It's Only Love

by Mel Curtis

  “Didn’t you ever see Legally Blonde?” Surprise. Gemma broke into the conversation again. “Coco’s the perfect fashion accessory.”

  The fact that Gemma looked the way she did destroyed the credibility of her statement.

  “But that carrier isn’t stylish.” Mimi turned up her button nose. “I might have something better in my closet. A Ferragamo or Dolce & Gabbano purse.” Hips swaying, Mimi strolled down the hallway, Coco still tucked on her breast shelf.

  “She doesn’t go out.” The sober companion spoke with the throaty tones of a drill sergeant. “And she’s not going out with him.”

  “Not to worry.” Cora studied a painted, framed fresco on the wall depicting a couple having sex. “Kent is going to have something come up.” Not his dick. Cy, who also represented Kent, was going to remind him that Mimi wasn’t far enough along in her recovery to go to a nightclub. Hence the call to the Dooley Foundation to help run interference. “She needs to get out, but to a store, not a bar.”

  Mimi’s sober buddy nodded begrudgingly.

  “This room is as jaw-dropping as she is, isn’t it?” Gemma gazed around in awestruck wonder.

  “It’s meant to look like a high end boudoir,” Cora said. Mimi’s place was tame compared to some Hollywood homes.

  “Spoken by a woman who probably lives in a high-end boudoir.” Gemma smirked.

  “I bet you don’t get out to many private art galleries.” Gemma would have to broaden her horizons if she was serious about life coaching in Hollywood. “Or museums.”

  “Go to the kind of pretentious, over-priced warehouse that displays six-foot tall cereal boxes and calls it art?” Gemma rolled her eyes. “I don’t have the time.”

  Cora sent her prodigy the annoyed supervisor stare that Amber used on her. “Weren’t you just saying you wanted to learn from me?”

  Mimi va-va-voomed into the room, ending their bickering. She’d slung a purse over her shoulder and Coco’s little face peered over the edge of the bag. “What do you think?”

  Cora felt a stab of fashion envy. Mimi’s bag was Anuschka, hand painted leather. The Louis Vuitton Cora carried was from last year. Her reputation as a fashion leader was fading faster than the name of last season’s Project Runway winner. Damn Daddy’s will.

  “Cute,” Gemma said in an uncharacteristically perky voice.

  Cute wasn’t a word used to describe Anuschka bags, even ones holding adorable dogs.

  “That bag was made for Coco,” Cora said with forced gusto.

  “We’re going to be media darlings,” Mimi cooed. She pressed her nose to Coco’s and giggled. She had that sex kitten demeanor that made men forget they had a brain above their shoulders. “I’ve never had a dog.”

  “She’ll need a lot of love and care.” Cora prayed Coco wouldn’t suffer if Mimi fell off the wagon. “Walks, baths, brushing.”

  “And accessories,” Gemma said. “Lots of accessories. A car seat, a princess bed, a – Ow.”

  Cora pinched her.

  Mimi giggled, seemingly for no other reason than that Coco gave her joy. “We could get matching T-shirts. I need to go shopping right now.” She froze. In her Daisy Dukes and sports bra, the actress looked like a marble statue. Not of Venus, but of a white trash, sex goddess.

  “How about this?” Cora gently steered Mimi toward the rear of the house. “Gemma is in desperate need of a makeover.” She high-beamed Gemma a warning look. “Help me out with that, and we’ll drive you to the pet store to spoil Coco. Straight there. Straight back.” They just needed to help Mimi make that first step. The second was always easier. Cora was willing to bet Mimi wouldn’t leave her home without a distraction, and a makeover would give Gemma fits.

  “Would you do that for me?” Mimi appeared to have nothing going on upstairs, but Cora had been warned by Amber not to be fooled.

  At Cora’s nod, Mimi hugged her. It was a heartfelt clinch, not your typical, polite press of bodies.

  The actress led them to her bedroom. “Can we do away with the army boots?”

  “No,” Gemma muttered.

  An hour later, Cora snapped a picture of Gemma with Mimi in the pet store using Gemma’s phone. Brutus and Coco pranced at their feet.

  “I am so going to kill you,” Gemma murmured.

