and dicing for the macaroni and potato salads.” London looked dubious. “It’s easy. Promise. I’ll give you a little knife.”

  Charli found a knife in the utensil drawer then pulled a bowl of boiled and peeled eggs, potatoes and pickles from a refrigerator shelf and walked over to a large inlaid cutting board on one of the granite countertops. “Okay, eggs or potatoes, your choice. Dice them any way you want. It’s going to be all blended up anyway, so if they’re not all uniform it doesn’t really matter.”

  “Okay.” She tentatively reached for a boiled egg. “Why didn’t you ask Teresa? She would have been a much better choice. I’m all but allergic to kitchens.”

  “A man likes a woman who can cook, even if it’s just a little bit. That fine hunk fawning all over you outside looks worthy of a home-cooked meal.”

  “I’ll hire someone to come over and cook and serve it like I did the job.”

  Charli started laughing. “You sound serious.”

  “I am.”

  London began chopping the eggs. Charli reached for a red onion and did the same. For a few seconds the two focused on the task at hand.

  “Actually, there’s another reason I wanted you to help me,” Charli said. She slid the pile of chopped onions into a bowl.

  “What’s that? Change your mind about participating in the fashion show?”

  “No. That is and will remain a firm no.” She placed the knife on the counter and turned to lean against it. “I wanted to share something with you privately.”

  London stopped chopping at the serious tone. “What?”

  “We share some of the same type of pain.” Charli placed a comforting hand on London’s arm, her voice barely above a whisper. “I, too, was sexually assaulted.”

  “Did my mom—”

  “Please don’t blame her, and please don’t be mad. I was sharing something with her and it sorta just came out. London, this happens to so many women. When we were in Temecula for Papa Dee’s funeral, I learned that another sis-in-law went through the same thing. And then Dexter’s wife, the one who established a free clinic in San Diego, shared all of these stories about how prevalent this crime is, and how underreported. Mostly because the victims stay silent. Because of the shame. Did you know that one out of four women are likely to be assaulted during their lifetimes?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “It’s a crazy stat, right?” London nodded. “So anyway, we all decided to be part of the solution and fight back.”

  “How?”

  “We’re not sure. A video, PSA, blog... The idea is still very much in the planning stages. It would be great if you’d join us. Your star power would mean everything. I know you’re busy and it’s a lot to ask, especially since your coming out is so recent, but—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You will?”

  “Absolutely. Since revealing that long-held, shameful secret, my whole life has changed. If I can say something, do something, to get just one young girl to speak up if this crime happens to her, it will give me back some of the power I lost. My predator won’t win.”

  Later that evening, just before Ace and London left the party, she got a phone call.

  “Hey, Max.”

  “Hey there, beautiful. Just called to wish you a happy holiday and to share some news.”

  “Happy holidays to you, too. What’s the news?”

  “I just bought a place in Manhattan, the Upper East Side. Over five thousand square feet, skyline views, huge patio. I’m planning a big Fourth of July party to break it in, and I’d love you to join me.”

  “That sounds amazing, Max. Don’t know when I’ll see it, though. I haven’t gone back to modeling or been traveling a lot lately. It’s the most stationary I’ve been in almost ten years. I’m starting to like it.”

  “You’re still the spokesperson for the Her line, though, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m still doing that.”

  “Then we can hang out during the next fashion week. That’s in September, right, when they show the spring lines?”

  “You know how busy a time that is, Max. We’ll see.”

  “Ah, come on. No time for a good friend?”

  “Sure, why not. We’ll have lunch or a drink in Manhattan when I’m there.”

  London ended the call and literally twirled around the room. She was one of the lucky few to have the best of all worlds: an enviable career, amazing boyfriend and a cordial relationship with the ex who just happened to be a Hollywood A-lister. Maybe she’d make her film debut after all.

  No matter the story line, it couldn’t rival the fairy tale with Ace that she was living right now. Not a chance.

  Chapter 28

  What started out as a simple fashion show for charity had grown to a Paradise Cove event not to be missed. Once word got out that London was involved and that the fashions were by OTB Her, ticket sales went through the roof. The venue had changed several times, as had the date. Originally slated for July, it had been moved to December and given a theme: Her for the Holid
ays.

