Evie: Good.
Amelia: Excellent ’cause we’re coming in town tomorrow.
Evie: Really?
Evie: For what?
Amelia: Victoria has a gig. Some tech guy in town from China.
Evie: You?
Amelia: Tagging along for the bright lights and the shopping.
Amelia: Meet us for a coffee?
Evie: I think that works.
Evie: Hey – do you have time to pick up my mail?
Amelia: Yes, but I don’t have a key.
Evie: My neighbor does –Hazel O’Rourke. I’ll message you her contact info.
Evie: She’s home all the time.
Amelia: Sounds good. I’ll text you when we land.
Someone with big money is paying the tab for Victoria because she’s in a junior suite at the Ritz in Beverly Hills. An hour and a half later we’re shopping on Melrose Avenue, poking our heads into little boutiques, and picking up trendy clothes and trinkets. Victoria charges them to her client’s credit card. We stop at a French café and sit outside people watching, and eating an assortment of gluten free cakes.
“I wonder if I can learn how to do this empathy thing,” Victoria muses.
“Probably,” I say. “Sensitive people do it all the time without even knowing it.”
“How does it work again?” Amelia asks.
“If I connect with a client, I feel in my body what he’s feeling in his. I tune into his deepest, oldest fears.”
“Messy,” Victoria says. “Kink is cleaner.”
“It is,” I say. “And the knots are neater.”
“After care’s a bitch,” Victoria says.
Victoria looks at her phone and stands up. “I’ve got to get ready for this date.”
“Me too,” Amelia says.
“I thought you were here for the shopping?” I say and order a ride.
“I am but I got a last minute gig,” Amelia says. “Some movie producer. That’s random in Hollywood – right? Hey, almost forgot.” She pulls a letter out of her purse and hands it to me. “The only thing that wasn’t junk mail. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
Tucked into the back seat of my ride, I open the letter.
* * *
Dear Evelyn:
* * *
I saw those pictures of you in US Magazine and shook my head. There you were with Jake Keller. The movie star, Jake Keller. Wow! Amazing!
* * *
First off, congratulations on scoring that opportunity. I have no idea how it landed in your lap but I guarantee you deserve it. Don’t be humble shy about this. It’s an accomplishment.
* * *
You are checking the boxes on your climb up the ladder by associating with famous people. Eventually people will be checking their own box by hanging out with you. That’s a conversation we can have in the future should we ever meet up.
* * *
I suspect I freaked you out with my last gesture. My small present. The jewelry box. I didn’t mean to alarm you, but I have to call it how I see it. You’re a successful consultant but I knew you before that. I followed you in simpler times.
* * *
I’m still writing you via post. So old-fashioned of me, I know. Some things will never change. I miss the old days.
* * *
I only want your best, Evelyn.
* * *
I am, as always,
* * *
Your Devoted Fan
I shiver, slip it back inside the envelope, and tuck it into my purse.
Jake’s movie is screening in a small theatre on the studio lot. I sit in the middle of the center row. Jake’s in the back talking to a few suits.
I text Victoria.
Evie: I got another letter from the Fan.
Evie: He mentioned the jewelry box.
Evie: Should I report it to the cops?
Victoria: Yes. Talk later.
The lights dim and Jake takes a seat next to me. He’s biting his lip, trying not to glance around at the folks watching the screen. Ninety minutes later their verdict is in. The lights come up. People are clapping. He looks at me and smiles. “People like it.”
“They do,” I say.
He leans in. “You never know how it’s going to go. Thumbs up, thumbs down. Where it’s going to land on the Rotten Tomatoes Tomatoreader. The hype starts long before it releases. It was testing well but Ray’s been worried about this for months ‘cause it’s an indie flick, I’m breaking out of the traditional hero role and tackling something a bit deeper. That, and we have new financiers. A privately-backed investment group.”
“Just a little pressure,” I say over the applause.
He nods. “It’s a crazy business. Be glad you’re not in it.”
There’s a small-ish gathering after the screening at an old school Italian restaurant. The minute we walk in the door everyone notices Jake.
“Man of the hour,” a guy says sidling up to him.
“Thanks,” Jake says.
“Get ready for awards season,” a woman says.
“You’re too kind,” he says.
“Jacob Jonathan Keller!” A woman hollers. “You, my darling, were fucking fabulous. Get over here.”
I turn. Pinkie Stein and Ray Stark are seated at a table for eight in the corner. She flashes a toothy smile and waves. Ray still resembles a shark with less jagged teeth. Half the table’s seats remain open.
“Have you met Pinkie Stein my publicist?” Jake takes my arm and guides me toward them. “Or Ray Stark, my agent?”
“Ray, yes. Pinkie, no.”
“Ray’s an asshole,” he says. “Pinkie’s a doll but don’t get drunk with her. You’ll end up hung over in Mexico drinking Bloody Mary’s --”
“Getting massaged by half naked muscular men,” I say, “Don’t make me abandon the dream.”
