Authors: Mary Jane Clark
The Look of Love (3 page)
G
ridlock L.A. at Paramount Studios was the West Coast version of New York’s Times Square. Except, unlike the original, it wasn’t free. Thousands paid a hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars to party on the studio’s Manhattan set. Food and drink flowed as revelers danced and sang with DJs and live bands, welcoming in the New Year. The midnight countdown on the main stage led to wild cheering, falling confetti, and an impressive fireworks show.
Anastasia Fernands knew firsthand. She had covered the event the previous year. She was determined that this was going to be the last time.
She parked her blue Prius in an almost empty lot on Van Ness. In a little while, the lot would be packed. Anastasia was early. Whenever she could, she preferred to get her bearings before covering a story. She didn’t like surprises, though she didn’t expect any tonight.
Anastasia looked up into the dark sky and searched for a star.
Please let my wish come true.
She strolled around the Paramount lot. The buildings on the faux NYC streets were already bathed with red, green, and blue spotlights. A long red carpet was laid out to welcome VIPs, and a giant Ferris wheel waited to lift partiers into the air. Caterers were stocking the food stations. It was all pretty much the same as last year.
Anastasia looked at her watch. The old year was already over on the East Coast, but there were almost three more hours to go in L.A.
She vowed to herself that she was going to take her destiny into her own hands. That was her New Year’s resolution. No more waiting around for the powers at the paper to promote her. No more asking for permission to do a story only to have it denied because the topic wasn’t sexy enough. No more reporting for the Style section—though in this town more attention was paid to the Style section than to the headlines on the front page.
That wasn’t serious journalism.
She had a story that she wanted to cover. She’d been working on it for months, laying the groundwork. Doing the research had been difficult and painstaking, because nobody wanted to talk about the subject. It was a story that would make her editor sit up and pay attention, an investigative piece that Anastasia would be able to look at with pride.
She was using her vacation time and checking into Elysium.
H
e tossed, turned, and punched his pillow. Tired as he was, Jack could not fall asleep. He thought about Piper and the way the evening had ended. She was absolutely maddening, but as much as he sometimes wished it were otherwise, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He didn’t know exactly when his feelings for Piper had changed. But he did know that when she’d been in danger last month, he’d been wild with worry. When she ended up all right, he’d been weak with relief. Jack had pictured what life would be like without Piper in it. He didn’t like the view.
He couldn’t think of any other option but to be patient and hope that she came around to feeling the same way he did. Piper was worth the wait. He wasn’t going to call her. The ball was in her court.
Something else was bothering him. He didn’t like the idea of her taking the job in L.A. Though she wouldn’t be gone long, that business about the acid attack was disturbing. He didn’t want Piper to be even remotely associated with danger.
He wished he could keep her under surveillance. Jack was an expert at trailing suspects. But Piper wasn’t a terrorist or a criminal being tracked by the FBI. Following her every move would be stalking—weird and just plain wrong.
Resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, Jack turned on the light, got of bed, and went to the computer. He read up on Jillian Abernathy, the acid attack, and Elysium.
Then he looked up the definition of the word.
ELYSIUM: ANY PLACE OR CONDITION OF IDEAL BLISS OR COMPLETE HAPPINESS. PARADISE.
Good name for a spa,
he thought. Then he read the second definition.
IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY, A PLACE ASSIGNED TO VIRTUOUS PEOPLE AFTER DEATH.
P
iper let herself into the house and quietly made her way to her bedroom. The small night-light glowed in the upstairs hallway. A board creaked as Piper tiptoed forward. Emmett was sleeping on the floor in front of her parents’ room. He lifted his head from his paws, saw it was Piper, and then closed his eyes again.
As she undressed, Piper continued to replay the episode with Jack, keeping up the mental conversation with herself she had had the whole ride home. On the one hand, she was happy that Jack wanted to be with her; on the other, she was scared to go forward with a deeper, more committed relationship. Why couldn’t Jack understand that and give her some space?
