Chapter 2 Harper #2
The women followed a savory trail of rosemary, oregano, and thyme to the chef’s kitchen, then they stepped into a steam cloud from boiling lobster pots and searing steaks.
The stainless-steel space held dual refrigerators, ovens, dishwashers, and enough pantry space to feed half the residents in Santa Barbara.
A prep cook and kitchen assistant were helping Dirk prepare the meticulously planned cuisine.
While the chef’s space had been built for cast parties and family events, Dirk prepared most of Evan’s meals here so the fancy kitchen across the hall, with its marble counters and crafted wood, remained pristine.
Evan used that kitchen mainly to pour cereal and pull never-ending espresso shots.
Wendi snagged a matching white apron from the closet and handed it over as she critiqued the embroidered daisy on Harper’s T-shirt and denim shorts. “You can’t serve the dream team in that.”
Only Kelsey called them rat pack.
“I’ll find something else to wear before they get here.”
“We’ve got . . .” Wendi’s gaze flew to the clock over the door. “Thirty-seven minutes before the show begins.”
“I’ll set the tables so fast, Evan won’t even realize I was missing.”
Wendi looked doubtful as Kelsey opened the kitchen door, tossing Harper a pair of Prada sneakers and khaki pants.
“Where in the world did you get these—”
“I raided a closet.” Kelsey blew her a kiss. “Talk later.”
“What if I spill raspberry sauce on your Pradas?”
Instead of answering, Kelsey rocked a perfect spin on her heels and exited the steam.
Minutes later, with Harper’s curly hair corralled in a scrunchie and khaki scratching her legs, she filled a cart with tableware and a charcuterie board.
One wheel clinked its own beat as she and her oversized shoes rolled past the pristine marble counter of Evan’s personal kitchen.
Two caterers followed her with the glassware and wine, and she signaled them across the casual living room, out to the lanai.
Harper dealt plates, napkins, and silverware like she was prepping for a game of poker.
The night would mirror a casino with all the bluffing, joking, and hedging of bets.
In a typical Evan the Great dinner, some guests left as winners, others full-on losers.
Sometimes, a guest even hit the jackpot.
The door slid open, and the hired hands parted as Evan’s brown loafers paraded across the room. Harper didn’t dare look up, but she knew he’d be wearing a button-down shirt over a plain tee and dark wash jeans.
When he flipped on the chandelier switch, light snuck into the shadows. “Glad you were able to get something on the tables tonight.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his. The shirt of choice tonight was a plaid navy and gray. Short sleeves. His face stubbled salt and pepper like he’d swallowed a porcupine. “Next are the centerpieces.”
“I don’t know what planet you’re on Harper, but—” He shifted her current placement of a fork and knife about a quarter inch, then glanced at his watch. “Guests will start arriving in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be done in fifteen.”
“Your tardiness is unacceptable.”
Harper flinched. The man was known for his snide comments and often belligerent behavior, but he’d never snapped at her. “I know.”
“Set these tables,” he said. “Then you need to disappear.”
“Of course.”
Her main job tonight was to be invisible, all while replenishing goblets, platters, and bowls. Growing up on the Cantor property, she’d almost perfected invisibility. That and the art of the place setting.
“I don’t want you talking to the guests.”
Was he worried that she’d start pitching script ideas to his colleagues? She, like every other writer in Southern California, wanted a producer to read their latest script, but out of respect for her employer and her own dignity’s sake, she had never crossed that line.
“They won’t even know I’m here,” she promised, trying to ignore the doubt in his gaze as she swallowed every ounce of her pride. “I’m sorry for being late.”
Another breeze stole through the lanai after he left, swaying the wrought iron chandelier and ruffling the napkins. Harper straightened those blown askew, then glanced at the expanse of ocean beyond Evan’s property.
The waves seemed to wash over her, sneaking back through the crevices of her mind, into a vault reserved for her stories. Miles emerged in her imagination, invisible yet so real as she waited on the sidelines for his final steps.
Welcome home, Miles.
What if he ended his walk on the edge of the cliff, gazing over the Pacific, in awe of all that happened to him? He could throw something in the air. Or collapse on the sand. Laugh from elation or exhaustion or just relief that he’d made it to the end.
Elated, she decided, after all he’d seen and accomplished as he retraced his family’s story. Ecstatic with a twinge of nostalgia. The director could have a montage at that point to relive the journey. A compilation of still shots from Miles’s adventures. It would be—
“Harper,” Wendi snapped, and she turned swiftly, startled to see the woman. “We need flowers.”
Clearly she’d missed the first cue. “Of course.”
Miles would have to wait for his ending.
The cart rumbled back through the house with her and into the vast laundry room that doubled as a floral cooler. Vases went on the bottom. Bouquets on top. Mundane work as she tried to unravel the tangles in her own story.
What sort of flowers would Miles see when he arrived at the Pacific Coast?
Wildflowers, perhaps, the perfect subtext to nod at the wildness in his heart.
Golden poppies. Spiky lupine. Seaside daisies.
And her personal favorite—Indian Paintbrush, a whole field of them ablaze.
Miles wouldn’t need to say a word about the flowers.
Savvy viewers would understand when they saw the shot.
Perhaps that’s how his journey could end. He could pick one of the flowers. Hold it up to the sun. A montage to remember where he’d been.
Harper groaned as she dropped one of the bouquets. Her hero picking flowers was the lamest of lame conclusions. No man thought about wildflowers at the end of a grand adventure.
If only her mom was here to brainstorm with her—she’d loved taking the crumbs of Harper’s ideas and creating something grand—but Harper would have to finish this story, like so many other things now, on her own.
