Cause Célèbre: A Feel Good, Do Good Romance Page 4

  “Hmmm?” Margot rumbled, picking up her root beer to wash down the chunk of bagel crust she was chewing.

  “I love the way you eat,” Noah repeated with a bit of a shrug.

  “I don’t usually use a fork for pizza,” she told him, “but I was worried about staining my dress.”

  “No, that’s not it,” he said with a small laugh. “I just love the fact that you actually eat. Most women I go out with will get a dinner salad and some water with lemon.”

  “Why?” Margot frowned.

  Noah shook his head. “I guess they’re worried about their weight or something.”

  “Mmm…” Margot savored another bite before saying, “They should do volunteer work in some remote village in India. Nothing keeps you thin like amoebic dysentery.”

  “Yeah,” Noah said with a sigh. “Most my dates would only volunteer if it was some kind of celebrity telethon and then only if they were guaranteed some camera time.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been asking out the wrong women,” Margot told him, enjoying more of her root beer—another item she’d been craving for at least six weeks.

  “Don’t I know it,” was his reply.

  Margot thought she saw Noah flash a significant look in her direction, but she couldn’t tell for sure, so she decided to ignore it. No reason to get all excited about what was probably just a trick of fluorescent lighting. It was better to just try to relax and enjoy the evening than to start hoping that he might actually like her. Movie stars traditionally fell in love with other movie stars, not crazy nonprofit workers who still probably stank from too much time in the field.

  Halfway through her third slice, Margot ran out of steam. “Oof,” she said, putting a hand over her stomach. “You were right. We really should have gone for the small.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Noah assured her.

  “I know it might mean your car smelling like pizza for a while, but do you mind if we take this with us?” Margot was embarrassed to ask, but couldn’t help herself. “I hate wasting food.”

  “Sure.” Noah didn’t seem at all bothered. “Aaron might want some, and there are always a couple homeless people around Venice who I’m sure wouldn’t mind a snack.”

  When Noah tried to pay for their meal, the pierced-faced man insisted it was “on the house.” But he did ask to pose for a picture with Noah and get his autograph. Margot helped out by taking the photo, and she also caught Noah jamming a fifty-dollar bill in the tip jar.

  “I’ll never understand that,” Noah said as they headed out the door.

  “What?” Margot asked, careful not to catch the heels of her sandals as they strolled down the street a few yards, Noah fishing his cell phone out of his pocket to signal Aaron they were ready to be picked up.

  “Why people are always in a rush to give me free stuff. I mean, some guy down on his luck walks into a coffee shop and they want him to either pay or get the hell out. I stroll in and I have to actually argue to pay for my coffee and muffin. It’s crazy. The more you don’t need free stuff, the more free stuff people give you.”

  “Yeah, it’s like that everywhere,” Margot agreed. “I mean, look at banks. If you have a big enough balance, they don’t charge you for anything, but if you have just a tiny balance then they hit you with every fee under the sun. It’s ridiculous.”

  The Town Car pulled up to where they were waiting by the curb, and Aaron got out. “Did you have a nice dinner?” he asked.

  “It was great,” Margot told him. “We saved you some, if you want it,” she said, holding out the neatly wrapped foil bundle of leftover slices.

  “Margot was worried you’d be hungry,” Noah told him. “And if you’re not, then just please give the rest to someone who is.”

  “Thanks,” Aaron said, looking pleased. “Where to next?” he asked as he opened the car door for them.

  Noah checked the time on his cell phone. “It’s a little early to head to the party,” he said. Turning to Margot, he asked, “I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but do you want to go look at the Hollywood Bowl? You know, up in the hills.”

  “Um…” Margot said with some hesitation. “No thanks.” When Noah looked surprised, she went on to explain. “It’s all romantic up there with the lights and everything. That would make this feel too much like a date.”

  “You mean this isn’t a date?”

  “You know what I mean,” Margot insisted. “It’s a date, but not like a date-date.”

  Noah’s eyebrows came together on his forehead. “How many kinds of dates are there in your world?” he asked.

  Margot shook her head and laughed. “I don’t know.”

  Picking up her hand, Noah said, “Let’s pretend this is a date-date and go up there anyway.” When Margot looked reluctant, he added, “Come on. I’ve lived here for years, and I still get a kick out of it.”

