“Perfect!” said the photographer, whose skinny jeans looked as if they’d been painted on him. “That’s perfect. Now smile. No! Wait, don’t smile.”
Ollie put on a brooding expression.
“Excellent,” cried the photographer. “Very enigmatic.”
Very grumpy, thought Lark.
The explosive flash that followed nearly blinded her.
“Who’s next?” the photographer barked.
“Max,” said the male makeup artist, pointing in the direction of the family room. “But he’s being difficult.”
Teddy laughed. “This ought to be good.”
Lark, Mimi, and Teddy watched as the girl with the blue lipstick stomped from the foyer to where Max was lounging on the family room sofa. She planted herself in front of him, but before she said a word, Max vehemently shook his head.
“We’re not having this conversation again,” he said firmly. “I already told you there is no way I’m letting you tweeze my eyebrows!”
“Tweezing is so last millennium!” said the girl. “It’s all about waxing now.”
“Tweezing, waxing,” Max grumbled. “I don’t care if you’re planning to take a lawn mower to them, I meant it when I said nobody was touching my eyebrows!”
It was at that moment that he spotted the onlookers in the doorway and waved them over. “Can you believe this? She actually wants to melt hot wax and apply it to my face! What’ll she do next? Put me on the rack and break my bones? Stick me in an iron maiden?”
“Isn’t Iron Maiden a heavy-metal band from the eighties?” said Teddy.
Max chuckled, but stayed on topic. “Point is, she thinks she’s got to resort to medieval torture to make me appealing,” he said gruffly. “Tell them, Lark. I’m not that ugly!”
The makeup artist turned to Lark with an expectant look and Lark felt the shyness settle over her as if it were hot wax.
“He’s not ugly,” she managed to say. “Not ugly at all.”
“I never said he was,” the girl with the blue-tinted lips insisted. “He’s adorable! His brows are just a little scraggly, that’s all.”
Lark resisted the urge to peer more closely at Max’s eyebrows. She honestly thought he was perfect the way he was, but this girl was a trained cosmetologist, after all. She was about to suggest that Max just succumb to the grooming when Donna came thundering into the room.
“I can’t believe it. Yolanda canceled!”
“Who’s Yolanda?” asked Lark.
“Only the most sought-after stylist in Los Angeles,” said Donna. “She just called to say she can’t make it for the fitting. And after she sent over all these possible ensembles.”
Only now did Lark notice that the room contained several rolling racks filled with clothing.
Mimi sauntered over to the racks and examined some of the outfits hanging from them. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” she observed, eyeing a neon-green tuxedo. Next to it hung a pair of seersucker trousers, paired with a light-blue and pale-yellow argyle sweater and a seafoam-green button-down shirt.
“Preppy with a vengeance,” she proclaimed, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Whoever wore this would look like human cotton candy.”
Oliver plucked a fedora from the rack and set it jauntily on his head. “What do you think?” he asked, grinning at Mimi.
“You look absolutely fedorable,” she said, quickly whipping out her phone and snapping a photo.
“How are we supposed to find a stylist on such short notice?” Donna muttered. “I booked Yolanda weeks ago.”
“Mom, guess what!” said Lark. “I got an A on a short story I wrote for English.”
Donna looked up from her phone, where she was Googling wardrobe consultants, and peered at Lark closely.
“I said, I got an A on my story,” Lark repeated.
“Yes, yes, that’s excellent, honey.” She abandoned her Internet search and began to examine Lark’s hair, then checked the condition of her nails. “Hmm. I wish I’d thought to schedule an appointment at the salon for you. You could use a little trim, maybe a manicure.”
Lark looked at her strangely. “Why?”
“Why not?” Mimi joked.
Without another word about Lark’s story, Donna left the room, her eyes glued to her phone as she continued to search for a stylist.
After Max and Teddy were finished with their photo shoots, they all convened around the kitchen table to feast on Fitzy’s latest creation: butterscotch-and-bacon blondies.
