How The Cookie Crumbles (48 page)

“They have girlfriends,” I explained, although I hadn’t seen Theresa around at all lately. “I’m like a sister to them.”

“Does that mean you haven’t had a date since you moved to L.A.?” Sofia demanded. “Here I was imagining that you were out clubbing every night.”

My life was sounding pitiful. “Well, I wouldn’t mind changing that if you know any nice guys.…” I didn’t even need to add good-looking, since Franco and Leon were complete aesthetes.

Franco demanded a look at my roommates, so I dug out a framed team photo from the drawer it had been stuffed into.

“Good Lord, they all look stunned! Instead of ‘smile’ the photographer must have said ‘zombie,’ especially that one,” Franco said, wincing. “So, which ones do you live with?”

I pointed them out, and Franco grimaced. “Not exactly the pick of the litter. Why don’t you go out with this one… very hunky in a macho way.”

I peered closer, “Oh Nicholas Love, he’s dating an actress already.”

Franco sighed, “Of course, like jocks everywhere. How about this one? He’s cute.” He pointed out a big guy with a familiar shock of blonde hair.

“Chris Bauer, um, perhaps.” Chris had asked me for my phone number at the party, but then he too left on the long road trip. I wasn’t sure if he would call or not, but Franco was right: he was a cutie.

“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Leon commented, “Frankie spends too much time with sweaty jocks already. She needs to meet someone more sensitive and artistic.”

“Wonderful idea,” Sofia said. “You should work with me at the Museum fundraising events, you’re bound to meet someone there.”

“Someone who’s 80-years-old perhaps,” Leon scoffed, “She should come with us to more gallery openings and meet actual artists.”

“Cool it, guys! I can do both,” I replied. “I’ve got oodles of time this month.”

“Great!” Franco said. “Think of it this way, you’ll meet successful people who are interested in art! Match.com has nothing on that kind of screening.”

They were right. I had been domesticated too long, it was time to get out and have some fun in L.A.

Sofia got me volunteering at some of the LACMA events. Usually, the crowds were overwhelmingly female, but once in a while, an eligible man would appear – and be immediately pounced upon by all those females. But I still got to hear art talks, see documentaries, and get a feel for all the necessary fundraising and community building events. I even got a job offer as a gallerina at a downtown art gallery.

The biggest event was a black tie affair that Sofia and I got to dress up for. I wore my dressiest number: a lilac-pink, strapless, satin gown with Grecian draping and a slit up to the thigh. I put my hair up and added long glittery earrings.

“Frankie! You look amazing!” said Sofia, who was wearing an architectural, one-shouldered, black silk dress with an uneven hemline. Sofia generally wore the asymmetrical jackets and skirts favoured by so many artsy types. But she usually sexed it up by wearing a black jersey catsuit underneath and showing off her trim body. She was about my height with dark brown hair too, but had a slim build and golden-hued skin. “But why on earth would you pack a formal dress for Los Angeles?’

“I am famous for over-packing. And I would love to wear formal dresses every week. Whenever I’m vintage shopping, I’m drawn to the fanciest dresses, and I have an incredible selection which I rarely get to wear.”

Sofia and I were sitting at the greeting table, handing out nametags and welcome packages to everyone, when a gorgeous man in a slim-cut tux appeared in front of us.

“Good evening, I am Antonio Pereira,” he said with a slight smile.

“Oh hello,” Sofia and I both spoke simultaneously and smiled up at him. He was dark and handsome and perfectly groomed in that way that South American men have. There was a long pause as we looked at him happily.

Finally he spoke, “It is very pleasant to have such beautiful women smiling at me, but perhaps not so much for the people lining up behind me.”

“Sorry!” I started looking for his nametag and gala package.

Meanwhile Sofia was wasting no time, tilting her head and smiling invitingly, “
Buenas tardes
. I am Sofia Diaz, and I work in the museum’s Corporate Development area.” If she had a business card, I’m sure she would have magically produced it. “I certainly hope you have a wonderful evening, and you’ll feel free to ask me for anything you need.”

“Thank you, Sofia,” Antonio smiled back at her.

“Here’s your welcome package.” I had finally found it. I couldn’t match Sofia’s smooth intro, but I gave him a full voltage smile, and our fingers touched as I handed him the envelope.

