Chapter 18
Lily and Nicola packed their days in LA with tourist attractions.
No shop, theme park, or photo op was left untouched, which allowed little time for lounging at the Beverly Hills home and none at all for Wilson, who was in any case extremely busy working on various important projects—as he frequently reminded them via text.
But at the end of the week, amid apologies for not having done it sooner, he cornered them into accompanying him to work to see the “real” Hollywood.
He’d been planning it for weeks, Charlotte whispered.
There was no getting out of it. It was an errand-running day for him, and so Wilson, Nicola, and Lily piled into his car and launched into the sunny, traffic-jammed streets.
As they were bumper-to-bumper on the highway, Wilson ran them through the agenda for the day.
“Contract delivery, personal, discreet, you won’t be allowed in, I can’t even tell you who it is. Then we’ve got wardrobe pickup, production-wrap gift selection, and restaurant reservation.”
“That’s a lot of nouns,” Lily remarked.
“Yes, it is. I know it’s a lot, but really it’s all about one thing and that’s what most people don’t realize.”
Lily wondered how long before they would be allowed to realize.
“What is the—” Lily began.
“Relationships. That’s it. That’s everything. That’s what this town runs on. I was away for a month in December; I’m still undoing my replacement’s mistakes.”
“This traffic, though!” exploded Nicola. “Couldn’t you do most of these things on the phone? Get things delivered?”
Wilson laughed patronizingly.
“Oh, Nicola! No, no, no. You don’t understand. This is Stacy Black. Any loser can get on the phone, get a delivery from some delivery guy. Winners need other winners to work for them. And winners go the extra mile, they go in person.”
“Even to book a restaurant?”
“Especially to book a restaurant. This place is booked out months in advance and Stacy wants it this weekend. A winner goes in person, and if they get told no, they beg.”
He said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And Lily thought that perhaps Wilson was really well suited to this job.
The traffic was terrible, but they made it to the mysterious house in Beverly Hills, a big-gated thing completely obscured by trees, to deliver the contract. Lily and Nicola stayed in the car and watched Wilson buzz the intercom, go through the gate, and return a minute later without the folder.
“Oh, she’s always so lovely,” he said as he got back in the car, though no one asked. “She always asks me to come in for a coffee, if you know what I mean. So awkward! I’m half her age! I always just smile and say another time. Thank God you’re here, I’ve got a proper excuse!”
Lily just looked at Nicola and shook her head in disbelief.
Next was the dry cleaner, which was sized and staffed like a high-end medical facility, to pick up Stacy’s designer dress.
Most people wouldn’t even know that such a dress required specialist attention, Wilson explained.
Lily had to admit she thought it just looked like a large black sack, then had to bite her lip as Wilson continued to explain in how many ways she was wrong.
The production-wrap gift turned out to be a large blue-and-gold vase, selected under Stacy’s watchful eye via text and video call.
Finally, after much more time in traffic, they pulled up among the topiary out front of a restaurant in Santa Monica, where a valet in uniform stood ready to park the car while Wilson did his official groveling.
“Come on! It’ll be fun to watch!” Nicola urged, but Lily had seen enough for one day.
She wandered down to the waterfront, stood on the sidewalk with a long line of buildings to her right and left, gazed across the vast expanse of sand and water before her, and felt revived.
How marvelous that this sun-blasted ocean, right on the edge of a city of millions of people, was directly connected to the delicious wild green water at Pippi.
In less than ten minutes, she got a text from Nicola: DONE!!!
Back at the car, Nicola was beaming.
“Lily, you will NEVER guess what just happened!”
“You finally saw a superhero?”
“I AM a superhero!” Nicola squealed as they hopped in the car to drive to their next location, Wilson staying curiously silent. “I convinced them to make room for a booking for Stacy Black! It was all me, me, me!”
“After I played it into your hands,” corrected Wilson.
“Oh, come on. I was brilliant!”
“I was brilliant. You were lucky.”
“I groveled like no groveler has groveled before, even squeezed out a tear or two! They were totally convinced I was Stacy’s new hopeless assistant and that my job was on the line! It was HILARIOUS! I am so good at improv.”
