Barking with the Stars

by Sparkle Abbey

  I had time before lunch to stop by the hotel and get the packet of meds to Purple or Mandy. And perhaps I could check the dressing room accommodations for Lavender at the same time.

  I pulled up in the circular drive and handed my vintage silver Mercedes convertible off to the valet parking attendant. Because the Ocean Mark P was new to the area, they’d been amenable to staging our Barking with the Stars event which I’d heard was now being referred to in the press with the tag line “Red, White & Purple” because of the star power the pop singer wielded. Hopefully this would be a great kickoff event for the hotel. So far, they’d been an example of a fantastic corporate community partner. I was impressed.

  I stopped at the shell-shaped front desk and asked that they connect me to the Starfish Suite. Mandy answered and said she’d be right down.

  I parked myself on the other side of the massive fountain where I could watch for her and enjoy the beauty of the lobby. It was only a few minutes before I spotted her striding across the courtyard. No-nonsense khaki shorts, a light-green blouse, and, as usual, eyes straight ahead and focused.

  I waved. She walked toward me, her lips a thin line. I couldn’t blame her for being upset. What Betty had done was a breach of the confidence Mandy had shown by letting her close to Purple.

  “I’m so sorry you had to come down.” I handed her the bag. “I could have brought this up.”

  “No, it’s best.”

  “I’m very sorry about what happened yesterday, and I’m sure Mrs. Foxx is as well.” I replayed the whole mess in my head. “I hope you understand, I knew nothing about Mrs. Foxx’s camera. I was just as surprised as you.”

  “I’m sure that’s right, Caro.” Mandy took a deep breath and pushed her dishwater-blond hair off her forehead. “But here’s the thing, Purple has decided to go with a different dog therapist.”

  “What?” I hadn’t anticipated this when I’d agreed to help Betty out. “I had nothing to do with—”

  “I know.” Mandy held up her hand. “And I know this isn’t fair. But when she’s made up her mind, there’s no discussing anything. She’s already hired this other guy and we’re just done. I’m sorry.”

  She walked away before I could get anything else out, and then turned back to me to say, “Send me the bill for what time you’ve spent so far.”

  Well, horse feathers.

  I was sure my face flamed as red as my hair. I knew which “other guy” Purple had hired, and the names I’d called him the other night were way too good to describe him.

  It’s a good thing there was nothing nearby to punch because it wouldn’t have helped and I’d probably have hurt myself.

  I FINISHED MY afternoon appointments, went home to take care of pets, and tried to call Sam again. I’d had a message from Diana to remind me we had a late dinner planned with the Barking with the Stars committee members that evening. I had it on my calendar, but I confess it had gone clean out of my mind after dealing with first the sabotage by my ex and then the mess with Betty.

  Barking with the Stars was the brainchild of Sunny Simone and she’d had the good sense to snag Diana’s expertise right away. Unlike the Laguna Beach Fur Ball, the “cough up some cash” fundraiser Diana and I had been involved with last year, this was a three-pronged approach. A live telethon event with tickets sold to be part of the audience. The celebs would appear on stage with their dogs, talk about Warriors for the Paws, and beg for donations. Some would also do performances, and then the whole kit and caboodle would wrap up with an auction of items that stars had donated.

  Brilliant.

  I took a quick shower and slipped into a mint-green Armani sheath that always made me feel cool and collected. Flat Kate Spade sandals and unruly red locks tamed into a loose bun and I was out the door.

  I’d already filled Diana in on the Betty incident and she’d tried to share my chagrin, but I could tell there was a time or two she’d held back a chuckle. She’d reassured me that I had nothing to worry about. She and Sunny and the rest of the committee had complete confidence in me.

  The group had decided to meet for dinner at Posh, the hotel restaurant, to discuss final details. Again, I handed off my car to the parking attendant. I was sure my little vintage Mercedes was lost among the late-model Porsches, Lamborghinis, and Bentleys he’d been parking, but he never batted an eye. I walked through the lobby, taking some time to appreciate the way the architect had made the glittering Pacific part of the design. It was almost as if the lobby framed the beach and the stunning Laguna Beach sunset.

