LA Dolce Vita
Tolly lives in a gated development. Frank stops to talk to the guard before he rolls forwards again. He finally pulls up outside a high wall with tall trees behind, all outlined by a blaze of light. This must be the house.
“I’ll be waiting right here for you,” Frank assures them. “Any time of the night, I’ll be here.”
“Thank you, Frank,” Anna says as Frank hauls himself out of the driver’s seat and opens the rear door.
“Best leave your phones in the car,” he says. “They’ll only take them off you at the door. Saves any chance of them getting lost.”
Bella pouts. “But I wanted a selfie!”
“Exactly why they take your phones, ma’am.” Frank’s gentle tones are commiserating.
“Whose party is it, anyway?” Bella turns to Anna. But Anna realises she doesn’t quite trust Bella not to blast the details on social media. It’s best Bella finds out after she’s lost access to her phone.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Anna drops her phone into the side pocket of the car door. Bella, scrambling out after her, does the same. Anna closes her eyes for one moment, trying to centre the swirl of feelings unexpectedly surging through her. She has never been nervous about meeting a friend before; she cannot understand why she is now. Bella has no such issue. She struts towards the suited security guard standing by a gate. Anna hurries to catch up.
“Please, can I have your name?” the guard asks.
Anna hesitates for one moment, then says, “Dr Anna.” Tolly does not yet know her surname. She will cross that bridge when they come to it.
“We will need you to check your phones,” the guard asks.
Bella raises her hands in the air and shakes her body, fringes dancing. “Not got one on me,” she says. “You can frisk me if you like.”
Anna gives the guard full marks on forbearance. Clearly, Bella is not the first to invite him to pat them down.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says, his poker face in place. “Please wait here. Someone will be out to fetch you in a minute.”
Bella is already swaying to the faint strands of music. It is only a minute or two before a dark figure emerges on the path behind the guard.
Anna could have sworn her memories of Tolly were accurate. The image of him as she first met him, white tee, beige jumper, floppy hair, smooth and slick, are fixed forever in her brain. That picture of him, the refined charmer, has been reinforced by the photos flashed on the television news screen this morning. But somehow he’s grown in presence since then. Matured, deepened. Nothing prepares her for this sight of Tolly.
He’s in a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, forearms exposed. He’s abandoned whatever jacket he might have been wearing earlier and his shirt is open several buttons, giving a glimpse of dark, curling chest hair. Pale grey lightweight chinos cinched with a worn leather belt frame his hips. His hair is tousled, one strand bouncing over his forehead, the rest pushed carelessly back. His dark eyes are crinkled at the edges and his Hollywood-white teeth show in a big grin. Slightly sweaty, a lot dishevelled, he has never looked so delectable. Her memories are nothing to the reality, and Anna knows she is in trouble. This Tolly Hyde is the epitome of the Sexiest Man Alive.
Beside her, Anna registers Bella’s intake of breath. She turns to Anna with eyes wide. “Is that Tolly Hyde? You know Tolly fucking Hyde?”
Anna ignores her, attention fixed on Tolly. Truth told, she could not have taken her eyes off him even if Bella were on fire. He has captured the whole of her awareness with an intensity that scares her. His eyes are dark pools that match the shadows. Despite his evening stubble, she can trace the indentations of his famous dimples, the faint line between his brows. His eyes hold hers. She wonders what he sees. A nervous woman in a borrowed dress? Can he tell the muddle of feelings the sight of him evokes? The war between head and heart? One part of her wants to run. The other is frozen waiting for the axe to fall. The only thing that helps is his focus is on her. He does not appear to have noticed the blonde beauty beside Anna.
He steps closer. Bella gives a little whimper. Whether afraid or star-struck, Anna can’t tell.
He stops in front of her, out of reach. “Anna.” He says her name as if releasing a breath. It thrills through her. “You came.”
Cool Anna would be all sarky and “Well, I’m standing right here, so I guess so”, but cool Anna has long since surrendered. Smitten Anna has no words. She is utterly helpless except for the smile creeping across her face.
How long she might have stood there gazing vacuously at Tolly is anyone’s guess, but Bella recovers sooner. She steps in front of Anna, placing her body between the two of them. She proffers her hand. “Hi, I’m Bella, Anna’s bestie.”
The reaction is ingrained. Tolly raises his hand and shakes hers. “Tolly Hyde,” he says, like the impeccable English gentleman he is. “Pleased to meet you.” Anna can’t see his expression because her view is blocked by a shaggy, blonde head, but she can hear the bemusement in his words. Maybe she should be grateful to Bella. Cutting off the sight of him gives her a chance to breathe.
She hears the switch, bemused to polite as he asks, “Do you live in LA, Bella?” It is automatic. The repetition of the name back. I hear you. I see you . It is charm in action.