Lark was surprised to find the unexpected collision of sweet and savory oddly satisfying. She and Mimi each had one large blondie, but Donna recoiled at the thought of such a high-calorie snack. The boys had no such concerns and scarfed down the remainder of the batch.
“I suppose we’re lucky to have dodged the green-tuxedo bullet,” Donna said, sipping the kale smoothie Fitzy had whipped up for her. “I haven’t been able to find another wardrobe consultant on such short notice. So we still need to find great outfits for you three to wear for the Rise and Shine interview tomorrow morning.”
“The thing is,” said Max, brushing blondie crumbs from his chin, “you’ve always said that Abbey Road’s vibe should be that we’re just normal, ordinary guys.”
“Right,” said Ollie. “So why don’t we just do what normal, ordinary guys do when they want to look good?”
“What’s that?” asked Donna.
“They go to the mall,” said Max. “And Lark and Mimi can come along to help us shop.”
Donna frowned. “I suppose we don’t have much choice,” she said, digging into her purse to fish out the Lotus Records company credit card. She handed it to Lark. “One outfit per band member, plus something cute for you.”
“Me? Really?” Lark was thrilled; she hadn’t treated herself to new clothes in a while. “Thanks, Mom.”
A few minutes later they all climbed into the SUV, headed for the mall.
“Just normal, ordinary guys,” joked Ollie. “Hanging out at the mall. What could be more typical than that?”
At that moment, Abbey Road’s hit single, “Wounded Pride,” came on the radio. As the group sang along to their own voices, Lark couldn’t help but smile. There was nothing ordinary about these boys, and all thoughts of “typical” went right out the window as soon as they began to sing.
CHAPTER 8
Donna dropped them off at the main entrance to the mall and told them she’d be back to pick them up in three hours.
“Let’s start at Tristan and Gabriel,” Mimi suggested. “It’s the coolest shop in the mall.”
Lark had never been to T&G, since it was a men’s clothing establishment, but she’d walked by its windows many times before. They catered to the very affluent and fashion-forward, with a mix of trendy and classic apparel from all the best designers.
Inside T&G, a waifish salesgirl with plump, red-glossed lips approached them.
“Welcome to Tristan and Gabriel. May I help you?”
“Yes, you may,” said Ollie, turning on the charm. “I would like an outfit that will make me completely irresistible to all women everywhere, starting with you.”
The girl gave him a sultry smile. “Oh, you don’t need an outfit for that,” she replied in a husky voice.
Lark rolled her eyes.
As Ollie prepared to enter the girl’s phone number into his cell, Max clapped him on the shoulder. “Easy, mate. We’ve got work to do.” Then Max turned to the girl. “We’ve got a rather important event tomorrow, miss. It’s casual, but we want to look our best. Not too flashy, but not dull and boring either.”
“I doubt very much you three could ever be dull or boring,” the salesgirl purred flirtatiously.
Mimi stepped forward, taking charge. “If you’ll just set up some dressing rooms for them, I’ll handle everything else.”
With that, she began searching the shelves and racks, picking out shirts, sweaters, jeans, and trousers. Lark followed along, helping to carry things.
Fifteen minutes later, each member of Abbey Road was behind a closed changing-room door, trying on the outfits Mimi had chosen.
Max emerged first, in a snug-fitting plum-colored T-shirt made of buttery soft cotton. The neckline was a deep V, showing off his smooth, dark skin and a bit of his well-defined physique. The color was perfect for his British-Caribbean complexion, and the way the fabric clung to him really highlighted his dancer’s muscles. He’d also put on a pair of gray jeans, which Mimi commanded him to roll.
“Make it a big fold, not a skinny cuff,” she directed.
Max did as he was told.
Oliver was utterly in his element; he kept popping in and out of the dressing room, soaking up the admiration of the first salesgirl and two of her colleagues, who had by now heard about the pair of super-gorgeous Brits. Ollie modeled three separate outfits, all of which complemented his blond hair and blue eyes.
When he emerged for the fourth time he was dressed in a crisp white button-down shirt under a relaxed-fitting blazer the color of oyster shells. Dark denim jeans completed the outfit.
