Authors: Thérèse
“Remember, I told you how manic this year has been. Well, I meant it. No matter how successful you are in this town, there’s always someone coming up behind you.” Running her fingers up her neck, Annabelle looked utterly lost. “Nobody sees the pressure or knows the price we pay. And there never seems to be enough time to take it easy.”
“Be careful what you ask for?” India said.
“Exactly, darling. Exactly right.”
“I did have a lovely time last night, Annie. Honestly. The food was fantastic. I guess it’s culture shock or something.”
“Yes, well, I kind of understand. I do. It’s just that Simon helps put everything into perspective for me. He keeps my priorities straight and connects me with who I really am. And Summer has a gift. You have no idea the things she sees… ”
“I get it, Annabelle. I do. And I’m sorry. It’s must be foot-in-mouth disease.” She smiled weakly. “Not thinking before I speak.”
“Not to worry. Tell me about the teaching. How’s it going?”
India took her time answering. “I feel like I’m living in Groundhog Day! I’m longing to do something different. I just don’t have a clue what it might be. Then there’s the guy thing. I mean, you were right about Pete. It was great sex but he was far too young. I was getting out of bed an hour earlier just to fix my face. It was crazy.”
“What happened to Mark?”
“Mark? His idea of a great time was four pints at the pub and a burger on the walk home.”
“Walk?” Annie laughed.
“There really hasn’t been anyone since Dr. Duplicitous!”
“The gynecologist, right?”
India sighed. “Yes. He was married, Annie, and somehow just ‘forgot’ to tell me – and I have a biological clock ticking away here. You know that.”
Annie touched her shoulder, understandingly. “I don’t miss dating, that’s for sure,” she said. “And I adore Joss. But it’s lonely for me, too, you know. He’s on the road all the time or I’m up at 5 a.m. and on my way to a shoot. And don’t think I don’t worry about other women. Well, they’re not women. They’re girls. I’ve no reason not to trust Joss. But absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder – his first wife would tell you all about that. You get into this cycle and it’s really hard to break. That’s all. But yes, I am lucky. So lucky. And you,” Annie added, reaching over to caress her sister’s face, “are gorgeous. Adam even said so!”
“Adam? As in Adam BROOKS?”
“I did ask him to the dinner. But he was shooting till eleven o’clock last night.”
India sat bolt upright.
“He was? He did? You did just say ‘gorgeous’ as in GORGEOUS, right?”
“Yes … ‘your gorgeous sister.’” Annabelle laughed. “Yes. So what would you like to do today?”
“Annie. Let’s go out together. Let’s have lunch somewhere lovely … start again. I’m so sorry.”
Refocusing with a smile, Annie seemed more energetic. “I’d suggest the The Ivy, but last time, they gave me a table up front and it ruined the whole meal. God! How I loathe that pack of paparazzi!”
She paused for a second. “But there is this great Argentinean place in West Hollywood. It’s sort of off the beaten track. Joss loves it. Shall I have Tess call and book it? How ’bout one o’clock? I might even be able to fit in a swim in my own pool.”
“Brilliant, Annie. You have a swim and I’ll soak up the sun for a bit.”
“Oh! And I nearly forgot,” Annabelle said over her shoulder. “There’s an art show tomorrow night at the Raw Warehouse. Mr. Brainwash – he’s a graffiti artist, a friend of Banksy’s. You might enjoy it. I’ll fill you in over lunch.”
Annie had said the words “warehouse” and “graffiti,” so India had dressed appropriately: in a pair of old cargo pants and a Mr. Rogers–like cardigan. One look at the hip scene around her and she wanted to vaporize. So this is “rock star casual,” she thought, checking out the parade of characters: the bleached denim, the bed-head hair, the Afghan coats (in this heat?).
“Annie, this is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She gasped as they were ushered into a dark, cavernous space by two bald and heavily muscled armed security guards, and “Mr. Brainwash” himself came up and kissed Annie smack on the lips.
“Enchanté,” he shouted to India over the din of electronic disco.
“Moi aussi,” she shouted back, proudly, at this short, disheveled looking Frenchman. He had his foot in a cast, which, far from slowing him down, only seemed to make him more wired and hyped up.
“I fall off the ladder,” he said, grinning, lifting up his cast before zipping off with Annie in tow.
