by Lisa Lace
Lucas
Ivy asks me to meet her at the restaurant. I can only guess it’s because she doesn’t want me to meet her father.
I arrive ten minutes before her at Osteria Mozza, the Italian restaurant I selected. I almost took her to Urasawa, but I thought sushi was a gamble. I didn’t want to come across like I was showing off, either. The prices there raise eyebrows. That being said, Osteria Mozza is also pretty upscale. Located on Melrose Avenue, it serves gourmet Italian dishes and has one of the best wine lists in the city.
I’m hoping dinner together will help Ivy get to know me better and maybe let her guard down. Even though she’s keeping me at a distance, I know she feels the same spark I do.
Osteria Mozza is a classy venue with long rectangular tables set with fine white linen and polished silverware. The bar that runs along the back wall is stocked with the finest wines and champagnes and manned by staff in suits and ties. Guests can order light bites with their drinks at the marble mozzarella bar that runs around the edge of the restaurant.
I’m led to our table toward the center of the restaurant, right next to a round marble centerpiece topped with a vase of luscious white lilies. Their scent carries across to the table and I smile. It feels romantic.
Everybody is dressed to impress, including me. I’m wearing my best gray suit with a thin black tie. It’s tailored for the perfect fit. I’ve had my hair cut and restyled for the occasion. I even bought a new cologne. I want to make Ivy look twice, and she’s not an easy woman to seduce.
Only moments after I sit down, she arrives. I stand when I see her enter and wait for her to reach the table. She looks a vision, as always. She’s wearing an emerald-green satin sheath dress that cinches at the waist. The hem comes to just above her knee. The neckline crosses the collarbones, leaving her shoulders bare. Her naturally curly hair is immaculate, shining a gleaming blonde under the restaurant lights. Her lipstick is a deep burgundy, the color of wine.
My $8,000 suit might as well be rags when compared to her effortless beauty.
She sits down opposite me, placing her clutch purse on the table. She offers me a smile. “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get a ride.”
“I would have picked you up.”
“It’s alright. I’m here now.” She glances around the restaurant. “I guessed the place would be fancy. To think I almost worried I’d be overdressed.” She flashes me a nervous smile.
“You look perfect.” I look up and see a waiter about to pass by. I turn back to Ivy. “Would you like some wine?”
“Thank you.”
“White or red?”
“White.”
“Do you have a preference?”
She smiles. “I have a feeling you know more about wine than I do.”
I beckon the waiter over. “Could we please have a bottle of your 2013 Miani Sauvignon Saurint?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll bring that over for you straightaway.”
Ivy raises her eyebrows. “How did I know you’d be a connoisseur?”
“You know, it actually took me years to develop a taste for wine. Now I appreciate it greatly.”
“I saw a wine holder online the other day and it made me think of you.”
I smile. “You did?”
“Yes. It was a stegosaurus with room for a bottle inside.”
“Why did that make you think of me?”
She looks up at me with a mischievous smile. “Because you’re a secret kook.”
Ivy’s simple story has made my day. There are very few people who would see a stegosaurus wine holder and think of me. Those who do are the ones who know me well.
I laugh. “You think I’m a kook?”
“I know you are.”
I continue to smile as we look over our menus then order. We decide to share some antipasti before our main courses. We order the affettati misti with gnocco fritto, which comes with capicola, smoked pancetta, and prosciutto-wrapped grissini with truffle butter.
We make small talk until the food arrives. The dish is placed between us with personal plates in front of each of us. I enjoy watching Ivy use the grissini breadsticks to mop up the truffle butter.
She sees me watching and raises her eyebrows. “What? Am I not supposed to dip?”
“However you enjoy it.”
“I’m not much of a foodie.”
“No?”
“My dad was never much of a chef.”
I smile. “Tell me about it. I don’t think my father has ever used the stove. I doubt he even knows what a microwave is for. I was raised on takeout food and eating out.”
“For me, it was instant mac and cheese and sloppy joes from a can.” She looks up at me with a smile. “And now here I am eating truffle butter with Lucas Fox.”
“You’ll get used to eating in restaurants like this when you make it big.”
“There’s a long way to go before I think about that.”
“Not so far.”
“No? Because I see a lot of struggles ahead.”
“What kind of struggles?”
“Staying true to who we are without losing our place on the label.”
Here it is. Business talk.
I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. “It might not always be easy.”
“We’re going to talk about it, right?”
“I don’t know what else there is to say. The decisions are out of my hands.” I pause. “The only wiggle room I can see is if you were to go solo. It’s easier to market a single artist than a duo.”
Ivy frowns. “You know I’d never do that. Jane and I come as a package.”
“Then you have to compromise.”
“Why should I?”
I lean forward with my elbows on the table and wait until Ivy is staring back at me. “You’re asking someone to put their time and money into representing you, promoting you, and making you a star. They’re taking a gamble on an investment in you. They’re going to do whatever it takes to make sure they see a return.” I sit back. “Once you’re an established artist, you’ll be able to spread your wings a bit more. We have to start by testing the waters and seeing what the public makes of you.”