Bella is smoother than most in the circumstances, although her words still gabble out. “Just visiting. A conference.”
“Another doctor?”
“Why, yes.” Bella’s brain must have re-engaged because it comes out as a purr.
“Have you enjoyed it?”
“Very much. It was highly informative.”
Anna suppresses a snort. She doubts Bella attended even half the sessions.
“Come.” Tolly steps to the side, one arm held out shepherding Bella, then Anna ahead of him. As she passes, Anna feels a light touch on her lower back. She is acutely aware of it burning through the thin fabric of her dress. It is fleeting, almost accidental. Meant to guide, not claim, she reminds herself.
Music and light lead them onwards. Black-clad waiters with empty trays stand aside as they pass, threading their way along a garden path lit with a tunnel of rope lights. Bella stops suddenly and Anna steps to her side. A vista of Los Angeles lies before them. Tiny lights twinkle from millions of homes. Moving beacons mark a distant highway. A line of sudden dark delineates land and sea. A sparkling cluster might be the Santa Monica pier. Anna can only imagine how beautiful it is here when the sun sets. Tolly stands behind her. No part of him touches her skin, but she is preternaturally aware of the sense of him.
“What a stunning view,” she says. She partly turns her head to address him. “If I lived here, I would breakfast on this terrace every morning.”
“I’m ashamed to say I’ve never done that,” he confesses.
A waiter emerges from the shadows with a tray of champagne glasses. Anna declines, but Bella takes two. Tolly shakes his head and the waiter disappears again. Anna turns away from the vista. The terrace is bounded by an infinity pool, the water shimmering a deep jade-green, lit underwater. The surface is smooth, unrippled by the slight breeze. The party is taking place on the other side, closer to the house. The wall of glass is slid back to allow guests to flow freely inside and out. There is a top deck, but it is all in darkness, although light floods from the ground-floor rooms. Further away from the building, pillars topped with exotic-looking plants shoot ice white beams to the stars. Groups of people are dotted around, some chatting, some laughing, some plainly getting high.
“Now that looks like fun.” Bella points across the water with her empty flute. She tips her head back and shakes her tresses. Her hands lift. “I’m in the mood to P-A-R-T-Y!” She gives another little shimmy. “If you don’t mind me saying, you need a little energy there. No one is dancing.”
She is right. Although a little gathering of scantily clad women snakes their hips and shuffles their feet in time to the music, no one is dancing with outright abandon. Yet.
“Be my guest.” Tolly places his palm out, as if inviting Bella to move. With one intense glance at Anna, Bella is gone, strutting towards the dance floor. So much for Bella being an anchor.
They skirt the edge of the pool. The music is playing loud enough for Anna to feel the pull of the beat but not loud enough to prohibit conversation. As soon as Tolly emerges into the light, a man steps forwards to talk to him. Anna understands. This is his party and he is the star. She moves away to leave him to his guest, but a hand lands on her hip. The contact is a shock. She stops and turns towards him. He shakes his head but lifts his hand. She waits.
“Great party,” the tanned man says, flashing white teeth. He sounds sincere but he’s wearing a suit jacket and shows no sign of party fervour. “But I must be off. Let my office know if you need anything, yes?” He shakes Tolly’s hand, one hand in his hand, one hand on his shoulder. A power move.
Tolly nods. “Will do. And thanks, Governor.”
“Who is he?” Anna asks, head on one side as the intruder moves away. The man looked vaguely familiar.
“The Governor of California,” Tolly says it evenly. There is no awe and no hint of a boast. So different to John.
“That explains it,” she says.
“Explains what?”
“Why do all American politicians look like they’ve been dipped in embalming fluid?” She shakes her head.
Tolly laughs. “Whereas ours frequently look like they’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards?”
“I fear ours will go the same way. Where America leads, we tend to follow. They’ll all be primped and plucked with suspiciously even teeth. Style over substance.”
“Not a fan of politicians?” Tolly asks.
“I work in a hospital. What do you think?”
“Point taken.”
An older woman in a scarlet dress with a neckline cut to her waist interrupts them. The new arrival drops her hand onto Tolly’s bicep, neatly cutting out Anna. “Darling,” she drawls. “Fabulous news.”
Tolly very deliberately turns his body to face Anna. “Thanks, Crystal. This is my friend Anna. From London. If you will excuse us, I was just giving her a tour.”
Crystal departs, plainly a little nettled. Anna hopes she is not someone important.
“Were you a tad rude there?” She leans her head closer to Tolly’s so no one else can hear. It feels good to be this close to him, to feel the warmth of his body, to smell his indefinable cologne. Anna realises it is probably bespoke, made only for him by some ancient perfume house in France.