“Ha.” His forehead crinkles as he laughs. “Nikki told you.”
The crowd is bustling around us but time slows and suddenly it’s just me and Jake. He’s looking at me with mischief in his eyes. We’re yards from Pinkie and Ray’s table when he makes an abrupt detour from the table.
“Jake!” Ray hollers.
“Can’t hear you,” he says, and slides his hand down my arm, interlacing his fingers with mine. He leads out of the main dining room and down a narrow hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t know,” he says. “Keep moving. If we’re lucky we can still escape.”
11
Backyard Flower
BACKYARD FLOWER
We pass a bustling galley kitchen, steam rising off sauce pans.
“Jake Keller,” a man in a chef’s uniform calls out.
Jake pauses. “Chef Massimo. Come va?”
They converse in Italian, Jake never letting go of my hand. The next thing I know, Massimo’s placing small plates with multi-colored bow shaped pastas accented with real flowers on the counter. He gestures, explaining the samples in a mixture of Italian and English. “This,” Massimo says, sprinkling a pinch of Parmesan on top, “is farfalle primavera made from flowers grown in the back yard.”
The scent is heady, the farfalle arranged in the shape of a pinwheel. A large flower makes the hub on the white plates, the jewel-toned smaller flowers sprinkled on top of the pasta. The dish is so pretty, practically food porn obscene. “Edible flowers?” Jake asks.
“Purple chive blossoms,” Massimo says.
Jake spears a farfalle and places it on my tongue. I close my mouth, then my eyes, my taste buds singing “Amazing Grace” because I suspect they might have died and gone to heaven.
“Grazie, Massimo,” Jake says and tugs at my hand pulling me along with him. “We have to go. We’re running late.”
“We are?”
“Nah,” he says. “I just want you to myself. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go, Evie?”
“Wherever you’re going.”
We come to
a door marked in red letters “Open Only in Case of Emergency.”
“We can’t,” I say. “It’s not an emergency.”
“It is for me,” he says, and pushes it open. No alarms go off and we make our way into the night air. The door creaks shut, its hinges in need of a liberal dose of WD-40.
We look at each other and laugh. “Risk-taker,” I say.
“You’re my risk,” he says. He walks me back against a concrete wall behind the restaurant and leans into me. He tilts my chin up and stares into my eyes. “Heal me, Evie.”
“I’m trying, Jake.”
He rakes his hand through my pixie cut and I flash to Dylan McAlister when he cut my waist-length locks because he thought it would ward off predators. But I am not here with Dylan, the guy I love who can’t or won’t put a ring on my finger.
I’m here with Jake Keller. He of the sweet eyes, and the bitter taint that consumes his soul. He’s the man wooing me, the one who’s treating me like I’m important.
He leans down and kisses me. He bites my lower lip then opens my mouth with his tongue. He runs his hand down my neck and my arm. Goosebumps erupt everywhere. The V between my legs throbs and I grow wet. “We should probably get back inside,” I say. “They’re expecting you.”
“Let’s not,” he says, one hand traveling to the bottom of my skirt. He slips his hand underneath and lets his fingers travel along my thigh, touching, feeling, caressing. Shivers zip up and down my spine.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, aware of the muffled voices of the kitchen staff.
“Oh, we definitely should,” he says. He traces his fingers over my sex. I clench my core and bite my lower lip. “Spread your legs for me, Evie.”
I do as he asks.
“Better,” he says. His deft fingers slip inside my panties, and find their way to my folds. He toys with my clit. I squirm under his touch and my breath comes quicker. “Someone could come out here,” I say as he slips his other hand inside my dress and palms my breast. “Someone could take a picture.”
“You said I was a risk taker.” He rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and dips his head to my breast. He slips my dress down, and draws my nipple into his mouth – licking, nibbling, sucking.
He feels so good. I can’t help it. I grind against his hand. He plays with my clit, strumming it faster and my breath comes in short, little gasps. “Inside me,” I say.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to be fooling around out here?” He returns his hand to my breast, and flicks my nipple between his fingers.
“Changed my mind.” I say, arching into him. “Put your finger inside me.”
He slips a finger inside me, then two, and I clench against him.
“I want to watch you come,” he says, staring at me with those eyes. Those beautiful, Jake Keller eyes that make people go crazy. “I want to watch you come as I play with you outside this restaurant with all those pompous assholes inside eating beautiful food. Because I’m going to eat someone more beautiful and more delicious than they’ll ever lay their mouths on tonight.”
He drops to his knees, lifts my skirt with one hand and presses his mouth against my sex. His beard scrapes against the sensitive nub. He dips his tongue inside me as he goes down on me. Waves of pleasure course through me and I bite my lip as he savors my pussy with his mouth. I cling to his muscular shoulder and steady myself.
“Come for me, Evie.” He puts two fingers back inside me and I groan, arching into his hand as his thumb rubs against my clit.