India just stood there looking around, grateful for the darkness. Thank God no one knows me! she thought. Glancing over at a knot of people clustering around a giant silver rocket, she recognized the Olsen twins deep in conversation with Sharon Osbourne. What could they possibly have to say to each other? she wondered.
Suddenly India’s mouth went dry. She felt her throat tighten. It was him. It was Adam Brooks leaning up, lazily, against a white pillar, arms folded across his chest. Turning her back to him, she tried to recover her equilibrium. Where the hell was Annie? And why, oh why, did he have to show up on a night when she was dressed like this? Maybe he hasn’t seen me, she prayed, swinging around toward the nearest wall, where she bumped into an image of a gun-toting Elvis.
“Hey! India! Are you avoiding me?”
“Adam,” she squeaked, “of course not. I’m delighted to see you.”
“So what do you think of ‘Mr. Brainwash?’ They say he’s a genius, you know.”
“Yes, but I’m struggling a bit with some of it,” she said, pointing to Elvis. “What’s with the gun? What does it mean?”
“Forget the meaning,” Adam yelled across the din. “Meaning is meaningless in the case of ‘Mr. Brainwash.’”
India’s chest was pounding. The physical presence of this man made her feel totally giddy. As they wandered through what seemed acres of space, India berated herself. Get a grip, girl. You’re almost forty years old. Yes, he’s good looking. OK, better than good looking. But it’s the intensity you really like. Half an hour later, as they toured the vast spaces, she was still waiting for him to shake her hand and vanish into the beckoning arms of some impatient starlet – maybe that Cynthia girl was about to appear any moment.
India stopped at an installation. “What’s that?” she said.
“That,” replied Adam with a straight face, “is a junkyard police car covered in graffiti on a plinth.”
“In London, if we see a police car covered in graffiti, we tend not to put it on a plinth!” India laughed. Annabelle appeared be-side her. She looked exhausted.
“Hi, Adam,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know about you and India but I have got to get out of here. Are you ready?”
India nodded, hands over her ears. “I’m starving,” she shouted. “Can we go eat somewhere?”
“A brilliant suggestion,” Annabelle replied. “Adam? Maybe you’d like to join us?”
India pretended that she hadn’t heard the question and scanned the room while a voice inside her screamed, Please say yes! Please say yes!
Like an answered prayer, his eyes locked on hers and he nodded. “Great idea! Where?”
Annabelle thought for a moment. “How ’bout the Polo Lounge? It’s usually quiet at this hour.”
“Give me a minute,” Adam said, pulling out his phone and pressing speed dial. “You want a table inside or out?”
“We’re easy,” Annie mouthed, grabbing India’s arm and steering her through the crowds toward the back entrance, where Robert would be waiting with the car.
“Freedom, at last!” Annie sighed, pulling out her seat belt after telling Robert their destination.
India lowered her voice. “Do me a favor,” she said as the car took a long turn and glided up past the line of palm trees and banana plants toward the Beverly Hills Hotel. “Don’t talk about what I do for a living.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, darling, but I don’t quite get it. I mean, it’s not like you’re a lap dancer or a stripper. What’s the problem with teaching?”
“It’s not the teaching. It’s just that I want to seem a bit more mysterious, more seductive, I suppose.”
“Well, we could always talk about me all night. There’s a subject I never tire of,” Annie joked as they headed up the red-carpeted stairs.
“Can we go to the loo?” India asked. “I mean restroom.”
“Sure, I’ll lead the way.”
This is so opulent it’s surreal, India thought, following Annabelle through the peachy pink circular lobby with its heavy Italian chandeliers, gilded balconies, and velvet settees. As the door swung open India saw two young women puckering their lips and playing with their hair in front of long gilded mirrors. They were both wearing baby-doll dresses and seven-inch Lady Gaga–style shoes.
Shit! she thought, catching her own reflection and pulling her cardigan more to one side over her shoulder. If I had something sexy on underneath – I don’t know, maybe a French basque – I could take this off. But as I don’t, I’m just going to have to channel Diane Keaton instead.
She took a deep breath. It’s all about confidence… she reminded herself. Say YES!
Annie retouched her lipstick and then, as if sensing her discomfort, gave India an impulsive hug.
“Relax, darling. He likes you. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. Let’s go.”