  Cora couldn’t understand why. So what if they’d been unable to pry the army boots off Gemma’s feet? Under Mimi’s skillful hand, the Dooley Foundation receptionist morphed into a knock-out. Gemma had gone from looking like she came from the softball field to looking like she could play the field. Her shoulder-length, brown curls fell in tame, sophisticated waves. Her eyes, which were a shade away from brown, just shy of violet, seemed larger and slanted attractively behind her now not-so-ugly glasses.

  Gemma snatched at the phone. “Do not tweet that.”

  Cora danced out of reach. “I am so tweeting this.” She’d been surprised to discover Gemma was fan-girling Trent’s assistant coach under an alias. “Obviously, you’ve never heard of password protection.”

  Gemma groaned.

  “Wait.” Mimi handed her phone to Cora, then picked up Coco. “Take a picture of us together with my phone. Gemma, you hold Brutus.”

  Rolling her eyes, Gemma lifted Brutus.

  Mimi slung her arm around Gemma and breast bumped her.

  Gemma’s eyebrows shot up behind her bangs.

  Cora snapped the picture.

  And then she took pity on Mimi and took another. This time with both of them smiling.

  “My new BFFs uploaded to Twitter.” Mimi grinned at the photo as she headed for the check-out. “And now everyone will know.”

  “I’m retweeting that.” Cora hung back with Gemma. “Coach Farrell will see you at your best.”

  Mimi may have over-highlighted Gemma’s brows, because her scowl would have scared little children on Halloween. She fumed all the way back to Mimi’s. After they dropped the actress and her dog off, Gemma blew in the driveway. “I look like a hooker.”

  “Clearly, you haven’t seen many streetwalkers.”

  “He’ll think I’m a hooker.”

  “Coach Randy? No. He’ll want to bang you.” Cora grinned. “How serious are you about that virgin-until-marriage vow?”

  “I hate you.” Gemma crossed her arms and stared out the window.

  Cora kept smiling until a text came in from Cal: Meet me at Cedar Sinai cafeteria. Thirty minutes. Had Cal been in an accident? Cora dropped Gemma off at the office and drove straight there.

  “You’re late.” Cal sat at a table in the corner, nursing a coffee, looking spent and haggard. “I had to meet with my dad’s doctor.”

  Here was the man with kind eyes, the one who’d seemed safe enough to trust her body to. “Good news, I hope.”

  “If you call dying good news.” Flat. His voice was so flat.

  “Cal…I’m sorry.” She laid a hand over his. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Cal ruined her gesture by turning his palm and clasping her fingers. “You can imagine the stress and what I need to relieve it.”

  She could. She tugged her fingers free. “That isn’t on the table. The Foundation offers a grief program.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping.” He kept his voice low for privacy, but his tone was business-like. “And you have those dick-sucking lips. You’ll make it quick. And I…” There was a flash of humanity in his eyes. Grief, she realized. And then his expression went blank and his voice turned cold. “I’ll do you fast and hard, like before.”

  “Why don’t we just talk?” Cora couldn’t believe she’d offered. “How long has your dad been sick?”

  “Too long with no hope.” Cal’s eyes sparked back to life. He squeezed her fingers painfully. “I don’t want to talk.”

  Her heart pounded with the urge to run away. Cora glanced around the crowded cafeteria, at doctors and nurses, at other haggard and worried faces. And then her gaze returned to Cal. He was alone. And a client. And…grieving.

  Sh
e pried her fingers free. “Sex solves nothing. Let’s go see your dad.”

  Cal shook his head and started to say something, but his phone rang. He glanced at the display. “This is going to take awhile. How about I call you later? We can hook up somewhere close.”

  “We’re not hooking up.” Cora walked away, but instead of leaving, she stopped at the information desk and requested the room number of one Cal Lazarus Senior.

  ~*~

  Trent and Randy returned to the hotel after a late dinner on Friday night.

  While Archie made amends to his intended, they’d spent a couple of hours familiarizing themselves with the Flash headquarters and setting up the offices they’d officially occupy in a week. Then they’d waited an hour for a table at a trendy Westwood restaurant where they’d been star-struck by the number of celebrities who cut in front of them. Since they were essentially nobodies, they’d been shuttled to a table in a dark corner, had crap service, and a dinner that had lasted far too long for far too much money. To date, Trent’s fantasy life as an NBA coach had been disappointing.