  The summer passed in a blur. London all but moved in with Ace in San Francisco, spending the entire month of August there as they finished the spring line. Now it was September, the month of the four major spring fashion shows. After spending so much time in California, London looked forward to the trip to New York. She and Ace had rented an apartment for the two weeks they’d be there, something she equally looked forward to, since besides fittings, PR appearances and a meeting or two, she’d hardly seen her man.

  It was just after noon when the private plane touched down in Manhattan. Fall was very much in the air. A driver whisked them away to Bryant Park and their rented apartment. Ace had to go to work. London had the day off.

  “What are you going to do in this big city all by yourself?”

  “I thought Jules and I might go shopping.”

  Jules was the assistant who’d replaced Carly, now living in Los Angeles. Relocated, she said, to pursue an acting career.

  “Just remember to be careful, okay?”

  “I will. Oh, and I might meet Max for a drink. Please—” she hurried on over Ace’s objection “—don’t be mad. I put him off all summer and promised to meet him.”

  “I don’t like it, London. More specifically, I don’t like him. I don’t trust him.”

  London leaned into Ace’s hard chest and slid her arms around his neck. “Trust me,” she said huskily, kissing his lips. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  “You’re not what worries me.”

  “You still think he’s behind that kidnapping, don’t you? Why, Ace? The police have never been able to prove who did that or why, and Max is not that kind of guy, I’m telling you.”

  “You don’t think it’s strange that after Milan, when you briefly got back with him in Paris, the flowers stopped? The packages stopped. Everything stopped until a month or so after you told him it was over for good. And then came the flowers at OTB. And the diamond necklace delivered to your family’s condo.”

  “Are you forgetting what my dad found out? That my stalker was released early for good behavior and was out and back home in Europe when I was in Paris? That’s who I think is behind all of this. And if the detective my dad hired can ever find the guy, I think my theory will be proven correct.”

  “If you say so.” Ace looked at his watch. “Okay, baby. This is the fifth text Frida has sent me. I’ve got to get over to the space. Don’t forget we’ve got dinner reservations tonight with the editors from Vogue.”

  “I won’t forget, babe. See you then.”

  Ace left. London called Jules. “Hello, Jules. Where are you?”

  “In Times Square. Do you need me?”

  “Not officially. Thinking about going shopping and want to know if you want to come with.”

  “I’m here with a couple New Yorker friends of mine. I can come if you want, though.”

  He said it, but London knew Jules didn’t want to leave his friends. She heard it in his voice.

  “No problem. Starting tomorrow you’ll be joined to my hip, so go ahead and hang out with your friends.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. Have fun.”

  “Call me if you need me!”

  “Will do.”

  London decided to take a shower and figure out what she wanted to do from there. When she got out, her phone was vibrating. Max.

  Instead of returning the text, she called. “Hey, you. What’s up?”

  “You’re what’s up, beautiful. Are you here yet?”

  “Yep. Just got here a couple hours ago.”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “Getting dressed. What are you doing?”

  “Just finished a meeting in Midtown with a couple producers.”

  “Where in Midtown? We’ve rented an apartment near Bryant Park.”

  “Really? That’s perfect. I can come by and swoop you up.”

  “Too much trouble. Just tell me where you are and I’ll catch a cab.”

  “All right, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you.”

  “Me, too, Max. See you soon.”

  * * *

  “Hey, boss, got a minute?” Frida walked over to where Ace huddled with the builders designing the set. “I think we’ve finally got the invites set. There are just a couple names I need to run by you before I send out their confirmation.”

  “Let me take a look.” Frida handed over her tablet. “Sean Black. Yeah, he’s cool. He’s a pro baller, starting up his own line. This other name, Brigitte Desrochers?”

  “I believe it’s pronounced Bri-geet, emphasis on the geet.”

  “Don’t know her. Did you do a search on her?”

  “No, but I can.”

  “Cool. I’ll be over here trying to recreate snow.”

  Because their rain cylinder had been such a hit, the team’s new goal was to fill the runway with powdery snowflakes. Strange juxtaposition for a spring line, but an idea that’s indeed out of the box.

  Ten minutes later Ace was deep in conversation with the engineer.

  “Ace.”

  He waved Frida off. “Give me a few minutes.”