Sweeping past the now star-struck girls in their baby dolls, Annabelle drifted across the marble lobby and through the mahogany swing doors into the bar of the restaurant.
“Annabelle! How’s it going?” said a tiny middle-aged guy in a striped shirt, leaping to his feet and fiddling with his earpiece. “Great to see you.”
“You, too, Jeff. It’s been too long,” she said, leaning down to air kiss each cheek.
Hovering behind her, India took a deep breath as Adam shook Jeff ’s hand. As the manager escorted them toward a booth at the back of the room, Adam gently touched her waist. “I’m glad I came,” he said. India just looked at him, mutely, and smiled.
Only tribal peace talks in Iraq seemed more complicated to India than Annabelle ordering food in a restaurant.
“Does the soup have cream in it?” Annie asked. “Are there onions in the jus?” “And what about the salmon? Is it wild or farmed?”
It’d be simpler to cook it yourself, India thought. You’d have a hard time ordering like that at the Cat and Lion pub.
Annabelle took a while and then gazed up at the waiter. “I’ll have the halibut. Baked. No butter. No dressing, please.”
“Make that two,” India chimed in. “Though I’d like lots of dressing with mine, please.”
“So what did you think of the show, Annie? Did you buy anything?” Adam asked, after ordering the filet mignon minus the jus and with green beans instead of carrots.
“I had them put a couple of pieces aside for Joss to look at tomorrow. He’s the expert, not me,” she said, unfolding a snow-white napkin and placing it on her snow-white pants.
We can’t possibly be related, India thought, looking down at her creased cargos.
“I bet the stuff would look great out in Malibu,” Adam added. “It really is an amazing house, Annie.”
“Thanks. I love it, too. Especially for parties.”
“So India,” Adam said, breaking into a bread roll and leaning across for the butter, “is it true you live in London?”
“It’s true,” she said.
“And is it still true that if you’re tired of London, you’re tired of life?”
“I hope not,” India replied, “because, honestly, I am a bit tired of it.”
“Well, the city’s one of my absolute favorites. I have a friend, a director, who has a fantastic apartment in Green Park. And last year, he asked me to play the lead in a new West End production. I was all set to move and then the financing fell…” Adam paused, annoyed, and reached down into his pocket to silence his cell phone. “I am so sorry,” he said, checking out the number. “I hate when this happens. But I think I have to take it.”
“No problem,” Annie said. “It’s LA, right?”
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll make it quick.”
India watched as he strolled through the French doors onto the patio. “It’s probably his wife.” She sighed.
“He doesn’t have a wife anymore, darling, I told you. Relax.” Annie smiled.
“My nerves are shot to pieces,” India confided.
“Well … I’m feeling skittish myself. I’m so grateful you’re here … more than you know,” Annie replied, adjusting the linen scarf around her neck. Just as she seemed close to revealing what was really on her mind, Annabelle was ambushed from behind by two hands over her eyes and a whispered “Guess who, darling.” The accent was a pure Southern drawl.
“Loretta,” Annie said with a wide smile, leaping up from her seat. “You look amazing. What are you doing here? Please, sit down and say hello to my sister, India.”
“Pleasure to meet you, India,” the woman said as Adam arrived back at the table.
“Hi Loretta!” Adam grinned. “You haven’t been anywhere near Brazil by any chance have you?”
Loretta gave a deep-throated laugh. “You always cut to the chase, don’t you, Adam? It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor. Because as it happens, yes. A little R&R, you know?”
India had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.
“Well, it suits you.” Adam winked. “The R&R, I mean.”
Soon after, the food arrived, and Loretta and Annie plunged deep into conversation. India turned to Adam. “What on Earth?” she said.
“Dr. Perez?” Adam replied. “The plastic surgeon? Surely, you’ve heard of him?”
“No,” India said.
“Which is one of the reasons I want your number. You have no idea how refreshing it is to meet a woman who’s never heard of Perez. It proves there’s still hope for the planet.”
“I get to score points for being out of touch or for not having a face-lift?” she asked, avoiding eye contact and focusing on her plate. (Omygod he wants my number! He wants my number!)
“Both,” Adam said, touching her hand. “Like the lady said, I cut straight to the chase.” He pulled out his cell. “Damn thing just died,” he said, putting it away again. “Can you write it down?”
India fumbled around in her purse for a pencil and ripped out a page from her leather notepad.