The Collector
Page 77

“About what?” He negotiated traffic as if he commuted daily—with ruthless determination.
“About everything. I imagined this Miranda saying, ‘Oh, Antonio! Of course, what an old dear. We’ve got him propped up in the corner over there. Do go say hello.’”
“I don’t see that happening.”
“Of course not, but I started thinking it. Then we’d go over, and he’d say—or shout because I see him as stone deaf—‘Poker? Hard Luck Jonnie! Those were the days.’ Then he’d tell us he gave the egg to the girl he was sleeping with at the time. What was her name? He’d cackle out a laugh, then drop over dead.”
“At least he died on a happy memory.”
“In another version Hot Asian Girl bursts in—she’s wearing Alexander McQueen, I’m pretty sure—holding everyone at gunpoint while the boss comes in behind her. He looks like Marlon Brando. Not hot-and-sexy Brando in the old black-and-white movies, the really fat Brando. He’s wearing a white suit and a panama hat.”
“It is summer at the beach.”
“Because this is my fantasy, I know kung fu, and HAG and I square off. I completely kick her ass, and you restrain the boss man.”
Ash spared her a glance before he bulleted between two taxies. “You get the hot woman, I get fat Brando? It doesn’t seem right.”
“It’s just the way it was. But when we thought everything was okay, the terrible happened. I couldn’t find Earl Grey. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find him. I’m still a little sick about it.”
“Then it’s a good thing it never happened—and it won’t.”
“I still wish I knew kung fu.” She peeked into her bag, where Earl Grey curled and slept.
“What’s in there? You didn’t put the dog in there? You brought the dog?”
“I couldn’t leave him. He’s my responsibility. Besides, women have tiny dogs like this so they can carry them around in their fashionable bags.” She gave him a smiling glance. “They’ll just think I’m eccentric.”
“Where would they get that idea?”
She loved new spaces, and though she wouldn’t have chosen the Swansons’ Hamptons house for herself, she could appreciate the theme. All white, acres of glass, slick and ultramodern, it offered white terraces adorned with white pots filled with red flowers.
Casual, she thought, it wasn’t, but stood as a testament to money and determined contemporary style.
People already were mixing on the terraces—women in floaty dresses, men in soft-colored suits and sport coats. The light held bright, and the whoosh of the waves mingled with music streaming from the open windows.
She saw waitstaff passing trays of what she thought were Bellinis, of champagne, of pilsner glasses and finger food.
Inside, the sky and sea dominated through the walls of glass. But all the white hurt the eyes, chilled the skin.
Furnishings with silver or mirror finishes paired with hard reds, blues, greens of chairs and sofas, the same colors echoed in the slashes and strokes of the art framed in silver on the white walls.
Not a soft edge anywhere, Lila thought.
“I couldn’t work here,” she murmured to Ash. “It would give me a constant headache.”
A woman—again in white, short and snug—hurried toward them. She had a tumble of ice blond hair and eyes so eerily green Lila credited tinted contacts.
“You must be Ashton!” She grabbed Ash’s hand, then leaned in for the European double-cheek buss. “I’m so glad you could join us! I’m Miranda.”
“It was nice of you to ask us. Miranda Swanson, Lila Emerson.”
“Aren’t you as fresh as a strawberry parfait? Let me get you both a drink.” She circled her finger in the air without looking around. “We’re having Bellinis. Of course, we can get you anything else you like.”
“I’d love one.” Lila beamed at her, very deliberately. She felt a little pang of sympathy.
She judged the woman to be about the same age as Ash’s mother, but Miranda had sculpted herself down to a sharpened stick, one that appeared to run on nervous energy and whatever frothy substance she had in her glass.
“You have to come meet everyone. We’re all very casual here. I was delighted when your mother called, Ashton. I had no idea she was here, spending some of her summer.”
Lila took a glass from the server’s tray. “You have a gorgeous spot.”
“We just love it. We completely redid the house when we bought it last year. It’s lovely to get out of the city with all the heat, the crowds. I’m sure you know just what I mean. Let me introduce you to—”
Earl Grey took the opportunity to poke his head out of the corner of the straw bag.
Miranda’s mouth dropped open, and Lila held her breath, half expecting a scream.
Instead, there came a squeal.
“Oh, it’s a little puppy! She’s like a little toy.”
“He. This is Earl Grey. I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t want to leave him home alone.”
“Oh, oh, he’s precious. Just precious.”
“Would you like to hold him?”
“I’d love it.” Miranda gathered the dog in her hands, immediately lapsed into lisping baby talk.
Lila just slanted a look toward Ash, and smiled. “Is there anywhere I could take him for a little walk outside?”
“Oh, of course! I’ll show you. Want to go for a walkie?” Miranda cooed, rubbing noses with Earl Grey, then giggling when he lapped his tiny tongue on her face.
This time Lila just batted her eyes at Ash as she followed the besotted Miranda back out the front door.
Bellini in hand, Monica wandered over to her son. “That’s a clever girl you have.”
He leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I don’t know if I have her, but she’s pretty damn clever.”
“My son knows how to get what he wants, and always has.” She kissed his cheek in turn. “We need to mingle a bit, but then we’re going to find a nice quiet spot in this ridiculous house for you to tell me just why you wanted an intro to Miranda Swanson.”
“Fair enough.” But he glanced toward the door.
“I think Lila can handle her end of things.”
“So she’s always telling me.”