  The restaurant décor continued the theme, and the hostess escorted me through a fragrant flower-lined pathway to where the other committee members were already seated.

  The event committee was an eclectic bunch. There was Ben McMullin. Or “Big McMoney” as Diana and I referred to him. Only to each other, you understand. Ben had money, big buckets of money, and we were glad that he was interested in animal rescue. He’d been a great benefactor. The man was also just in general a really nice guy. Rumors had it that although he’d bought a house in Laguna Beach, he also maintained his first home in Indiana as a reminder of where he’d come from. As a former veteran from a family steeped in military service, this event was right up his alley.

  He had an average build with average looks, and his tan slacks and sports coat did not scream designer togs like most of the crowd in Posh. In fact, they didn’t scream anything at all, they just blended in. He politely stood as I was seated and then went back to studying the menu, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

  Beside him, and also in the big-buckets-of-money category, was TV Land scriptwriter and creative genius extraordinaire, Danny Mahalovich. He’d successfully launched several TV shows known as much for their irreverent humor as their ratings. The best known, The Search for Signs, had been so successful, in fact, that big stars were willing to do guest spots, and up-and-coming talent vied for a chance to make appearances. Danny was the terrier of the team. He lent youth and street cred to the Barking with the Stars event, plus his contacts among the insiders covered all the big wigs in the small-screen world that Diana’s silver-screen contacts did not. His vivid-blue pants and white polo shirt paired with a navy sports jacket somehow looked hip and not at all out of place in the fancy restaurant.

  Then there was Sunny Simone. As the CEO of Warriors for the Paws, she hoped to parlay the committee’s support into some great press for her cause as well as have a successful fundraiser. I was glad I’d had the opportunity to hear more about the operation from Jonathan Trimble. Sunny believed in this cause and had been at this for a long while. Her sleeveless bone-white linen dress accentuated her tan, and large gold earrings added to her classy look. She looked more dinner party than dog cause, but I knew from what Diana had shared she was a bulldog where this cause was concerned.

  And, of course, the adorable Diana, our link to the stars. Her simple black-and-white Fanny Karst set off her creamy complexion and blond hair to perfection, and her smile was, as always, brighter than all her diamonds. She had, along with her super-agent, brought the star power to the event. It had been Diana who’d initially suggested contacting Purple about the fundraiser in an attempt to engage her huge fan base and all the buzz around the pop star. Sometimes I thought Diana had more savvy than the rest of us combined.

  Oh yes, and there was me, who was in theory the onsite keep-the-canines-calm addition to the group. I’d been in charge of working with Diana to identify the pets who’d be coming with the celebs and relaying any special needs in terms of diet or accommodations. I had a list; I had a spreadsheet. Up until the last two days, it had been a pretty simple task. I only hoped Geoff’s rumors weren’t going to cause more problems. Diana had assured me most of the participants weren’t going to be looking me up on rating websites like Yip or GotIt. She doubted they even looked at websites. They had people for that. And their p
eople were already plenty busy making spa appointments and setting up doggie play dates.

  When our waiter appeared, we all ordered and then got down to business. We were in the middle of a discussion about the celebrity auction when a stir in the lobby drew every gaze in our section.

  Purple, in her signature flowing cape-dress, swept into the lobby area from the outside door with a full entourage of fans and paparazzi. She looked neither right nor left but strode forward, her head up. Again, I was surprised by how agile she was with all that hair covering her eyes.

  Nipping at her heels was a pack of adoring fans, or I assumed they were adoring fans, as none took their eyes off her. The group was made up of a variety of ages, sizes, and ethnicities. One petite dark-haired girl was almost glued to Purple’s side, her ripped jeans and purple hair in sharp contrast to her timid demeanor. Another woman sported leggings splotched with big purple passion flowers and a t-shirt that proclaimed, “Beware the Haze.” I had no idea what that meant. Still another, covered head to toe in purple paint, clutched a “My Heart Bleeds Purple” sign.

