Sensational

by Janet Nissenson

  “Same here, sir – uh, Robert.” Ben shook the older man’s hand briskly. “Thank you for the drink. And for saving me from death by paperwork.”

  Robert laughed. “You should burn all those papers and get yourself back out on the road, back to writing. It’s obvious even to a virtual stranger like myself what your true passion is. Life is too short to waste even a moment of it, Ben.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Enjoy your stay in New York, and your Thanksgiving.”

  “You, too, Ben. I hope to see you again sometime.”

  ***

  Robert chuckled to himself as he hailed a cab that would take him to the restaurant where he was to meet Natalie, Maddy, and Lauren for dinner. There wasn’t a lot that got past him, a trait he credited to his years of studying architectural design, and more recently building furniture. Both professions required attention to detail, and the ability to focus, not to mention tremendous patience.

  And despite Lauren’s beliefs to the contrary, she hadn’t gotten away with nearly as much over the years as she might think. He’d known every single time she’d snuck out of the house as a teenager, had been well aware of the wild escapades she’d gotten herself tangled up in, noticed every time she snuck extra sugar or later booze. But he had also known that Lauren had a good head on her shoulders, would never do anything illegal or too risky, and could take care of herself in most every situation.

  But this one had slipped past him somehow, he acknowledged ruefully. His cunning, crafty daughter had done an admittedly fine job in concealing the truth from both her parents and her twin sister. Though what the real truth was he still didn’t know for certain. What he did know – beyond a shadow of a doubt now that he’d met Ben Rafferty in person – was that there was a definite history between the young man and his daughter.

  It had been Ben’s mention of Lauren’s brilliant mind, and Robert’s own acknowledgment of her artistic talent, that had triggered the memory. Over the years both Lauren and Julia had allowed some of their photography and artwork to be displayed at Natalie’s gallery, always to great acclaim, and one set of Lauren’s photos in particular had come to mind the moment he had met Ben.

  There had been ten or twelve photos in all – he couldn’t recall properly at the moment – and Lauren had dubbed the collection “The Loner”. All of the photos had been in stark black and white – Lauren’s preferred media – and most of the images had been of a man in profile or shadow. They had been taken in and around Big Sur, and Robert had had little trouble recognizing the various locations. And while the man’s face hadn’t been distinguishable in most of the shots, there had been one or two where enough of his features had been visible to stamp his image in Robert’s memory banks.

  Lauren had always claimed that the man in the photos had just been a stranger passing through town, a drifter, a loner. But Robert wondered now exactly how long Ben Rafferty had lingered in Big Sur, and what exactly his relationship with Lauren had been. Especially given the level of animosity in Lauren’s voice when she discussed her boss in passing, how often she cussed him out, and how she had embraced the nickname “Ben the Bastard” that Julia had given him.

  Except that the man Robert had just shared a drink with was in actuality a quiet, thoughtful person, certainly respectful and kind, and he had no idea why his daughter reacted almost violently whenever she brought him up.

  ‘Ah, there’s something there, darlin’. And I’ll figure it out one of these days,’ he told himself with a chuckle. ‘Your old dad isn’t quite as oblivious as you might want to believe.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  December – New York

  “You look gorgeous, cara,” Carlo whispered in Lauren’s ear as they entered the banquet room. “And very, very sexy. Everyone is staring at you.”

  Lauren resisted the urge to tug her underwear down beneath the tight fitting dress. “They’re probably staring at you, Carlito, wondering if you’re really that actor who plays Jack Cordero, and then trying to work up the nerve to ask for your autograph. As for looking sexy, I feel like I should be carrying castanets with this outfit. Or holding a red rose between my teeth and shouting ‘Ole!’.”

  Carlo snickered. “Except that most flamenco dancers usually don’t wear such tight fitting dresses, or show quite so much cleavage. Not that I’m complaining about either, by the way. But I will say that dress looks like it could have been made for you. Che belisimma!”

  “Yeah, well, all of this lace is starting to itch, and my feet already hurt in these damned shoes,” she complained. “I should have never let Maddy talk me into wearing this get-up. I mean, this is a Christmas party, not a Halloween event.”

