“Breathe.”
“Sarah, nobody loses out to a French woman. It’s just one of those rules.”
“Maybe she left him? Did you think of that?”
“That’s even worse. He’s probably still trying to get over her and listening to some Carla Bruni CD as we speak.”
“Hang on, India. I’m googling. Aha! Scroll down the page. See? It was EIGHT years ago. That’s practically the Paleolithic Age in Hollywood. I bet he doesn’t even remember what she looks like…”
“Oh my God! Check out her boobs,” India muttered. “He’ll remember those for sure. Shit. It’s almost ten o’clock and I’m not even dressed.”
“Go for it, girl.” Sarah laughed as they both clicked off.
India raced upstairs to Annabelle’s closet. Five minutes later, she heard the roar of a car in the driveway. Pouring herself into a pair of skintight jeans (with some stretch, thank God), she grabbed a sleeveless white shirt and peeked out the window to the driveway, where Adam sat in a gunmetal gray Porsche convertible. Yanking her hair into a clip, she dashed downstairs and scribbled Annie a note. Stopping for a moment in front of the hall mirror, she caught sight of Adam’s full-blown image still on the computer screen. She opened the front door and slowly, ever so slowly, closed it tightly behind her.
“I heard you arrive,” she said, casually. “Thought I’d save you coming in.”
“Hey!” He grinned as she headed for the left side of the car. “Are you planning to drive?”
“Oops,” she muttered, running around to the passenger side. “I’m still not used to how you all drive on the wrong side of the road.”
Bending her knees, she slipped as graciously as possible into the low tilted seat.
“Carmen, okay?” Adam smiled, fiddling with the sound system.
“Perfect,” she said, nodding. “I love Italian music.”
As they drove down Bellagio and onto Sunset, India soaked up the scenery: So many palm trees, she thought. So why no coco-nuts? The thrill of being so near him was giving her palpitations. As Adam turned onto Melrose past a row of antiquarian bookstores and interior design boutiques, she smiled.
“What’s funny?” he asked, pulling into a space beneath the white veranda of Urth Caffé.
“Urth,” she said, pointing to the sign, “I imagined it was spelt ‘e-a-r-t-h.’”
“Ha! ‘Earth,’ right! Never even noticed.” He led her up the stairs, the waitress gazing at him adoringly as she escorted them to a quiet table above a tree-lined side street.
“So,” Adam ventured, before his voice was drowned out by a pack of bikers swinging round the corner revving their engines and India was left trying to read his lips.
“I forgot,” Adam said, apologetically. “It’s Saturday. Let’s get out of here.”
Steering her back down the stairs, he shouted in her ear. “How much time’ve you got?”
“All the time in the world,” she shouted back. “I’m on vacation.”
“Cool,” he said as they backed out of the parking space. “I’ll take the scenic route in that case … Brooks Tours at your service!”
“Thank you, Mr. Brooks.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned.
“Just look at that sky and that ocean,” India said with a gasp as the car swung down the California Incline. The panorama of crumbling bluffs and endlessly blue ocean almost took her breath away. As they sped along the Pacific Coast Highway she watched the surfers climb up against the white foam of crashing waves before riding them in. She freeze-framed the moment. On the crest of a wave, she thought, contentedly, That’s how I feel right now.
Adam’s voice and a sudden stop brought her back to Earth.
“Okay. Latte good for you?” he said, climbing out of the car at Malibu Creek and heading toward the Marmalade Café. Minutes later, he reappeared with two cardboard trays and a squashy white paper bag. “Careful, it’s hot,” he warned her. “We’re almost there.”
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
India
“Sarah, nobody loses out to a French woman. It’s just one of those rules.”
“Maybe she left him? Did you think of that?”
“That’s even worse. He’s probably still trying to get over her and listening to some Carla Bruni CD as we speak.”
“Hang on, India. I’m googling. Aha! Scroll down the page. See? It was EIGHT years ago. That’s practically the Paleolithic Age in Hollywood. I bet he doesn’t even remember what she looks like…”
“Oh my God! Check out her boobs,” India muttered. “He’ll remember those for sure. Shit. It’s almost ten o’clock and I’m not even dressed.”
“Go for it, girl.” Sarah laughed as they both clicked off.
India raced upstairs to Annabelle’s closet. Five minutes later, she heard the roar of a car in the driveway. Pouring herself into a pair of skintight jeans (with some stretch, thank God), she grabbed a sleeveless white shirt and peeked out the window to the driveway, where Adam sat in a gunmetal gray Porsche convertible. Yanking her hair into a clip, she dashed downstairs and scribbled Annie a note. Stopping for a moment in front of the hall mirror, she caught sight of Adam’s full-blown image still on the computer screen. She opened the front door and slowly, ever so slowly, closed it tightly behind her.
“I heard you arrive,” she said, casually. “Thought I’d save you coming in.”
“Hey!” He grinned as she headed for the left side of the car. “Are you planning to drive?”
“Oops,” she muttered, running around to the passenger side. “I’m still not used to how you all drive on the wrong side of the road.”
Bending her knees, she slipped as graciously as possible into the low tilted seat.
“Carmen, okay?” Adam smiled, fiddling with the sound system.
“Perfect,” she said, nodding. “I love Italian music.”
As they drove down Bellagio and onto Sunset, India soaked up the scenery: So many palm trees, she thought. So why no coco-nuts? The thrill of being so near him was giving her palpitations. As Adam turned onto Melrose past a row of antiquarian bookstores and interior design boutiques, she smiled.
“What’s funny?” he asked, pulling into a space beneath the white veranda of Urth Caffé.
“Urth,” she said, pointing to the sign, “I imagined it was spelt ‘e-a-r-t-h.’”
“Ha! ‘Earth,’ right! Never even noticed.” He led her up the stairs, the waitress gazing at him adoringly as she escorted them to a quiet table above a tree-lined side street.
“So,” Adam ventured, before his voice was drowned out by a pack of bikers swinging round the corner revving their engines and India was left trying to read his lips.
“I forgot,” Adam said, apologetically. “It’s Saturday. Let’s get out of here.”
Steering her back down the stairs, he shouted in her ear. “How much time’ve you got?”
“All the time in the world,” she shouted back. “I’m on vacation.”
“Cool,” he said as they backed out of the parking space. “I’ll take the scenic route in that case … Brooks Tours at your service!”
“Thank you, Mr. Brooks.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned.
“Just look at that sky and that ocean,” India said with a gasp as the car swung down the California Incline. The panorama of crumbling bluffs and endlessly blue ocean almost took her breath away. As they sped along the Pacific Coast Highway she watched the surfers climb up against the white foam of crashing waves before riding them in. She freeze-framed the moment. On the crest of a wave, she thought, contentedly, That’s how I feel right now.
Adam’s voice and a sudden stop brought her back to Earth.
“Okay. Latte good for you?” he said, climbing out of the car at Malibu Creek and heading toward the Marmalade Café. Minutes later, he reappeared with two cardboard trays and a squashy white paper bag. “Careful, it’s hot,” he warned her. “We’re almost there.”
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
India
Similar Books
