by Julia Dumont
“She just said they have more in the back,” said the young woman in line. “I think it’s kind of funny that he’s buying all this stuff.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Slick. “Well, you’re a jerk too then.”
“Slick!” said Seamus. “You’re not listening. They have more in back. Let’s just see the tally.”
The barista finished swiping. There were mountains of paper sacks all over the counter, on top of the case, and on the floor. “You’ve still got eighty-three dollars and eleven cents left,” she said.
“Okay, tell you what,” said Seamus, “I really only want five or six bags anyway. Everybody else split up the rest and then finish up the card for whatever else you want.”
A loud cheer went up among the previously pissed-off coffee lovers.
“Except, nothing for Slick,” said Seamus, picking out a few sacks and walking out.
#
“Seamus!” called Donald over the roar of the cappuccino machine, “Where the hell have you been?”
“Nowhere special,” he said, saddling up to the coffee bar and depositing the sacks of goodies, “just out making significant headway toward fame, fortune, and the pursuit of fucking happiness, that’s all.”
“Jesus, what the feck are you doin’ with the devil’s shite? In case you didn’t notice I own a feckin’ coffee shop?”
“I know, Donald, I know. And I’m sorry. I was just walking down the road, minding my own business, when I just got awful hungry all of a sudden. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Jesus, well take this shite upstairs,” looking through the booty. “I can’t have people seeing it around my place! But let me just take one of these graham crackers with the chocolate. I love those.”
Chapter 21
FRIDAY 5:45 PM
“T.G.I.F., Paloma” said Cynthia, turning off her computer and rubbing her eyes. “I kind of wish it were already M.”
“Yeah, but we’re in good shape,” she replied. “Every date is on track. Nobody’s sick, no last minute cancelations…all systems go.”
“Let’s run through it one more time. By the way, do you want to go to that opening at LACMA with me? It might be nice for you to meet Ava. Plus the art is kind of amazing.”
“Yes! I was hoping you’d ask. Don’t we need to get going, though?”
“Oh, we’ve got time,” said Cynthia. “It starts at seven, but it goes ‘til ten. We can be fashionably late. It’ll be good for us to be together to confer if any client emergencies arise.”
“Okay, so, date one,” said Paloma, looking at her iPad. Johnny and Lalin. John Tabor, up and coming art director in movies. Loves rock music and travel. Has been around the world multiple times. Lalin Mariso, transplant from Argentina. Novelist…her first book comes out in a month. Daughter of a famous Argentinian dissident. Cosmopolitan, yet hasn’t traveled much herself. But really, really wants to. If this isn’t a match, I will eat my hat. I’ll eat your hat too.”
“I agree,” said Cynthia. “As you see, I’ve tweaked one of their date destinations a bit. There’s a bar in Santa Monica called Vagabond. The whole place is dedicated to the romance of travel. The ancient walls are covered with photos and stickers from around the world, sort of like an old-fashioned steamer trunk. You wouldn’t believe it. I’m amazed the place can keep any customers…it makes you want to pay up fast and drive to the airport. If these two don’t stumble out of there with airline reservations purchased via their iPhones, I’ll eat an entire millinery shop.”
“Brilliant,” said Paloma, truly in awe.
“Okay, let’s continue,” said Cynthia.
“Will Algren, fashion photographer…matched with Nadine Ulmante. Beautiful enough to be a fashion model——in fact, she did it for a while in her teens——but now is a painter. She shows in galleries across the states and Europe.”
“Perfect,” said Cynthia. “What would have been a busman’s holiday is instead a match made in heaven.”
“Magda Carpenter, an acting coach, matched with Davis MacGregor, a surgeon. Big egos, obviously. And he acted in college, so that could have been dicey. But, as you know, she is a middle child to his first-born. She’s a diplomat. Patient. A calming influence on his majesty. Boss, you are a genius.”
“Thanks,” said Cynthia, “although the birth-order thing is by no means an exact science. Did you happen to notice anything else in their bios that would portend well?”
“Hold on, hold on…they share the same all-time favorite movie: Some Like it Hot. Both have seen it dozens of times.”
