by Di Jones
She looked at it in horror, unsure what to do, then too embarrassed to continue jemmying it out, she jammed the shoe back on her foot, tested her ankle carefully, and strode on tippy-toe the rest of the way to the restaurant, taking a moment to peel off her jacket, cool down and compose herself before walking in.
Mariasol was packed and noisy, with the shouts of harried waiters, the laughter of diners, and the clinking of glasses rising above the festive strains of a mariachi band. The aroma of sizzling meats and jalapeno peppers filled the room, but a drink, and finding Charlie, were top priorities.
“I’m meeting a friend. I’m late, should have been here an hour ago,” she said to the waitress, as she scanned the room and tried not to put her weight on her non-existent heel.
“Holly, love, over here.” She heard his voice before she saw him stand up.
“Sorry I’m late, I got lost.”
He pushed his chair back and came over, laughing. “That’s good. I assumed you didn’t want to fraternise with a car converter.”
“Not at all,” she said, shooting him a grateful look.
“You’re here now, and you look as if you could do with a drink. How does a Margarita sound?”
She nodded her thanks and the waitress hurried off, while Charlie pulled out a chair next to his.
“Everyone, this is Holly.”
“Sorry I’m late, everyone. I missed the valet parking at the end of the pier.”
“Where did you end up parking?” asked Charlie.
“Um, I doubled back to it, and ended up on the Pacific Coast Highway.”
Laughter erupted around the table and she blushed.
“Ouch. Rush hour traffic. No wonder you’re so late.” The drawl came from a man sitting on the other side of her. “You new to LA?”
“Yes, only been here two months,” she said, sipping the salty sweet Margarita.
“We’re all immigrants, mainly from out of state. I’m from Texas, but been here ten years now. Can still remember what it was like when I first arrived.” He nodded at her encouragingly.
Charlie introduced her to the rest of the group, and like the Texan, they told Holly their reasons for leaving their home cities and making a new life in LA: the climate, better job prospects, escape from their humdrum lives, or the magnetic allure of Tinseltown.
Charlie introduced Tessa last, a raven-haired girl of her own age with a sunny, welcoming expression and wide open eyes that signalled interest in everything around her.
“How long have you been in LA?” Holly asked her.
“Four years now. I grew up in Washington DC and my family still live there. But I studied in New York. Drama and English lit.”
“That’s why you came here? You’re an actress?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding her head ruefully. “I figured if I was going to get serious about acting I needed to be here.”
“Have you been in anything?”
“A couple of walk-ons but still doing the cattle calls.”
“Cattle calls?”
“Auditions.”
“It must be hard to make a living acting.”
“You can say that again. I walk dogs to pay the bills. There’s a lot of rich childless people in this town who pay really well. Do you like dogs?”
“Yes, I grew up with them, but haven’t had one for years. Too hard in an apartment in London.”
“That’s good,” said Tessa, looking relieved. “Now and again I have one to stay overnight.”
“I’m surprised you’re allowed dogs in an apartment.”
“I’m not. The landlady would have a fit if she knew, so I need a roomie who’s okay with it.”
“And a roomie who’s good at keeping secrets,” pitched in Charlie as the rest of their friends laughed.
“If you’d like to come and see the apartment,” Tessa said, “why don’t you come over tomorrow for coffee?”
“Sounds great,” she said enthusiastically.
“Knew you girls would hit it off,” said Charlie with a satisfied expression.
“If Holly moves in,” said Tessa, winking at Charlie, “we’ll have an excuse for a party. Whaddya think?”
“Good idea. Been awhile since we had one. You keen?” he asked everyone at the table.
They all raised their glasses in a toast and cheered.
Happiness swept over her. “I love parties,” Holly said. “Tom and I used to–”
“You’ll like ours,” said Charlie, squeezing her hand. “Won’t she, Tessa?”
“You will. Our parties are almost famous.”