  Tania, a hotel staff person I’d chatted with as I’d been in and out, had told me that they had guests who had traveled from Australia, Japan, and Brazil to be here for this week and the event weekend. Diana had been right about one thing, the pop star’s fans would follow her anywhere.

  Lavender, the star’s dog, sported a black bow that matched the humongous black velvet bow atop Purple’s head. The little pup leaned into the folds of the star’s cloak hiding her face. That was worrisome.

  I looked away. I was not only disgusted by what Geoffrey had done by underhandedly enticing a client, but I was also sincerely concerned about Purple and her pet. My ex-husband knew nothing about canines and hadn’t bothered to learn since he’d followed me to Laguna Beach. He was simply in it for the money. And the attention. I needed to find a way to check on the little pup.

  Waiting for the attention of the others to come back to the task at hand, my gaze landed on two ladies at the next table. At first I didn’t pay much attention to what they were saying, as I was still preoccupied with trying to rein in my thoughts regarding my ex-husband and his shenanigans.

  As I forced myself to tune back in to the present, I noticed their food. Posh certainly hit the high mark for the beauty of its dishes. The two ladies had chosen the sushi, and the rolls looked appetizing but so did the presentation. I wondered what they thought. As I glanced at their faces to see if I could determine whether they were enjoying their choices, I heard one say, “Disgusting.”

  Golly, I hoped that wasn’t a comment on the food.

  “They just hang on her,” said one.

  “She can’t even go out without the Posers stalking her,” the other agreed.

  I looked back at the entourage.

  I supposed it would get old for a star to have a crowd everywhere she went. I would also think it would get old going everywhere with a wig that obscured your vision.

  Maybe that was part of why Purple protected her identify so much. She could remove the wig, dress in regular clothes, and no one would recognize her. Maybe there was a method to the wig madness.

  Purple and her crowd moved through the lobby and across the courtyard. Where was the ever-present Mandy?

  “Caro?” I tuned back in to the conversation at my own table in time to realize I’d missed a question that must have been directed my way.

  “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  “I asked if you were willing to check with your veterinary friend, Dr. Darling, to see who he plans to have onsite?” Sunny asked. “We need to be sure Rufus gets them the proper credentials.”

  “Of course, no problem.” I reached in my bag for my notebook where I kept my daily list and jotted a reminder to myself. I know, I know, you can keep track of all that stuff on your phone, but for me there is something about writing it down that worked. “No problem at all.”

  We finished up the details and Diana signaled the waiter that we were finished. Our dinner checks were handled and the others hurried off. Diana and I walked out together.

  As we approached the valet desk, the doors opened to admit a bald man carrying a purple guitar. He wore a “Purple Live in Central Park” t-shirt tucked into faded, horizontally ripped bell-bottom jeans and white socks with sandals. The socks were an interesting choice given the warmth of our weather. And his jeans?

  Dude, the seventies want their jeans back.

  “Where have you been, Lew?” asked one of the ladies I’d been eavesdropping on in the restaurant. “Our interview time was eight o’clock.”

  “I know.” He cradled the guitar. “I went to get this out of my car and it took a while. I thought you might like a picture of it for your magazine.”

  “What about the wig?” she asked.

  “I didn’t bring it along for this trip.” He bounced from one foot to the other. “I can send you a picture.”

  “Okay, let’s go sit down and talk.” She pulled a small recorder from her pocket. “You don’t mind if I record our interview, do you? It just makes it easier for me when I write the article.”

  Interview? Article? Who was this guy?

  “No. No problem.”

  They moved on to the mix-and-mingle area and were out of earshot.

  Diana and I looked at each other.

  “Just when you think things can’t get any weirder.” She shook her head.

