There’s not a lot in it!” She laughed, finally unearthing a pen from the depths of her purse and scribbling down her number.
Tucking it into his pocket, Adam signaled a passing waiter for the check as Loretta hugged Annie goodbye.
“Who was that woman?” India asked while the trio waited under the awning for a valet to bring Adam’s car around.
Annie lowered her voice. “That, my darling, was no woman. I guess you haven’t been to Vegas in a long time. Best drag act in town.”
India’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “You mean…?”
Adam nodded. “Exactly. What happens in Brazil, stays in Brazil.”
Annie fell asleep on the drive home while India gazed out the window, daydreaming. Can you daydream in the dead of night? she wondered as Robert pulled past the Bel Air gates and delivered them to the front door.
“Go straight to bed,” India said, steering Annie out of the car, into the house and toward the stairs. “I’ll take care of the lights and alarm. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, darling. I’m too tired for words,” Annie said, kissing her and walking, slowly, up the stairs.
Just as India was trying to figure out which button to push without setting off the sirens, her phone rang. Racing across the hall to the table, she grabbed it from her purse.
“So I hope I’m not calling too soon,” said the gravelly voice on the other end. “How ’bout I pick you up at ten for breakfast at Urth on Melrose. They make a killer latte.”
“Perfect,” India replied. “Great!”
“Cool. Have a good sleep and see you then,” he said.
“You, too,” she replied, in what she fervently hoped was a sultry tone.
India walked across the lawn as if in a trance. Did I sound too available? she asked herself. Should I have said I was busy? Did I really say “perfect”? Maybe I said “great.” Yes, I definitely said “great” … I should have said “cool”…
Once inside, India brushed her teeth, then, without taking her usual shower, she put on her nightdress and sank into the freshly ironed sheets. What to wear? It would have to be casual, but what was “coffee casual”? She was going to get it right this time, blow him away with her casualness. Her meandering thoughts trailed off into a gentle fog as she snuggled down to sleep.
PROFOUND THOUGHTS NOTE – Ohmygod.
“Coffee’s made, darling,” Annabelle shouted. “OK, Clooney,” she snapped, grabbing the panting dog by the collar and attaching the leash. “Bloody dog walker didn’t show today. I’ll be about an hour. OK, Clooney. Let’s go.”
India stepped out of the way carefully, remembering Annie had told her the other night that the dog was taking tranquilizers because he’d nipped one of the kids. She’d been stunned to hear they’d hired a professional dog therapist who was taking notes on Clooney’s moods.
The dog’s got a shrink! she’d thought. That gives whole new meaning to the expression “barking mad.”
Blowing on her coffee as she sat at the kitchen desk, India loaded Google onto the wide-screen Mac and typed in “Adam Brooks.”
“Shit!” she muttered, wiping hot coffee off Annie’s glasses case and turning back to the screen.
“Oh my God!” There was a photo of Adam striding out of the ocean like some sea god, toting a surfboard, his six-pack glistening in the sun, his wetsuit clinging to his thighs. Skimming through the info on his career, she read: “Born in 1965, film actor, best known for his portrayal of…” She moved ahead to “Personal Life.”
“Briefly married in 1993 to Chloe Depardu, the French TV presenter… FRENCH TV presenter?” she muttered. “This is bad … really bad.”
Yanking her phone out of her dressing-gown pocket, she speed-dialed Sarah.
“It’s me again. Okay, I’m online and I just found out Adam was married to some basket-carrying, scarf-tying French TV presenter. If she couldn’t hold on to him, what chance have I got?”
“Breathe,” Sarah said calmly.
Tucking it into his pocket, Adam signaled a passing waiter for the check as Loretta hugged Annie goodbye.
“Who was that woman?” India asked while the trio waited under the awning for a valet to bring Adam’s car around.
Annie lowered her voice. “That, my darling, was no woman. I guess you haven’t been to Vegas in a long time. Best drag act in town.”
India’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “You mean…?”
Adam nodded. “Exactly. What happens in Brazil, stays in Brazil.”
Annie fell asleep on the drive home while India gazed out the window, daydreaming. Can you daydream in the dead of night? she wondered as Robert pulled past the Bel Air gates and delivered them to the front door.
“Go straight to bed,” India said, steering Annie out of the car, into the house and toward the stairs. “I’ll take care of the lights and alarm. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, darling. I’m too tired for words,” Annie said, kissing her and walking, slowly, up the stairs.
Just as India was trying to figure out which button to push without setting off the sirens, her phone rang. Racing across the hall to the table, she grabbed it from her purse.
“So I hope I’m not calling too soon,” said the gravelly voice on the other end. “How ’bout I pick you up at ten for breakfast at Urth on Melrose. They make a killer latte.”
“Perfect,” India replied. “Great!”
“Cool. Have a good sleep and see you then,” he said.
“You, too,” she replied, in what she fervently hoped was a sultry tone.
India walked across the lawn as if in a trance. Did I sound too available? she asked herself. Should I have said I was busy? Did I really say “perfect”? Maybe I said “great.” Yes, I definitely said “great” … I should have said “cool”…
Once inside, India brushed her teeth, then, without taking her usual shower, she put on her nightdress and sank into the freshly ironed sheets. What to wear? It would have to be casual, but what was “coffee casual”? She was going to get it right this time, blow him away with her casualness. Her meandering thoughts trailed off into a gentle fog as she snuggled down to sleep.
PROFOUND THOUGHTS NOTE – Ohmygod.
“Coffee’s made, darling,” Annabelle shouted. “OK, Clooney,” she snapped, grabbing the panting dog by the collar and attaching the leash. “Bloody dog walker didn’t show today. I’ll be about an hour. OK, Clooney. Let’s go.”
India stepped out of the way carefully, remembering Annie had told her the other night that the dog was taking tranquilizers because he’d nipped one of the kids. She’d been stunned to hear they’d hired a professional dog therapist who was taking notes on Clooney’s moods.
The dog’s got a shrink! she’d thought. That gives whole new meaning to the expression “barking mad.”
Blowing on her coffee as she sat at the kitchen desk, India loaded Google onto the wide-screen Mac and typed in “Adam Brooks.”
“Shit!” she muttered, wiping hot coffee off Annie’s glasses case and turning back to the screen.
“Oh my God!” There was a photo of Adam striding out of the ocean like some sea god, toting a surfboard, his six-pack glistening in the sun, his wetsuit clinging to his thighs. Skimming through the info on his career, she read: “Born in 1965, film actor, best known for his portrayal of…” She moved ahead to “Personal Life.”
“Briefly married in 1993 to Chloe Depardu, the French TV presenter… FRENCH TV presenter?” she muttered. “This is bad … really bad.”
Yanking her phone out of her dressing-gown pocket, she speed-dialed Sarah.
“It’s me again. Okay, I’m online and I just found out Adam was married to some basket-carrying, scarf-tying French TV presenter. If she couldn’t hold on to him, what chance have I got?”
“Breathe,” Sarah said calmly.
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