Well, she thought she might know what that was about. Once she knew when Eric was next flying she would have some idea of what plane was in danger. She could restrict herself to trying to prevent him from getting on board—no doubt the easier path—or she could try to find a way to keep the plane from ever taking off. Which would probably mean some serious complications for her. The spirits wanted her amply motivated to take on those complications, because of course they wanted her to save everyone.
Veronica let out a long breath.
Fine. She would cross the “how to stop a plane from taking off without getting herself arrested” bridge when she came to it. For now, she was taking a shower.
~~~
It was Wednesday already, and Veronica had plans to meet Sunny for a second chance at their movie marathon. She spent the morning cleaning cat boxes and doing laundry. At around ten Melanie called and told Veronica she’d found a yoga class for the next day at five. Copying down the directions, Veronica promised that she would meet her there.
Feeling a bit apprehensive—had Daniel told his cousin about Eric?—Veronica showed up at Sunny’s place at noon. When Sunny opened the door, however, her smile was warm and relaxed. “Come on in,” she said, tossing her glossy dark hair over her shoulder.
Today she wore high-waisted red shorts with buttons down both sides of a front panel, and a white blouse knotted in front with the collar turned up and rolled up sleeves. Veronica hadn’t put as much thought into her own outfit—just a denim skirt with a light blue tee. Sunny didn’t seem to notice.
“I made deviled eggs and lemonade. Help yourself,” Sunny said, gesturing to the dinette table. Veronica took a seat and poured herself a glass of lemonade, stuffing an egg half into her mouth. It was delicious.
Sunny set down a plate with celery sticks stuffed with some sort of cream.
“What are these?” Veronica asked as soon as her mouth wasn’t full anymore.
“Celery with cream cheese and crushed pineapple.”
“Oh wow, Sunny. You know, next time I should do some cooking. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Those are just the appetizers!” Sunny said. “I’ve got baked broccoli-mushroom casserole coming out of the oven in five minutes.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“One of these days I’m going to throw a fifties-themed party, Ronnie, and I’ll have tried out all these recipes already. And I’ll make every one. I love them all.”
“That’s a lot of cooking.”
“I like cooking. I should have been a chef.”
Veronica nodded, biting into a celery stick. The sweet, rich flavor of the cream cheese and pineapple filled her mouth. She closed her eyes as she crunched on the celery. It was a lovely combination.
Sunny worked as a bartender at a fancy restaurant called Ella Dining Room and Bar, and Veronica knew she longed to be in a restaurant’s kitchen instead. “Maybe you should invite your boss to that party,” Veronica said. “Serve some of this food to him—”
“Her.”
“To her. She’ll give you the menu and let you redesign the whole thing.”
“I wish!”
Veronica ate another egg half and washed it down with lemonade. “I don’t know, Sunny. This food is pretty amazing.”
Sunny beamed at her and turned away, removing the casserole from the oven. With a deft one-handed toss of an oven mitt to the center of the table, Sunny set the hot dish down on top of it. She pulled off the remaining oven mitt and turned to her cabinets, quickly passing plates and silverware to Veronica, who laid them out.
“I got North By Northwest for our third movie. I figured we’d finish Vertigo, then watch North By Northwest, then Psycho,” Sunny said.
“Sounds great,” Veronica agreed.
~~~
As she helped Sunny clean up after the meal and the films, Veronica made a point of touching the counter and various objects in the kitchen. No visions came to her. Perhaps there really was nothing to see—Daniel wouldn’t have had the time to visit Sunny now that he was back on active duty, after all. And Sunny had given Veronica no sign that she knew that Veronica and Daniel were having a rough patch.
As Veronica dried the plates after Sunny washed them, she wished she could tell Sunny about the situation with Daniel. Sunny knew Daniel better than anyone else Veronica could talk to—she might have insight into the whole mess. But Veronica couldn’t see how to explain about Eric. As his cousin, surely Sunny would be protective of Daniel—she would hardly be sympathetic if she learned that Veronica had unresolved feelings for another man.
