Chapter Ten
I pull out onto Burton Way before turning right onto Rexford Drive. While Jonathan’s house is only a couple of miles from mine, each block adds another million to the price tag. Sky wants to know, “Are we going to the Beverly Hills Hotel? I love it there! We could eat at the Polo Lounge.”
When I pass the turnoff that would have made the iconic pink hotel our destination, I tell her, “The Beverly Hills Hotel is peanuts compared to where we’re going.”
“Emily, tell me already!”
Moments later, I pull over to the shockingly large gates in front of Jonathan’s driveway. I pick up the phone and say, “Hi, this is Emily Hargrove. I’m here.”
“Where is here?” Sky is practically peeing her pants.
“Jonathan Silver’s house.”
“Why are we here? And more importantly, why are we spending the night?”
After beating out a makeshift drumroll on the steering wheel, I announce, “Jonathan and I have switched houses. While he waits for love to find him on Burton Way, I will be calling this glorious pile of bricks my home.”
“You’re joking!”
“And …” I pause to let the tension build. “I was thinking you might want to stay here with me.”
The gates start to open. As I pull through them, Sky yells, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!!! I would love to stay here with you!”
“That’s not the best part,” I say, pointing at the mini version of Windsor Castle that greets us.
“You’re kidding. What’s the best part?”
“Steven Silver lives in the guest house.”
Sky starts wiggling around like fire ants are biting her bum. “Really?” She’s going for a whole chill vibe, but I can tell she wants to release a victory cry. I knew she was more interested in Jonathan’s brother than she was letting on.
When we pull up the vast circular drive, we’re greeted by a gray-haired man in a dark suit. He’s very proper looking, and I would place him at about sixty or sixty-five. I wonder if he’s Jonathan’s dad, although they don’t really look alike.
I pull up next to him and turn off the ignition while he hurries to open the driver’s side door to let me out. “Madam,” is all he says.
“Hey,” I reply, unsure what’s expected of me—a bow, a curtsy, a ring-kissing … “Is Jonathan here?”
“No, ma’am. He’s at the office but he should be home shortly. He’s instructed me to get you settled and then start drink service on the terrace.”
Sky lets herself out of the car in time to hear this and uncharacteristically curses, “Holy shit.”
“Who are you?” I ask the man who’s now wrestling my luggage out of the trunk.
“My name is Martin, madam.”
“I’m Emily,” I tell him before motioning to Sky, “and this is my friend Skylar.”
He does this little heel click thing before bending at the waist.
“What do you do here, Martin?” I’m really hoping he isn’t Jonathan’s dad, or I might have just insulted him.”
“I’m Mr. Silver’s man,” he replies.
I wonder if that’s a gay thing. But surely Martin isn’t Jonathan’s type. He must be at least twenty years older than the movie mogul. There’s also the fact that Jonathan is going to be staying at my place looking for love, so I’m guessing he’s not currently involved with anyone. Although this is La La Land, anything goes. In my business, it’s important to have a prosaic take on relationships.
The stupid look on my face must alert Martin that I still don’t know what he does because he says, “I’m Mr. Silver’s butler and valet.”
“Holy shit,” Sky repeats. I imagine she’ll be saying this a lot while we’re here.
Martin leads the way up the stone stairs into the house. I might have to start adapting Sky’s new catch phrase for myself. This place is unbelievable. The vaulted entry robs me of air, which takes some doing. I’m a realtor in one of the fanciest zip codes in the world for heaven’s sake.
I estimate the chandelier alone is six feet across and probably just as tall. I feel sorry for whoever has to clean that thing, and you know it’s getting cleaned with Jonathan at the helm. There’s enough marble in here to fill a salt mine. I have no idea what that means, but it feels like it might be right. There’s a lot of marble in here.
Instead of taking the grand staircase, which is the singular most spectacular staircase I have ever seen, Martin presses the button for the elevator. “You will be staying on the third floor. I hope that suits you.”
“I could sleep on a blowup mattress in the entryway,” Sky whispers as we start to ascend to the heavens.
When the doors open, Martin pulls the suitcases out and announces, “I’ll have Helga unpack you.”
“I thought the maid was named Greta,” I say.
“Greta is technically the housekeeper. It’s her job to make sure everything is running as it should.”
“Oh, she’s the one who came to my place today.”
“She’ll also make sure your house is well run while Mr. Silver is there.”
I feel a crazy burst of hilarity bubble up inside me as I envision writing this in my yearly Christmas letter:
Dear Friends and Family,
What a year it’s been! Due to my busy schedule, I’ve had to engage a full household staff to care for my needs. There’s Martin, my butler; Greta, my housekeeper; and Helga, the upstairs maid. Cook is kept busy carefully removing the membrane from my daily bowl of fresh grapefruit and Fitszsimmons—I’m just guessing there’s a groundskeeper around—maintains the property beautifully. I wish you all a blessed and joyful season!
Ta Ta!
Emily
I’m not sure if Ta Ta! is the way to sign off or one simple Ta! Thankfully, I have another ten months before Christmas cards go out again, so I can fine tune the details later.
Martin opens a set of double doors at the end of the hallway and announces, “This is the Garden Suite where Mr. Silver has requested I put you. I hope it meets with your approval.”
“Thank you, Martin,” I say while Sky lets loose with her favorite vulgarity. “We’ll freshen up a bit and then we’ll be down for drinks.”
“Wonderful, madam. We’ll see you soon.”
Before he’s fully out the door, Sky starts to mimic me like she’s the queen of England. She sticks her chin up into the air and lifts her hand gracefully to the ceiling, “Thank you, Martin. We’ll be down after we freshen up.”
We both burst into peals of laughter at her impression. “I didn’t sound like that,” I gasp between giggles. After I settle down, I get my first real look at the room. It’s enormous. The carpeting is such a thick and plush white wool, I’m not sure how it gets vacuumed. I have an image of a hundred school children crawling around it, hand picking the lint off. The walls are upholstered in a light blue and gray toile. The bed is no standard king size, it looks like a king and queen combined. It’s huge! “I think we’re sharing a bed if that’s okay,” I tell Sky.
When she doesn’t answer, I turn around and discover she’s no longer there. She calls from what I’m assuming is the bathroom, “I’ll sleep in here!” But it’s not the bathroom. She’s in another bedroom, right off mine. It’s just as elegant, albeit a bit smaller, as the main one also has a large seating area attached. Sky’s room is pink, and it’s perfect for her.
My friend looks out the window and announces, “I just discovered why it’s called the Garden Suite.”
I scoot over next to her and gaze out onto the most extraordinary rose garden. There are statues of cherubs and assorted naked people, along with a gorgeous circular water fountain in the center of boxwood hedges. Finally, there are the roses. So many roses. The gardens at Downton Abbey had nothing on this.
The bathroom is the size of my living room. The marble theme from the foyer plays out in here, full on with a chandelier. There are sconces on the walls, as well as Broadway lighting over the two full vanities. The bathtub could fit six and the shower has eight (!) shower heads strategically placed on the ceiling and walls.
“Holy …” Sky starts to say.
“Sky,” I cut her off. “You’ve said shit three times in the last ten minutes. I don’t think you’ve said it three times since I’ve known you.”
“This place is just so … so … mind-blowingly gorgeous. I can’t believe we get to stay here. Let’s go downstairs and get a drink.”
I grab her hand and pull her toward the hallway. “We are going to have the best time; I just know it.”