Straight from the Hart

by Tracie Banister

  The streamers do look pretty, though, and it really does my heart good to see how happy and in love Jamal and Cristela are. This is a moment they’ll treasure for the rest of their lives, and the reason I became a romance concierge. Bringing couples closer, making them appreciate each other more, and solidifying their bond is what Straight from the Hart is all about, and I consider tonight to be another great triumph for my company.

  Now, it’s time for me to run upstairs to the owner’s suite where I have the post-game reception for the lovebirds set up. They didn’t get a wedding cake the first time they got married, so Cristela is going to die when she sees the thirteen-layer, four-tier red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting and strawberries and blueberries scattered around the edges. It’s even topped with their uniformed mini-lookalikes!

  CHAPTER 2

  “I told her you were fully booked today, but she begged me to squeeze her in. She said it’s an emergency, and you’re the only one who can help her.”

  I drum my fingers on the leather steering wheel of my BMW, which is standing still in early morning rush hour traffic on Wilshire. “What kind of emergency? Did she forget her significant other’s birthday or find out that he was leaving her for another woman, so now she wants to pull out all the stops to hold on to him?” Both of those scenarios were presented to me by potential clients in just the last month.

  “She wouldn’t elaborate,” my receptionist, Natasha, replies. “She just said her future happiness depends on her seeing you ASAP. Oh, and she offered to pay double your initial consultation fee if you can ‘move things around for her.’”

  That’s not surprising. A good majority of the people I deal with on a daily basis believe money will solve any problem for them. They also think their needs supersede those of everyone else.

  “I am intrigued as to what she wants. Are you sure there’s no wiggle room in my schedule today?” I ask before taking a sip of the cold-pressed juice I drink on my way to work every morning. It’s packed full of fruits and veggies that have lots of energizing Vitamin C to help me power through the day.

  “You’ve got appointments and a conference call with the concierge at Hotel Vicino al Mare to finalize the details for the Zimmermans’ honeymoon this morning, then you and Cole are scouting locations for the romantic fortieth birthday dinner Mrs. Rutledge wants to surprise her hubby with and a meeting with Joy to discuss floral design options for several clients after lunch.”

  “Lunch!” I slam on the brakes and lay on my horn when some jerk in a Jag cuts in front of me. “How much time do I have for that this afternoon?”

  “Twenty minutes. From one to one-twenty. You have to leave the office no later than that in order to get to the inn in Santa Monica where you have a tour scheduled at two.”

  “Push the inn to two-fifteen and tell Aubrey to make a run to the deli at one-fifteen and get me a . . .” I try to think of something that won’t leave me with stinky breath. “. . . chicken gouda with sun-dried tomato aioli on wheat. I’ll eat it in the car on the way to the appointment. And explain to our new client—what was her name again?”

  “Astra Langdon.”

  “One of the bigwigs over at Paramount has the last name Langdon. Wonder if she’s any relation?” I maneuver my glacier silver metallic car into the faster-moving right lane and give a wave of gratitude to the lady in the Lexus who let me in.

  “Yep. She name-dropped dear old dad ten seconds into our conversation. He’s the president of worldwide marketing and distribution at Paramount Pictures.”

  The woman travels in elite circles then, which means if she’s pleased with my work she’ll refer me to her rich, equally well-connected friends. Yes!

  “Tell Ms. Langdon I’ll be happy to meet with her at one today. However, I will be pressed for time, so I can only give her thirty minutes.” Hopefully, that will encourage her to get to the point quickly.

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks, Natasha. See you in ten.”

  I disconnect the call and check my dashboard clock, which reads 8:06. So I’ll be late tuning into the radio show I like to listen to on my morning drive. Punching the appropriate pre-set button on the console, I turn up the volume so that I can hear the familiar voice of the show’s host.

  “Love Is on the Air. This is Dr. Hart. To whom am I speaking?”

  “Uh . . . this is B-B-Brad from, uh . . . Tarz-I mean, Encino.”

