What I Did for Love

Chapter 22

The gray stone Eldridge Mansion had served as the setting for a dozen movies and television shows, but no one had ever seen the portico with two canopied entryways. The larger and more ornate, a pristine white canopy marked THE SCOFIELDS, led to the main entrance. A smaller green canopy positioned off to the side was marked servants only.

The guests laughed as they emerged from their limos, Bentleys, and Porsches. In the spirit of the party, those garbed in gowns and tuxedos, tennis whites or Chanel suits, stuck their noses in the air and headed for the main entrance, but Jack Patriot was no dummy. The legendary rock star, wearing his most comfortable jeans and a work shirt, with a pair of gardening gloves and some seed packets tucked in his belt, cheerfully made his way to the servants’ entrance, his wife at his side. April’s simple black housekeeper’s dress would have been plain if she hadn’t modified it for the occasion with a boned bodice and plunging neckline. A pair of skeleton keys dangling from a black silk cord nestled into her cleavage, and she’d pulled her long blond hair into a soft and very sexy bun.

Rory Keene, in a modest version of a French maid’s costume, joined Jack and April at the servants’ entrance along with Rory’s date for the evening, a debonair venture capitalist attired in a butler’s uniform. He was Rory’s customary companion for special occasions, a friend but not a lover.

Meg’s parents used the main entrance. Actor-playwright Jake Koranda wore a garden-party white suit that accented his swarthy skin, and his wife, the glorious Fleur Savagar Koranda, modeled a swirly floral chiffon frock. Meg, who was dressed as Scooter’s hippie best friend, Zoey, elected to go through the servants’ entrance with her date for the evening, an unemployed musician who was a ringer for John Lennon, circa 1970.

Chaz stood just inside the ballroom, wondering why she’d let Georgie choose her costume. Now here she was, dressed like a frigging angel, in a glittery silver gown with a halo attached to a big orange wig. If she lifted her eyes, she could even see a few orange curls dripping over her eyebrows. The inspiration had come from episode thirteen, “Skip Has a Dream.” When Chaz had bitched to Georgie about the costume, Georgie had given her this weird smile and said Chaz was an angel in disguise. What the hell did that mean?

She was supposed to be helping Poopy the Party Planner make sure everything was running smoothly, but she’d mainly been gaping at all the stars who’d showed up. According to Poopy, this was the most important party of the summer, and a bunch of celebrities that Bram and Georgie didn’t even know had begged for invitations. Georgie kept telling Poopy, “No purse designers,” which Chaz hadn’t understood until Georgie explained it, and then Chaz had to agree.

The ballroom’s polished walnut moldings and paneled wooden ceiling gleamed in the light of the crystal chandeliers. Lavender-and-blue-plaid taffeta overskirts topped the round, custard-yellow tablecloths. Blue mop-top hydrangeas inspired by the show’s opening credits served as centerpieces, the bouquets spilling from bright yellow teapots. A spun sugar model of the Scofield mansion rested at each place setting, along with a silver picture frame holding an engraved menu bearing both the Scofield family crest and a small paw print of Butterscotch, Scooter’s cat. Four large television screens set up around the room silently ran episodes of the show.

Chaz saw Aaron coming toward her with a cute, but kind of nerdy-looking, brunette who could only be Becky. Aaron wouldn’t have had the guts to ask her out if Chaz hadn’t hounded him. Thanks to Chaz, he’d never looked better. “All you have to do is wear a really good suit,” she’d said when she’d talked him into coming as the Scofields’ lawyer. “One that fits. And make Georgie pay for it.” One thing about Georgie. She wasn’t cheap. She’d even sent Aaron to her dad’s tailor.

With his good haircut, contact lenses, body that was getting thinner every day, and real clothes instead of those geeky T-shirts with video game crap all over them, he was like a different person.

“Chaz, this is Becky.”

Becky was a little plump, with shiny dark hair, a round face, and a shy, friendly smile. Chaz liked how hard she was trying not to stare at all the famous people in the crowd. “Hi, Chaz. I love your costume.”

“It’s kind of lame. But thanks.”

“Becky works in the H.R. department for a health care company,” Aaron said, as if Chaz didn’t already know that, just like she knew that Becky’s parents came from Vietnam, but Becky had been born in Long Beach.

She took in Becky’s V-neck white blouse, short black skirt, dark tights, and four-inch black stilettos. “You make a great chauffeur.”

“Aaron suggested it.”

