Designer Genes (21 page)

Buffy’s
thoughts shifted to the evening ahead. During her marriage to Roger, they’d
attended a number of promotional, charity and fashion-related events. Private
parties hosted by entertainment moguls, however, were new to her.

There would be
big-name guests, the glitterati who’d long inhabited her dreams. The idea of
mingling with them left her short of breath, like a little girl on Christmas
morning who’d played too long with her new trampoline.

She intended
to study the rising stars and behind-the-scenes talent, to learn their tastes
so she could win them as clients for her future dress shop. Maybe not too far
in the future, if she wrung a decent settlement from Roger.

Yet despite
her star-struck eagerness, she wasn’t nearly as excited about opening a
boutique on Rodeo Drive as she used to be. Visions of the empty store next to
Gigi’s kept flashing across her brain, along with the faces of the eager
customers she’d met in Texas. How frustrating! She couldn’t build a life in
Nowhere Junction without Carter. And unless he got struck by lightning, he
wasn’t likely to fall in love with her in the few days before they went to
court.

“I’d do
anything for my little girl, even make a fool of myself in church.”
Tears
stung at the memory of his words. She blinked them ruthlessly aside.

Fifteen
minutes later, Charisse whipped her car into the circular driveway of an estate
in the hills above Sunset Boulevard. The mansion rising majestically before
them might have belonged to an English lord, with dark beams crisscrossing its
stone walls and a turret rising to the full two-story height. Uniformed valets
opened the doors and Buffy found herself handed out into the glare of
spotlights. Charisse spoke to a man with a guest list. He nodded in recognition
without glancing at the names, which meant he must have memorized them.

How classy.
But a guest list wouldn’t be necessary in Nowhere Junction, People just knew
each other. And invited everybody, too.

“I’m thrilled
you two came.” The redhead linked arms with Buffy and Carter as they mounted
the broad steps. “Can you imagine me arriving all by my lonesome?”

“Thanks for
inviting us,” Carter replied. “Can’t wait to see who-all’s here.”

Why was he
looking forward to a boring evening with a bunch of people he didn’t know, even
if some of them might be famous? Carter wasn’t the starry-eyed type. And
without scriptwriters, she’d heard that actors had little to say.

Zeppa was more
interesting than most of them, Buffy suspected. And she doubted there was a
celebrity chef as creative as Finella.

They entered
an enormous foyer, its floor faced with marble and its walls with suggestive
paintings, some bordering on pornographic. From there opened a series of vast
rooms decorated in ornate Italian style. Waiters circulated with trays of hors
d’oeuvres, and Buffy spotted several buffet tables and bars. Somewhere, a band
was playing a rumba or a samba or some other Latin rhythm.

As they moved
deeper into the house, she saw that the guests wore a range of styles from
sloppy cut-offs to formal attire. Wishing she had a cell phone and dared snap
pictures, Buffy mentally cataloged the fabrics, cuts and colors, reckoning
which could be adapted or improved upon to suit the budgets and tastes of her
future customers. Except, which future customers would those be?

As she plucked
a crab-stuffed mushroom from a passing tray, she wondered how the folks in
Nowhere Junction would react to this scene. Finella would pick the oddest
ingredients from the buffet and combine them. As for Horace Popsworthy, he’d
bluster about the low-cut dresses and, with his eyes bulging, propose a law
banning them. As for Zeppa, she’d give an earful to a pregnant lady who
appeared to be sipping champagne. Buffy hoped it was nonalcoholic.

Slipping
through the crowd and keeping her attention on the costumes, Buffy arrived at a
long porch that overlooked the formal gardens. In the moonlight, a huge marble
fountain sparkled, and guests filled their glasses with champagne from its
pool.

It wasn’t a
very practical way to distribute a bubbly liquid, she reflected. If Brandon
Brinn wanted to impress people, he ought to impress them with his taste, not
his waste.

Buffy saw
their host near the fountain, wearing a rust-colored silk suit that might be
one of Roger’s designs. And there was Roger himself, wearing a similar suit in
turquoise, talking to Brandon. What were they discussing so intently?