  Callers are supposed to use fake names, but it’s pretty clear that “Brad” just made up his location as well. Also he’s a terrible liar with the stuttering and long pauses. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though. None of us wants a man in our lives who’s a master of deception, right?

  “And how can I improve your love life, Brad?”

  “Well . . . I’ve never admitted this to anyone before, but I’ve been in love with a neighbor friend of mine for a really long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Almost two years.”

  “You’ve been pining for her, or him, for two years and you’ve never—”

  “Her . . . her! My friend is a she . . . a girl! I like girls, just girls.” Brad falls all over himself trying to set the record straight (pun intended).

  “So you’ve been in love with this friend, who’s definitely female, for a couple of years, but you’ve never revealed your feelings for her?”

  “Not in so many words, but I do things to show her how I feel all the time. I fix her computer whenever it freezes up because she clicked on a sketchy link, and I take her garbage out to the curb on pick-up days because the smell grosses her out, and I wash her car as well as Drogo, that’s her dog. He’s kind of mean; he’s bitten me a few times.”

  “Brad.” The doctor’s voice is stern. “What you just described is not a healthy, reciprocal relationship, be it platonic or romantic. It’s a one-way street that the object of your affections is driving down while you sit on the hood of the car, cleaning bugs off the windshield for her. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Not really. I just want you to tell me how to make her love me back.”

  “I’m not going to do that, Brad. You know why?”

  Her question is met with silence.

  “What was the title of my last book?”

  “You’re Better Than That,” he replies timidly.

  “That’s exactly right, Brad. You are better than that, and this neighbor of yours is not worthy of your friendship, much less your love. You are a sweet and generous young man with a big heart who deserves more.”

  “But I’ll never find anyone else as pretty as she is,” he whines.

  “You need a woman who’s as pretty on the inside as she is on the outside. If you continue to idealize your neighbor, you are going to miss out on having a relationship with someone you could have a real connection with. You want that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No more buts, Brad. Today is the day you stop letting the girl-next-door twist you around her little finger, and you dedicate yourself to finding someone who appreciates you and everything you have to offer. I’m willing to bet there are potential Ms. Rights all around you.”

  “I don’t know about that . . .,” he trails off thinking about it. “I guess there is this barista at the coffee shop I go to who seems cool. She’s got purple hair and she knew who FEVER 333 was when I wore the band T-shirt in there last week.”

  “Sounds like a match made in rap rock heaven! You know what you need to do, Brad?”

  Not waiting for an answer, the doctor replies, “You need to march into that coffee shop today and ask this music-loving barista out.”

  “What?!?!?!?!” he screeches in panic. “No way can I do that. I don’t even know her name!”

  “You’ll have lots to talk about on your first date then. Looks like FEVER 333 is playing at FivePoint this weekend. Buy a pair of tickets and invite the barista to go with you. I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance.”

  “You think?” />
  “I’m rarely wrong about these things, Brad. Good luck and call back to let us know how it goes.”

  “I will. Thanks, Dr. Hart.”

  After the call ends, the host opines, “We can all learn a valuable lesson from Brad. Listeners, don’t waste your time on someone who takes and never gives. You’re better than that! Now, let’s see who else we have on the line . . . Love Is on the Air. Dr. Hart speaking. How can I improve your love life?”

  “Hi, this is Sonja from Santa Fe. I’m calling because . . . well, this is really embarrassing.”

  “I’m a trained professional who’s been counseling patients on matters of the heart for more than twenty-five years, Sonja. Rest assured I’ve heard it all before.”

  “Okay, then the problem is my husband. When we were dating, things were totally normal between us . . . in the bedroom, but since we got married, he’s been suggesting we do all this freaky stuff.”

  “Define freaky.”

  And I’m out!

  Thank goodness, I’ve just pulled into my reserved parking space at the lot on South Flower and can turn off my car, and the radio along with it, because the last thing I need to hear is my mother discussing kinky sex with someone!

