I moved in front of the table we’d set up and started things off by welcoming everyone and introducing Eduardo. He warmed up the crowd with his reading. When he was done, I introduced D. J. and explained the filming. The only thing more appealing than free chocolate was the chance to be on TV. The whole audience began smoothing their hair and sitting up straighter. I stepped aside and let Talia take over. She positioned D. J. and a stack of books before giving directions to the audience. Once she was satisfied, the actual filming began.
D. J. started to do his spiel and I was only half listening, planning how we’d move the books out and Alain Des Plaines things in. I could tell D. J. had gotten to the dramatic part by the way his voice dropped. Just as he was saying something about stealing from a blind musician, there was a rush of noise from the front of the store.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a crowd come in, but there was something odd about them. When I turned to get a full view, I saw that they had some kind of antennas on their heads and they were all wearing cream-colored shirts with brown speckles. They ploughed through the bookstore toward the chairs. Now I could see they were spraying something and hear that they were chanting.
Everybody turned around in their seats toward them and even the camera crew stopped filming D. J.
“Vanilla, vanilla,” the head guy said. “We demand a voice in the flavor world.”
I realized what I thought were antennas were actually
The vanilla people marched to the front of the group and stood right in front of D. J., holding up their fists and chanting, “Vanilla power, the other bean.” Now I got all the scribbling on the signs. It had been a bad rendition of a
I should have noticed that Adele was being too quiet in all this. All of a sudden, she came out of the kids’ department. She’d wrapped herself in a red shawl and pulled on the Strawberry Patch hat. “Don’t forget strawberry,” she said. The kids were following her, chanting, “We love strawberry, we love vanilla, we love chocolate.”
“Can’t we all just get along and make Neapolitan,” Adele said, waving the little flashlight around that projected the word
Mr. Royal rushed up to the front. He took Adele by the arm and waved to the kids around him. “Let’s give it up for the strawberry-ice-cream dancers and the vanilla fans.” He gestured toward me to get them out of there.
Talia gave us all a dirty look and said she hoped they’d gotten what they needed. I tried to apologize to D. J., but he was following Talia, trying to talk her into waiting until things calmed down and doing the whole thing over again. She shook her head and said something about no overtime in the budget.
Adele and the kids went back to their area, and Mr. Royal and I quickly changed the table over to the cooking demo. Once Alain Des Plaines came up and started doing his chocolate-dipping demonstration, nobody paid any more attention to the vanilla protestors. I noticed some of them ended up finding seats and hanging around for the samples.
The rest of the event was a big success, and when Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal checked the sales at the end of the night, they were both smiling as we all closed the store together.
But as soon as I got into the greenmobile, I started thinking about Mason again.
CHAPTER 27
OKAY, I COULD UNDERSTAND HIM BEING DISTANT if he had a girlfriend. I might not like it, but I could understand it. But if he hadn’t met someone, why was he cutting me out of his life? I couldn’t let it be. I knew I might end up really embarrassed, but I was willing to risk it to find out what was going on. He could dodge me on the phone, but not in person.
It was after ten and Ventura Boulevard was quiet as I drove to Encino and turned on his street. I parked in front of his large ranch-style house and looked past the low fence and lights that showed off the soft hills in the front yard beautifully landscaped with pungent rosemary, white-barked beech trees, and rosy-flowered azaleas. The lights were on in the house and I was sure he was home.
It’s Mason, I told myself as nerves made my heart thud against my chest. Mason who’d come through for me countless times. Again I wondered if he was sick or that something terrible had happened. Whatever, I wanted to know. I marched up the walk and rang the bell. From deep in the house, I heard Spike go into a barking frenzy. I stood there for a moment and suddenly had a fear that Mason would see it was me and simply not answer the door.
The barking got louder, and as I heard the handle turn, I choked as I tried to swallow. And then there I was, face-to-face with Mason. He was wearing gray sweats and his face looked flushed.
His lips began to curve into a smile, but he seemed to force them back into a straight line, and he narrowed his eyes. Not a good sign. “Hello,” he said finally in a flat tone.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I said. When he hesitated, I lost it. “Tell me what’s wrong.” I tried unsuccessfully to keep the panic out of my voice. “I thought you met someone. I could understand that. I really could, but your assistant said you hadn’t. Are you sick? Why won’t you talk to me? What is it? Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll leave.” I hadn’t meant to, but by now I was crying.
Mason’s head dropped back in exasperation and he took my arm. “C’mon in,” he said, pulling me inside. Spike wasn’t sure what the story was and yipped behind me as Mason walked me back to the den. “Sit,” he said, pointing at the soft leather couch. He went out and came back with two glasses of red wine. “I was on the elliptical,” he said by way of explanation for the sweats. “But I guess that’s done for now.” He handed me one of the glasses of wine and took a sip from the other. He sat down on a chair across from me. “You better drink some of that,” he said, nodding toward my glass.
“That bad?” I followed his orders and took a sip of the wine. I have no tolerance for alcohol and the mouthful went right to my head. “Well . . .” I said
There was a long silence. “You’re not going to like this,” Mason said at last.
“I don’t care. Tell me,” I demanded.
Mason sighed. “Barry talked to me. He said if I cared about your happiness, I’d get out of your life. He’s convinced the reason you won’t commit to him is because of our friendship and because Samuel moved back home. I’m just guessing, but I bet he had a similar conversation with your son.”
For a moment, I was speechless. Now I understood the moving boxes Samuel had brought in from the garage. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I said, still processing the information.
“Barry made me promise to say nothing. He said if I told you, it would just make problems.”
“For who?” I asked.
Mason shrugged. “Probably for him.”
I got up and started pacing. “I can’t believe you listened to him. I can’t believe he said that.” I was half talking to Mason and half mumbling to myself.
“I only did it because he said it was about your happiness, which I’m all for, even if I don’t think being a cop’s wife living in a condo in Simi Valley is exactly the key to it.” Mason paused. “You can’t blame him. If you and I were engaged, I wouldn’t want you hanging around with him.”
“He told you about the condo in Simi Valley?” I said. “We’re not engaged.” I waved my bare hand and Mason shook his head.
“But he thinks if he gets rid of me and Samuel, you will be.” Mason watched me as I walked around the room. “I was kind of hoping you’d do something like this.” He was trying to keep his lips from grinning. He knew I was fuming.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Samuel and told him no matter what anyone had said, he didn’t have to worry about moving out until he was ready. Then I called Barry. I got his voice mail and left a message for him to call me ASAP, no matter how late.
I was about to put my phone away when I noticed there was a voice mail and realized I’d turned my phone to silent during the bookstore event and never turned it back to a ring. The message was from Miles Trousedale. Oh no, in all the fuss with the chocolate event, I’d forgotten about telling him to call back. He didn’t give details, but