  He wanted nothing more than to grab a beer out of the mini-bar in his room and do something mindless, like watch Holy Southern’s football team on TV. But his dad hadn’t been answering Trent’s calls or texts. He needed to check up on the old man, who tended to handle stress with alcohol. First stop, the bar.

  Trent bid Randy good night and wandered into the bar. Sure enough, Archie was listing on a bar stool. Next to Cora. Trent’s pulse kicked up a notch.

  Out of annoyance, he told himself.

  Out of lust, his dick weighed in.

  Cora’s dark hair gleamed in the dimly lit bar, spilling across the shoulders of her blue blouse. Her long legs were bare. Her skirt short. And he bet if she turned he’d find an eye-drawing bit of cleavage.

  He dodged around a foursome on their way out the door and into her line of vision. Instead of a knowing smile, she seemed almost relieved to see him. She held out her hand when he came closer. Magnetized, he hooked his fingers in hers, allowing her to draw him closer until he felt the warmth of her arm and inhaled the scent of vanilla.

  “Look, Archie. Trent’s here.” She tugged Trent close enough to whisper, “Archie drunk dialed me an hour ago. He’s broken up about – ”

  “Mary Sue Ellen is going to leave me,” Archie slurred, lifting his head a few inches above the bar.

  Trent wasn’t going to admit it would be easier all around if Mary Sue Ellen came to her senses.

  Archie made a woeful sound, like a sad, dying cat. “And this time, I don’t deserve it.”

  “Dad, maybe it’s for the best.”

  “Oh, that’s helpful.” Cora’s lips brushed Trent’s ear, as warm as her breath.

  His fingers convulsed around hers. His father couldn’t resist women. He’d always been grateful he hadn’t inherited Archie’s weakness. But he was grateful no more. He released her hand.

  Trent angled his head to speak in Cora’s ear. “Helpful would be butting out. Mary Sue Ellen dumps Dad about once a week.” He backed away. “Dad, if we leave now you can catch the second half of Holy Southern’s football game on TV.”

  Archie’s eyes went from blurry into sharp focus. “Their defense is holier than Swiss cheese.”

  Trent drew Archie to his feet. When he lurched, Cora slid off her bar stool and steadied his other arm. Her big purse containing her little dog swung wildly.

  “I’ve got him,” Trent said. “Watch out for Brutus.”

  “Brutus has the balance of a cat, unlike Archie. Humor me and let me help,” Cora countered.

  They tottered slowly to the elevator, drawing more than their share of attention.

  “Holy Southern wouldn’t hire me.” Archie sighed. “Hope their defense gives up fifty points.”

  Cora chuckled, glancing around Archie to meet Trent’s gaze.

  “It’s not funny,” Trent said, letting the elevator passengers disembark before moving forward. “No one will hire him and he’s about to become a daddy again.”

  “They think I’m going to molest little girls.” Archie stumbled into the elevator despite their help.

  “Brought that one on yourself,” Trent muttered. “You need to date women your own age.”

  “He is dating women his own age,” Cora murmured. “At least emotionally.”

  The truth of her statement struck uncomfortably home.

  They covered the rest of the way to Archie’s room in silence. Once his dad was safely reclining on the bed with the television tuned to the football game, they left him, traversing the hallway in silence once more.

  “I like Archie,” Cora said as they approached the elevators. “He reminds me of my dad. That zest for life and an over-abundance of love.”

  “He gives his love out too easily and to the wrong women.” That was the Reverend speaking. “He’s dodged bullets like this for years. His luck ran out.” And now Trent was paying for it. “No one saw you in the bar with him tonight, did they? You didn’t have any of your spies there taking pictures?”

  The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. He kept a careful distance from her. If he kept his eyes where they belonged, his dick wouldn’t start noticing the distinctive way she rotated her hips when she walked or the flirty scoop of her blouse over plump breasts.

