Chapter Nine
Shoot, I forgot to get Steven Silver’s number for Sky, again. But now that I’ll be his neighbor I should be able to obtain it with no problem. I can use that information to talk Sky into staying with me at Jonathan’s.
I reschedule an early appointment so I can let Jonathan’s cleaning lady in.
“Greta?” I greet as soon as I open the door.
“Ja,” is all she says.
Greta is a great big hulk of a German woman. All she needs are horns on her head and she could play Brünnhilde in a Wagner opera.
“Come on in”—I point to the doorknob—“just lock the knob before you leave. Oh, and I have a cat, George. Please don’t let him outside.”
“Katze, George. Ja.” She turns around and starts clucking her tongue. I’ve been dismissed.
I’m going to drive by four houses I think might work for Abril today. I won’t know more until I see if any of them give me a physical reaction. Clammy hands, dizziness, and mild nausea are all good signs. Either that or the flu, but it was only the flu that one time and I canceled my client’s offer before it was accepted. Catastrophe was averted.
The first house is on Laurel Canyon, the second Studio City, then onto Glendale, and finally Echo Park. They’re a weird assortment of architecture and none of them make me feel wonky. Darn it. Where in the world is Abril supposed to live?
I don’t get back to the office until almost five o’clock which leaves me very little time to go home, eat, and love on George before I have to go to Jonathan’s. Skylar is walking into the office at the same time I am. “Can you spend the night with me tonight?” I ask.
“Why?” she wants to know.
“I have a surprise for you. I promise it’ll be fun.”
“I guess.”
As soon as we walk through the imposing glass doors of Pemberley, Frederic calls out, “Emily. Here. Now.”
I veer off in his direction. “What’s up, Fred?”
He convulses in a full body tremor. “It’s Frederic and you know it. I want to know how it’s going with Jonathan Silver. Have you lined up any appointments yet?”
I haven’t been looking forward to this conversation and was hoping to put it off for a bit longer, but apparently that’s not meant to be. “Jonathan has decided not to buy at this time.”
“What? Why?” he demands.
“He just wanted to meet with me to start a dialogue about possibly buying something new at some time in the future.”
“That’s not going to work for me,” Frederic says dramatically.
“I don’t think it’s up to you.” I’m not being rude, just realistic. Frederic can’t make someone move if they don’t want to move.
“I want you to show him my four properties anyway,” he decides.
“I can offer to show him, but Jonathan is a very busy man, and he might think that looking at houses he isn’t going to buy is a waste of his time.”
“I already told all four of my listings that Jonathan Silver was interested in their properties,” he confesses.
“But he’s not.”
“Emily, just get him to see those houses. I’m about to lose two of those listings and I need to show activity. It doesn’t need to result in a sale, although obviously, I hope it does.”
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,” I chastise.
“Who said that, Sting?”
“Sir Walter Scott.”
“Is he looking for a house?” Frederic asks non-ironically.
“Probably not,” I tell him. “He died almost two hundred years ago.”
“Then why are you wasting my time with him? Get me Jonathan Silver! Make it happen!”
Oh. My. God. I work for a moron. I hate this part of real estate, the show of it all. I suppose it’s inevitable considering we live in the pretension capital of the world, but still, it makes me sick.
At five o’clock, I wave at Skylar and ask, “Do you want to carpool? I can drop you at the office in the morning.”
“Sure, just let me get my overnight bag out of my car.”
“Meet me out back,” I tell her. Lucy blocks my exit to announce, “So you’re not selling Jonathan Silver a house after all, huh?” She sounds positively joyful.
“What are you talking about?”
“I overheard you and Frederic.” She looks smugger than normal when she decides, “I guess that makes him free game.”
“Lucy, if Jonathan would rather work with you than me, go for it.” I don’t have the fortitude to argue nonsense with her.
“You know, if you just bleached your hair, and dressed better, you’d almost fit in here.” She looks me up and down like she’s inspecting molding bread.
“Thanks for your concern, but I consider it a win that I don’t fit in,” I tell her. “Now move, you’re blocking my way and I have places to be.”
“Just consider yourself warned. Jonathan Silver is going to be mine.”
“Good luck,” I reply.
I start to think about my neighbor, Stan, who lives on the other side of Mrs. Feldman. I wonder if maybe he and Jonathan will become a thing. Even if he were straight, I know Jonathan and I would have never made a good couple, but I still feel a pang to lose such a hunky prospect to the other team. Women the world over will feel another egg die when Jonathan and Stan say their vows at a tastefully chic, yet overpriced, hotel ballroom somewhere on the West Side.
Sky is already waiting beside my car when I get outside. “What kept you?”
“The devil’s mistress. Lucy stopped me to announce she was going to steal Jonathan Silver’s business away from me.”
“As if. That girl needs a serious personality transplant. You’d think her clients wouldn’t be able to stand working with such a shrew.”
“Her clients are mostly men and they suffer from boob blindness,” I tell her.
We chat about our upcoming party on the way to my house, but I refuse to tell Sky what the surprise is. Which is challenging because she’s got that annoying begging thing down.
George dive bombs me as soon as I walk through the front door. I’d better trim his nails before I go, or Jonathan will be in for a real shock. Sky walks in behind me and exclaims, “This is a great surprise!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You cleaned! Are those fresh flowers?” I look around. She’s right, my place looks spectacular. No dust, no pet fur on the carpet, no throw blankets tossed willy-nilly, and there are three floral arrangements that I see from the entryway alone. Wow, indeed.
“This isn’t the surprise,” I tell her.
“Is Prince Harry in the closet or something? I heard he lives in Beverly Hills now.” Sky straightens her skirt and runs her fingers over her already sleek ponytail in preparation of meeting her childhood crush.
“I am not hiding royalty in the closet,” I tell her. I don’t mention that I will soon be hiding closeted Hollywood royalty there though. Not that Jonathan has to stay in my closet.
“I don’t believe you.” She scurries past me and playfully opens the coat closet. While Prince Harry is nowhere to be seen, at least seven of Jonathan’s jackets are.
“Is someone visiting?” Sky demands.
“Yes and no, but I’m not going to tell you. Just let me go get my suitcases.”
“Suitcases? Aren’t we staying here?”
“We aren’t, and that’s all I’m going to say until we get to our destination.”
Sky rubs her hands together excitedly. “I love surprises! Tell me more …”
As I hurry to get my bags, I realize that we can’t have dinner here. I’m afraid to dirty anything lest my picky new tenant complain. I figure we’ll just head over to Jonathan’s and get situated. I know he’s not expecting us until seven but I’m sure he’s already alerted the staff of my impending arrival. I’m sure they’ll let us in a couple hours early.