Chapter Twelve
“This looks like the terrace at the Huntington Gardens,” Sky announces excitedly after walking through an enormous pair of french doors.
“My house was designed by the same architect, so that would make sense,” Jonathan tells her.
A big smile comes over my friend’s face. “I’ve loved spending time at the Huntington Gardens and Library ever since I was a little girl.”
Martin is standing next to a drinks cart. He pours an amber shot into a short crystal glass before coming over and offering it to Jonathan via a silver tray. “Ladies,” he addresses me and Sky. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have a dirty martini with two olives, please,” Sky answers.
I have the craziest urge to ask for something outrageous like a blended mango daiquiri made with fresh mangos or a frozen Blue Hawaiian, just to see if I get it. Jonathan must be reading my mind, because he says, “Anything you want.”
“How about a Blue Ghost?” I challenge.
“With or without the flames, madam?” Martin asks.
“How about a Juicy Lucy?”
“I have fresh orange juice in the kitchen,” the butler announces.
“How about an Acid Drop?”
“Quit giving the man a hard time,” Jonathan admonishes, “and order something."
“I’ll have a martini, too,” I decide, vowing that tomorrow night I’m going to ask for an extra spicy Bloody Mary with shrimp, bacon, and waffle fries artfully skewered and laid over the rim of the glass.
Jonathan motions for us to sit down in a seating area adorned with overstuffed furniture and throw rugs. I have a vision of poor Martin having to cover everything when it rains. Not that that happens often, but still.
Jonathan takes one sip of his drink before announcing, “There are house rules.”
“Let me guess,” I lower my voice so my impression of him is more accurate. “No boys, no parties, no drunken orgies, and no drugs.”
“Don’t lock doors or mess with the alarm system,” he says. “If the alarm goes off, half of the Beverly Hills police department shows up and it’s a real pain.”
“You want us to leave the doors unlocked?” I ask.
“Martin will take care of locking them after you leave,” he says.
“How will we get back in?”
“Someone will unlock them for you when you call to gain entrance at the gate.”
“You’re not giving us the gate code?” I ask.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to have it,” he states plainly.
Sky’s head is turning between us like she’s watching a championship ping pong match. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
“Why not?” I repeat my most recent question.
“Because nobody has that code except for me, my brother Steven, and the staff who have been carefully vetted by the agency from where I hired them.”
“Fine,” I finally concede, “but I’m going to run with scissors and juggle the crystal if I feel like it.”
“Don’t be childish,” Jonathan scolds me. “Do you have any house rules you’d like me to abide by while I’m staying at your place?”
I take a fortifying sip of my martini and answer, “No building fires anywhere but the fireplace, and no eating cilantro.”
“Why can’t I eat cilantro?”
“Because I said so. Oh, and no closing the bedroom door at night. George sleeps on the pillow next to mine.”
“I’m not letting your cat sleep with me.” He sounds appalled.
“Then I’m not letting you stay at my house.”
“Seriously?” He attempts to call my bluff.
“No.” There’s no way I’m leaving his house for at least a month. “But I will call the tabloids and tell them that you abuse animals in your free time if you don’t let George come and go as he pleases.”
“How will you know?”
“Oh, I’ll know.” I’m going to go home every day or so and visit with George. I don’t tell Jonathan though because I don’t want him complaining that I’m invading his space. I’ll just go when he’s at work, so he doesn’t know I’ve been there.
Instead of continuing our verbal assault on one another, our host waves his hand high over his head and calls out, “Steven, over here!”
Ooooh, Steven Silver, the notorious business card thrower. I peek over at Sky in time to see her choke on her martini, straighten her posture, and run a hand over her sleek ponytail.
Steven and Jonathan must be very close in age because they could pass for twins. The main difference between them is that Steven wears glasses and he doesn’t look quite as shiny as his brother. That’s shiny in a perfectly groomed with nary a hair out of place sort of way, not like he’s lacking a good astringent in his face-washing routine.
Jonathan’s brother is wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a navy blazer. He changes his trajectory from wherever he was walking to where we’re sitting on the veranda. I say this in my head like Ricardo Montalbán saying, “Corrrrrrrrinthian leather” in those funny old tv commercials. Verrrrrrrrrrranda!
“Good evening,” Steven addresses me and Sky as soon as he arrives. Sky looks like she’s ready to jump into his arms and declare her undying love.
“Steven, these are my houseguests, Emily and Skylar.”
He bends slightly at the waist. “It’s very nice to meet you. Welcome.”
“I think you already know Sky,” I can’t help but say.
“Really?” He looks surprised.
Sky gives me a none-too-subtle kick in the ankle causing me to yelp in pain as I tell him, “You tossed your business card into her car on Sunset Boulevard last week.”
He smiles brilliantly. Seriously those teeth … “I thought I threw Jonathan’s business card.”
“Why my card?” Jonathan wants to know.
“You’ve been complaining so much lately about how ready you are to settle down, I thought Skylar might be your perfect woman.”
“You thought a total stranger might be the woman of my dreams?” Jonathan must be closeted even to his family. Poor guy.
I want to yell, “Come out of the closet, Jonathan. Be here, be queer, and full of cheer!” Of course, I don’t say that. But what’s his deal? This is LA, and the movie industry. Being gay is no big thang.
“I thought she was beautiful and refreshing and I thought it was worth a shot,” Steven says.
Sky looks pleased and deflated all at once. Pleased because Steven thinks she’s pretty and deflated because he was trying to set her up with his brother. I come to her rescue by suggesting, “Maybe Sky is more your type.”
Steven’s eyes bug out behind his glasses and he stutters like he’s just been given the word “hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia” to spell in the national spelling bee. When he’s finally able to form a coherent sentence, he replies, “Ah well, I think perhaps she’s is a bit out of my league.”
“Nonsense,” I tell him. “You’re both gorgeous!”
“Sit down and join us for a drink,” Jonathan tells his brother.
“I really shouldn’t …” he starts to say as he takes a seat next to his brother. “I have a ton of work to do tonight.”
“Being that I’m your boss,” Jonathan says, “I’m telling you to take a break and join us.” I get the feeling that Jonathan wants a buffer and he’s chosen Steven for the job.