I grind against his hand, moaning low under my breath until I lose all sense of time and space and come with two of his fingers inside me. “Oh, Jake. Oh!” I squeeze my eyes shut. Time stands still until I’m able to feel my arms and legs again.
“Beautiful.” He pulls his fingers out, puts them in his mouth and sucks on them. “Delicious. Better than a backyard flower any day.”
“You’re bad,” I say, slipping my dress back onto my shoulder. I slide my panties back up my legs, then smooth down my skirt. I reach for his zipper.
The back door to the restaurant flies open. “Jacob Jonathan Keller!” Pinkie Stein booms.
“What?” he says.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” she says. “Are you two out here fucking?”
“No, Pinkie,” Jake says and grins.
“Whatever. People are waiting for you. Come on.” She leaves.
“Sadly, even risk-takers have to return to business,” Jake says, adjusting himself. “Even sadder, the rest of this will have to wait.”
“Bummer,” I say.
“It’s show business. Emphasis on the word ‘business.’”
We walk back inside. The music is louder, the place more crowded than ten minutes ago.
Ray Stark pulls out a chair for me. “Nice to see you, Evelyn. I hope Jake saw fit to take you someplace important.”
“Super important,” Jake says.
Backed up against a garden wall with his tongue lavishing my sex has to count as super important.
Pinkie waves a hand, her large cocktail ring sparkling in the candlelight. “Nice to officially meet you, Evelyn. I’m Pinkie Stein. Let’s order you a drink.”
“Call me Evie,” I say. “Seltzer, thanks.”
“I thought the new investor was showing up tonight,” Jake says sitting down next to me. “Did he make the screening?”
“Got there late,” Ray says. “Hit traffic.”
“Shocker,” Jake says.
“Better late than never,” Pinkie says.
“That’s him,” Ray says. “He just walked in the door.”
“I’m confused,” Pinkie says. “I thought he was Chinese.”
I place my napkin on my lap and smooth it out.
“No,” Ray says. “You heard me wrong. Easton Wolfe was coming back from a business trip to China.”
Easton Wolfe? My skin prickles. Easton Wolfe? The boy we ran over in mom’s car when I was thirteen-years-old? I break out in a sweat but don’t look up. I am not about to look up.
12
My Best Friend
MY BEST FRIEND
“Who’s the girl with him?” Pinkie asks. “Mrs. Wolfe? She’s young, pretty.”
My heart stops in my chest.
‘Uh-oh,’ Queasy says. ‘Wasn’t your pal Victoria in town to meet a client from China?’
Good God, he’s right. I shiver and glance up as my personal train wreck, Easton Wolfe, approaches the table. I can’t see his date because she’s behind him. Oh, God I hope it’s not Victoria.
“I’m Easton Wolfe,” he says. “Sorry we are late.”
I scroll on my phone because I don’t want to glance up at him. Out of the corner of my eye I see him extend his hand to Jake and they shake.
“I caught the last half of the movie,” Easton says. “It looks terrific.”
“Thanks,” Jake says.
“Ray Stark,” Ray says. “We’ve talked over the phone.”
“Great to put a face to the name,” Easton says.
“I’m Pinkie Stein.”
“Terrific meeting you Pinkie.”
I glance up, not wanting to look, but I need to. My shoulders are already creeping toward my ears.
“Since we’re doing the introductions,” Jake says, “this is Evelyn Berlinger. My consultant.”
“Nice to see you again, Evelyn.”
Easton’s eyes are hard, just like the muscle ticking in his jaw. Just like the set of his lips as he glares at me. I could be frozen solid by Easton Wolfe’s glare.
“I’d be remiss if I didn’t introduce my date,” he says as she turns toward us. “Amelia DeLadro.”
Not Victoria. My best friend Amelia.
What remains of my breath transforms into puffs of chilly winter air escaping my mouth in shocked, short gasps.
“Evelyn.” Amelia smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
It’s hard not to crawl out of my skin during the appetizers or the time that it takes everyone to f
inish their entrees. I wait a socially acceptable length of time and excuse myself.
“I’ll join you,” Amelia says.
We make our way to the restroom. “I thought you were in town for shopping,” I say. “What are you doing here with Easton Wolfe?”
“Last minute thing,” she says. “Madame Marchand got the call after I was already on a flight out here.”
“Don’t you remember I told you about him?”
“Of course, I remember,” she says. “I thought all that was in the past. Do you two have something going on?”
“The last thing we had going on was two years ago when he kicked me out of his hotel in Vegas. He told me I wasn’t allowed back into anything he owned.”
“Shit. I wonder if that’s why he called Ma Maison looking for a date for tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“Photos of Jake Keller kissing you were on Instagram. They even got picked up by a few magazines. Maybe that threw him.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
The bathroom door squeaks and Pinkie walks in. “Having a party in here?”
“Yes,” Amelia says.
“No,” I say.
“Never throw a party in L.A. without inviting me,” Pinkie says and heads into a stall. “I put the life in the party, ladies.”
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