  “Okay.” She waited fifteen minutes. “Ace, I’m sorry, but I think you should see this.”

  His immediate scowl confirmed his displeasure. He walked over. “What?”

  A party picture filled the screen. He almost snatched the tablet out of her hands. “What’s this? Which one is Bridget or Brigeet or whatever her name is?”

  “She’s right here,” Frida said, a shaky finger pointing to a pretty girl at the bar. “But that’s not why I’m showing you this picture. Look here, in the corner. That’s Carly. All hugged up with and talking to—”

  “Maxwell Tata.”

  Ace was stunned. As he stared at the picture, a mental video began to play. Carly, London’s assistant. Who knew all of her information. Traveled to all the cities. He studied the picture again. It had been taken in Paris. Where Max met London. Right after she’d been kidnapped in Milan. Two weeks after fashion week wrapped, Carly had given her resignation. Moved to LA.

  Every bad feeling he’d ever had about Max pitted at the bottom of his stomach. I might meet Max for a drink. Don’t be mad. I put him off all summer. We’re friends. Max’s not that kind of guy. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.

  He pulled out his phone. “London, where are you? Give me a call as soon as you get this. It’s important. Call me ASAP.”

  * * *

  “...I had dogs in the pool, horses in the yard and a cameraman facedown in the sandpit!”

  “Oh, my gosh!” London’s eyes teared up she was laughing so hard. This is the Max she’d fallen for: funny, the life of the party.

  “What did you do?”

  “What else could I do? I yelled ‘cut’!”

  “Bwa-ha-ha!”

  They’d met at a bar near 57th Street owned by an Irishman, a friend of Max’s. The crowd was loud and drinks flowed freely, though London refused the offer of a third glass of wine.

  “Believe me, after that production wrapped I was ready to leave the West Coast.”

  “I can understand. The only thing crazier than what you’ve told me is that it’s all true. But seriously, why did you move east?”

  “I didn’t sell my house in Los Angeles, just went bicoastal for a couple reasons. The producers I met with earlier have some deep-pocketed investors interested in launching reality-TV shows.”

  “Really? Ace and I... Never mind.”

  “Oh, no, go ahead. I meant what I said earlier, London. Your happiness is what matters to me most of all.”

  “Are you dating?”

  “That’s the second reason I moved here.”

  “Oh, re
ally?”

  “And it may surprise you that she’s neither a model nor an aspiring actor. She’s in finance. Works on Wall Street.”

  “You dating a financier?”

  “A very sexy financier.”

  “I’m happy for you, Max! Why isn’t she with us? I’d like to meet her.”

  “She’s working. But she’ll be home around five. You can come see my place and meet her, too.”

  “I don’t know, Max. We have dinner reservations for seven. An important meeting.”

  “We have plenty of time. I’ll call her. She’ll meet us there and we’ll give you a ride back to your place. On the way you can tell me what you and Ace are up to, what you started to say about a reality show. I can see that, by the way. Like I said, the guys I met with are looking to finance projects. They’ve got connections in Dubai. We’re not talking millions—we’re talking billions.”

  * * *

  Ace paced their rental home. He was at his wit’s end. The calls to London were now going straight to voice mail. Just like what happened in Milan. The feeling that started in the pit of his stomach had spread through his whole body. Something was wrong. London was in trouble. He thought of calling law enforcement. But this was New York. Without some type of evidence other than a feeling, they’d be of little help if they agreed to help at all.

  He punched the speaker icon on his phone and tapped a number. “Frida, I need your help. Call the car service to pick me up. Then put on a suit or something official looking and be down in the hotel lobby so we can drive through valet parking to get you.”

  “Ace, you sound worried. What’s this about?”

  “No time to explain. Just call the car. I’ll tell you when we meet.”

  * * *

  London stood in front of a stylish building just blocks from Central Park and waited for Max, who was parking the car. He came around the corner in minutes, unlocked the door and then stepped back to allow her inside. Before her was a beautiful foyer with two-story ceilings, a huge chandelier and marble parquet floors.

  “I see why you’re so excited to show this place off. I like it, Max. Very nice.”

  They continued into the massive living room, viewed the dining-kitchen combination along with an office, library and sunroom on the first floor.