Commitment (72 page)

Riley spotted Nadine immediately even thou
gh she’d never seen her before.
Sitting on the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs in the waiting area, she was chattering into a
blinged out iPhone
, every bit the stereotypical L.A. ‘beautif
ul person’.

Nadine was an
ü
ber-skinny fair-skinned sister with hair bleached a honey blonde, wearing a pair of tight pink suede pants and a beige leather shirt with boots that had toes so pointy, it was hard to imagine them being comfortable, or even poss
ible to walk in.
In mid-sentence, she looked up and noticed Riley, and hastily ended her conversation, coming over to greet her with a disarming smile and extended hand.

“You must be Riley,” she said.

“Yes.
And you’re Nadine.”

“I am
so happy to finally meet you.”

Her voice lilte
d at the end of her sentences.

“I’ve been working with K for three years now,” she said, putting a hand on the small of Riley’s back and
steering her toward the exit.
“And when he told me he was married you could’ve just about k
nocked me on my ass.
I knew it had to be someone special and you,” she paused here to look Riley over from head to toe.  “. . . you are just . . . exquisite.”

“Thank you.” 

It was her job to say things like that, Riley realized, but all the same it was embarrassing to listen to.

“So we’re getting you ready for a photo-op at one and the party tonight?”

“I guess.”

Nadine handed a ticket to the valet and turned her full attention to Riley.

“This can be a daunting process if you’ve never done it before,” she said seriously, as though they were about to emba
rk on a trek across the Tundra.
“But yo
u’re going to have to trust me. This is what I do best.
I’ll tell you what works and what doesn’t, and since you’re a New Yorker and probably into that minimalist thing, you’re going
to have to trust me even more.
You think you can do that?”

Riley resis
ted the urge to laugh out loud.
“Sure.”

Nadine beamed.
“And I’m happy to say, I don’t think we’re going to hav
e to do anything with the hair.
I love that androgynous look.  So chic.” 

And then she actually
ran her hand over Riley’s head.
God
.
Was this what Shawn went through just to pick an outfit?

Nadine’s car was a sleek,
silver Jaguar XK8 convertible.
Not bad fo
r a glorified personal shopper.
She tipped the valet and without even looking at him slid behind the wheel, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of her purse and putting them on.

“I should put the top up,” she said more to herself than to Riley.  “The air is terrible today.”

Their first stop was a boutique run by a “close personal friend” of Nadine’s a man who looked to be in his fifties named
Gus, who dressed like a sixteen-year
old hip-hopper and
had a bald spot he combed over.
He and Nadine exchanged kisses and then they talked about Riley as though she weren’t even there, comparing impressions on what ‘line’ would suit her frame, what color would bring out her eyes and how mu
ch leg she might want to show.

It was alter
nately fascinating and annoying—
they were maki
ng her an image, she realized.
Not simply dressing her for an event. 

“Sit, sit,” Gus told her.
“I’m going to have someone fetch you a cappuccino and tiramisu that is just to die.”

Riley obediently sat on one of the uncomfortable art-deco chairs rand
omly placed about the boutique.
Moments later, a young woman in a skirt so short it almost looked like a tube top appeared with a small café table, and then a couple minutes after that wi
th her cappuccino and tiramisu.

Gus and Nadine had disappeared to the rear of the boutique, so all she could do was wait and eat and drink. She wondered where Sh
awn was, and what he was doing.
He’d been back and forth to L.A. so often in the last few months it
almost felt like he lived here.
She would take it as a good sign that he was still staying in a hotel, rather than renting a place.

When Nadine and Gus finally emerged, they were whe
eling a garment rack with them.
Nadine held up the first outfit
—an emerald green halter dress—
and waved it at Riley.

“Y
ou have to try this,” she sang.
“You’re going to look so hot in it.”

By the time they were done at Gus’ boutique, Riley had tried more than fifteen outfits and chosen three, more out of
exhaustion than anything else.
Two dresses and a shantung jacket with matching cigarette pants that altogether cost more t
han seven thousand dollars.
Nadine didn’t ask for a credit card and seemed to have some arrangement with Gus that permitted them to simply walk out of the boutique, bags in hand.

“Shoes.
We need shoes,” Nadine said whe
n they were back in the Jaguar.
“And
I know just the perfect place.
I get my own stuff there.” 

As though
that
wa
s a valid measure of anything.

Riley glance
d at her watch surreptitiously.
Only ten-fifteen.
Nadine could conceivably
keep her for another two hours.
At the next stop, they bought a pair of modestly priced Anne Klein Collection sandals and leather slides by someone Riley had never heard of but who was apparently famous enough to charge five hundred and ninety dollars for his wares.

“One more stop,” Nadine said patting her on the hand as they left the store wi
th their shopping bags in hand.
“I know you must be dying to get back to that husband of yours.”

“Actually, I have no idea where he is right now,” Riley said breezily.

“I don’t know how he keeps that pace up,” Nadine said
missing her undertone entirely. “And you.
You must be a saint to tolerate being separated so much.”

“
It is what it is
,” Riley said dryly.

“Well honey, you’re a better woman than I am,” Nadine returned.
“He is altogether too cute to let out of your sight unsupervised.”