Finishing up with the drying, Veronica gave Sunny a quick hug, thanked her for the meal and the movies, and left. When she sat behind the wheel of her Honda, she checked her phone, which she had silenced for the day. She had two missed calls. Hoping they were from Daniel, she punched the button to check.
They were both from Eric.
Her heart did a weird skipping thing, and disappointment warred with excitement at the sight of his name. Daniel was really backing off, then, and Eric was not about to just let her go about her life as if he never came to Sacramento. What did he want, she wondered? A part of her felt frustrated with him. Didn’t he realize how much he was complicating things for her? But another part was flattered at his attention. She hadn’t forgotten how much fun it had been, riding around in the passenger seat of the Mustangs.
It seemed crass to call him back while sitting yards from Sunny’s front door, so she waited until she got home. By then her mind and her heart were battling, and each side was full of turncoats. Her heart demanded that she call Daniel, but it also fluttered at the thought that Eric was seeking her out again. Her mind argued that she needed to tell Eric plainly that she was on the verge of becoming engaged—or that she should at least level with Daniel about not feeling ready for that step.
Feeling tired and confused, Veronica put off calling Eric a little longer, letting Harry in from the back yard and giving him his dinner, finding the cats and spending a good five minutes brushing Blossom’s long, soft fur until she looked like a gorgeous show-cat.
The delay did nothing to clarify Veronica’s thoughts or feelings. Slamming the drawer as she put away Blossom’s brush—which startled both cats and led to their dramatic exit—she found her phone and punched in a call to Eric.
“Vero!” he cried as he answered.
“Salut, Eric. Ça va?” she asked as she paced the floor of her kitchen.
“Ça baigne.”
“Well, I’m glad. You called me?”
“Yes, of course. I am inviting you, Vero. There is a soirée on Friday night. Please say that you will accompany me.”
Veronica stopped walking. “A soirée? Oh, I don’t know,” she said, thinking with rising guilt of Daniel. “Lunch is one thing, Eric, but I don’t think my boyfriend would feel very comfortable with my going to a party with you.” There, she thought, the parts of her heart and mind at last fitting together. I’ve done it. I’ve stated that I care about my boyfriend’s feelings, and I’m not going to date Eric. A small piece of her reeled in disappointment, but she did her best to pretend it wasn’t there.
“But of course not, chérie. It would bother me as well, if I were your boyfriend. But this would simply be as a favor to me, in fact. The party is for work. I must make a good impression on the investors who will be there. I know no one in Sacramento, and so little about the city and the region. Not only would I make a better impression with your beauty at my side, but you can help me by explaining things that I do not know about. You would be my guide, once more.”
“Oh, Eric, I just can’t,” Veronica said, leaning against the counter.
“You could invite him to accompany us,” Eric suggested.
Frowning, Veronica gazed unseeing out the window. “Daniel wouldn’t go for that.”
“His loss. It will be a very fancy party. Nice food, I suppose. And a—I don’t know the word. A bar with free alcohol.”
&nbs
p; “An open bar.”
“Yes, that is it. I heard that they will have a band playing, and dancing. So you see, I must have a dance partner.”
Dancing! How long had it been since she'd gone dancing? Well, the last time had been months ago, before Daniel’s injury. He’d taken her salsa dancing, but they hadn’t stayed long. Salsa was a bit challenging for Veronica. This party of Eric’s would probably be more “strictly ballroom,” she supposed. She did love to waltz, and it had been many, many years since the last time she had waltzed.
Come on, V. You’re not going to waltz at some corporate event, Veronica told herself. And don’t kid yourself, waltzing isn’t the main attraction.
She sighed. “I don’t know…”
“It would be necessary to buy you a new gown,” Eric said. “I could take you to pick it out, perhaps tomorrow? On the airplane, the magazine had an advertisement for Neiman Marcus—I think it would be a fashionable store to find a gown, would it not?”
“Neiman Marcus,” Veronica said. Was he really offering to buy her a thousand-dollar evening gown? “No, Eric. I don’t think we have a Neiman Marcus here in Sac.”
“No problem. I’m sure we would find one in San Francisco. We can go in my new car. It would be fun, don’t you think?”