In fact, Chaz was the one who’d suggested to Aaron that Becky come as Lulu, the Scofield lawyer’s sexy chauffeur. She’d figured Becky would be super-nervous about tonight, and wearing something simple would be one less thing for her to worry about.

“It was sort of Chaz’s idea,” Aaron said, even though Chaz wouldn’t have busted him if he’d pretended it was his.

“Thanks,” Becky said. “The truth is, I’ve been kind of nervous about tonight.”

“Pretty great first date, right?”

“Incredible. I still can’t believe Aaron asked me.” Becky looked up at him and gave him this big smile like he was super-hot, which he wasn’t, even though he looked a lot better than he used to. When Aaron smiled back at her the same way, Chaz felt a stab of jealousy. Not because she wanted Aaron for a boyfriend, but because she’d gotten used to taking care of him. She liked talking to him, too. She’d even told him about all the crap that had happened to her. But if he and Becky got serious, he might only want to talk to her. Maybe Chaz also felt a little jealous because she’d like to have some really, really, really nice guy who wasn’t a sleazeball look at her the way Aaron was looking at Becky. Not now, but someday.

“That’s Sasha Holiday,” Aaron said, pointing toward a tall, thin woman with long dark hair. Half glasses dangling from a chain rested on the bodice of her sophisticated black sheath. She was just like Mrs. Scofield’s social secretary, except a lot sexier. “Sasha’s one of Georgie’s best friends,” Aaron told Becky.

“I recognize her from the Holiday Healthy Eating ads,” Becky said. “She’s gorgeous. And even thinner than her pictures.”

Chaz thought she looked too thin and sort of tense around her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

She and Aaron and Becky stood there, trying not to stare at the stars who were showing up-Jake Koranda and Jack Patriot, all the actors from Skip and Scooter, plus a bunch of Georgie’s costars from her movies. Meg waved at her from across the room, and Chaz waved back. Meg’s date looked like a loser, and Chaz thought she could do a lot better. From the look on Meg’s dad’s face, he thought so, too.

Chaz was surprised to see Laura Moody, Georgie’s old agent, come in, but not as surprised as Poopy, who looked like she was going to have a heart attack. Laura had been invited before Georgie fired her, and no one expected her to show up.

“Where are Miss York or Mr. Shepard?” Becky whispered to Aaron.

It sounded weird hearing somebody call them that. Aaron glanced at his watch. “They’re going to make a big entrance. Poopy’s idea.” He turned red. “I mean Poppy.” He frowned at Chaz. “Stop laughing. You’re being infantile…and unprofessional.” But then he laughed and explained to Becky that the party planner had serious attitude, and he and Chaz basically hated her.

As they sampled the hors d’oeuvres, Rory Keene came over to talk to them, which was super cool, because it made everybody in the room think they were VIPs. Laura came over, too. She didn’t act like she was embarrassed being here, even though everybody knew Georgie had fired her and even though she didn’t seem to have a date.

Poopy and the waiters began steering all the guests toward the grand foyer for the bride and groom’s entrance. Chaz started to get nervous. Georgie was used to being onstage, but tonight was different, and Chaz didn’t want her to trip or do something equally embarrassing in front of all these people. The musicians began playing an overture by Mozart or somebody. Bram came into the foyer from a door on the first floor. This was the first time Chaz had seen him in a tuxedo, but he acted like he wore one every day-like James Bond, or George Clooney, or Patrick Dempsey, but with lighter hair. He looked rich and famous, and Chaz felt a swell of pride that she was the one who took care of him.

He moved to the bottom of the grand staircase and gazed up. The music swelled. And then Georgie appeared, and Chaz felt that same rush of pride. Georgie was glowing and healthy instead of starved and sunken-eyed. Chaz had made sure of that. She glanced at Bram and saw that he thought she was beautiful, too.

Georgie had insisted they travel to the party separately, so Bram was seeing her for the first time. He’d half expected her to appear in Scooter’s skunk costume, as she’d threatened. He should have known better.

Georgie looked as though she’d run naked through a crystal chandelier. The gown formed a slim column of sparkling ice that molded beautifully to her tall, slender body until it reached her knees, where it flared gently to the floor. A fine clasp of crystal lace caught the fabric at one shoulder, leaving the other bare, and a delicate lace panel cut a diagonal swatch across her body-offering the faintest and most ladylike glimpse of flesh.

This was what audiences had waited eight seasons to see-the vision they’d been cheated of by his destructive behavior-Scooter Brown’s transformation from homeless orphan to an elegant woman with a generous spirit and lively openness that no Scofield had ever possessed. He was shaken. He could trifle with Scooter, but this intelligent, sophisticated creature felt almost…dangerous.