Throwing her skirt on the chair, Piper decided: She could give herself the space. She was going to agree to make the wedding cake for Jillian Abernathy. The time away might give her some perspective.
Breathing room.
W
hat is the world coming to? Aren’t there any manners left? Sending an invitation like this in an e-mail?
DR. VERNON ABERNATHY AND IRENE WALLACE ABERNATHY
REQUEST THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY
AT THE MARRIAGE OF THEIR DAUGHTER
JILLIAN MARIE
TO
DR. BENJAMIN DIXON
AT THE GAZEBO AT ELYSIUM
ON SATURDAY THE FIFTEENTH OF JANUARY
AT FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON
AND AFTERWARD AT
THE RECEPTION.
An electronic wedding invitation was offensive. But the ceremony was just two weeks away. Not really enough time to send out engraved invitations and wait for the response cards.
Unfortunately, the acid missed its mark, but it was good that Jillian had canceled the wedding. It was a victory of sorts. Knowing that Jillian’s life had been turned upside down was satisfying.
But obviously the wedding hasn
’
t been canceled. Only postponed.
That poor Flores woman is scarred for life, and Jillian is carrying on with hers.
It isn’t right.
NEW YEAR’S DAY . . . FOURTEEN DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING
I
t was still dark outside.
Other people got to sleep late, lounge around in bed, and have the day off. Hudson Sherwood reached out to silence the alarm, sighing deeply and remembering the time when he was one of those people. No more.
Now holidays were just workdays. The Hollywood Haven Hotel was open seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Somebody had to staff the reception desk. Hudson got stuck with it most weekends.
Once, when he had complained, the hotel manager had shrugged, indifferent and unsympathetic. If Hudson didn’t like the way things were, he could try to get a job elsewhere. The manager knew that it would be easy to get another desk clerk. There were lots more people looking for jobs than there were available positions.
Hudson didn’t complain again.
As he showered, he thought about his days at Elysium. The spa had also been open year-round, but that hadn’t kept Hudson from being free on every single holiday. After all, he was the director. It was the staff, the underlings, who had to work on the holidays. Not Hudson.
Those were the days when he actually had things to do on the holidays. He would fly back east to visit his elderly mother. Or, if he stayed in Los Angeles, there were dinners and parties to attend. Once he lost his position at Elysium, he found that the invitations dried up. He came to realize that the people he’d thought were friends weren’t bothering with him anymore. They had included him because of what he did rather than who he was.
He turned off the water and grabbed a towel. After drying himself, Hudson wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. As he shaved, he almost didn’t recognize himself. His sharp features were even more pronounced because of the weight he’d lost. His complexion was pasty. His graying hair was receding more every day.
He dressed quickly, wincing as he always did when he put on the hotel jacket. A stiff uniform was fine for somebody else, but not for him. Considering his past, it was another indignity to be suffered.
Going to the kitchen, Hudson poured a bowl of Raisin Bran. He took it to the living room and sat on the sofa. He looked around the apartment. When he purchased it, he had still been working at Elysium. The furnishings reflected that. Nothing but the best. Now some of the upholstered pieces were faded and frayed, and the rooms could use a fresh coat of paint, but basically the place looked pretty good. He loved his apartment. He prayed all the time that he wouldn’t have to sell it.
He worried about it constantly. He had gone through all his savings. After his mother died, Hudson discovered she’d taken a reverse mortgage on her house, which left only a few thousand dollars’ inheritance. That money, too, went quickly.
His credit cards were maxed out, and he was friendless and embarrassed about how far he’d fallen. He didn’t belong in Los Angeles anymore. He wasn’t beautiful enough or young enough or connected enough.
Losing his position at Elysium had started the downward spiral. For a while he’d found work at a less prestigious spa, but he hadn’t been able to conceal his contempt for the place. After a few months, he was fired. The next spa he worked at was even worse.
When he lost that position, Hudson decided to try fine hotels. But his anger and resentment sabotaged any success and led to still more dismissals.
Each successive job was another step downward. And for that there was only one person to blame.