  “Did it ever occur to you that those pictures don’t do my career any good either?” Her fists balled on slender hips. “You think I like being called into Jack’s office so he can bark at me?”

  “Those pictures bring you more business.” He didn’t know why he was pushing her. Nothing was going right today, except his hold on his libido.

  “Is this who the Reverend is? Judgmental and a downer?” She took a step toward him. “Or is this Trent Parker speaking?” She shook her head. “Your dad was three sheets to the wind tonight, but he was faking the night I brought him home. Does the good Reverend ever wonder why his father would play that game?”

  Trent hid his shock by holding up his hands in surrender. “Let’s not do this.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “What?”

  “Fight. Kiss. Pretend we don’t want to fight or kiss.” Because what he felt for her wasn’t pretend.

  The elevator doors slid open on the lobby level.

  Cora made a frustrated sound and left, leaving Trent wondering why his father would fake being tipsy. But mostly leaving him with another set of blue balls.

  Chapter 11

  L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln

  …The countdown to the Flash season has begun. You can enjoy the athleticism of the Clippers, the celebrity watching of the Lakers, but the Flash brings all that plus drama.

  …Who is the beautiful new BFF of Mimi Sorbet? The one with the handle @GlitterfrostGem. They were snapped while shopping with two adorable little dogs.

  “I thought we agreed to meet on Monday?” Vivian had answered a Saturday summons from her life coaching team at the Dooley Foundation.

  Cora, the youngest Rule, led Viv back to the conference room. Although they hadn’t been in the same social circles until recently, Vivian had always admired Cora’s sense of fashion. Today she wore black cigar jeans and a teal blouse. Her platinum leather sling backs were high and looked like last year’s Christian Louboutin. Not that there was anything wrong with wearing last year’s fashion on Saturday morning. Saturday night was another story.

  Viv always felt like a poser when she entered the Dooley Foundation offices. Despite the two little dogs racing in the hallway, the place had a spa-like feel – celery green walls, plush Oriental carpets, indoor trees and bamboo plants. She tried to project serenity, but she had too much anger, stress and fear twisting up her insides to succeed.

  Since she’d left Jack, most of the time Viv felt as if she should slap somebody. Most of the time she felt as if she should be slapping her husband. For two years, they’d been at each other’s throats. For two weeks last month, they’d held onto each other and made love like rabbit
s. And then nothing. Nothing but the anger to keep her up at night.

  Blue and Amber awaited Viv in the conference room. Blue held out a chair for her.

  A trap. Something sharp and bitter gripped Viv’s lungs. She sat down. Hard. “If I’d known you were going to attempt an intervention, I would’ve brought my lawyer.” Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t have shown up. It was just…In some odd way, she’d trusted the Rules not to follow through on Jack’s bullshit.

  Amber held up a check. One of Viv’s. “Here’s the deal. Jack’s paying us to make you happy, while you keep writing checks, the size of which we can’t ignore, hoping we’ll ignore Jack’s wishes.”

  “Technically, not true.” Viv clenched her hands in her lap. “I wrote you a check a few weeks ago, while accepting coaching from Blue.” And because Blue agreed not to admit to the world that he wasn’t sleeping with Viv.

  “We can’t accept this latest check.” Amber slid it across the table toward Viv.

  Who didn’t touch it. “Why not?” Cold. She felt so cold. “You accepted the last one.” Her ability to control Jack, to make his life miserable, had kept her going when he rejected her. What would she do if they took that away?

  “What my sister is trying to say,” Cora explained gently, picking up the check. “Is that we can’t accept this until we come to an agreement about what it’s for.”

  “Viv.” Blue laid his arm across the back of Viv’s chair. He was darkly handsome and compassionate. He’d never forget his wife existed.

  Why hadn’t she made a play for him last month? She could’ve seduced Blue before his reality show producer did. Viv could’ve been part of the Rule family, and left Jack behind. The thought trapped her breath in her throat. She imagined herself passing out, falling to the ground in need of CPR. And the hands that gripped her, the lips that sustained her life…she imagined they were…Jack’s. “Shit.”

  The Rules exchanged glances. Their smiles softened.

  Viv wanted to hit something. Or slide beneath the table and never be heard from again.