do the talking,” Victoria instructed, cutting in front of Nikki as they approached the front door.
Somewhere between her boudoir and the gate, Victoria had located a tube of pink lipstick and managed to apply it perfectly. Nikki considered asking to borrow it, but her mother wasn’t in the mood to acquiesce, even an inch.
“We’re just going to offer our condolences,” Nikki explained. “And see if there’s anything we can do.” She hurried to catch up as her mother reached the glass-and-iron door. “We’ll only stay twenty minutes.”
“Right.” Victoria rang the doorbell, which played Mozart’s Eine kleine Nachtmusik . “I’ll make nice, you snoop around.”
“ Mother ,” Nikki warned as the video monitor mounted to the right of the door blinked on.
A young blond woman’s face appeared on the screen. Her eyes were red from crying. “May I help you?”
“Hi,” Nikki said, feeling awkward. She leaned closer to the camera and monitor, balancing the plate and jar of caviar. “I’m Nikki—”
“Nikki Harper,” the woman said. “From next door.”
Victoria shouldered her way in front of her daughter. “We’ve come to offer our condolences to the family and bring a little something.” She smiled into the camera.
“Ms. Bordeaux!” The young woman’s face lit up. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here. Can you hang on just a minute? I’ll be right there.”
It wasn’t more than a minute before the door opened and the young woman appeared in person. She was tall and skinny and looked like every other young woman in L.A.—bleached blond, flat-ironed hair, and double-D enhancement.
“Thank you so much for coming,” the woman gushed. “I know they’ll be glad to see you.” She moved a crumpled tissue from one hand to the other and offered her hand. “I’m Ashley Carter, Ms. Bernard’s assistant. Ginny’s ,” she qualified. Melinda had kept her last name after Abe had divorced her, Marshall had once told Nikki, which annoyed the hell out of Ginny.
With the caviar in one hand and the plate of toast points in the other, Nikki had no free hand to shake with the assistant.
Victoria thrust out her hand; she was wearing a ring with an emerald the size of a robin’s egg. It had been a gift from husband number three . . . or perhaps four. Nikki couldn’t recall.
“A real pleasure to meet you,” Victoria said. Without waiting to be asked in, she entered the foyer, which was tiled in limestone with slate insets. “How are they doing?” she asked quietly.
“As well as can be expected.” The assistant patted her eyes with the tissue, obviously impressed by Victoria Bordeaux’s presence, but trying not to appear so. “It’s such a shock to Mr. Bernard, his only son. . . . And Mrs. Bernard, of course. Both Ms. Bernards, of course,” she added awkwardly.
“Of course.” Victoria offered her million-dollar smile. It was that smile that had taken her from an ordinary teenager on a stool in a soda shop on Sunset, to an Oscar-nominated actress living in Beverly Hills. The smile, and the curvaceous figure, which was still pretty darned curvaceous, considering her age. “We brought a little something to nibble on.”
Ashley accepted the plate and jar of caviar from Nikki. “They’re right this way. We’ve been fielding phone calls all day, Mr. Bernard’s assistant, Jason, and I, but he went home with a migraine. I’m supposed to be turning everyone away. Just family and friends allowed tonight. I know Mr. Bernard will want to see you.” She halted in front of closed French doors that led to one of the two formal rooms built off the grand, paneled hallway. “Could you?” she asked, realizing she couldn’t hold on to the snack and open the door.
“Thank you, dear,” Victoria said kindly, patting the assistant on the arm. “Why don’t you find a nice little silver bowl for that caviar and we’ll show ourselves in?”
The assistant beamed at the attention and
Somewhere between her boudoir and the gate, Victoria had located a tube of pink lipstick and managed to apply it perfectly. Nikki considered asking to borrow it, but her mother wasn’t in the mood to acquiesce, even an inch.
“We’re just going to offer our condolences,” Nikki explained. “And see if there’s anything we can do.” She hurried to catch up as her mother reached the glass-and-iron door. “We’ll only stay twenty minutes.”
“Right.” Victoria rang the doorbell, which played Mozart’s Eine kleine Nachtmusik . “I’ll make nice, you snoop around.”
“ Mother ,” Nikki warned as the video monitor mounted to the right of the door blinked on.
A young blond woman’s face appeared on the screen. Her eyes were red from crying. “May I help you?”
“Hi,” Nikki said, feeling awkward. She leaned closer to the camera and monitor, balancing the plate and jar of caviar. “I’m Nikki—”
“Nikki Harper,” the woman said. “From next door.”
Victoria shouldered her way in front of her daughter. “We’ve come to offer our condolences to the family and bring a little something.” She smiled into the camera.
“Ms. Bordeaux!” The young woman’s face lit up. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here. Can you hang on just a minute? I’ll be right there.”
It wasn’t more than a minute before the door opened and the young woman appeared in person. She was tall and skinny and looked like every other young woman in L.A.—bleached blond, flat-ironed hair, and double-D enhancement.
“Thank you so much for coming,” the woman gushed. “I know they’ll be glad to see you.” She moved a crumpled tissue from one hand to the other and offered her hand. “I’m Ashley Carter, Ms. Bernard’s assistant. Ginny’s ,” she qualified. Melinda had kept her last name after Abe had divorced her, Marshall had once told Nikki, which annoyed the hell out of Ginny.
With the caviar in one hand and the plate of toast points in the other, Nikki had no free hand to shake with the assistant.
Victoria thrust out her hand; she was wearing a ring with an emerald the size of a robin’s egg. It had been a gift from husband number three . . . or perhaps four. Nikki couldn’t recall.
“A real pleasure to meet you,” Victoria said. Without waiting to be asked in, she entered the foyer, which was tiled in limestone with slate insets. “How are they doing?” she asked quietly.
“As well as can be expected.” The assistant patted her eyes with the tissue, obviously impressed by Victoria Bordeaux’s presence, but trying not to appear so. “It’s such a shock to Mr. Bernard, his only son. . . . And Mrs. Bernard, of course. Both Ms. Bernards, of course,” she added awkwardly.
“Of course.” Victoria offered her million-dollar smile. It was that smile that had taken her from an ordinary teenager on a stool in a soda shop on Sunset, to an Oscar-nominated actress living in Beverly Hills. The smile, and the curvaceous figure, which was still pretty darned curvaceous, considering her age. “We brought a little something to nibble on.”
Ashley accepted the plate and jar of caviar from Nikki. “They’re right this way. We’ve been fielding phone calls all day, Mr. Bernard’s assistant, Jason, and I, but he went home with a migraine. I’m supposed to be turning everyone away. Just family and friends allowed tonight. I know Mr. Bernard will want to see you.” She halted in front of closed French doors that led to one of the two formal rooms built off the grand, paneled hallway. “Could you?” she asked, realizing she couldn’t hold on to the snack and open the door.
“Thank you, dear,” Victoria said kindly, patting the assistant on the arm. “Why don’t you find a nice little silver bowl for that caviar and we’ll show ourselves in?”
The assistant beamed at the attention and
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