A drive in the Mustang to San Francisco—it would probably take about an hour and a half. Three hours total in the car with Eric—what would they talk about? But shopping in SF… and they would no doubt find a nice place for lunch. Maybe see a sight or two. It had been so long since Veronica had visited San Francisco. Maybe a long, boring drive with Eric was just what she needed to get her feelings sorted out about him.
“Well…” she said, easing off the counter and stepping over to the doorway to the living room. She took in her faded, cat-shredded couch, her little red Ikea coffee table, the lamp with the embroidered shade, and the TV which sat on a second-hand stand made of aging, low-quality wood. A day of pretending to be rich, that’s what he was offering.
“Allez, Vero. It would be very amusing, and I have so much money in my budget for my installation here in Sacramento. Please let me to spend a little bit on you. It will be to show my gratitude for your help.”
“Alright, Eric,” she agreed, leaning her head on the door frame.
“Parfait! I will come and get you tomorrow. How long is the drive? Should I come early?”
“I think it will take about an hour and a half.”
“So, shall we say, at nine in the morning? We will stop for a coffee and a croissant first, if you like.”
Veronica closed her eyes. She loved croissants.
“I know just the place,” she said.
“Excellent.”
She gave him her address and some directions. “See you at nine,” she said.
“Je me réjouis déjà!” Eric said enthusiastically.
“I can’t wait, too,” Veronica agreed.
Chapter 13
The next morning, after a stop at Penny Coffee, they set out. As it happened, the drive to San Francisco was not boring. Sitting in the leather seat, her hair in a scarf, sunglasses on, Veronica listened as Eric told her all about the time he’d worked as an extra in a French film starring Daniel Auteuil and Sophie Marceau, two actors Veronica liked very much. Eric’s scene involved Auteuil grabbing Eric’s glass of wine from his hand.
“He was very kind,” Eric said. “We had to film it many times, and almost every time, the wine spilled on my shirt or my shoes. He apologized each time.”
Veronica listened to Eric describe what it was like on a French movie set, and how the French stars seemed like ordinary people—was it just his perception, or did stardom not reach the extremes in France that it did in the U.S.?
Then he told her all about his trip several years before to Egypt. He went with family on a cruise of the Nile.
“My brother and his wife had one cabin, my sister and her boyfriend had another, and I had reserved a cabin for myself,” he said. “But when we came to the boat, the crew said they had made a mistake and I must share my cabin with another passenger. I might have said okay, but my brother became very angry. He has gone to Egypt before, and I suppose this sort of thing is not so uncommon. They try to make more money if they can. In the end, I did not have to share my cabin.”
“Did you see many sights?” Veronica asked.
“Oh, Vero, such beautiful sights. My favorite was a temple on an island. It was called Philae, and they had a light show…”
The Bay Bridge loomed before them before Veronica knew it. The waters of the Bay sparkled under a pure blue sky. She gazed out over the scene, drinking in the beauty of it.
Eric had a bit of trouble finding his way to the Neiman Marcus parking garage, as Stockton Street was closed, but soon enough they were making their way up the escalators in the massive store. The corner of the building was one huge, rounded window, letting in the summer sun. Above them an oval, gold and clear stained glass skylight that made up the greater part of the ceiling did the same.
The evening gowns ranged from strange, with cut-outs that Veronica imagined could not possibly be comfortable, to exquisite, constructed with fine silks, hand-sewn beading, embroidery, and countless other gorgeous details. The price tags made Veronica’s head spin—$4000 was the low end, with several of the first gowns she inspected sporting tags upwards of $10,000. As they ambled through the displays of gowns, Veronica came to a halt before one by Oscar de la Renta. The strapless dress had a high-low skirt that even at its shortest point in front only revealed the ankle, whereas in back it touched the ground. It put her in mind of a Givenchy once worn by Audrey Hepburn.
“Ah yes,” Eric said, stopping to admire it. “Sabrina.”
“Yes, but in Sabrina it was white with black details, and this is the opposite,” Veronica said, allowing the tips of her fingers to brush the white sequins and embroidery that traveled in delicate loops across the almost black silk fabric. It was not exactly black—more a very dark navy, she realized.