  I waited with Diana for her driver and then gave the attendant the ticket for my car. I glanced at my phone for the time; it was only ten o’clock but with the three-hour time difference, it was way too late to try Sam. He was probably sound asleep already.

  Tomorrow for sure. I’d fill him in on wigged-out pop stars, Purple Posers, and the Pomegranate Incident.

  It’s all for a great cause, I reminded myself, as I slid into the driver’s seat.

  All for a great cause.

  Chapter Five

  EARLY THE NEXT morning I pulled into the Ocean Mark valet lane, shifted into park, and handed the tanned young man my keys.

  “Nice car,” he commented pushing sun-streaked hair off his forehead. In LA and the surrounding area most of the waiters and valets were out-of-work actors waiting for their next big break. In Laguna, they were more likely surfers who only wanted to work between catching the next big wave.

  “Thanks.” I smiled at the guy. It was always nice when my car got the compliments I felt it deserved.

  He slid into the seat and started to pull forward but quickly stopped when a dark SUV shot out of the underground parking. Thank goodness for his quick reflexes. I loved my car so I was glad about that, but ever happier that the guy was okay. Cars the age of mine don’t have all the safety features of new cars and that SUV had been flying. If the valet hadn’t been paying attention, that could have been the end of him and my car. The big black SUV looked slightly familiar, but southern California is bumper to bumper with similar cars.

  Hopefully the driver slowed it down a bit before merging with regular traffic on PCH. I took a deep breath to calm my heart rate, which was racing after that close call, and then stepped through the doorway.

  I’d been such a frequent visitor lately that the hotel staff had become familiar faces.

  “Hello, Tania.” The young woman looked crisp and, as always, had a ready smile. Her dark hair was pulled back, and her caramel skin, though devoid of makeup, was smooth and fresh looking. She had to be exhausted as I knew she’d been around when the committee had dinner the night before. One afternoon while I was waiting for Diana, Tania had shared that she was completing her degree in Hotel and Hospitality Management. Her time at the Ocean Mark P was part of an internship, and it appeared the hotel was taking full advantage of her time with them.

  “Hello, Caro.” She stepped forward. “You’re here early.
”

  “As are you,” I noted. “You were here late last night and now so early today?”

  “Oh, I just walked in.”

  “I stopped by to check on Purple and her dog before the day gets started and we all get busy,” I explained.

  “Oh, sure,” she said. “Do you know where to find her?”

  “I do.” I shifted my bag to the other shoulder. I felt sort of guilty, as if I were misrepresenting myself, but I didn’t want to go into all the details about being fired and getting crossways with the star. “I’ll just go on up.”

  I took the elevator to the sixth floor. I truly did feel compelled to check in on Lavender and Purple. With the way the dog had hidden her face last night when I saw them in the lobby, I was concerned that all the progress we’d made was about to be undone.

  Six floors is not very high for most luxury hotels but it was pretty high for Laguna Beach where it’s all about the view. Or rather about not blocking the view.

  The elevator doors opened to a vista of the deep-blue, early-morning waves of the Pacific. I breathed in the sea air. This. This was why I’d moved here. I promised myself a run on the beach when the day was done. It had been too long. Dogs were permitted on the beach after six so I could take Dogbert. He’d be thrilled.

  I got off and made my way to the Starfish Suite. As I moved down the hall I could hear voices. There was a small grouping of people at what appeared to be the entry to the pop star’s suite.

  A uniformed officer stopped me at the doorway. I could hear Lavender barking.

  “What’s going on, Officer Hostas?” I know it doesn’t speak well of my reputation that I knew the name of the police officer. But I can explain.

  “You can’t go any farther.” His tone said it all. No arguments.

  “Has something happened to Purple?” I could see a medical crew over his shoulder. “An accident? Is she okay?”

  “Ms. Lamont, we’re attempting to sort that out.” I guess it didn’t speak well of my reputation that he also knew my name. “I’ll need you to leave.” He pointed back the way I’d come.