Buffy swung
around to ask Carter’s opinion. To her left stood a well-known network
executive with a rock ’n’ roll diva on his arm. A few steps away, a classic
actress who had starred in one of Buffy’s favorite films was loudly discussing
investments with a man in a three-piece suit.

This was the
kind of scene she’d dreamed of while growing up not too far away, living in a
dump of an apartment with a magical view of a movie billboard. Gazing at those
beautiful faces, she’d yearned to hear their voices in person and to luxuriate
in their auras.

Now all she
could do was wonder where Carter had gone. She’d assumed he was following.
Apparently, he’d gone his own way.

Buffy headed
toward an adjacent chamber to search for him. On the threshold, she stopped.

Across the
room, Carter stood next to Charisse, who was gesturing animatedly. His body
framed the redhead’s and his gaze was fixed on her face.

Buffy’s jaw
tightened. She didn’t think Carter was the type to jump from woman to woman,
yet it hurt to see those two together.

She was about
to go investigate when the music stopped. Over a speaker, the voice of Brandon
Brinn said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve invited you here because I have an
important announcement to make.”

With a sharp
intake of breath, Buffy wondered if this had something to do with Roger.

*

At their first
meeting, Carter had considered Buffy a scatterbrain. She was, he now conceded,
a Nobel laureate compared to this goofy redhead, who couldn’t string five words
together without breaking off to coo over someone’s hair or choice of escort.
She’d introduced him to a couple of people in passing, none of whom had
impressed him. One man had scanned Carter’s casual clothing and asked if he was
a writer. When Carter said no, that he was an auto mechanic, the man laughed as
if it were a big joke.

“Nobody’s an
auto mechanic,” he’d snorted.

“Who fixes
your car?” had been the obvious question.

“It’s a
hybrid. I think that means it fixes itself.”

Charisse had
nodded solemnly. “That’s right.”

Carter hoped
they married and produced many small hybrids, all considerably smarter than
their parents.

After that
nonsensical discussion, he’d have gone off on his own, but he couldn’t risk
parting with Charisse yet. Sifting through her chatter, he’d gleaned a precious
tidbit— Roger was launching a production company. Carter needed to find out
more, including who was putting up the money.

While he was
trying to pry information out of her, Louise sailed toward them, her face
creased with exasperation. “That son of mine gave me the slip. Have you seen
him?”

“I’m afraid
not.” Anything further Carter might have said was drowned out by an amplified
male voice.

“Ladies and
gentlemen, I have an announcement to make....”

The man
stopped, then said, apparently to someone near him, “But we agreed...” The
sound clicked off, then on. “I guess I’m a little premature. All I can tell you
is we’re celebrating a major production deal. It’ll be a package of
style-oriented reality shows and bio-pics about famous figures from the fashion
field. Sorry, folks, but you’ll have to read the details in the trades, uh—”
another pause “—next week. Meanwhile, enjoy yourselves. Magicians and acrobats
will be on deck in just a minute.”

“Oh, pooh!”
Charisse said. “Roger promised that Brandon would mention our company.”

Louise’s eyes
narrowed. “What company?”

“Charger
Productions,” she said. “See, it’s a combination of my name and Roger’s.” In
case they didn’t get it, she added, “Charisse and Roger equals Charger.”

“Are you his
next wife?” Louise asked.

“Don’t be silly.
He’s too old for me.” The red-haired woman broke off to smile at a Latin pop
star, who bowed courteously.

Carter
couldn’t let her stop now. “Who’s chairman of the board of Charger
Productions?”

“I am,”
Charisse said. “It’s on the incorporation papers.”

“How about the
chief executive officer?”

“
C’est moi,
”
she admitted.

“And chief
financial officer?”

“That’s me,
too.”

“Do you know
anything about finance beyond balancing a checkbook?” Louise demanded.

“Nobody uses a
checkbook these days,” Charisse said. “And why would you have to balance it?”

Louise smacked
herself in the forehead.

“Why is Roger
putting your name on all the executive positions if you aren’t going to fill
them?” Carter asked.

She waved a
head dismissively. “It’s a technicality. He promised to help me transition from
modeling to acting if I’d do him this one little bitty favor.”

“You’re the
front,” Louise growled.

The young
woman bristled. “What do you mean, front?”

