Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Look the Part
LORNA
Polished. From the Chanel dress down to her manicured toenails clad in Saint Laurent slingbacks, Lorna knew how to look the part, but the truth was she was always uncomfortable around affluence.
She loosened the silk scarf around her neck and surveyed the crowd attending this private gala at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art to raise money for the upcoming renovation.
The room was filled to the rafters with high-net-worth individuals ranging from old-money Hollywood tycoons, new-money rap moguls, a smattering of reality TV stars, and filthy rich tech entrepreneurs.
No one, however, was richer than the hosts, Harold and Vivienne Rosenfeld, a couple who purchased most of the water rights in the great state of California in the 1950s and now had wings of the museum named after them.
It was a glamorous affair not entirely exclusive to the wealthy.
There was a smattering of creative types there too, to keep things interesting.
A gaggle of up-and-coming screenwriters, a street artist and disciple of Banksy, and a European DJ on the rise.
While canapés were passed and champagne was flowing under glittering twinkle lights in the main hall at the museum, Lorna was scouting.
She’d already added a screenwriter to her mix of possible candidates and was making her way over to talk to a commercial real estate developer about her current dating status.
Mingling with wealthy people was an art Lorna had mastered.
The simple unspoken rules were easy to follow: discuss your philanthropic efforts like they’re an Olympic sport, never talk down to the staff, limit political talk to despising tax policy, wear discreet luxury clothing with no visible logos, and never have more than two drinks.
This last rule was being broken by a very loud man with unruly hair and small beady eyes. He was chastising a waiter.
“Did I ask for a Manhattan? No!” he bellowed. “A drink order is a simple thing. This is my third one, you’d think you’d get it right by now!” The young waiter bowed his head and took the abuse. It was an embarrassing display that ended only when the waitstaff manager came out to apologize.
Lorna knew that badly behaving man.
Oh, she knew him well.
She trained her eyes on him to see whom he was with.
While he loudly complained, next to him stood a tall, exotic beauty with long dark hair, an elegant neck, and high cheekbones.
Unacceptable was the expression she wore as she quietly began to put distance between herself and the situation.
This was a cue that the woman was wealthy in her own right; arm candy would stay put and not lose her chance at latching on to the tech millionaire.
Lorna moved to the right to catch a better glimpse, when she heard the tinkle of cutlery on glass.
“Attention, everyone, attention please,” said a short, rotund, studious-looking man with an English accent.
“Welcome everyone, especially our esteemed donors. I’m Basil Grimsby, director and head curator of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
We are excited about your help with our much-needed renovations, and we hope you are enjoying this very special exhibit on Egyptian jewels that I personally curated.
” Grimsby paused and motioned around the room as his captive audience clapped and nodded at the beautiful displays, which showcased a rather thorough and beautiful collection of rare jewels and pieces.
“Thank you. Yes, thank you. Anything for you, my esteemed patrons.” He’s really putting it on thick tonight, Lorna thought.
He mimed settling down to the crowd until it was quiet again.
“We couldn’t do it without your magnanimous generosity and support.
Be sure to tip those glasses and loosen those purse strings!
Cheers!” Basil Grimsby tipped his own glass before he was tapped by a slender, striking Asian woman with sleek black hair and a delicate nose who whispered something to him.
Her body language was tense, her back as straight as her hair.
Grimsby turned to her, incensed, not aware or possibly totally aware he still had the microphone in his hand.
“You have the temerity to bring this up now?” The sound boomed across the ballroom.
“It seems you need reminding of your place, Ms. Kim! I am head curator here, not your peer! You’d do well to stick to your job!
” This drew the attention away from the continuing waiter kerfuffle and onto Grimsby and what appeared to be his assistant.
He put the mic down and stomped off, leaving Ms. Kim standing awkwardly in the center of the room, mortified. Lorna went over to her.
“Nothing more attractive than a grown man throwing a tantrum,” Lorna said.
The woman collected herself. “Add sociopathic, mediocre, and feckless, and I give you Basil Grimsby.”
Lorna chuckled and said, “Tell me what you really think.”
Ms. Kim merely looked at her. “You have no idea.”
“Lorna Gray.” She held out her hand. “And you are?”
“Holly Kim.” She shook Lorna’s hand. “Deputy curator, special exhibits.”
“As in this special exhibit?” Lorna pointed to the Egyptian antiquities around them.
“Precisely what I was telling Grimsby before he went off.”
“Well, nicely done,” Lorna admired. “How long have you worked for Basil Grimsby?”
“Three years, two months, and,” she checked her watch, “six hours.”
“A good experience?”
“It’s like watching your children being fed to a pack of hyenas on a daily basis. Terrible indigestion included. Thanks for asking.”
A smile was building internally in Lorna. Holly was something else—and a great source of information, too.
“Do you happen to know who that woman is, the one with the belligerent guy who yelled at the waitstaff?”
Holly peered over in that direction. “Ah, yes, Chanel Emam. Rumored to have a bloodline from Egyptian royalty, and judging from what looks like a Twenty-first Dynasty scarab bracelet on her wrist, possibly true. A woman of exquisite taste in antiquities at the least. One of the few who belong here.”
Lorna tapped her lip. “Though is she as obtuse as her date, or is she regretting her decisions?”
“Regret is an interesting word for someone who collects superyachts like I collect Funko Pops.”
Now Lorna really did laugh out loud. A rather rare occurrence for her these days.
“You seem honest. Almost radically so.”
Holly raised an eyebrow and sighed. “I prefer authentic.”
“Uh-huh.” Lorna sized her up and decided to test Holly Kim’s authenticity with some rapid-fire questions.
“What do you think of the clientele tonight?”
“Posers who are here for tax write-offs and a chance to swill champagne with Francis Ford Coppola.” She pointed to Francis Ford Coppola who was, indeed, holding a glass of champagne and taking a selfie with a real estate agent.
“Like the canapés?” Lorna asked as she snagged a dumpling.
“All the disappointment of a full meal, in one small bite.”
“What did you name Basil on your phone?”
“Brit Twit,” Holly said.
“Why do men date much younger women?”
“Because they fear death.”
“Is this lipstick my color?”
“No, you’d do better with a warm sienna tone.” Fair.
“What do you want most in the world?”
“A chance to be seen and loved for who I really am.”
She said it before she could stop herself, and Lorna could tell she wished she’d kept it back. But somehow, she couldn’t. Lorna smiled, beginning to understand Holly Kim.
“You’re quite something, Holly Kim. You cannot tell a lie, even if it benefits you.”
Holly sighed and finally said, “It was nice to meet you, Lorna.” She gave her a tight-lipped smiled and walked away into the crowd.
Lorna took the last sip of her champagne and then twirled the glass between her fingers.
She watched as the man who had berated the waiter pleaded with his Egyptian beauty to come with him, but she refused.
Lorna discreetly lifted her phone, zoomed in with her camera and snapped a pic of the woman as she walked her way.
She was certain she would be single again very soon.
As the scarab-bracelet-wearing woman neared Lorna near the front doors of the museum, she made eye contact, winked at Lorna conspiratorially, and muttered, “Why are men so difficult?”
Lorna gave her a small salute in understanding.
Moments later, the man came running after her—the modern-day Egyptian goddess, that is—like a wounded dog giving chase.
Lorna turned her back toward him as he passed.