  Yes, that’s right, Dr. Victoria Hart, Ph.D., noted expert on romance and relationships, New York Times’ bestselling author of several self-help books, and host of her very own SiriusXM talk radio show is the woman who birthed me. I guess you could say that love is the family business except my mother approaches it from a more cerebral place, advising folks who are having trouble finding or making it work with “the one.” Work being the operative word as she encourages digging deep with your partner, being upfront and honest about your feelings at all times, and never compromising so much that you lose yourself in a relationship. Meanwhile, my focus is on the fun side of being booed up, employing new and creative ways to help couples keep the spark alive and fizzing.

  Our approaches are also quite different. My mother is very clinical when she speaks with those seeking her advice, never shying away from giving them the cold, hard truth and never getting emotionally invested, whereas I care very deeply about my clients and want them to feel nothing but happiness in relation to me and Straight from the Hart. Romance is about making people and places pretty and pleasing after all. And that’s why I have an office in the stunning Fine Arts Building that sits majestically on West Seventh Street in downtown Los Angeles.

  Not only does this gorgeous example of Romanesque Revival-style architecture make an incredible first impression on my clients, it continues to wow me every time I step through its large, bronze-and-glass doors and see the magnificent two-story lobby with its archways, balconies, and display cases set inside the stone walls that house various types of artwork. It’s like being in a centuries-old church in Europe, and everyone behaves accordingly, dropping their voices to whispers and moving quietly and reverently through the space.

  I nod at Richie, the security guard stationed at the desk in the corner of the lobby, as I make my way to the bank of elevators. Once aboard, I press the four button and wait to be conveyed to my floor. Hanging a right when I exit the elevator, I head toward the suite of offices at the end of the corridor and smile when I see the signage outside the door that bears my company’s name and logo. Straight from the Hart is written in a lovely gold script and the lowercase “t” on the end swirls into a heart.

  I had the importance of branding drilled into my head at business school and by my last boss and mentor, Jacqueline, and everything from my work wardrobe (designer clothing in red or pink) to my office décor conveys class, sophistication, and romance. The suite came with wood floors and exposed brick walls, but I made it my own with lush, ivory area rugs and chairs, globe pendant lighting, glass desks and tables, and brushed gold accents with some of the accessories. There’s an occasional dramatic pop of black—in the reception area, it’s the large canvas print of Robert Doisneau’s famous black and white photograph The Kiss by the Hôtel de Ville, which I think is the most exquisitely swoony image of all time (a young man and woman in the foreground stopping to share a passionate kiss on a busy Parisian street while everyone else is blurred in motion around them as if time is standing still just for the lovers)—and a softening touch with the merest hint of pink in the freshly cut, blush-colored roses that sit in clear vases on all the desks in the office.

  “Thank you.” I accept a FedEx envelope from my receptionist with a smile. “Was Ms. Langdon okay with the one o’clock slot?”

  “She had to reschedule appointments with her brow artist and numerologist, which she didn’t sound thrilled about, but she’ll be here.”

  Sounds like my typical, high-maintenance client. They want me to drop everything for them, but think it’s a chore when they have to be accommodating in return. Good thing I have years of practice in handling clients with diva tendencies.

  “Wonderful. Be sure to fawn over her when she arrives. Make her feel extra special.”

  Natasha gives me a thumbs-up just as the phone rings. Pressing a button on the headset she’s wearing, my receptionist answers, “Straight from the Hart, LA’s premier romance concierge service. How may I direct your call?”

  I leave her to it and make a beeline for my office, which is down the hallway on the right. I’m only halfway there when I’m ambushed by both assistants.

  “Vanessa!” Cole demands my attention first. “Dayne Cargill just found out his new boyfriend has globophobia, so the hot air balloon ride is out for their one-month anniversary. We need a Plan B pronto.”

  Aubrey has more bad news.