FOURTEEN
Brittany
Tonight was going to propel their relationship onto a more intimate level, and in the planning Brittany had left nothing to chance. As Guy’s eyes caught hers across the room, she read the approval and affection in his expression, and moved towards him confidently.
“It’s going well, isn’t it?” she asked, touching her glass to his with a clink.
“Yes, much better than I could have hoped for,” he said, leaning towards her. “Now we just need to get the trade deal on paper.”
“Should we organise a meeting next week? I’m happy to arrange it for you.”
“Tina will do it, but you’ve been a great help to me already, and I have to say, a huge asset tonight. You look lovely.”
“Thanks, I wanted to make an impression.” She’d chosen her outfit carefully, a champagne silk wrap to expose the right amount of cleavage and thigh, and dangerously high heels to lengthen already long legs. Her jewellery was simple, diamond ear studs and Warren’s necklace, which hung at the perfect height to draw attention to her full breasts. The look was classy and sophisticated, but sexy too.
“You’ve certainly done that. Don’t look now, but your admirer’s heading this way.”
He turned as an older man approached them, and Brittany wondered, not for the first time that evening, where she’d seen him before.
“Let me introduce myself,” said Guy, extending his hand. “Guy Cutler, New Zealand Consul-General. This is my colleague Brittany Brooke, our Trade Commissioner.”
“Good to meet you. I’m Dan Standish, with the British Trade Office.” He stared at Brittany with piercing grey eyes.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, taking a sip of the crisp, chilled champagne.
He squeezed her hand too firmly and held it while he spoke. “Ms Brooke, we nearly met once before.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, racking her brain but failing to recall where she’d met him. “You look familiar but I can’t place you.”
“We didn’t meet properly, but it was in Cabo San Lucas last September.”
The Moet soured in her mouth and her pulse pounded in her temples. She fought to retain her composure, keeping her voice level. “I’m sorry, you have me confused with someone else.”
“I think not. I’m certain it was you. At the Esperanza.”
Guy laughed. “Not likely. As well paid as a Trade Commissioner is, La Esperanza is in another league.”
“Yes, it’s a lovely hotel, very exclusive,” she babbled. “Certainly couldn’t afford to stay there.”
“I’m sure it was you, Ms Brooke. With a great friend of mine, who kept you to himself for the entire week.”
“No, really, it wasn’t me,” she said quickly. “I’ve never been to Esperanza. Never been to Cabo.” If Guy found out she’d spent a week in Cabo with a married lover when she was supposed to be on a business trip to clinch a trade deal, it would be more than her job was worth, and she could forget any chances of ending up happily ever after with him.
He was looking at her strangely, but to her relief an aide came over and tapped him on the shoulder. They whispered for a moment, then Guy excused himself to join two men deep in conversation across the room.
“I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable, Ms Brooke. But you are a friend of Warren Cashmore, aren’t you?”
She glanced over to where Guy was ensconced in convers
ation with the Bolivian Ambassador. “Yes, yes, I am,” she said quickly, her voice escaping from pinched lungs. “But I like to keep my personal life separate from my professional life.” Her eyes bored into his beseechingly. “I’m sure you understand.”
He smiled at her gravely, one eyebrow lifting. “Say no more, and my apologies for the intrusion.” He handed her a card. “Perhaps we can have a drink some time.” As he walked away she breathed a sigh of relief, then walked over to join Guy.
Flushed with success, Guy pulled up outside her apartment, and turned off the ignition. Moonlight played on the strong planes of his face and with a frisson of pleasure she imagined the feel of his sensuous mouth and his tongue searching for hers.
“Thank you,” he said gravely.
“For?” She looked at him from beneath her lashes.
“You were fantastic tonight. The Bolivians loved you.”
She touched his arm lightly, her fingers raking over the smooth wool of his jacket. “I enjoyed it. I have a feeling they’ll be in touch to discuss that trade deal.”