Her hair was perfect. Dark, soft curls pinned back, with a few left free to dip around her face in a stylish tousle. For all Georgie’s insistence that she relied on April for everything, she had a strong sense of what worked for her, and she hadn’t made the mistake of letting anyone get near her naturally pale skin with a tanning air-brush. Nor had she decked herself with too many jewels. A pair of spectacular diamond chandelier earrings dangled from her earlobes, but she’d left her slender neck bare to make its own statement.

Paul stood at her side, her hand resting lightly on the sleeve of his tuxedo. Having her father escort her down the staircase wasn’t part of the plan, and the expression on their faces as they smiled at each other disconcerted him. He knew Paul had been hanging around a lot lately, but Bram had been working such long hours that he had no idea what had happened to improve their relationship.

Paul and Georgie began descending the staircase. Bram couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wasn’t considered beautiful by Hollywood standards, but the problem lay with the standards, not with her. She was something far more interesting than a Botoxed, liposucked, trout-mouth, silicon-enhanced California Frankenbeauty.

As she paused at the landing, he belatedly remembered he was supposed to have climbed the steps to meet her. But she was used to him missing his cues, and she didn’t wait for long. He unglued his feet and climbed the stairs, stopping three steps below her. He turned one-quarter profile to the crowd and extended his hand, palm up. Corny, but she deserved the most romantic picture possible. Paul kissed Georgie on the cheek, nodded at Bram, then yielded the stage to the bride and groom. Georgie’s hand slipped warmly into his own. The guests broke out in applause as she descended the three steps to his side.

They faced a ballroom brimming with smiles and good cheer, although half the guests were undoubtedly placing bets on how long the marriage would last. Georgie gazed up at him, her eyes tender. He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. He could play fricking Prince Charming every bit as well as Lance the Loser.

But he had to work hard at being cynical. Tonight might be nothing more than another Hollywood fairy tale, but the illusion felt real.

Georgie wanted it to be real. This night. The magical sparkling dress. Her friends around her, and the soft expression on her father’s face. Only the man standing at her side was wrong. But he didn’t feel as wrong as he should. They mingled with their guests, who were dressed in everything from jeans and tennis skirts to dinner jackets and schoolgirl outfits. Trev and Sasha had volunteered to give the toasts, but after everyone was seated, Paul rose unexpectedly and raised his glass. “Tonight we celebrate the commitment these two amazing people have made to each other.” He gazed at Georgie. “One of these people…I love very much.” His voice broke, and Georgie’s eyes filled with tears. Paul cleared his throat. “The other is…growing on me.”

Everyone laughed, including Bram. The past week with her father had been strange and wonderful. Knowing how much he loved her-how much he’d loved her mother-meant everything. But as Paul began expressing hope for the bride and groom’s future, Georgie worked to keep a smile on her face. Telling her father the truth instead of trying to hide her mistakes for fear of disappointing him was the next step in her journey of becoming her own woman.

Paul had waited until this morning to tell her he’d invited her ex-agent as his date. She was glad he’d thought of it, no matter how awkward greeting Laura had been. “It’s a nice thing to do for her,” he’d said. “This way everyone can see that you still consider her part of your inner circle.”

Georgie had tried to make a joke out of it. “It’s also the perfect way to start letting people know you’re returning to acting, and that Laura is representing you.”

His face had fallen. “Georgie, that’s not why-”

“I know it’s not,” she’d said quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way.” They were navigating a new relationship, with both of them trying to find their footing. She’d poked him in the ribs to make him laugh.

The other toasts followed-Trev’s irreverent, Sasha’s warm, both of them funny. As the meal began, she and Bram were subjected to frequent interruptions from guests tapping their water goblets. Their public kisses no longer felt so phony. She’d never known a man who enjoyed kissing as much as Bram Shepard…or one who did it so well. She’d never known a man she enjoyed kissing more.

At the next table, Laura toyed with a bite of lobster and surreptitiously pushed up her bra strap. She’d planned to wear a garden-party dress tonight, like so many of the other female guests, but at the last minute, she’d changed her mind. This was a business occasion, and she couldn’t afford to be tugging on a bodice that would inevitably show too much cleavage or worrying about bare arms that weren’t as toned as they should be. Instead, she’d opted for a simple beige business suit, a draped-neck camisole, and pearls-the sort of outfit Mrs. Scofield had worn. Other than her perpetual problem with bra straps, she’d done fairly well keeping herself neat.