“The public will have no idea what we’re really about if we’re not playing our own stuff, and changing our style, and all the rest of it.”
I let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“It feels like I’m being boxed in.”
“I know.” I pour a glass of wine for her. “Try the Saurint. Seems like you need to relax.”
She watches me pour then takes a sip. “It’s good.”
“My personal favorite.”
“You have good taste.”
“If you trust me, I’d recommend the veal breast stracotto for your main. It’s exquisite.”
She flicks her eyes up to my face. “Why does this kind of feel like a date?”
“Maybe because I kind of wish it were.”
Ivy laughs. “You’re relentless.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
“What makes you think I’m interested?”
“You don’t wear a dress like that to a business dinner.”
She blushes and looks down at her plate. “This is a business dinner. I promised Jane there’d be no more fooling around with men—especially you.”
“You’re dressed like that to tease me, then.”
Her lips flicker in a smile.
She knows she looks good.
“I’m just trying to fit in.” Her eyes skim over the menu. “I wanted to talk to you about negotiating an extra track of our own.”
“We don’t need to talk about that now.”
“I feel like I’ll get further cornering you away from your father.”
“Maybe you’d be better off cornering him.”
She shakes her head. “I’m hoping I’ll never have to come face-to-face with Harvey. You know what I’ve heard about him.” She darts her glance u
pwards to catch my expression. “I hope that doesn’t offend you.”
“Not at all. I’ll be the first to admit my father is a difficult man. He’s ruthless, cold, and business-minded to a fault. It makes him a crappy father, a terrible friend, but the best advocate for someone trying to make a name for themselves. My father gets what he wants, and if he wants your face all over Hollywood, that’s what will happen.”
I can see the desire in Ivy’s eyes. She stares somewhere over my shoulder with a glassy gaze, her mind lingering in some dream. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “That’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“Then don’t let your father’s grudge hold you back. This isn’t personal, this is business. It’s Hollywood. You might get burned, but it’s the risk you take for the chance of greatness. Nobody huge ever made it big playing it safe.”
“And what about all these demands?” She rests her head in her hand and drinks from her wine. “Am I selling out?”
I reach out and take hold of her hand. “You’re compromising to get your foot in the door. There’s a difference. The time for Ivy Evans to showcase her unique talent will come. I promise, in time, you’ll have the chance to be authentic. But now’s not the time to be stubborn and inflexible.”
“You’re saying I have to earn the right to do things my way?”
“Yes. As unfair and shitty as that sounds, it’s how things work around here. One thing I can promise is that I’ll always advocate for you and do my best to make sure you’re treated fairly.”
She looks down into her glass, swirling the wine before taking a sip. “I’m going to do it.”
“You are?”
Ivy nods. “It’s not the way I imagined it, but it’s still my dream, and it might be the only shot I ever get. I know my dad doesn’t want me to work with Fox Records, but someone’s got to pay the bills. And if Jane’s happy with the compromises, then it seems wrong of me to hold her back. It’s time to stop being naïve, I guess.”
“You’re going to be huge.”
She smiles. “I just want to move forward. I’ve been at this for so long now.”
“Just wait until your father sees you lighting up Hollywood. He’ll be proud.”
“Maybe.”
“If business is out of the way, maybe we can just enjoy the rest of dinner as friends.”
It’s hard to think of Ivy as just a friend. Every movement she makes catches my eye and makes me want to reach out and touch her. She has her legs crossed at the knee, and it’s hard to keep my eyes off of her slender calves and the several inches of thigh on show.
“Alright,” she agrees. “But only if you’ll be Lucas Fox, the man with a bulldog lamp, and not Lucas Fox, music producer.”
I smile. “You’re asking me to bring out my inner kook?”
“Please.”
“Okay. Let me tell you about the time I bought a quad bike.”
Her face lights up. “A quad bike? Why?”
“I was staying in Florida one summer. It was the summer after high school, in fact. I had a credit card my father paid for, so I bought myself a ticket to the coast, bought a surfboard, and tried to reinvent myself as a surfer for the summer.”
Ivy laughs brightly. “You? A surfer?”
“I was as bad at it as you can imagine. When I found out I couldn’t stay upright on the board for more than a couple of seconds at a time, I decided I had to create the image another way. I got a dune buggy—a quad bike thing—and rode it around the beach all day and in the evenings, trying to attract attention. I was hoping I’d find a cool group of friends to hang out with, have the summer of a lifetime.”
“And did you?”
“No. And I lost the quad bike, too.”
“How?”
“I left it parked on the sand while I napped. I woke up to the tide having come in. The quad bike was almost completely submerged. I couldn’t get it out, so I left it there.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You left a quad bike in the ocean? God, your childhood was so different from mine. I’ve never had so much as bicycle, let alone a quad bike. I did have a pair of Rollerblades once.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. My dad picked them up for me at the flea market. I rolled around Skid Row for months in those things.” She smiles with a nostalgic expression on her face. “I loved them.”