  Carlo shook his head, having witnessed Lauren’s dramatics for more than two decades now. “Relax. You look hot. It’s still a pity you aren’t four or five inches taller. You would have made an incredible supermodel.”

  Lauren made a very unladylike noise. “You’ve got to be joking. Like I’d really let anyone tell me what I had to wear, or that I had to diet myself down to a size zero. No, I’m much happier on the other side of the lens¸ my friend. And you are already surrounded by supermodels and actresses and pop stars. Once in awhile you need a regular girl to keep you grounded.”

  Carlo deliberately slid an arm around her waist, his hand slipping down to the black lace that covered her ass and giving it a squeeze. “Is that an offer, cara? Because it’s been quite awhile since I’ve been given such a privilege.”

  She pinched the skin on the back of his hand, hard enough to elicit a yelp, and he promptly removed it from her butt. “No, it’s not an offer,” she retorted. “We agreed a long time ago that you and I were much better off being friends. And that I don’t want to be one of your many women. So there will be no offers and no privileges.”

  “Fine.” Carlo sighed dramatically. “But you can’t blame a guy for trying. And you know, cara, that if you only said the word that you could be the only woman for me.”

  Lauren regarded him sardonically. “What utter bullshit, Carlo. No offense, but your acting skills are nowhere near good enough to convince me you could ever be faithful. Or that you care about me that way. I’m guessing it’s just been awhile since you got lucky, and you’d say just about anything right now to get in my pants. Which, considering how tight this dress is, would be very, very difficult.”

  The dress in question was a dramatic black lace gown with long, sheer sleeves, a deep off the shoulder V-neckline, tightly fitted at the waist and hips, and then flaring out into a mermaid style bottom. Maddy had raved about the one of a kind Oscar de la Renta, swore that Lauren was the perfect person to carry off such a high profile gown, and had made special arrangements to have it hemmed and altered to fit her. The black lace Louboutin stilettos had cost eight hundred dollars, but they might as well have been cheap knockoffs as much as they were killing her feet right now.

  Mandy hadn’t stopped with dressing her up like some sexpot senorita. She’d happily dragged Lauren to the in-house salon at Bergdorf’s, and explained to the head stylist the effect she was looking for. Nearly three hours later, Lauren’s long hair had been piled atop her head in a cluster of messy but artful curls; her nails buffed and polished – though not with the deep red gloss the manicurist had initially picked out but the pale mocha shade Lauren had insisted on; and her face made up rather dramatically with smoky eyes and dark red lips. Maddy had insisted she wear a pair of her diamond chandelier earrings to complete the outfit, and Lauren could feel their heavy weight tugging on her earlobes with each step she took.

  Carlo hid a smirk behind his hand. “You’re going to want to watch what you eat tonight then, cara. One too many slices of bread and you’ll bust a seam.”

  Lauren grimaced. “The way I feel right now one piece of popcorn is going to take care of that.”

  As she and Carlo made their way up to the bar, both of them ignoring all the stares directed their way, Lauren asked herself yet again why she’d let herself g
et talked into coming tonight. She hated these sort of corporate events and usually avoided them like the plague. She had last attended the office holiday party three years ago, and had vowed never to attend another – not anxious to eat barely palatable food, drink mid-range booze, or listen to a DJ who wouldn’t know a good song if it hit him in the face. Not to mention all the mind-numbing socializing, eye rolling small talk, and having to dress up like some department store mannequin. She would much rather have stuck to her original plan – going out for greasy burgers and fries and brews with Chris and Karl and their significant others, and then hitting the bowling alley before finishing the night off by stopping at one or two clubs. If she hadn’t been outvoted, she’d be chowing down a mushroom Swiss burger right about now, washing it down with a dark lager, and visualizing bowling the perfect game. She sure as hell wouldn’t be worried about busting a seam on her dress or twisting her ankle in shoes with stilts for heels.