“I do too. We’re in agreement on the key points, and all we need to do now is get round a table and formalise it.”
“We’re a good team, aren’t we?” She traced the back of his hand with her fingernail, inviting him to expose his palm. “Come up for a nightcap to celebrate our success.”
He held her gaze and returned the pressure on her hand. Heat arced through her body, but he broke contact and shook his head regretfully. “I’ve got an early flight.” He leaned towards her, the smell of his aftershave so fresh and piquant she could almost taste the citrus on her tongue. Her mouth watered, her fingers tingled, and every nerve in her body told her that despite his words he wasn’t going anywhere.
Surreptitiously loosening the tie on her dress, she leaned forwards to meet him, her dress sliding open suggestively. As his gaze settled on her exposed breasts she took his hand and ran her fingers slowly across his palm. He looked up from her breasts and met her eyes, his own dark with what she could only imagine was desire.
She lifted her chin and parted her lips expectantly, waiting for his kiss.
FIFTEEN
Holly
Holly grimaced, splitting her bright green face mask into a thousand tiny shards. Was it seven p.m. already? She lumbered out of the bath, splashing water all over the floor, and towelled herself lightly before slathering body lotion over her arms and legs. She spritzed her damp skin with Chanel No 5, revelling in the floral aroma. Her favourite perfume was generally reserved for hot dates, and tonight didn’t count as one, but she’d bought a new bottle in the duty free and didn’t see the point in saving it.
Her wardrobe, as Brittany had less than kindly suggested, needed updating. She flicked through the metal hangers, frowning at plaid trousers (which fit), a lurex jumpsuit (which didn’t), and a simple black dress (too short). A low cut cherry red dress and her hoist-em-up Wonderbra would draw attention to her boobs, her best feature.
A light rap on the door signalled Charlie’s arrival, and she pulled her clothes on hurriedly.
“I’m not ready yet. Couldn’t find anything to wear,” she said, horrified to have been caught without her makeup on. “Never been to a benefit dinner. What do you think?”
“You look ravishing, love,” he said to her Wonderbra.
“I think the low neckline draws attention away from my waist,” she babbled.
“It does indeed,” he said, his gaze still fixed on her bangers. “Not that it’s big.”
“I know the whole effect is more Kate Winslet than Kate Moss, but what the hell. Better comfort than speed.” She laughed self-consciously. “Anyway, you’ve scrubbed up nicely yourself.”
“Really? Do I look alright?” He edged towards the hall mirror, preening at the compliment. “Ready to go? I’ve got a taxi waiting downstairs.”
“Hang on a mo.” She walked into the bathroom, slicked on bright red lippy and wiped a glob of face mask from her hair.
“Had a good week?” he asked when they were settled in the taxi. “Has Tom called again?”
“No,” she said, “and I wish he would. Work’s crap, and it wouldn’t take much for me to get on a plane and go home.”
“What’s the problem at work?”
“My boss. She gave me a report to do on flower importers and I didn’t manage to get hold of anyone. She’ll go spare, but it’s her fault because she sat on it for ages.”
“Can’t you extend the deadline?”
“No, the client’s due in LA next week.”
Charlie frowned. “That’s not fair. It’s hard to get anyone to answer phone calls in this town.” He pulled at his bottom lip. “Go out and visit them in person.”
“That’s not a bad idea but how can I get an appointment if no one will return my call?”
“Don’t make one. Just rock up.”
“Might be worth a shot,” she said, as the taxi pulled up outside the venue. “Got nothing to lose, have I?”
At their table a perky brunette regarded them with undisguised interest.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, ogling Charlie, who was already in conversation with a couple on his other side. Turning her attention back to Holly she asked, “You and your husband from England?”
“No, I’m from New Zealand, but I’ve been living in London. Charlie’s my soon-to-be neighbour.”
“Neighbour. Interesting.”
“Are you LA born and bred?”