“Ah, thank you.” He looked at me fully. “But I did not hear your name yet?”

“Frances Taylor.”

He nodded and thanked us. We cleared out the line-up, which was only two couples, and then Sofia made a face at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m never trolling for men with you. When you turn on the charm, it’s like flipping a switch, and blam, you get the guy. I hate you. Well I would if I didn’t like you already.” Sofia flipped her long hair and laughed.

Once everyone had arrived, we had some other volunteer duties, which consisted mainly of circulating and making sure that everything was running smoothly. It was an event for the Museum’s Avant-Garde membership group of young professionals, so the crowd was younger and hipper than most events. At the end of the evening, we ran into Antonio Pereira again, and he left his group to speak with us.

“I hope that you ladies did not have to work too strenuously.” Even the accented way that he spoke English was hot. “The evening has been a success for the museum, I think?”

“Very much so.” Sofia’s business brain had already done some mental arithmetic and calculated the museum’s take on the evening.

“Ah, very good. So, Frances and Sofia, my friends and I,” he motioned to the group of men and women behind him, “are going for drinks at the hotel bar now. Would you like to join us?”

“Certainly,” Sofia said firmly, before I could say no. “We’ll just get our things and meet you there.”

As we walked away, I demanded, “How can you agree to go for drinks with someone we don’t know?”

She smiled at me, and counted off on her fingers. “A) It’s in this building and we have our own way home. B) He’s extremely attractive and so are some of his friends. C) I checked him out. The guy has donated over 200 grand to L.A. museums and charities in the last few years. He’s good and good-looking!”

“I don’t know, that doesn’t say anything about what kind of person he really is.”

“Oh relax, Frankie!” Even when Jake wasn’t around, I was hearing that.

Going to gallery openings with Leon and Franco was a riot. They knew tons of people, and because they had more dash than cash, they made an evening of drinking and eating their way through the gallery districts. I couldn’t keep up with the drinking, but I had fun sampling the finger food.

My only beef was that openings were all about seeing people and being seen, and nobody looked at the work. I loved looking at the paintings and seeing what was new and different. One show was a fundraiser for an artist-run gallery and featured an art auction. The art being sold was by young and edgy artists, and a lot of it was pretty challenging. I was amazed at the broad spectrum of patrons attracted to the auction. Collectors here were a lot more daring than those back in Vancouver.

The room was big enough for me to check out the art. Some of it seemed to be more for shock value, and a painting of a giant pair of breasts spouting streams of cola reminded me of Jake and Aspen’s relationship. I was attracted to the neon-y colours and layered forms of a large painting across the room, but when I got closer, it was disappointing. One thing that bothered me was when there was a big trend in painting, like decaying urban landscapes or diamond shapes, everyone just copied each other.

“So, what do you think of the painting?” The voice beside me had a faintly Anglo accent.

I turned and looked. He was half surfer dude and half hobo, with messy sun-bleached hair, dark tanned skin, an authentically distressed t-shirt, and cargo shorts. At the LACMA, I had learned not to judge people on the basis of appearances, since some millionaires prided themselves on their California casual images. So I smiled automatically and tried to think of a diplomatic response. Maybe he was thinking of buying the painting, and besides he was cute in a sunburnt way.

“I think it’s very interesting, visually demanding, and yet showing a political narrative.” That was vague enough to keep any art patron happy.

“Really?” He gave me a scornful look, and spoke in a mocking tone. “And what does that mean? Or are you just parroting something you heard earlier?”

How rude. But I merely shrugged.

He kept going. “It’s a shame I never get to hear what people really think.”

“Why? Are you the artist or something?” I wondered.

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

Oh goody, I didn’t have to be nice to him anymore. He wasn’t a donor; he was an artist. Artists were dime a dozen and dying to get into these shows.

“Then I think it’s a shitty rip-off of Ryan McGinness and Daniel Richter.” It was. I walked away.

Clearly I wasn’t a very good judge of artwork, since the rip-off painting later sold for $11,000 at the live auction. I asked Franco about the artist, and he was the encyclopaedia of knowledge as usual.

“Oh, Cameron Smith. From Scotland with love. He’s pretty hot right now. Rumours of a bidding war to rep him in New York City and some big installation at Basel Miami. Apparently a bad boy, but good-looking and very charming, which the matrons of the arts love. I’ve not had the pleasure yet.”