  “Juliette Bancroft’s makeup artist ate some bad uni and is out of commission for the next twenty-four hours, so Juliette doesn’t have anyone she trusts to do her glam for tonight. She’s hysterical and wants us to cancel everything we had planned for her and her husband.”

  Before I can address either of these pressing matters, my social media/marketing director, Carmen, pipes up from behind me, “Since the Valentine’s tips you shared with viewers on KTLA Morning News got such a great response, I’m thinking we should post themed tips pertaining to a different holiday or season on our Instagram account and website each month moving forward. So . . .”

  She trails me into my office while the other two stay glued to my sides, still waiting for me to problem-solve for them. “I’ll need you to give me a week’s worth of romantic tips that are geared toward spring within the next few hours because it’ll take me a day or two to create the accompanying graphics and prepare the posts, and Thursday is the first day of spring.”

  Oh boy. Two crises and a rush on something that requires a good amount of thought and creativity all before nine o’clock. Who needs caffeine when I can get a shot of adrenaline from my high-pressure job first thing in the morning?

  Moving to stand behind my desk, I watch as my employees line up in front of it, all of them staring at me with expectant looks on their faces. I set my purse, juice, and the FedEx envelope down on the glass while I ponder the best way to resolve each of these issues. I start with Cole.

  “Eighty-six the hot air balloon and book the Deluxe Catalina Weekend with Malibu Divers for Dayne and his guy. He mentioned in the initial interview that they’re both scuba divers and a boat dive in the waters surrounding the island will be something fun and romantic they’ll both enjoy. Afterward, the captain can anchor in Lovers Cove where the guys can have their anniversary dinner on deck in the moonlight.”

  Turning toward my other assistant, I query, “Juliette’s style icon is Jennifer Aniston, right?”

  Aubrey nods. “Big time. She won’t shut up about her.”

  I grab my phone from the side pocket of my Gucci tote bag and pull up Angela Levin’s number from my contacts. My grandmother worked with her on a movie back in the beginning of Angela’s career as a makeup artist and they’re still close, so I think she might be willing to do me a favor. I send her a quick text and am rewarded with an immediate res
ponse.

  With a smile, I say, “Let Juliette know that I’ve got Jen Aniston’s makeup artist, Angela Levin, swinging by her house to do her face at five this afternoon. Also, since it sounds like she’s in need of some hand-holding, tell her I’ll drop by myself to go over some last minute details with her. Cole, I’ll need you to get me out of that meeting at the inn by four.”

  “Roger that.”

  “I’ve got ten minutes until my nine o’clock arrives, so I’ll start work on those tips for you now, Carmen. Great idea, by the way!” Taking a seat in my upholstered-in-a-luxe-cream-fabric chair that has a button-tufted back, I tell her, “I’ll have the full list to you by noon. Thanks, everyone.” I dismiss my staff so that I can dive into what’s promising to be a very hectic day. While turning on my laptop, I reach for my bottle of juice, which is almost empty. I’m probably going to regret this since there won’t be time for a bathroom break in the next few hours, but . . .

  “Could someone bring me a chai green tea?” I call out to my employees’ backs as they file out.

  CHAPTER 3

  The intercom on my desk phone buzzes, and Natasha’s voice announces, “Ms. Langdon is on her way back with Cole.”

  Is it one o’clock already? I look at the time on my laptop and see that it’s four after. Where did the morning go? Apparently, time flies when you’re putting out fires in between back-to-back appointments.

  Pressing the proper button on my phone, I say, “Thank you,” then close my laptop and stand, smoothing down the bottom half of my shell-pink dress. Not that the expensive cady crepe material would wrinkle, but I want to make sure it didn’t get bunched up while I was sitting. Image is everything and I like to present an elegant one when meeting with clients. This Dolce & Gabbana dress is one of my favorites because the fluted sleeves and hem are really pretty and feminine and the midi-length is flattering on my tall, slender frame.

  When I hear a light knock, I say, “Come in.”