T
he firm knock on the bedroom door was followed by her mother’s call from the hallway. “You better get up, Piper. Robert and Zara are coming for brunch at noon.”
Piper rolled over and moaned. What a way to start the new year. Zara was her sister-in-law, but she was also one of Piper’s least favorite people. The idea of spending the afternoon with her was unappealing at best, nauseating at worst.
What did Robert see in that woman? Piper would feel sorry for her older brother if he didn’t seem so inexplicably pleased with his wife. Whatever. Who was
she
to decide what made a relationship work? She couldn’t get one right herself.
Piper reached over and grabbed her BlackBerry from the bedside table. Checking it, she found she had no missed calls or new voice messages. Jack hadn’t called.
She sighed.
He’ll call eventually, right?
Determined not to analyze the events of the night before, Piper logged onto Facebook and updated her status.
SO I’M THINKING A LITTLE WORKING VACAY IS THE PERFECT WAY TO START THE NEW YEAR!
IDEAS?
F
reshly showered and dressed in a red Urban Outfitters sweater and black leggings, Piper bounded down the short staircase that led from the bedrooms to the living area of the house. Her parents were in the kitchen. Vin was having a cup of coffee with the newspaper spread out before him on the table. Terri was washing and slicing fruit at the sink. Platters of crumb cake and bagels were on the counter, along with a French-toast casserole ready to be put into the oven.
Piper gave both her parents kisses. “Happy New Year,” she said, picking off a piece of crumb cake.
“You, too, sweetheart,” said Terri, followed by a cry as she pulled up the knife. “Oh, great. I just cut myself.”
Piper felt a catch in her throat. The news that her mother had macular degeneration was relatively fresh. Cutting a finger was an accident anyone could have. It was a common thing. But now Piper automatically thought it was because of her mother’s failing eyesight.
“Here, Mom. Let me.” Piper stood next to her mother, gently nudging her aside.
“I can do it,” said Terri. “Don’t baby me, Piper. I’m warning you.”
“I know you can,” said Piper. “But I want to help. You do something else.”
“Everything’s pretty much done,” said Terri, handing the knife to her daughter. “I’m going upstairs for a Band-Aid.”
Piper finished trimming the strawberries and washed a pint of blueberries, combining them in a glass bowl. Then she cut a melon into bite-size cubes.
“The crown prince and his fair maiden are late,” she observed, glancing at the wall clock. “Can’t they ever come on time?”
Vin shrugged, still engrossed in the newspaper. “What can I tell you?”
“It’s just rude,” said Piper.
“Forget it, lovey. Don’t get the year off on the wrong foot.”
“A little too late for that.”
Vin looked up. “What’s wrong?”
While Piper actually wanted to talk about what had happened with Jack, she knew it was better not to bring her father into it. Vin wasn’t exactly impartial when it came to his daughter. There was a definite chance he’d find a way to hold Jack accountable if Vin thought Jack had hurt his little girl.
But in reality it was she who’d done the hurting.
“Nothing,” said Piper as the doorbell rang.
B
efore they even sat down to eat, Robert blurted it out.
“Zara and I are having a baby.”
The room filled with a roar of celebration. The grin on her brother’s face was contagious. Piper beamed as her parents, and then she, hugged and kissed Robert and Zara. Her sister-in-law smiled wanly, her face colorless.
“That’s the most wonderful news!” cried Terri. “When?”
“August,” Robert said with pride.
Piper did the mental math. Wasn’t there something about waiting till a pregnancy was three months along before telling people? The baby’s conception had barely happened. Leave it to her brother to jump the gun.
“I’m going to be a grandmother!” Terri squealed with delight. She turned to her husband and hugged him. “And you’re going to be a grandpa.”
Piper watched her father’s face. She could almost see his mental wheels spinning, calculating what could go wrong and what kind of precautions would have to taken to ensure that his grandchild was safe. Her mother often recounted how thorough her father had been when Robert and Piper were little, how he would lie awake at night after completing his police shift, worrying—not about the thugs and criminals he dealt with on the streets of New York City but about the safety of his children.