“Exactly! I predict wedding bells in six months. Next!”
“Allen Schiller, a creator of animated cartoons. He’s funny and charming and bursting with creativity. Matched with Alana Marwen, a jewelry designer. She just got a huge commission to supply her work with a major department store chain. Both creative, but in different fields. Zero competition, mutual admiration. Both sexy as hell.”
“Love them. I switched them out from the hotel I’d penciled in first, though. I booked them in Artists’ Retreat in Santa Barbara. Have you heard of it? Deluxe, lovely cabins in the woods, but high above the town, with a sweeping view of the ocean. Every cabin has a separate studio with drawing tables, art supplies, and a concrete floor you don’t have to worry about messing up. In fact, you’re encouraged to mess it up. I’d be surprised if they ever check out.”
“Good God,” said Paloma, “I want to live there.”
“Okay, but please don’t leave me right away. Who’s the fifth again?”
“Darius Carlotta, an award-winning documentary filmmaker, who you paired with Tara Beckwith, an elementary school teacher, turned politician, turned stripper, turned poet. And singer. Oh, and songwriter. She’s writing a freaking opera.”
“I know,” said Cynthia. “This Beckwith woman is a walking-talking subject of a documentary film. Turn on the camera, Darius…the film makes itself! God damn, I’m good, Ms. Rodriguez,” she continued, giggling slightly and then bursting into all-out laughter.
“The only question is whether they get married or win an Oscar first,” said Paloma, laughing very hard now too. “I just hope we get invited to the premiere and the wedding.”
They were nearly hysterical for a few minutes, laughing and crying. It was the kind of laughter you get from being over-tired, over-stressed, and just really needing and wanting to lose control for a bit.
“Okay,” said Cynthia wiping away a mirth-induced tear, “let’s get over to the museum.
“Okay, Boss,” said Paloma, standing up and sighing out a few more giggles. “My face hurts. How do you do this?”
“It’s all about putting the right characters into the right story.”
“Genius,” said Paloma.
Cynthia was beginning to really appreciate Paloma.
Paloma could imagine staying in this job forever if it weren’t for the fact that she really did want to be a famous actress. And that was definitely one cold, hard, undeniable, certifiable, carved-in-stone, irreversible fact.
Chapter 22
FRIDAY 7:45 PM PST
Pete Blatt got up remarkably early this sunny Saturday morning in Kyoto. The day before had been a travel day, so he had actually gotten to bed at a relatively reasonable hour. The other band mates had headed out to paint the town, but he’d declined. His plan was to get up early and call Cynthia at a halfway normal hour for California and he’d aimed for a time that seemed right: after her regular office hours, but before the evening date-night phone traffic began.
So he had the idea of getting out early and heading for the Daikaku-ji Temple. This place was seriously ancient. It was established in 876. It’s located adjacent to the Ozawa pond and the Heian era garden…among the oldest gardens in Kyoto. He thought it would be a good place to find a little peace and then bring that peace to his conversation with Cynthia. He was calling just to talk. To explain the last disastrous phone call, as much as he could explain, because he’d been groggy enough at the time to seriously impa
ir his ability to establish a firm recollection. He’d been a mess, he knew that much.
He arrived at the temple and walked around for a while. He came to a strange grotto and sat down. He wasn’t terribly spiritual, but this place would inspire that tendency in the most committed atheist. He was feeling the best he’d felt in weeks. Clear headed, focused, ready to connect.
He called Cynthia.
She was driving down Vermont through Korea Town on her way to LACMA. The traffic was heavy, the neighborhood dense with electric weekend bustle. Paloma was riding shotgun and controlling the music, which was now blaring some weird soul-rap concoction that included violins, a full church choir, and a rhythm section that seemed to be made up mostly of gunfire. Cynthia had no idea who or what it was, but she loved it.
Her phone rang.
She looked down and saw that it was Pete.
She did not pick up.
Chapter 23
FRIDAY 8:11 PM
The museum was seriously hopping. Some kind of sexy funk was booming, making the whole affair seem quite un-museum-like. Ava was being swarmed by admirers…an exclusive crowd of artists, collectors, movie folk, household names, and the very richest denizens of Los Angeles.