  But she’d been outvoted three to one, something she was still sulking about. George, of course, was the ultimate corporate kiss-ass and wouldn’t have even considered missing the party. Chris had a new girlfriend, who was apparently very young and very impressionable, and he’d figured a party at the Four Seasons would go a long way towards impressing her, not to mention seducing her. And at first Karl had sided with Lauren – until he’d mentioned the idea to Tamsyn, and she’d surprisingly been in favor of attending the party. Karl’s longtime girlfriend rarely came to New York with him, preferring to hole up on her farm in Tennessee where she raised a herd of cashmere goats. She then wove their luxurious wool into her own line of sweaters, scarves, pashminas, and blankets. Once in awhile Tamsyn liked to poke around the big department stores in Manhattan to check out current fashion trends, and was planning to do just that during her visit. And, fortunately, she and Karl were in a good place in their relationship right now.

  It figured, thought Lauren as she accepted a glass of red wine from the bartender, that two artistic, talented people like Karl and Tamsyn would frequently be at odds with each other. Tamsyn was by far the more volatile of the two, more than living up to the reputation that came with having fiery red-gold hair. Karl was one of the mellowest guys Lauren knew, but that wasn’t always a good thing since he tended to keep his feelings bottled up most of the time. In the years she’d known Karl, he and Tamsyn had had some really epic fights, breaking up for months at a time and refusing to speak to each other, until they inevitably found their way back to each other. Lauren had nursed Karl through any number of vicious hangovers, had bullied him out of severe depressions, and had engaged in screaming matches over the phone with Tamsyn, all in the name of trying to get them back together.

  It was to Karl and Tamsyn that she gravitated now, feeling closer to the pair of them than to anyone else here this evening. Karl and Carlo knew each other casually, but Tamsyn had never met the handsome actor before tonight.

  “I see I’m not the only lucky man here tonight,” he teased as he brought Tamsyn’s hand to his lips. “Where have you been hiding this beautiful lady, Karl?”

  “On a goat farm,” replied Tamsyn drolly.

  Carlo looked astonished, until she explained in more detail about her chosen profession, and then he laughed. “Well, I would have never guessed,” he replied gallantly. “You could have told me you were a supermodel and I would have believed you.”

  “Jesus, you are just obsessed with that word tonight, aren’t you?” groused Lauren. “Though Tam does look incredible.”

  Tamsyn was tall and slim, with long legs, creamy skin, and that mass of shiny red-gold hair. She wore a long sheath dress of emerald silk, and could certainly pass for the model Carlo had compared her to. Karl, on the other hand, looked less than pleased to be wearing an actual suit and tie, his long dark blond hair tied back in a ponytail.

  The four of them snagged a table for eight, and Karl sent Chris a quick text inviting him to join them.

  Lauren eyed the two unoccupied seats warily. “Please tell me that George and Nadine are not joining us,” she pleaded. “It’s going to be hard enough for me to eat in this dress. Having to sit across from those two might be what finally kills my appetite.”

  “Uh, I don’t think you have to worry about that,” replied Karl hesitantly. “First, I see that the lovebirds are hanging with some of Nadine’s pals. And, yes, she does have some. And, well, I think our other tablemates might be heading this way right now with Chris.”

  Lauren followed his gaze and almost choked on the bacon wrapped scallop she’d just popped into her mouth. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered to herself, not much caring if anyone else heard her.

  Walking alongside Chris and his new girlfriend - the one clinging to him like a limpet and who looked about sixteen – were none other than Ben and Elle. Lauren thought wildly that she’d rather sit at a table filled entirely with George and Nadine clones then have to endure an evening of Elle’s tight-lipped, disapproving little looks.

  ‘And doesn’t she look just perfect tonight?’ thought Lauren mockingly. ‘The perfect lady. The perfect corporate wife.’

