by Lisa Moreau
“Good gosh, Jordan. How long did you date this one? It keeps getting shorter each time.”
“She wanted to move in together! After only two months.”
“I thought that’s what you girls did. Isn’t that in the lesbian handbook or something?”
“Well, not this girl. Plus, she said she was in love with me.”
“Oh, having a gorgeous actress in love with you must suck,” Doug said sarcastically. “I’ve known you almost ten years, and you haven’t dated anyone longer than six months. You know what your problem is―”
“I know you took a semester of psychology in community college, but no more psychoanalysis, please.” Jordan sighed loudly.
“You purposefully date women you don’t even like. You know there’s no chance of falling in love, so they’re safe. What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” Jordan said defensively. “Anyway, I’m swearing off women. SOS is my true love, and anything else just gets in the way.”
“Maybe you just haven’t met your soul mate yet. Maybe if you didn’t date beautiful bimbos―”
“It’s not that. I’m just not relationship material. It always ends in disaster. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” Jordan disconnected before Dr. Freud could spout any more psychobabble.
Despite all her balking about relationships, Jordan did believe in soul mates, that one special person who feels like…home. She’d experienced that once in her life, with Sophie, but they were just teenagers. What’d they know about love?
*
Sophie sat on her couch and eagerly tore into the UPS box on her coffee table. Most people got excited about receiving books or clothes in the mail, but not Sophie. What got her heart pumping were one hundred packets of Asclepias eriocarpa seeds, better known as woolly pod milkweed. Seventy-five seeds per packet distributed to students up and down the coast meant an increase in milkweed plants, which would hopefully make a dent in monarch conservation. The mass mailing would be time-consuming, but Sophie would do anything to save the butterflies. Without milkweed, they would die off. It was the sole food source for monarch caterpillars and what the butterflies used to lay their eggs. As it was, milkweed was being cut down to build parking lots, shopping malls, and condominiums, which infuriated Sophie something awful.
Her insides twisted into a Celtic knot concerning the uncertain fate of the monarch sanctuary. Frances, the elderly woman who owned the center and surrounding land, had passed away a month ago. She was completely hands-off, which made her the perfect boss. In fact, she’d only stepped foot in the place once, when it opened five years ago. Sophie was appreciative since she had free rein of the sanctuary, where she worked tirelessly to build a thriving milkweed field.
Surely the property would go to Charles, Frances’s son, which wouldn’t be a good thing. He was a stern bulldog of a man…and Jordan’s father. Not that that mattered, but Sophie had had several uncomfortable interactions with him after Jordan disappeared. He’d responded to her many attempts to inquire how to reach Jordan in New York or what had happened with silent stares or slammed doors. No. Having Charles as her boss would not be pleasant. Or worse yet, he’d sell the land to a condo developer. Sophie’s stomach soured. She’d never let that happen. Nor would the townspeople. Since the sanctuary had opened, the city of Monarch had embraced the butterfly theme with a passion, maybe going a little overboard at times.
Sophie looked up as someone walked through her front door, which was wide open. One of the many things she loved about Monarch was that you could safely leave your door open without fearing that anything more than a few butterflies or a squirrel would break in. Sophie bolted off the couch and wrapped her arms around Bertha. She was a short, plump woman in her mid-sixties, who gave the best hugs ever. Bertha’s mission in life was to brew the best java in town in her coffee shop and look after Sophie. At twenty-nine, she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but it never hurt to have another mom, considering her biological one sucked. When Sophie was ten, her mom had landed in jail for a foiled bank-robbery attempt with her loser boyfriend and then completely disappeared after her release. Sophie had never known her father and had been raised by her aunt and uncle. They were wonderful caregivers, but she didn’t feel like she had a real mom until she met Bertha.
“Hey, sweetie. What do you have going on here?” Bertha motioned to the packets piled on the coffee table.
“It’s milkweed seeds. I’m doing a mass mailing to several schools in the area.”
“Isn’t it a little late to plant seeds? Shouldn’t you do that in summer or spring?”