When Cynthia walked in, under those massive iron tits, the first thing she wondered was why Ava needed any help at all in the dating department. She was surrounded by enough gorgeous flesh to satisfy the appetites of an army of rich widows. The next thing Cynthia noticed was the absurdly handsome man standing to Ava’s left. She couldn’t believe he was here, but, then again, it made perfect sense. Why wouldn’t he be?
Jack Stone. The movie star. The movie star who Cynthia had almost fallen for, or rather who had spun a web that she had nearly gotten trapped in.
Good God.
She grabbed Paloma by the arm and forced her to take a hard right toward the bar.
“Hey, look,” said the younger woman, “isn’t that…”
“No, I mean yes,” whispered Cynthia. “I need a drink.”
“Oh, okay,” said Paloma. “I mean hell yes, Boss.”
They got in the booze line and almost instantly someone touched Cynthia’s shoulder, making her jump slightly.
“Miss Amas, I presume.” No mistaking that movie star voice.
Paloma had heard something about Cynthia’s Jack Stone adventure…how he had come to her for help with his love life_____a notion so absurd on its face, that Cynthia couldn’t believe she had ever fallen for it. Of course, he had pursued her instead. But Paloma didn’t know anything about the ugly, bloody, funny fiasco with Jack, Max, Lolita, and mega Hollywood director Steven Sternberg. Plus Sternberg’s wife. And, worst of all, their daughter.
“Well, of course you’re here,” said Cynthia_____thinking, Could this weekend get any more ridiculous?_____while shaking his hand. “Jack, this is Paloma. Paloma, Jack. Oh, and Jack? Keep your hands off Paloma.”
“Cynthia,” he said with the innocence of a newborn lamb in wolf’s clothing, “I’m just shaking her hand.”
“Yeah,” she replied, “but with you shaking hands is a gateway drug.”
Paloma and Jack both laughed nervously. Jack was amused, while Paloma seemed slightly irritated.
“I’ve shaken men’s hands before, you know,” she replied, sounding a little perturbed.
Jack looked Paloma in the eye, holding both of her hands in both of his. “Cynthia’s been in the dating industry too long. She has a dirty mind. Let me get you both a drink.”
Even though they were still four people away from the front of the line, as soon as he turned toward the bar, one of the young women in a white shirt and black vest, smiled at him and said, “Can I get you something, Mr. Stone?”
In normal circumstances_____say in a real-life bar with mostly real-life people_____this kind of line cutting would have led to a major brouhaha. There would have been some version of, “Hey, what the hell?! Who do you think you are?!” But everyone knew very well who he was and they were more intoxicated by his close proximity than they’d be from the wine they were waiting for.
“Oh, my,” said Jack looking around at the other art lovers in the cue, “I had no intention of cutting ahead. Please, no. These people are next.”
But these people objected. “No, no! Go right ahead, Mr. Stone.” “No problem at all.” “Here, scooch over, let him in. C’mon, scooch!”
“Oh, jeez, thanks, everyone,” he said, patting one thrilled older woman on the back as he passed. “Just three Cabernets I guess. Is that right, girls?” He turned back to look at Cynthia and Paloma.
“Yes, thanks,” they said in unison, both somewhat mortified.
When he returned with the drinks, Cynthia said, “Thanks,” but immediately turned from Jack, leading Paloma in the other direction. “I should really introduce Paloma to Ava.”
“Yes, of course,” said Jack. “Exactly what I was going to say. Besides, I see Broderick Patton over there all alone and I should really go say hello.”
Broderick Patton was the newest young soon-to-be superstar in town. Paloma almost got whiplash turning to see him as Cynthia yanked her in the other direction. She had just seen him in Before the Revolution, and he had blown her away.
“We’re here to work, Paloma,” she said, smiling and rolling her eyes.
“I know, I know,” she replied, “but come on, poor Broderick Patton is all alone.”
“Yeah, right,” said Cynthia. “Poor baby. Well, he can commiserate with Jack about the pitiful hands life has dealt them.”
