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“Good luck with that.” Chaz flounced away with the watering can.
“What’s with her?” Aaron said.
“She’s having a little problem adjusting to the fact that Bram’s married. Don’t take any crap from her.” It was good advice, but Georgie had a hard time imagining mild-mannered Aaron holding his own against Bram’s viper-tongued twenty-year-old housekeeper.
After Aaron left, Georgie went outside, looking for Bram. They had plans to make, and he’d put her off long enough. She followed the gurgle of water to a small, irregularly shaped swimming pool tucked away in a private nook behind swaying grasses and a live oak. A four-foot waterfall splashing over shiny black rocks at one end added to the sense of seclusion.
She moved on and found him locked in his office. He was talking on the phone again, and when she rattled the handle to get in, he turned his back on her. She tried to eavesdrop through the glass but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He hung up and started pecking away at his keyboard. She couldn’t imagine what Bram was doing with a computer. Come to think of it, what was he doing out of bed before four in the afternoon?
“Let me in.”
“Can’t,” he called out without breaking rhythm. “I’m too busy looking up ways to spend your money.”
She didn’t take the bait. Instead, she started singing “Your Body Is a Wonderland” and tapping out a bass line on the glass panes until he couldn’t stand it any longer and finally ambled over to open one door. “This better not take long. Those hookers I hired will be here any minute.”
“Good to know.” She stepped inside and nodded toward his computer. “While you’ve been drooling over pictures of naked cheerleaders, I’ve been working on our reentry into the world. You might want to take notes.” She sat on the saggy brown couch underneath Marlon Brando and crossed her legs. “You have a Web site, right? I wrote a letter from both of us to post for our fans.” She lost her train of thought as Bram propped his elbows on his desk. Skip had a desk, not Bram. Skip also had a good education, a sense of purpose, and a strong moral fiber.
She pulled herself back together. “Aaron made dinner reservations for us tomorrow night at Mr. Chow. It’ll be a zoo, but I think it’s the fastest way for us to—”
“A letter to our fans and dinner at Mr. Chow? There’s some powerful original thinking. What else’ve you got?”
“Lunch at the Chateau on Wednesday, then dinner at Il Sole on Thursday. There’s a big Alzheimer’s benefit in a couple of weeks. A charity ball is right after that. We eat, we smile, we pose.”
“No balls. None.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Have you talked to a doctor?”
His smile curled like a snake’s tail over shiny white teeth. “I’m going to have a great time spending that fifty thousand you’re paying me every month to endure your company.”
He had no shame. She watched him prop his feet on the edge of his desk. “That’s it then?” he said. “Your plan for how we make a splash? We go out to eat.”
“I suppose we could follow your example and pick up a couple of DUIs, but that seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“Cute.” He dropped his feet to the floor. “We’re throwing a party.”
She’d almost been enjoying herself, but now she regarded him suspiciously. “What kind of party?”
“A big, expensive party to celebrate getting married, what the hell do you think? Six weeks from now, maybe two months. Long enough to get out the invitations and build anticipation, but not long enough for the public to lose interest in our great love story. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You thought this up on your own?”
“I’m pretty creative when I’m wasted.”
“You hate anything formal. You used to show up barefoot for the network affiliate parties.” And so gorgeously dissipated every woman in the room had wanted him.
“I promise I’ll wear shoes. Get your guy to find a good party planner. The theme is obvious.”
She uncrossed her legs. “What do you mean, the theme is obvious? It’s not obvious to me.”
“That’s because you don’t drink enough to think creatively.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Skip and Scooter, of course. What else?”
She came up off the couch. “A Skip and Scooter theme? Are you nuts?”
“We’ll ask everybody to dress in costume. Either like the Scofields or the Scofield servants. Upstairs or downstairs.”