Perhaps Miles could just walk through a field of the fiery flowers when he arrived at the coast. Like Forrest Gump as he walked away from Jenny’s grave. Miles could be saying goodbye to someone he loved, uniting the contentment and wildness inside him.
Her fingers twitching, Harper wanted to capture the scene on paper before it disappeared, but she’d already done enough damage with her mental wandering. She might not care much for Evan the Great, but he was her boss. In her free time, she’d start dreaming again.
She wheeled the flowers into the lanai and quickly filled the vases in an alcove. Hopefully, she hadn’t missed anything else while her mind strayed.
Seconds before Evan escorted his new girlfriend—a brunette about Kelsey’s age—to the head table, everything was in its proper place.
That was Harper’s last clear thought as thirty-two members of Evan’s team paraded in after their grand marshal.
For the next two hours, Dirk and his staff executed a culinary production that no one seemed to notice until the final act—fudge cake drizzled with raspberry coulis. Then the team applauded their meal.
While they were still savoring dessert, Evan stood up to address the crowd.
A gavel, Harper thought, or perhaps a gong, would have been much more dramatic than the sharp clearing of his throat.
Not that he needed more drama. The moment he stood, conversations dropped mid-sentence.
No one in the rat pack would miss a word.
Evan swept the air as if he could magically clear the tables. “I hope you’ve eaten enough for the next three days.”
Crumbs of laughter scattered across the room, uncertain as to what Evan had planned. He glanced across the lanai, the silence ensuing for dramatic impact. “Because four of you will be spending your weekend here.”
Harper scanned the crowd. Did they have suitcases waiting in their cars? She was the only one who seemed surprised by his announcement.
“So you’re not feeding us if we stay?” a man asked.
“You’ll have plenty of brain food but nothing fancy.”
One of the producers raised his cup. “I’ll be good as long as you keep supplying the coffee.”
“And alcohol,” someone else quipped.
“No more alcohol,” Evan decreed, and several guests groaned.
Harper eyed the wine bottle in her hand. Did that mean she was supposed to stop filling their glasses? She scanned the lanai again, but Wendi had vacated the patio. Perhaps she was helping Dirk phone in another food order from town.
The guest rooms were in good shape, but Harper would need to add extra towels and toiletries and some sort of welcoming gift.
“Sissie Sloan will stay the weekend,” Evan announced.
That choice surprised no one. Sissie was a legend in Hollywood.
The oldest member of the rat pack by at least a decade and lead producer on his last three blockbusters.
Harper often admired the woman when she was on set, especially when Evan deferred to her opinions.
While he’d never admit it, Sissie kick-started many of his ideas.
“Psst . . .”
Harper’s gaze fell to a mop of blondish hair. The guy tossed his mop back from his eyes and grinned before tapping his wine glass. She didn’t recognize him, but he was about her age, maybe twenty-five, and dripping with the confidence of a surfer who’d just caught a monster wave.
She nodded toward Evan, her voice barely a whisper. “He said no more alcohol.”
“I’ll tip you extra.”
She wanted to backhand him. “You won’t be tipping me at all.”
A glare from Evan silenced her, and she stepped away from Mop Man, hoping her refusal wouldn’t haunt her.
In this industry, everyone seemed to know everyone.
For all she knew, she’d need his dad or mom or girlfriend to get her toe in the industry door.
He would remember the wine incident and tell them all about her incompetence and then—
“Sissie will stay,” Evan continued. “Along with Chet, Tony, and . . .”
When he paused again, scanning the room for effect, Sissie rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a game show, Evan.”
But it was, Harper thought. He was Bob Barker except instead of the price, he picked those whose talents were right for him.
Every guest on the lanai needed Evan the Great to succeed.
“Marlo is the last weekend guest.”
“That figures,” someone muttered as the new girlfriend rewarded Evan with a generous smile.
Maybe she had film experience, but it really didn’t matter. Hollywood loyalties lay in the annoying adage—It’s not what you know. It’s who you know. And now Marlo had hooked one of the top film directors in the world.
Evan sipped his wine. “You’ve got three days to come up with three brilliant ideas for our next film.”
“I suppose no one leaves here until we wow you with our brilliance.” Tony or Chet, she assumed, did the asking.
“That’s right,” Evan said, a smile playing on his lips.
The man cursed. “It’s like an Agatha Christie film.”
“Shut up, Tony,” another guest said.
Harper glanced at the sun descending over the ocean.
The best of views along the solitary coast, no neighbors nearby.
She’d seen And Then There Were None in its original form, and this really was the perfect location to pick off houseguests one-by-one.
Perhaps that was the vibe Evan was trying to set.
Keeping them all on edge to spark creativity.
“And where will we find these wowing concepts?” Sissie sounded bored instead of honored or concerned about the weekend ahead.
Evan nodded toward the French doors. “I have stacks of scripts waiting inside.”
“And a host of readers?”
“The scripts have already been approved,” he said. “But none of them are ready for production.”
Tony lifted a goblet, his words slurred. “If you wanted us to work tonight, you shouldn’t have refilled our glasses.”
Mop Man glanced at Harper and pretended to wipe away tears. Sighing, she emptied the bottle into his glass.
“First thing in the morning then,” Evan said. “Tonight you should all take a walk on the beach and blow away that city stench.”
“What happens after we present our winning ideas?” Sissie asked.
“If they’re any good, you can have another round of cake.” He paused. “And I’ll hire you, of course, for my next film.”
Several members of the pack lingered in the lanai. After clearing the tables, Harper hid in the alcove to hear the last drops of conversation about actors, sets, and their favorite flicks.
More than anything, she wished she could strip off her invisibility cloak and dream up a new story with them.