“That’s the one!” said Lark. It was smart but not stuffy, and perfect for the band’s charismatic front man.
“I agree,” said Mimi. “We’ll take it.”
“What about shoes?” asked the salesgirl with the red lip gloss, deferring to Mimi’s expertise.
“Brogues,” said Mimi decisively. “Caramel-colored. Wingtip. Oh, and grab a pair of boots for Max and some surf-style sneakers for Teddy. Black-and-white check, if you have them.”
The girl nodded and hustled off to the shoe department.
Lark noticed Max sneaking a look at the price tag on the plum T-shirt. When he saw the numbers, he looked positively shocked. “I’m used to buying my clothes at the discount shops,” he confided to Lark quietly. “This is a ridiculous amount of money to pay for a T-shirt. It’s made of cotton, not gold.”
“It is kind of crazy,” said Lark. “But don’t worry. Lotus is paying.”
Max gave her a grateful smile, but he still looked uncomfortable at the thought of wearing such overpriced clothes.
Finally Teddy stepped out of his dressing room.
Lark had to stop herself from gasping out loud. He looked amazing, in a pair of torn jeans and a sleeveless, surf-inspired tee.
“What do you think?” asked Teddy.
“You’re perfect,” said Lark, then hastily added, “the outfit. It’s perfect on you.”
Teddy reached back into the dressing room and pulled out a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt, still on the hanger. It had little neon-colored palm trees and surfboards printed all over it.
Holding it up to Mimi, he asked, “Were you serious about this?”
Mimi grinned. “I figured since you’re the Californian component of the band, you might as well look the part. It’s supposed to be ironic.”
Teddy eyed the shirt uncomfortably. “Any chance we can be ironic without being so … colorful?”
“I think the Hawaiian shirt is a little too much,” said Lark gently, so as not to hurt Mimi’s feelings. “But wait …” She dashed away from the dressing area to a rack of lightweight hoodies she’d noticed on the way in. After a quick search she found what she was looking for and brought it back to Teddy. “This still has the surfer vibe Mimi has in mind, but it’s a little less … um … colorful.”
Teddy slipped into the sweatshirt, which was a gorgeous blue a few shades softer than his eyes. He looked incredible. And more importantly, comfortable.
“We have a winner,” Mimi declared.
The final selection was a cool fedora for Ollie.
As the boys changed back into their own clothes, Lark and Mimi brought their purchases to the cash register.
Lark shook her head and smiled. “Meems, I’m impressed. If you weren’t so determined to become a filmmaker, I’d say you’ve got a real future as a personal shopper.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” said Mimi. “Because now it’s your turn.”
As they made their way through the mall, Lark became aware of people pointing to the boys and whispering. She was about to mention this and suggest they go home before they caused a riot, but Mimi was steering the group into a boutique called Wish List.
Lark, who preferred worn jeans and flannel shirts, had never shopped there before, but judging by the window display of flouncy skirts, flirty dresses, and filmy blouses, the place was a fashionista’s fantasy.
As they filed into the store, all heads turned in their direction. The clerks and the shoppers—mostly teenage girls—stopped in their tracks to stare at Teddy, Max, and Ollie.
Lark felt an unreasonable surge of jealousy as a pretty blond girl holding a bundle of sundresses batted her eyes at Teddy.
“Good thinking, Mimi,” said Ollie, ruffling her hair, then running a hand through his own. “We can find some cool threads for Lark and drum up fans at the same time.”
Mimi directed Lark to a row of fitting rooms, which had pink paisley curtains instead of doors. There was a large, lavender-upholstered ottoman for the boys to lounge on.
“Be right back,” said Mimi. As she spun on her heel and dove into the racks, it was clear she was a girl on a mission.
Ollie plopped down on the ottoman, then opened the round cardboard hatbox his fedora had come in. He placed it on his head and checked his look in the mirror. “I think this might become my trademark,” he said, winking.
Max rolled his eyes.
Moments later Mimi returned with an armful of clothing. “Start with these.”