“It is perfect for you,” Eric said.
Veronica stared at him, wide-eyed. “No way, Eric,” she said. “It’s…” She checked the tag. “Over eleven thousand dollars. Even your budget can’t cover that!”
“Mais bien sûr que si, ma chérie,” he dismissed her protest. “I have an expense account for a guide and for English lessons, and it exceeds that amount. The dress is perfect. You must try it on.”
Veronica stared at the dress, wide-eyed, and a saleswoman who had been discreetly staying within sight of them hustled over when Eric raised his hand to her. I bet she works on commission, Veronica thought. This is like Pretty Woman. And I’m Julia Roberts when Richard Gere tells the salespeople to be extra nice to her. This is unreal.
“A very elegant choice,” gushed the saleswoman, an African American lady in her fifties who looked pretty sophisticated herself, wearing a Chanel suit, unless Veronica was mistaken. “Oscar de la Renta—he has such fine taste. And this one draws on a classic gown for inspiration. Are you familiar with Givenchy?”
“Yes, of course,” said Eric, and Veronica could see that the woman noted his accent. “We were just talking of the dress’s similarity to Audrey Hepburn’s in Sabrina. And my friend, here, likes Audrey Hepburn very much. Don’t you agree, Madame, that the color of the dress would be very beautiful on her?”
The saleswoman beamed first at him, then at Veronica. “Why yes, it would! It would be lovely. We must see it on you, Miss.”
Veronica’s eyes traveled from the saleswoman, to Eric, to the dress again. The lady took Veronica by the arm and gestured to someone farther off. Then she turned to Eric. “Would you care to have a seat, sir? Someone will be right along with refreshments. Your friend and I will see about trying on the gown and she’ll be out directly to show it off to you.”
Eric nodded and they all walked a short distance to where a semi-circular couch awaited. On the wall opposite it were several panels of floor-length mirrors. Eric seated h
imself with a quick grin at Veronica.
“This way, my dear,” the saleslady said to her, and Veronica followed numbly. “My name is Marian, by the way.” Veronica gave her own name as they made their way through a door, down a tan corridor with polished hard wood floors. After a moment, a young blonde woman joined them, carrying the dress in plastic. “Thank you, Jenny,” Marian said to her.
“How did you know my size?”
“A guess,” the saleswoman said. “If I’m wrong, Jenny can go back for another.”
Veronica’s head felt light, and a flush warmed her cheeks and throat. “I’m—I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. Where’s the restroom?”
“Jenny, will you show her?” Marian said. “I’ll prepare the dress.”
After a short detour, Veronica was standing in a single-person restroom. The floor was the same hardwood and the walls the same tan, but maybe it was the light or the decorative trim that joined the wall to the ceiling—it all seemed so fancy. She splashed some water on her face at the sink, dried her face, and speed-dialed Melanie.
“Hey, V, what’s up?”
“Oh my god, Mellie. You have to help me. I can’t think.”
“What? What’s going on?”
Veronica turned her back to the mirror and leaned against the edge of the sink. “I’m at Neiman Marcus.”
“Neiman Marcus? I didn’t think we had one of those in Sac…”
“Yeah, I’m in San Francisco. With Eric.”
“What?”
“We drove here this morning. He called me last night. He invited me to this party tomorrow, and at first I said no. I told him Daniel wouldn’t like it, but somehow he talked me into it. He said he needed a guide… I don’t know.”
“Okay, so how’d you end up at Neiman Marcus?”
“Well, he said I needed a dress, and that he’d spring for it, and then he wanted to go to Neiman Marcus, and I told him there wasn’t one in Sac. So he was all, ‘Let’s drive to SF.’ In the convertible, Mellie. I couldn’t say no.”
“Ah, yes. I see that.”
“And now, oh my gosh, Mel. Now I’m about to try on an eleven thousand dollar gown that looks like the one from Sabrina and I don’t know how to stop this thing…”
The Plane and the Parade (Veronica Barry Book 3) Page 13