Paul’s invitation had been a shock. She’d called to break the news that he’d struck out on his first audition, but that the casting agent wanted to see him about another part. Just as she’d launched into her standard ego-repairing pep talk, he’d cut her off. “I wasn’t right for the part, but the audition was good practice.” And then he’d invited her to the party.

She would have been foolish to refuse. Being seen here tonight would help put a little of the luster back on her professional reputation, as Paul very well knew. But she couldn’t help being wary. Paul’s icy personality had always been the perfect antidote to his good looks and other male assets, but his new vulnerability made it tempting to view him in a more unsettling way.

Fortunately, she understood the perils of female rescue fantasies. She was clear about what she wanted from her life, and she wouldn’t screw that up just because Paul York was both more interesting and complicated than she’d ever imagined. So what if she was sometimes lonely? Her days of letting a man distract her from her real goals were long behind her. Paul was a client, and being seen at this party was good business.

He’d been attentive all evening, a perfect gentleman, but she was too nervous to eat much. While the others at the table were engaged in private conversations, she leaned closer. “Thanks for inviting me. I owe you.”

“You have to admit tonight hasn’t been as awkward as you thought it would be.”

“Only because your daughter is a class act.”

“Quit defending her. She fired you.”

“She needed to fire me. And the two of you haven’t been able to stop smiling at each other all evening, so don’t bother playing the tough guy.”

“We talked. That’s all.” He pointed to the corner of his mouth, indicating she had something on her face. Embarrassed, she snatched up her napkin, but she didn’t get the right spot, and he ended up dabbing at her with his own.

She grabbed her water glass when he was done. “It must have been a great talk.”

“It was. Remind me to tell you about it the next time I’m drunk.”

“I can’t imagine you ever getting drunk. You’re too self-disciplined.”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“When?”

She expected him to brush her off, but he didn’t. “When my wife died. Every night after Georgie fell asleep.”

This was a Paul York she’d only just begun to know. She gazed at him for a long moment. “What was your wife like? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

He set down his fork. “She was amazing. Brilliant. Funny. Sweet. I didn’t deserve her.”

“She must have thought differently, or she wouldn’t have married you.”

He looked slightly taken aback, as if he’d gotten so used to regarding himself as a second-class citizen in his marriage that he couldn’t comprehend it any other way. “She was barely twenty-five when she died,” he said. “A kid.”

She rolled her pearls between her fingers. “And you’re still in love with her.”

“Not in the way you mean.” He toyed with the spun sugar miniature of the Scofield mansion resting above his plate. “I guess the twenty-five-year-old inside me always will be, but that was a long time ago. She lived in her head a lot. I was as likely to find the car keys in the refrigerator as in her purse. She didn’t care anything about her appearance. It drove me crazy. She was always losing buttons or ripping things…”

Gooseflesh crept along the base of her spine. “It’s hard to imagine you with anyone like that. The women you date are all so elegant.”

He shrugged. “Life is messy. I look for order wherever I can find it.”

She pleated her napkin in her lap. “But you haven’t fallen in love with any of them.”

“How do you know? Maybe I fell in love and got rejected.”

“Unlikely. You’re the grand prize in the ex-wives sweepstakes. Stable, intelligent, and great-looking.”

“I was too busy managing Georgie’s career to remarry.”

She heard his leftover self-rebuke. “You did a good job with her for a lot of years,” she said. “I’ve heard the stories. As a kid, Georgie couldn’t resist either a microphone or a pair of dancing shoes. Stop beating yourself up about it.”

“She loved to perform. She’d climb up on tables to dance if I wasn’t watching.” His expression clouded over again. “But still, I should never have pushed her so much. Her mother would have hated that.”

“Hey, it’s easy to criticize when you’re standing on the celestial sidelines watching somebody else do the heavy lifting.”

She’d had the audacity to make light of his sainted wife, and his expression grew still and cold. In the old days, she’d have fallen all over herself trying to make up for it, but she didn’t feel the urge, even as his frown grew more pronounced. Instead, she leaned closer and whispered, “Get over it.”

His head snapped up, and his killer glare turned his eyes into bullets.

She met his gaze straight on. “It’s time.”

Withdrawal was Paul York’s weapon of choice, and she waited for him to turn away, but he didn’t. The ice melted from his eyes. “Interesting. Georgie said the same thing.”

He retrieved the napkin Laura had dropped and gave her a long look that melted her bones.