“I met him tonight, and he seemed rude,” I told him.

“Rudeness can be charming to people who are used being sucked up to,” Franco replied philosophically.

“Nobody sucks up to me,” I sighed. I was bottom of the pecking order at work and everywhere else, and I had to do all the sucking up.

So I was very surprised to get a phone call at work a few days later.

“Hullo Frankie, it’s Cameron Smith. I’m the artist you eviscerated last week.”

“Oh hi.” I had been super rude, so was I going to get into trouble now? It wasn’t like he could get me fired, but he could give me a rep as a difficult person. “How did you get this number?”

“I have connections. I’m not as friendless as you seem to assume. I couldn’t get your mobile number though.”

I still wasn’t going to apologize. “Well, you started it.” I sounded like my brother Glen after pounding Allan into whining submission.

“Yeah right, sorry about that. Something about beautiful women spouting nonsense about art puts me right off.”

A compliment wasn’t going to make me soften. “So, what’s the purpose of this call?”

“Ah Frankie, I sense you’re a cruel woman. I was wondering if you’d like to bring your brutal honesty to my studio and critique more of my work?”

“Did your dominatrix leave town suddenly and you need a new source of pain?” I speculated.

“No really, I’m tired of the bullshit, and I’d honestly like to hear what you think. It’s not some trick to get you into my clutches and exact some twisted revenge. You can even bring a friend if you don’t trust me.”

I told him I’d think about it and call him back. Life was definitely getting more interesting these days. I could show Jake he wasn’t the only one who had moved on.

58. Date Night

“So? Did Antonio call you yet? He was so suave that night we went to the bar.” Sofia was sitting on a desk swinging her polished red Jimmy Choo pumps while I filed a backlog of correspondence. Didn’t these people know how to use email?

“That reminds me,” I said, eying her shoes, “You’ve never taken me to that bargain shoe place you were telling me about.”

“Don’t change the subject. Did he call?”

“Yes! We’re going out dancing at a nightclub on Friday. Dancing! Can you believe it, a guy who wants to dance?” I smiled happily, then remembered that Jake liked to dance too and frowned.

“Oh, swoon. So, what are you wearing?”

“A black chiffon halter dress with full skirt and a jewelled cinch belt. Opera-length black satin gloves, a diamond cuff, and diamond and pearl drop earrings, all fake of course, but good fake. And my hair up.” I had planned everything during a long, boring meeting on travelling exhibitions.

“Ooooo, very
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
,” Sofia said, as she imagined it.

“Yes, except with hips.” Nobody was mistaking me for the long and elegant Audrey Hepburn anytime soon.

I met Antonio after work. He was wearing a beautiful suit, in a deep blue linen, with a white shirt. He also wore an expensive cologne that smelled amazing, unlike Jake’s cheap body wash. I breathed in happily as I buckled myself into his sports car. He drove smoothly through the city, taking us to a strangely retro Latin restaurant and nightclub.

“It is perhaps not so trendy, but somehow I picture you here, Frances,” he told me smiling.

The nightclub looked like something out of 1950’s Cuba. There was a dance orchestra and red leather booths around the dance floor. I had a Mojito, but Antonio ordered only a mineral water.

“You’re not drinking?” I wondered.

“I spent a lot of the day drinking, so now I am taking a little pause.”

“What do you do exactly?” I figured that being an alcoholic was not a job.

“I am in the import/export business. My family represents a number of Argentinean wine producers worldwide.”

“That sounds very exciting,” I said. It also sounded completely glamourous. I was glad that I hadn’t ordered some cheesy chardonnay in front of him.

“It is a wonderful chance to travel and meet people.” He smiled at me. “But I would like to hear more about your life.”

I blushed and stammered something inane about Vancouver and art history. My life sounded so boring next to his. Fortunately, the band started up and Antonio asked me to dance. He was a very good dancer. Although I wasn’t really used to ballroom dancing, he placed one hand firmly at the base of my spine and held my hand, and in no time I was spinning gracefully around the dance floor. Most of the other people were older, mainly Hispanic people, and they were enjoying themselves hugely. It was so much fun, and I found myself laughing and having a wonderful time. We kept dancing until Antonio suggested ordering a late dinner.