Vin went beyond taking merely the standard precautions in the Donovan household, like making sure electrical outlets were covered and chemical-filled household products were stashed well out of reach. He constantly read and researched, determined that his children would be buckled into the best car seats, smeared with the best sunscreen, fed the most nutritious baby food. He was always on the watch for alerts about recalled products. He routinely checked all their toys to make sure none was broken or had pieces that could be choking hazards. He also made sure that the thermostat on the heater was set so that water could never get hot enough to scald. He insisted that Terri start the kids in swimming lessons before they were even walking.
Besides the standard ipecac, calamine lotion, Bactine, and Pedialyte, the medicine cabinet was stocked with first-aid manuals, burn pads, antiseptic wipes, every manner of adhesive bandage, microshields, cold packs, hot packs, latex gloves, and, even though neither child had any allergies, EpiPens, which he also insisted be available in the glove compartment of both family cars. Piper could still remember that every year, along with getting new shoes and school supplies, she would also get a new emergency kit that her father would make up for her to carry in her book bag. He would go over the contents of the kit with her, explaining the use of each item. Sometimes Piper had been frightened at the things her father told her, but he always reassured her.
“Almost everything can be made all right, lovey. The main thing is to be prepared.”
Relatives and friends shook their heads and laughed at Vin’s obsession with emergency preparedness. Vin Donovan couldn’t have cared less about what they thought. The most important thing to him was the safety of his family.
Piper knew that her father was going to be less than thrilled when she told him she was definitely going out to Los Angeles to make a wedding cake for a bride whom somebody had tried to kill.
A
fter the proud parents-to-be left, Piper and her father cleaned up while Terri began making telephone calls to share the exciting news that she was going to be a grandmother. When the last dish was put away, Piper went up to her room. She looked at the clock, calculated that it was noon on the West Coast, and decided it wasn’t too early to call Jillian Abernathy.
The phone was answered after the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Is this Jillian?”
“Yes?” The voice sounded wary.
“This is Piper Donovan. You sent me a message about making your wedding cake.”
“Oh, Piper.” The voice sounded relieved. “It’s great to hear from you. Happy New Year!”
“Thanks. Same to you,” said Piper. “It looks like you’re really starting it off in a big way.”
Jillian laughed. “Ah, yes, the wedding. I hope you’re calling to tell me you’ll make our cake.”
“Actually, I have a few questions,” said Piper.
“Sure. What are they?”
“How many people are you having?” Piper asked.
“I’m not exactly sure yet, but definitely less than a hundred. Ben and I don’t want a huge wedding. We want it to be a relatively quiet affair. “
“Oh, that’s good,” said Piper, “because I know I can make a cake that will be big enough to serve a hundred. I want to be up front with you. This would be only the second wedding cake I’ve ever made.”
“Well, you wouldn’t know it from the looks of the one you did for Glenna Brooks,” said Jillian. “Hers was amazing. My stepmother wants us to use one of the well-known bakeries out here, but I’d so much rather have you.”
“Oh. Well, thank you,” said Piper. “Did you have anything particular in mind for yours?”
“I’m pretty open-minded about how it would be decorated,” said Jillian. “But there is a flavor we’d like. We want a pumpkin cake.”
“Wow, that’s original!” said Piper as her mind raced. Her mother had a fantastic recipe for pumpkin cake.
“Actually, Piper, I was wondering if you would be willing to let someone else make the cake itself and you put it together and decorate it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Piper.
“Well, my sister is a nun, and her convent supports itself by selling pumpkin bread made in their kitchen. It would mean a great deal to us to include the convent in our wedding in some way, though none of the nuns will be able to attend, since they’re cloistered. They
are
willing to make the cake for us. We think the publicity they could get from this might bring more attention to their pumpkin-bread business.”
“Sorry, I’m a little confused,” said Piper. “I thought you wanted a quiet wedding—that you didn’t want attention.”
“That’s right,” said Jillian. “I don’t. But I’m sure we’re going to get it anyway.”