“These are Asclepias eriocarpa.” Sophie smiled at Bertha’s frown. “Woolly pod milkweed.”
“Oh, yes. I like those. They have white flowers and fuzzy leaves.”
“Exactly. These are native to California and can be planted any time of the year. Plus, they’re drought-tolerant, which is good considering how little rain we’ve had lately.”
“Well, you can count on me to help mail these out. I know Molly and Mabel would help, too.”
“Thanks,” Sophie said with a smile. She missed some things about living in a big city, but nothing could replace Monarch’s family atmosphere. Not only did she have a replacement mom but also two substitute aunts in Molly and Mabel.
“So, have you heard who’ll inherit the sanctuary and land?” Sophie asked. If anyone would know, it’d be Bertha. Her coffee shop was the hub of gossip.
“I haven’t a clue. Seems like it’d be Charles, but if so, you’d know by now, I’d think. Maybe Frances didn’t have a will and the state will take it over. I’m not sure how those things work.”
That would be the best scenario. Sophie could work with a government agency to protect the land for butterfly conservation.
“Now, don’t you worry,” Bertha said when she undoubtedly saw the concern on Sophie’s face. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to the milkweed field and sanctuary.”
Sophie forced a smile. “Let’s get out of this mess, and I’ll make us some tea.”
“Do you have any coffee instead?” Bertha asked as she followed Sophie into the kitchen.
“You know I only drink your brew. Besides, I don’t even own a coffeepot.”
Bertha gasped and put a hand over her heart. “Well, I know what to give you for Christmas now. Speaking of which, I’m planning a big shake, rattle ’n’ roll New Year’s Eve party to commemorate the ten-year anniversary of the earthquake, so be sure to mark it on your calendar.”
Sophie grunted to herself. She didn’t like to think about that night. It wasn’t Bertha’s fault for bringing it up, though, since she didn’t have a clue as to what had happened. Sophie hated how her body still reacted to the mere thought of Jordan. Her face flushed, her heart pounded, and her mouth had a metallic, sour taste. That was quite possibly the worst time of her life. Sophie had cried for months after Jordan disappeared. Eventually, though, the tears had turned to anger, especially after she’d reached out to her several years ago when hearing about her company in Beverly Hills, with no response whatsoever.
Sophie rose on her tiptoes, reached into the top cabinet, pulled out a box, and handed it to Bertha. “Cindy left this here. What do you think?”
Bertha perched reading glasses on the tip of her nose and studied the photo of an attractive woman sipping a cup of java. “Leif’s international coffee. I’ve seen these commercials. This Frenchwoman does make it look tasty. Oh, wait, it’s instant?” Bertha looked at Sophie in horror, like she’d suggested they drink cyanide.
“It’s not half bad. Nothing compared to yours, of course. Let’s give it a try.” Sophie grabbed the box and opened it. “Do you want Café Vienna, Suisse Mocha, Caramel Macchiato―”
“Surprise me,” Bertha said, sitting at the kitchen table. “Speaking of Cindy, have you heard from her?”
“God, no, and I hope I never do.” Sophie leaned against the counter as two cups of water warmed in the microwave
.
“It’s been what? Six months since she left? Any prospects?”
Sophie shrugged and debated about whether to tell Bertha about her soul-mate ceremony. Bertha wouldn’t be opposed to such things, but Sophie decided to keep it to herself. “I did sign up on a singles website but haven’t met anyone yet.”
“Uh, a website?” Bertha was many things, but up-to-date technologically wasn’t one of them.
“The Internet. On the computer.”
Bertha gasped and held her breath. “You know what you need!?”
“No, what?”
“You need a matchmaker! I saw it on the Ophelia show. Some bigwig Beverly Hills matchmaker was being interviewed. She could help you find a soul mate.”