The last stop was a mega-boutique that carri
ed all the exclusive designers.
Nadine went through the place like a whirlwind, scooping up dresses here, pants there, shoes a
nd stoles and skirts and tops.
She stood by while Riley tried combination after combination, vetoing some, and gi
ving the thumbs up for others.
The one thing they agreed on completely was when they found the outfit for the afternoon photo-op.

It was a pair of dark blue retro-style Earl Jeans that fit snugly on the hip, and a black Dolce & Gabbana jacket that tapered at the waist, but was short enoug
h to show just a peek of flesh.
The shoes were black, high-heeled sandals that actually resembled something Riley would have picked for herself even without the assistance of a stylist.

After all the outfits were chosen and she’d changed back into her own clothes
, Riley emerged to find Nadine sitting with Shawn on one of the sofas in the sitting area. He looked up when she entered and
gave a small smile
.

“Look
who
I found!” Nadine said brightly. She leaned in and hugged Shawn briefly. “
I honestly don’
t know how you stand it, Riley. He’s so yummy!
I would be all over him all the time.”

Riley and Shawn’s eyes met and to her surprise, they both spluttered into laughter
at
their own private joke: they
were
all over each other all the time. Or at least, they used to be.

“Hey baby,” he said.

“Hi.”

Why did she fee
l so shy of him all of a sudden?

Maybe because he looked so different,
but still
so incredible.
She hadn’t looked at him properly the previous evening; hadn’t seen that he was lean
er, and darker from the sun
and that he had clearly been working out
. He was wearing chinos, slung low on his hips and a white t-shirt with his fa
vorite mustard-colored boots.
His arms
filled
the sleeves and
she could tell that
his ch
est was bigger too.

Nadine’s flirting had been good-natured and clearly meant nothing, but Riley knew that there were other women, not so good-natured, who
were
probably noticing what she
had just noticed all over again—
her husband was sexy as hell. But he was
her
husband
.

The proprietary thought startled her. She and Shawn hadn’t laid eyes on each other for almost three months. Whether or not their marriage would even survive was very much up in the air, and if his getting her a separate suite was any indication, maybe they were leaning in the direction of ending it. The thought of Shawn, no longer hers, made her stomach twist in knots.

Hers?
Where the hell had that thought come from? Riley blushed.

“I thought you might want to go to lunch,” Shawn said
getting up and coming toward her
.
“I know Nadine can be like Speedy Gonzalez on acid. You’re probably hungry and tired.”

“Excuse me, I’m still here, y’know,” Nadine raised a hand and waved it over her head.

Riley nodded. “I could eat.”

“We’re done anyway,” Nadine said. “I can have everything sent to your hotel late this afternoon with one of my team to dress you for the event this evening.”

Shawn was watching her, his eyes never leaving her face. Riley was finding it hard to concentrate on what Nadine was saying.

“I think I can dress myself,” she managed, finally.

Shawn, whose back was to Nadine, smiled.

“There’s no question that you can,” Nadine said evenly. “The question is whether you should.”

Shawn was grinning wider now
, obviously amused by Riley’s close encounter with the L.A. sensibility.
Riley looked at Nadine who had tilted her head to one side, and was waiting. She seemed insulted that Riley was declining her services.

“Okay, sure. Send them over,” Riley capitulated.

“Good,”
Nadine smiled, her voice becoming light again. “I’ll send someone over at six.”
Then she looked at Shawn. “You can have her back now.”

Outside, Riley was surprised
to
see that
Shawn was driving himself.
For a change, there was n
o Brendan,
and
no driver. He unlocked a silver grey BMW sedan parked at the curb and opened the door for her before getting in himself. Riley looked the car over, appreciating the butter softness
of the leather seats and the in
tricately detailed styling of
its
dashboard.

“Did you buy this?” she asked when he pulled away from the curb.

“Why would I buy a car in L.A.?” he asked, sounding confused.

“I don’t know,”
she said
. “You’ve been here for awhile . . . maybe you’re planning to be here longer.”

“We already have a home and a car in New York,”
he said tersely.

Riley almost cried with relief. Here with him, it was becoming difficult to remember that she was angry with him, and that he had hurt her. He
was
different somehow. Almost humble.

“You feel like Thai food?” he asked after a moment, his voice softer.

“Sure.”

“You’re going to like this place,”
he said, sounding almost excited. “It’s even better than that place in SoHo you like to go to.”

“Better than Jasmine Garden?” Riley said. “I doubt it.”

“They have a lot more actual Thai people in L.A. than New York,” he said. “I wouldn’t put any bets on Jasmine Garden if I were you.”

“We’ll see,” Riley said, laughing.

Laughing. She was
laughing
with Shawn. It felt good.

The restaurant was a small hole-in-the-wall name
d Ginger. It had maybe only ten
tables, and
walking in,
it was hard to see how they could possibly make the rent. But once Riley tried their lemongrass chicken, she understood. The food was amazing. Granted, she was incredibly hungry, but there was no denying that Ginger was giving Jasmine Garden a run for its money. They didn’t speak at all as they ate, but the sil
ence wasn’t at all uncomfortable; probably because they were too busy enjoying the food.
Riley cleaned her plate and gave a satisfied groan once she was done, leaning back into her chair.