Of course, Nicola did stuff like this all the time when they were in school: convincing kids to swap assigned groups so she could be with Lily (or whomever Nicola happened to be crushing on that week), or bargaining for better seats at the movies, persuading the ticketing assistant to shift another group so they could sit front and center.
Lily never really participated in her antics, but she felt it was kind of okay considering Nicola hadn’t been dealt the best hand in life and so she sometimes had to trick her way through it.
And now that they’d come to a place where immature cheating could be seen as a smart business move, that inspired some respect.
“She’s really a natural,” observed Wilson with genuine approval and only a little resentment.
After another hour in rush-hour traffic, Wilson, Nicola, and Lily arrived at Stacy’s production office in a chic Beverly Hills high-rise that was all sparkling glass doors, white tiled floors, and uniformed security.
“Thanks, Pam,” said Wilson cheerily to the unsmiling receptionist who signed them in. “That’s Pam,” he explained as they stepped into the elevator. “She’s so funny.”
Stacy’s production office was bright and open, with one wall of beautiful big windows looking out over the Hollywood Hills, and three walls of framed film posters—including, Lily couldn’t help but notice, all three Daniel Danger films, featuring Dorian’s face age fourteen through to twenty years old.
The assault of handsomeness had a confusing effect, and Lily was quite glad that Wilson directed them to Stacy Black’s private lounge to wait for him.
“Emails, couple of calls,” he explained. “It’s okay, Stacy’s gone home and you’ll be out of the way. The green chaise lounge.” He thrust the vase and the dress at them.
Lily and Nicola raised their eyebrows at each other and ventured down the hall.
“Should we be getting paid for this?” asked Lily.
“I think I’ve already earned at least seventy-five percent of Wilson’s salary for my excellent reservation swindling.”
“What did he—” and Lily stopped short. For there in the waiting room, sitting on the green chaise lounge, was Dorian Khan. And right next to him, Lily noticed, another handsome man in his late twenties. How was it that everyone in this town was so good-looking?
“Hi,” said Dorian.
“Hi,” said Lily and Nicola at the same time, both too baffled to say much else.
“I had a meeting with Stacy this afternoon,” Dorian said. “She told me you’d be coming back so we waited. Just to say hi.”
Lily looked at him and wondered why in the world he took the trouble. Did he imagine they’d be thrilled? He certainly seemed as unmoved as ever.
“This is my friend and assistant, Franklin.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said the other man in an American accent and with a flash of ice-white teeth. He extended his hand, which was a little awkward as Lily had to put down the vase and Nicola had to drape Stacy’s not-sack dress on the chaise lounge to avoid creasing.
“He pays me to be his assistant,” Franklin joked. “But not to be his friend. I do that for free.”
Dorian smiled faintly.
“Aw, he’s embarrassed.” Franklin gave him a shove. “So Lily, I’ve heard so much about you.”
Lily glanced at Dorian in surprise but he appeared not to notice.
“How do you like LA?”
Franklin made conversation easy, with a relaxed charm that reminded Lily of Casey. Dorian sometimes added small remarks, asked where they were staying, and politely asked after their families. In turn, she asked him if he’d heard from Casey recently.
“We’ve been in touch.”
“Oh really? We haven’t heard from him at all,” Lily said as lightly as she could. The ghosting of Juliet still rankled her, but if Dorian was at all provoked, he didn’t show it.
“Do you have plans for tomorrow?”
“No,” said Nicola immediately.
“Stacy’s hosting lunch at her house and she asked me to invite you. Wilson has the details.”
“Omigosh, thank you!” bubbled Nicola. “That’s so nice! Isn’t that nice, Lily?”
And Lily had to admit that it was nice—and also surprising and unnecessary. She didn’t want Dorian or Stacy to go to any trouble on their account.
“No trouble at all,” clipped Dorian.
Dorian and Franklin left, neatly avoiding any conversation with Wilson, who came running in minutes later to tell them, at great length and with much side detail, what they already knew: they were invited to lunch and it was special.
Nicola was thrilled at the honor. Lily, however, once again felt ambushed.
Instead of steering clear of the world of Stacy Black as she had intended to do, she was getting deeper into it.
“I can’t believe Dorian waited around to see you,” Wilson said, clearly impressed. “You know who does that in LA?”
“No, who?” asked Nicola eagerly.
“No one.”