  She winced at that last thought, wishing she had time to grab and down a second drink before the two couples reached them. Elle was also wearing black but that was where the resemblance to Lauren’s gown ended. Elle’s dress was an slender, elegant column of black silk wool that skimmed rather than clung to her slender body. The high collar was banded with glittering black beads and jets, while the black satin waistband broke up the severity of the otherwise stark fabric. Her raven hair was smoothed back into its usual chignon, and a pair of diamond stud earrings was her only jewelry. As always her makeup was subdued and discreet, and Lauren suddenly felt an urge to grab a napkin and scrub away her vivid crimson lipstick.

  But while Elle looked pretty much the way Lauren would have figured, it was Ben who caused her eyes to widen in mingled surprise and admiration. He was wearing a tux, for God’s sake – a classic black suit, snowy white pleated shirt, and plain black bowtie. He was clean shaven, and even though she preferred his three day stubble, her fingers itched to caress that smooth, rugged cheek.

  Their gazes collided as he reached the table, and she stubbornly refused to be the first to look away. His gaze lingered for a few moments on her dress, hair, lips, and she recognized both admiration and desire in his dark blue eyes. She gave him a little half-smile and a quirk of her eyebrow, sending him a silent message that even though he looked hot she wasn’t a big fan of the tuxedo.

  Elle was her typical prim and proper self, extending her hand to Tamsyn and then to Carlo as though she were a princess or something, her greeting almost excruciatingly polite. It was obvious that she had no idea who Carlo was, recognizing neither his name nor his face.

  But Ben evidently did, telling Carlo as they shook hands, “I’m a big fan of your stuff. The Jack Cordero movies are some of my favorites.” To a puzzled Elle he explained, “Carlo is a very famous actor. He’s the star of four – or is it five – action adventure movies.”

  “Ah.” Elle lifted that aristocratic little chin at this explanation. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your name, Carlo. I’m not much of a moviegoer unfortunately. That is - at least not – well - ”

  Carlo smiled politely in return, very likely having pegged Elle as the art house movie type and definitely not the sort to enjoy the films he typically acted in. “No worries, cara. I doubt you’d enjoy my movies. Lots of car chases, gunfights, explosions, that sort of thing. Lauren here is one of the few women I know who can’t get enough of action films. Or espionage. She should have been a spy herself. Or an assassin.”

  “Oh, I like that idea!” agreed Lauren. “Like the girl in La Femme Nikita. One of my all time favorites. But the original French version, of course, not the American remake.”

  Chris’s girlfriend – Mindy – wrinkled her nose. “Ugh! I don’t think I could watch a movie with subtitles. I want to focus on what’s happening in the mov
ie and not have to read at the same time.”

  Carlo gave Mindy a little wink, which only caused the impressionable young woman to gape at him in starstruck awe. “I don’t blame you, cara. But Lauren here doesn’t need subtitles. Why would she when she’s fluent in French, Italian, and Spanish?”

  It seemed that Elle and Mindy were the only ones at the table who didn’t already know this information. Mindy just kept staring at Carlo, a few seconds away from melting into a full blown swoon, while Elle gave Lauren one of those tight-lipped little smiles she’d come to hate with a passion.

  “I would have never guessed,” Elle replied archly. “I’ve studied French since I was a young girl. A foreign language was a requirement at my school, even from the early grades. Where did you pick up these different languages, Lauren?”

  Lauren ignored the way Elle said “pick up”, almost as if to imply that she had picked up her language skills – and possibly other habits – from the street. Instead she merely smiled sweetly and explained, “I learned French from my grandparents, mother and aunt, who were all born in Montreal. The Italian I picked up from hanging around Carlo and Franco and their family, as well as from my uncle who lived in Italy for several years. And I studied Spanish in high school and college.”

  She gave a little shrug, as though explaining how she came to be fluent in three languages was the simplest thing in the world. But even though she downplayed her skills, she sensed that Elle was displeased but she didn’t really care why.

  She had wanted to give Chris a good hard smack for inviting Ben and Elle to sit at this table, and was frankly surprised that they had accepted. But to refuse would have likely required Elle to lie or be rude, two things Lauren sensed she never did. At least, thought Lauren as she picked up her wine glass, Carlo had seemed to sense her discomfiture with their tablemates and made sure they weren’t seated next to the other couple.