Sophie knew Bertha was talking about Jordan because she’d seen the interview as well. No matter how much she’d tried to turn it off, she couldn’t take her eyes off Jordan. It was the first time she’d seen her in almost ten years, the first time she’d heard her voice again. Sophie had missed that voice. The way it cracked when Jordan got excited and how the cadence was quiet and smooth when she spoke about something that touched her heart. Jordan hadn’t changed much over the years, except that she looked even more beautiful. In fact, she was pure perfection. Healthy chestnut curls cascaded around her flawless complexion, which glowed under the studio lights. When Jordan’s hazel eyes had gazed into the camera, Sophie could have sworn she was peering directly into her soul. Seeing Jordan again had stirred up all sorts of emotions, which had kept Sophie awake half the night.
“You may not be able to get that swanky company to help you out,” Bertha said. “But I bet there are matchmakers around here. You should look it up on that…er…website…thingie.”
“That’s something to consider.” Sophie heaped instant coffee into the cups and stirred vigorously. She placed the drinks on the kitchen table and sat across from Bertha.
Bertha peered into the cup, sniffed it a few times, and said, “Well, here goes nothing.” She took a sip and swallowed hard before coughing uncontrollably.
Sophie jumped up and patted her on the back. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, my.” Bertha looked horrified.
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse.” Bertha cleared her throat and pushed the cup aside. Sophie handed her a glass of water, which she gulped down. “You know, someone at the coffee shop told me that matchmaker went to school here, if you can believe that. A real-live celebrity from Monarch. Did you know her? She must be about your age.”
“Mmm…I don’t think so.” Sophie hated lying, but the last person she wanted to talk about was Jordan.
Chapter Three
The Jackpot
Jordan gazed out her fourth-story office window overlooking Rodeo Drive. When she and Doug were searching for office space, she’d wanted something in West LA or maybe even downtown, but considering more than half of their clients were actresses, it’d been a smart move. They could lunch at La Scala and commiserate over the lack of available straight men in Hollywood before walking around the corner to let SOS add romance to their lonely lives.
“Hey, boss.” Doug strolled into her office. They were equal partners, but he had started calling her boss after the Ophelia interview, since she’d become somewhat of a celebrity.
“Is Tiffany in yet?” Jordan asked. Doug raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? She’s late again?”
Tiffany was their receptionist, a twentysomething anorexic with a red streak in her hair and a famous boyfriend from the hottest boy band in town. Clients found her fun and amusing. Jordan thought she was lazy and irresponsible.
Jordan plopped into her chair. “Are we seriously not going to fire her? She’s always late, she types with two fingers, and she dots her i’s with a heart. That’s so not professional.”
Doug chuckled. “Clients love her.”
“She’s a screw-up. Last week I caught her designing a new tattoo when she was supposed to be doing reports.”
“I’ll talk to her. So what’s Tiffany’s new tat gonna be?” Doug smirked.
“I’m not sure exactly. It looked like a guitar inside a heart, but it could’ve been a penis. It had her boyfriend’s initials on it, so it could go either way.”
“Too funny. Okay, so I came in here to tell you who our newest client is.” Doug paused for dramatic effect. “Sabrina Cooke!”
“The Sabrina Cooke? Impressive. She just won a Golden Globe.”
“And she’s even more beautiful in person. And obviously s.i.n.g.l.e.”
“Why are you looking at me that way? First, I’m swearing off women, and second, we have a strict policy about messing around with clients. And it’s a good thing ninety percent of them are women, or else you’d be in big trouble.”
“You’re no fun.” Doug sat on the corner of Jordan’s desk. “So how are you doing? After the Bibi thing?”
Jordan shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “Fine. I dunno. She…uh…she said I wasn’t…normal.”
Doug bolted upright, his fists clenched. “Do you want me to beat her up for you?”
Jordan wasn’t sure if he was kidding, but from his stance he looked serious. He really was a good friend. Her big, gay protector.
“That’s sweet, but I’m pretty sure she could take you. She said I was a cold fish in bed and that it wasn’t normal I don’t sleep over. You know, after sex.”
“You don’t stay all night? Cuddle and all that girly stuff?”
“No. It feels too…too…”
“Too much like a relationship?”