He turns back to her, putting his mouth close to her ear. Anna shivers. He murmurs, “You are my guest. All of these,” his arm circles, “were invited by my agent, by the PR company, by my assistant. The only person I invited is you.”
The most curious sensation burns down Anna’s spine. Whether it is the heat of his breath on her neck, the whisper of the words intended for her ears alone, or the implication of the words themselves, the effect is enchanting.
“My tour?” She just about croaks out the words. And Tolly gives a panty-dropping grin.
“Come.” This time, there is no mistaking the touch of his hand on the base of her spine. It burns. She quickens her pace until it drops away. She is not ready for his touch yet. Not steeled to withstand it.
Tolly’s house is not dissimilar to some she saw earlier today. The architecture is modern, with clean geometric lines. The roof is flat, slightly angled, with large overhangs to combat the sun. The walls are white, the windows run floor to ceiling on both storeys. He points to the room in front of them. “The lounge,” he says. “And my bedroom above.”
She raises her eyes to the dark mass above. “You’ve got a balcony,” she remarks.
“A must for every romantic,” he quips.
“Shame I left my boombox behind.” Her tone is dry.
“I was thinking Romeo and Juliet , but we’ll go with yours.”
Anna wrinkles her nose. “At least no one dies, whereas we’ve already established Shakespeare was uncommonly fond of killing off his protagonists.”
“True …” Tolly smiles and guides her inside the house through the open glass doors. The room is remarkably spacious given the price tag attached to each square foot of Los Angeles real estate. The floor is white oak, and a huge granite hearth complete with a ribbon fire dominates the room. Anna doubts whether it is ever cold enough to light it. A long cream sectional sofa curves around the centre fireplace. There’s no sign of a screen. Perhaps it is hidden away, ready to slide out at the touch of a button. Or maybe screen time has its own room. No one interrupts them as they move along. Tolly must be giving off “I’m busy” vibes because there are people everywhere. They briefly look into the kitchen. White oak cabinets and a stone worktop lead on to one of the biggest dining tables Anna has ever seen – and she was raised in a stately home. It is a hive of industry as black-clad waitstaff load up trays and a team of chefs chop and prepare dozens of delicate canapes.
They withdraw. As they pass the staircase, Anna notices the guard standing at the base. “What’s that about?” she asks.
“I once found a naked woman in my bed.”
Anna’s brows shoot up. “I take it you didn’t put her there?”
“No. Now there’s a guard to stop people going upstairs and there’s another outside the door to my bedroom.”
Anna once found a couple in her bed going hell for nirvana during a student party. But that was in her med school days. She has long since decided her dislike of clearing up after a party far outweighs any possible enjoyment. She wonders about this party. While Tolly doesn’t have to worry about cleaning up, there must always be the consideration that some of his adoring fans may be unhealthily obsessive. Why let strangers into your home?
“Why have the party here?” she asks. “Why not hire a venue?”
“It wasn’t really my decision. My agent and my PR guru planned it. An intimate celebration for a select few. Especially as the reason for it had to stay secret until this morning. The production company’s holding a big party on Saturday.”
Anna looks at the throng of bodies on the patio and in the lounge. A select few? Her mother loves nothing more than a social gathering, but even she would balk at the number of people here. Tolly skips a room, merely saying, “My office”, as they pass the door. She itches to enter it. It is probably the most personal room on this storey. Everywhere else is for public use; the study is for him. The next room has a U-shaped modular sofa in pale grey arranged around an enormous screen. The tour ends in an enormous gym – treadmill, weights, benches, training bike, rowing machine are arranged opposite a wall of mirrors. Another wall holds a bank of large screens. She raises an eyebrow and turns towards him. “A sign of the times,” he says with a rueful grin. “My personal trainer comes every morning bright and early. Even the nerdiest hero has to sport a full set of deltoids these days. The men get bulkier and the women tinier.”
“Mm. Some of those heroines look like they should be on bed-rest,” Anna comments.
Unsurprisingly, the gym is empty. It is not an inviting place. Anna has yet to find a gym that doesn’t look like a rehab station, utility always winning out over style.
“Unless you want to see the boiler room or the laundry, that concludes my tour,” Tolly says and waves his arm grandly.
Although Anna would not at all object to seeing both, she recollects Tolly has probably ignored his guests long enough. And the thought of being closeted with him in a small space such as a boiler room is too tempting for her own good. She notes he has left off the entire upstairs from his tour. She understands his need for privacy when his home is being invaded and, truth to tell, she is relieved. If the thought of him in the close confines of the boiler closet is enough to bring on a hot flush, what would standing in his bedroom produce?
“Maybe next time,” she says and walks out of the gym.