Cynthia and Paloma moved through the tightly packed gallery, zigzagging through movers and shakers and mover-shaker watchers and wannabes.
“Hello, Ava,” said Cynthia when she finally penetrated her ring of admirers. “The show is incredible.”
“Cynthia, my dear,” she whispered, raising her wine glass and backing away from the others, “thank you so much for coming.” She clearly wanted to keep their conversation private. She also sounded like this was far from her first glass of wine.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Cynthia. “This is Paloma. She’s coming along on the Que Sera Sarong voyage.”
“Wonderful,” said Ava, reaching for Paloma’s hand. “I can see why she chose you. You’re gorgeous.”
“Oh, no,” said Cynthia, nearly spit-taking cabernet across the room, “Paloma is my assistant.”
“Oh!” laughed Ava. “So sorry, my mistake. Very sorry.”
“No reason to apologize,” said Paloma, blushing slightly and smiling a sweet closed-mouth smile as she shook Ava’s hand. “If I weren’t working that night, I’d be happy to attend.”
They all laughed, clinked glasses, and took sips of wine.
“Oh, the other thing, Cynthia,” murmured Ava, “I hope we’re not at capacity already, because I’ve invited a couple of others.”
Cynthia was almost sure she knew one of the names before she heard it. She was going to say, Hey, I thought everyone is supposed to be strangers, but then she figured, what the heck, it’s Ava’s fantasy, let her define it.
“I’ve invited Jack Stone, who I understand you already know. Also…an old friend of mine and Jonathon who you definitely would not know. I’ll email you his info. He suddenly finds himself single and up for adventure.”
Well, actually, Ava, we do have a full house, I mean ship, said Cynthia to herself, while nodding in agreement.
Then her phone plinked and she looked down to see a text from Johnny Tabor, the art director with wanderlust…the one on the date with Lalin Mariso.
Cynthia, Paloma-
Just leaving Vagabond. Bad news… cutting date short. Cancelled restaurant. Good news: driving to LAX. Not sure where headed. Will decide when we get to int terminal. Thanks for everything and bon voyage, Johnny and Lalin.
Cynthia blurted out a small, but joyous, laugh. “Apparently wanderlust plus wanderlust equals wandering plain-old lust,” she said, holding the phone up for Paloma and Ava to see.
“My good
ness, you are good,” said Ava.
“Speaking of good,” said Paloma, pointing to a large pink and beige canvas, “there’s some art that just plain feels good.”
The canvas depicted, in extreme close-up, an epic bird’s-eye view of a something…a landscape…an architectural foundation? It was all angles and almost abstract. But then…oh, right…open legs around closed legs, two triangles of pubic hair united to create an hourglass shape, pubic bones merged, and bone submerged…the deepest point of male and female sexual congress, cropped in tight. It was at once clinical, like a diagram of plumbing or a male-female electrical plug, but also highly erotic, recalling that moment of impact in the minds and loins of onlookers.
“I know,” said Ava. “That painting made me hot before I realized why. I was meditating on it when I decided to contact you, Cynthia.”
They all laughed and clinked glasses again.
Cynthia heard another plink and looked down to see a text from Lolita.
How’s the opening? It sure would have been nice to know about it. No big deal…I guess you’d rather go with your employee. What’s her name? Pauline or Paulina or something? Never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow in Long Beach. I’d ask if you’d like to drive down together, but you’d probably rather go with that Pauline or Paulina or whatever. OK, see you tomorrow. - Lo
Cynthia shook her head. How on Earth did Lolita even know she was there? Maybe she’d told her. What did she have against Paloma all of a sudden? She got another text, this one from Magda Carpenter, the acting coach:
Cynthia: Things were going fine until we left the restaurant. We were walking toward the valet, when the high heel of my left shoe snapped. Over I went and I sprained my ankle pretty badly. I thought it was broken, but Davis_____an orthopedic surgeon_____knew it wasn’t. He carried me to the car. He’s in the pharmacy right now buying ace bandages and writing me a prescription for Percocet. I never knew excruciating pain could be so romantic.
Well, I could have told her that, thought Cynthia.