“Precisely. That’s weird, isn’t it? God, maybe I am abnormal.” Jordan rubbed her face with her hands.
“You need to do what’s right for you. I only hound you about dating because I want you to be happy. And who am I to say you’d be happier with someone than alone?”
“Thanks. And I am happy. Really.” She wasn’t the type to dot her i’s with little hearts or use smiley emoticons, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t happy. Right?
Jordan put Bibi and relationships out of her mind and got back to work, until the phone started ringing…and ringing…and ringing. Finally, it stopped, which either meant the person had hung up or Tiffany had finally showed up. A few seconds later, the office door swung open.
“You have a call.” Tiffany leaned against the door frame and put a hand on her hip. She was wearing a tight black leather outfit more suited for the Roxy Theater than a professional office.
“Who is it?”
“Someone named Fifi or Mimi or something.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Could it be Bibi?” Tiffany responded with a blank stare. “If it’s Bibi, tell her I’m in a meeting.” Jordan continued typing but then stopped when Tiffany didn’t make a move.
“You’re in a meeting?” Tiffany opened her mouth wide and glanced around the office.
Jordan bit her lower lip. “Just tell her I’m unavailable and take a message.”
“So…like…you want me to like…lie?”
Oh my God, the girl who bragged about getting arrested for doing it with her boyfriend in the O of the Hollywood sign suddenly has morals?
“Like tell her I like can’t talk right now. And that’s not like a lie.”
Tiffany sighed, spun around on her heels, and slammed the door shut. Jordan took a deep breath and shook her head. That girl had to go. She looked at her computer screen and was about to start typing when the phone rang again…and again…and again.
“Tiffany?” No response. “Oh, good God.” Jordan picked up the receiver. “SOS, how may I help you?”
“I need to speak to Ms. Jordana Lee.” The man sounded serious, professional, and had a voice she didn’t recognize. Plus, he’d used her birth name, which was weird.
“This is she.”
“Ms. Lee, I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks. I’m so glad to finally speak with you. My name is Michael Simms, and I’m an estate-planning attorney in Monarch.” Jordan’s body tensed. Just the men
tion of the town made her anxious. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. I’m sorry to inform you that your grandmother passed away a month ago. Your father said no one in the family has been in contact with you for quite some time. Otherwise I would have let a family member break the news to you.”
Jordan was silent for several seconds. “Mr…Simms, is it? My father is correct. I’m no longer a part of the family. Thank you for your call, but it wasn’t necessary.”
“Ms. Lee, wait. Don’t hang up. Your grandmother had a will. She left you the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary.”
“My grandmother left me a…what? There must be some mistake. I seriously doubt she’d leave me anything.”
“She was very adamant about gifting the center to you. So, if possible, I’d suggest you come to Monar―”
“Hold up, Mr. Simms. I wouldn’t be caught dead in Monarch.” Jordan winced at the poor choice of words, considering the circumstances. “The last thing I need is a butterfly building…or whatever it is. Just give it to my father. I’m sure he’s the one my grandmother meant to leave it to.”
“Before you make any rash decisions, you need to know some things. The property consists of the sanctuary, which employs a lepidopterist, and sits on two acres of land. It’s prime real estate, which is located on a bluff overlooking the ocean. It’s quite valuable.”
Valuable? He had her attention. “Two acres? Is that a lot? And how valuable are we talking here?”
“An acre is approximately the size of a football field. The sanctuary and land have been appraised at two million dollars.”
Jordan coughed loudly into the phone. “Excuse me. Did you say two million? Would it seriously sell for that?” If this were a cartoon, her eyes would be dollar signs.
“Ms. Frances received several offers from Kelstrom. They own the chain of Grand View Hotels and Spas.”
“Why didn’t she sell it?”
“Your grandmother said it belonged to you.”
Okay, this was weird. Jordan had been excommunicated from the family, and she and her grandmother hadn’t been close. In fact, she scared the crap out of Jordan. The woman’s glare could cut a tin can better than any Ginsu knife ever could.