Obediently, Lark took the pile and closed the curtain. She felt a flood of terror when she pulled off her jeans and realized that she was standing there in her “knickers” (as Ollie would say) with nothing but a flimsy piece of pink fabric between her and Teddy. She quickly pulled a yellow striped dress over her head, fumbled with the side zipper, and stepped through the curtain.
“Sweet,” said Max.
“Gorgeous,” said Ollie.
“Pretty,” said Teddy.
But Mimi shook her head. “Take it off. You look like you’re wearing one of Fitzy’s aprons.”
Lark retreated into the dressing room and shed the yellow dress. Next up was a clingy pencil skirt in royal blue and a black crop top that revealed a little too much bare skin for her taste. She pulled back the curtain to show the others.
“Sweet,” said Max.
“Gorgeous,” said Ollie.
“Pretty,” said Teddy. Although this time Lark thought she noticed a slight blush on his cheeks.
“I like it,” said Mimi, tilting her head this way and that. “But I don’t think it’s what your mom had in mind. Try the romper.”
“The what?”
“That little one-piece playsuit thingy,” said Mimi, pointing to the article of clothing in question. “It’s shorts and a top in one. They’re attached.”
“Sounds like a real timesaver,” Ollie quipped. “Unless of course you need to go to the loo in a hurry.”
This earned him a smack in the head from Max. Teddy laughed.
Once again, Lark ducked behind the paisley curtain. She took the romper off the hanger and smiled. It was actually supercute; the fabric was a raspberry-and-white triangle print. The upper half was a modest tank style, separated from the bottom part by an elastic waistline with a raspberry sash. The shorts were loose-fitting and modest in length—definitely not as skimpy as the pencil skirt. The hemline of the shorts featured a pretty white lace ruffle.
Lark swept the curtain aside. The goofy smile on Teddy’s face was the best compliment Lark could have hoped for.
“I’ll take it!” she said. Then she closed the curtain and broke into a happy dance.
Lark was so delighted with her purchase that she’d forgotten all about her fears that the boys might be on the verge of causing a real stir.
Until they exited the store.
The screaming started as soon as Ollie emerged from Wish List with his new
fedora perched on his head. The volume rose as Max and then Teddy joined him.
“Uh-oh,” said Lark. “I was afraid of this.”
Without warning, a girl lunged forward and threw her arms around Ollie’s neck, hugging him as if they were long-lost friends reuniting after years apart.
“I love Abbey Road!” she squealed.
“Hey!” cried Ollie. “American girls certainly are friendly, aren’t they?”
“Maybe a little too friendly,” said Max as two girls began tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. Lark gasped when she heard a ripping sound and saw one of the sleeves come away in the girl’s hand.
“Good thing it wasn’t the expensive new one!” Ollie joked.
“This isn’t funny,” said Max. “We need to get out of here.”
“I agree,” said Teddy, sounding wary. “But how do we do that?”
Ollie laughed as a second girl ran up and stole the hat right off his head. “We do what the Beatles did in the opening scene of A Hard Day’s Night,” he told Teddy. “We run!”
Ollie, Max, and Teddy took off at a sprint, with Lark, Mimi, and thirty screaming fans hot on their heels.
Ollie led the way to the food court, but that was a dead end. They dashed through a high-end department store, then back out onto the main concourse. From there they raced down the escalator, which slowed the fans down slightly. But the girls, who were screaming the boys’ names, still would not give up the chase.
“Now what?” Max panted.
“Look!” said Mimi, pointing. In the center of the glass-roofed atrium stood a beautiful baby grand piano. Lark knew from her occasional shopping trips that a tuxedo-clad pianist was brought in on the weekends to entertain mall patrons with lilting strains of classical music. But today, the piano was silent.
“I have an idea!” said Mimi. She turned to their pursuers, who were clambering off the escalator, and held up both hands. “Stop!” she commanded. “I have a proposition for all of you!”
“What’s she talking about?” Teddy whispered to Lark.
Lark shrugged. She couldn’t even begin to guess what Mimi had in mind.
The High Note Page 7