“She means,
he’s putting up the money under your name,” Carter said.

“What’s wrong
with that? He said that production companies headed by women are hot right
now.” Charisse plucked a shred of lint off her blue bodice. “Roger has this
wonderful network deal lined up. Don’t you think he’s brilliant?”

“He’s
brilliant, all right,” said the mother of the biggest louse in Hollywood.

Carter needed
another detail. “Where are Charger’s headquarters?”

“In Newport
Beach. That’s in Orange County, south of L.A.,” Charisse said.

Pieces went
ching-ching-ching into place in Carter’s mind. At last he knew how, what and
where. That was enough information to enable him, or Boyce Fringo, to follow
the not-very-well-hidden money trail.

Three cherries
meant Carter had hit the jackpot. As for Roger Arden, he’d drawn three lemons.
He just didn’t know it yet.

*

“Charisse
promised not to tell Roger what we learned.” Carter’s face shone with
excitement as he paced around Buffy’s bedroom. “We assured her he must be
saving it as a birthday surprise for his mother.”

“When’s her
birthday?”

“Who knows?
Charisse didn’t ask.”

He’d been
practically bursting ever since Buffy found him again at the party. She was
surprised how ready she’d been to leave the glamorous event and how glad to be
alone with him and Allie. The party hadn’t been nearly as much fun as she’d expected.

In the taxi on
the way home, Carter had revealed that Roger was hiding his money in a
corporation formed under Charisse’s name. The jerk must have figured that, once
his court case with Buffy was settled, he could afford to go public. Perhaps
he’d meant to cut his mother in on the deal. On the other hand, he might have
assumed she wouldn’t read the trade papers once she returned to Cincinnati.

“I hope it
means I can keep custody.” She rocked the sleepy baby in her arms.

“It had
better. And a lot more.” Carter let out a whoop. “Not a bad night’s work for a
country boy.”

Buffy had to
admit that she’d misjudged him when she’d suggested he was in over his head.
He’d certainly gotten the drop on Roger.

Carter resumed
pacing. “I wish it was tomorrow morning already so I could call your lawyer and
set the wheels rolling.”

Buffy rested
her cheek atop Allie’s fuzzy hair. She didn’t wish it was tomorrow, or any
other time in the future. Carter was with her now, and she longed for him to
stay that way.

He swiveled
toward her. “Hey, I’m forgetting what’s important, aren’t I?”

“What’s that?”
Her hopes rose.

“I have a
request.” As he hesitated, he seemed more like the Carter of old, the shy one
who’d regarded Buffy as if she were too wonderful to touch.

“Ask away.”
Her skin quivered as he sat on the bed beside her. She inhaled his masculine
fragrance with a deep sense of yearning.

“Would you—I
mean, do you think, once all this is resolved...” He cleared his throat.

She was
tempted to shake him.
Ask me! Ask me anything and I’ll say yes. To move back
in with you. To marry you. To live in sin with you. Just say you love me, you
wonderful idiot.

“Would you
consider moving back to Nowhere Junction?” he asked. “If things go as I expect,
you’ll be able to afford your own shop. You’ve made friends there, and it would
mean a lot to me.”

“It would?”

“To have Allie
nearby,” he said. “I want to be a real father to her. That’s what matters
most.”

“And
that’s…all?”

“You bet.”

Buffy felt as
if trucks were smashing into each other along the highways of her heart.
Vehicles collided, loads spilled, flames leaped and sirens wailed. All routes
were blocked until further notice.

She missed
Nowhere Junction, and she couldn’t imagine how much she was going to miss
Carter. But how could she bear to let this man shatter her heart, one day at a
time?

Still, he’d
invited her. Maybe she owed it to Allie. And how could she deny herself the
chance to be close to the man she loved, to hold him once in a while and see
that warm, lazy smile spread across his face?

If she ran a
store in Beverly Hills, all she’d be doing was trying to lure people who wished
they could afford to shop somewhere else. Opening a boutique in Nowhere
Junction meant filling a genuine need.

Carter was
right. His town was the perfect place to raise a little girl. It was perfect
for a big one, too, even if it hurt to know that the most precious thing of
all, his love, remained elusive.