We order our main courses, eat, and talk for hours. By the time dessert arrives, business is long forgotten and time has flown by.
“God,” Ivy says, looking at the time on her cell. “We’ve been here forever.”
“I had a wonderful time.”
She smiles. “Me, too. Thank you, Lucas. I needed this.”
“Me, too. I don’t actually get out with friends too often.”
“You’re using the word ‘friends’ a lot tonight.”
“Only because I feel like a one-night stand doesn’t make us lovers.”
She gasps and slaps me playfully on the arm with her purse. “Shh! Don’t say that out loud!”
I laugh. “Are you embarrassed?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean I want the world to know.”
I pay the bill, and we leave the restaurant. Ivy stands beside me and looks up at me with a fond smile.
“Thank you for tonight, Lucas. I had fun.”
“I’d like to do it again sometime—without the business talk. Like a date.”
She smiles. “Maybe another time. My mind’s on other things right now.”
I’m disappointed, but I try not to let it show. I hail a cab for her and make sure she’s safe inside before I call my own driver to pick me up.
Within seconds of Ivy going on her way, I miss her easy, pleasant company. I could kick myself for handing her my business card instead of my phone number the first time I met her at Alibis. As a music producer, I see a rising star. But as a man, I see a beautiful, creative woman with intellect and a great sense of humor. She’s incredible in more ways than one.
Ivy
Jane and I have practiced the track we were given by the studio again and again, and I still feel ambivalent about the material. The song is some upbeat pop ditty about dancing. It’s catchy, but people won’t be talking about the lyrics a year from now.
Still, here we are, in the recording booth, and it’s my job to sing the words I’ve been given, or not sing at all.
We each have sheets of music with our separate parts. I notice Jane has less than half the lines I’ve got. She’s basically been turned into a glorified backup singer. I’m angry about that but scared to bring it up in case Jane hasn’t noticed. Have they done that on purpose? The last thing I want to do is create a reason for her feelings to be hurt. I try to push all my doubts to the back of my mind as the backing track starts up. I nod in time to the beat and move close to the mic.
The booth smells of leather and foam. When I lean into the pop shield, I can feel my own breath on my face. My over-ear headphones are warm and block out all sound but the backing track and my own voice. I place my hands over them and tap my foot to the rhythm. When I sing, I smile. It may not be my song, but it’s my voice I hear echoing in my ears. It’s me, Ivy Evans, standing in a real recording booth. This is not a dream. I’m on my way.
I’m not sure my excitement is wholly due to the music, however. Through the glass, I can see Lucas listening in the mixing room. He’s sitting next to Sam with a smile on his face. His eyes are fixed on me.
He’s dressed down today in jeans and a designer polo shirt. He looks almost like he could be anyone, but I know he’s not simply anyone. He’s Lucas Fox, son of my father’s rival, my music producer, and the one man I told Jane I’d stay away from. He’s off-limits, no matter how much I crave his touch again, or how often I think about last night’s dinner. It had felt like a date, and I’d loved every second. It had taken everything in me not to ask if I could spend the night with him. Loyalty to Jane had stopped me. I’d made her a promise.
Suddenly, the backing
track stops. A stranger walks first into the mixing room, then through the door into the recording booth itself. The man is well dressed, suave. He’s wearing a gray pin-striped suit with a silk pocket square. His silver hair is slicked back. He looks like a 1940s loan shark. I don’t know who he is, but I can guess—Harvey Fox.
He steps into the room with an arrogant swagger and raises his hands. “Ladies! What a hit I’m hearing.”
Lucas joins us and clears his throat. “Ivy, Jane, this is my father and the owner of Fox Records, Harvey Fox.”
Harvey steps forward with his arm outstretched. I feel my skin crawling as I take his hand. There’s something about him that gives me the creeps, even more so when he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it without taking his eyes off mine.
“You sing beautifully.”
I force a smile. “Thank you.”
He breezes past me to Jane and takes her hand as well. She giggles when he kisses the back of it, blushing like a silly schoolgirl.
“Mr. Fox! It’s such an honor to meet you.”
“The honor is all mine. My son has been singing your praises, and he’s not wrong. I can tell you’re going to do very well in this business, especially when you cooperate with the label.” He nods. “This new sound is much better. We want to start you off with something that’s going to get the public’s attention.”
He turns back to me, and I see his eyes traveling from my ankles, up my legs, settling briefly on my chest, and only then lifting to my face. His gaze is so hungry I want to cover myself with my arms. It feels like he can see right through my clothes.
“Not that you’ll have any trouble getting anyone’s attention.” He lifts a hand and touches a strand of my hair.
I shudder.
He turns to Jane and gives her body the same visual once-over. “We’ll get you made up to look phenomenal. You’ve got the figure to drive men wild.”
Jane flushes even more and titters at the compliment. “You think so?”
Harvey steps toward her and takes her by both hands, keeping a small distance between them so he can continue to leer. He lifts one of her arms above her head and encourages her to spin. Jane happily twirls in front of him.