“Brought up on the East Coast, but live here permanently now. I love it here apart from all the competition for the men.” She stared hungrily in Charlie’s direction. “We’ll have to catch up for coffee sometime.”
“That would be nice. I don’t know anyone here.”
“Let me introduce you to my date then. Like you and Charlie, we’re friends.” She swivelled in her companion’s direction and said in a meaningful tone, “Why don’t we change seats, and you can chat to Holly.” With a deft movement the brunette got up and before Holly knew what was happening the woman was wedged between her and Charlie.
“Great to meet you,” said the man. “Don’t mind my friend, single men are at a premium in LA.”
He chatted and kept her wine glass full, and despite Charlie casting anxious looks in her direction, she nodded encouragingly at him.
“They’re hitting it off, aren’t they?” her companion commented, topping up her glass again.
“What do you do for a living?” the brunette asked, leaning in close to Charlie.
“This and that. A bit of ducking and diving,” he replied.
“An entrepreneur?” she asked.
“No, I’m a car thief.”
The brunette stared at him in horror, and from his expression, Holly knew Charlie’s remark had the effect he’d intended. But an instant later the woman threw her head back and laughed out loud, slapping her hands on her knees. “I love a man with a sense of humour,” she said, drawing her chair closer to his. He recoiled, and signalled to Holly, but she was already listening to another conversation and couldn’t be bothered to extricate him.
“Your nose is fantastic,” said one woman to another. “Did you go to Dr Rosenstein?”
“I did.” The woman with the nose beamed with pride. “His work speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”
Holly gulped her wine, relieved a fight hadn’t broken out at the table, which would have happened if someone had commented publicly on her nose job.
“He’s brilliant,” said a third woman, pushing out her boobs in an exaggerated fashion. “He did my implants last year.” She squinted down her low-cut top at perfect tits.
“Yes, isn’t he dreamy, and incredibly talented. Cindy recommended him. She had hers done several weeks ago, and what a difference it’s made.”
“You realise she had her nose done too?”
“No, but that explains it. She looked like the Wicked Witch of the West before.”
The women tittered, and Holly swallowed th
e rest of her wine in one gulp. She touched her nose defensively, imagining how it would feel to be the subject of the conversation. Hopefully no one had ever compared her to the Wicked Witch of the West.
“I tried to get an appointment for a brow lift last week,” said a woman across the table, whose hair was so dramatically highlighted she resembled a skunk. “He isn’t taking any new clients.”
“Try Dr Armstrong. He’s good too.”
“Yes, but expensive. Do you know what he charges for Botox injections?”
Holly sucked in her cheeks, and raised her eyebrows as high as she could, wondering if this was how it’d feel after having your face pumped full of Botox. Bloody uncomfortable to say the least. After holding it for as long as she could manage she relaxed her muscles and rewarded herself with half a glass of wine, to numb the ache in her forehead.
“My friend had liposuction there recently. She was telling me he’s done great work on his receptionist.” The brunette gestured excitedly, narrowly missing Holly’s wine glass. “Apparently she started out a real plain Jane, but she’s a knockout now.”
“Have you had anything done?” asked the woman with the perfect breasts.
“Who me?” Holly slugged back the rest of her wine so it wouldn’t get knocked over, then put the empty glass down, wondering whether this question was a back-handed compliment. “Er, no.”
“I didn’t think so. Why not?”
“I’m happy with the way I look.” Silence greeted her remark. “Apart from my hips and thighs.” She touched her face self-consciously. “I guess it would be nice to get rid of my wrinkles, and maybe have fuller lips.” Her fingers crept over the table for her wine glass and she drained the velvet fruity Cabernet before realising it wasn’t hers. “Maybe my stomach too.”
“LA gets to everyone sooner or later and if you’re a normal woman you won’t feel quite as content in a year’s time.” The women nodded their agreement. “But don’t despair, when you’re honest enough to acknowledge your imperfections you’re in the right town to change anything you don’t like.”