  “Okay.” She acquiesced and tried not to make a big deal out of the fact that when he touched her hand, her whole body went tingly. She had half expected his hand to be soft and smooth like a pampered executive, but there was a fair number of calluses. Margot somehow felt reassured knowing they were there. She also fought back the urge of thinking how it would feel to have those hands rubbing over her body.

  When they arrived at the hills over the Hollywood Bowl where it was possible to peak into the showground, Noah took her hand again to help her from the car. And he didn’t release it once she was standing. Instead, he led her over to look out at the natural amphitheater and band shell, which was all lit up and surrounded by a crowd of people. “Who’s playing?” Margot asked, as a way to distract herself from feeling nervous around the handsome movie star.

  Noah shrugged his broad shoulders. “I have no idea.” They both looked down at the show for a few moments in silence before he added, “You were right. This really sucks. This was a horrible idea.”

  Laughing, Margot went to swat at him with her free hand. He caught it and then spun her around, crossing her arms in front of her so that he was still gently holding both her hands but was standing behind her with his arms snug to her waist. The way he twirled her was as graceful as a dance move. Margot was too impressed to protest. “You’re like trying to pet a fussy cat,” Noah murmured in her ear, pulling up her grandmother’s shawl from where it had slipped off her shoulders.

  In response, Margot let out a small, grumpy growl, but she couldn’t keep it going and ended up giggling. “This is nice,” she had to admit. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “My pleasure,” he assured her.

  Chapter 6

  Just as Margot was starting to relax and forget about the pressure of appearing glamorous at a Hollywood event, it was time to head to the party. Sitting in the Town Car again as Aaron drove them back down the hill, she felt her palms begin to sweat. “Whose party is this again?” she asked, not sure if she’d ever been told in the first place.

  “Ophelia Blain’s,” was his reply. “I’m not sure what movie it’s for. She does so many of them.”

  Margot gulped. Ophelia Blain was one of the biggest movie stars of the decade. She was in everything, as long as there was some money behind it. Margot remembered reading somewhere that the star’s average fee for a movie was twenty million dollars. Twenty million. It stuck in Margot’s head because she couldn’t conceive of why anyone would need more than twenty million. Not to support just one skinny woman who obviously subsisted on lettuce and champagne. Ophelia’s love life was legendary. And so was her temper. She was definitely known to have an iron will. Margot couldn’t imagine speaking to her, let alone hitting her up for a donation.

  But then again, Ophelia Blain stepping forward and saying that human trafficking had to stop would really draw attention to the cause. Margot swallowed down her anxiety. If the opportunity presented itself, she had to at least try.

  When Aaron pulled up the car, there were a ton of people clustered outside of Edge, a swanky club on the edge of Chinatown. Ostensibly, the name was f
or the club’s location, but Margot assumed that was just a convenient excuse. A lot of the crowd must have been paparazzi because there were so many lights flashing; it almost gave a strobe effect as Noah helped Margot out of the car. Aaron had opened the car’s door for them, but Noah insisted he be the one to take her hand as she stood up. Everyone seemed to be calling out Noah’s name, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to turn one way or another so that they could snap a better shot. Margot had to remind herself not to be self-conscious because the paparazzi were not trying to photograph her. Still, she stood up straight and let her arms hang loose at her sides so as not to appear too nervous.

  There was a large and ferocious-looking bouncer at the door of the club to make sure no one who wasn’t on the guest list managed to sneak in, but once the man saw Noah, he smiled broadly, and the doors magically opened for them. “Thank you,” Margot said as they walked inside.

  Margot wasn’t sure what she was expecting when they walked into the club. She assumed it would be like almost any other nightclub she’d ever seen with well-worn, beer-stained floors and quickly fading décor from too many careless patrons. That was why the new, royal blue pile carpeting, fresh white paint, and art deco wall sconces really caught her by surprise. There was a baby grand piano and a man in a tuxedo playing it. After doing a double take, Margot was pretty sure that the pianist was a reasonably famous musician. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and servers flitted through the crowd proffering champagne and canapés.

  “It’s really nice in here,” Margot exclaimed to Noah, who had his arm around her waist.

  “I heard Ophelia had the whole club redone just for this party,” he told her.

  Margot shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” If you’re making twenty million per film, there’s no reason not to splash some money around, she thought to herself as Noah signaled a waiter with a tray full of bubbling champagne flutes.

  “Let’s say hi to Margot and then look around,” Noah said, nodding at a receiving line off to their right. “There’s a rumor that Sting is supposed to be doing an acoustic set.”

  “Really?” Margot couldn’t help but be a little dazzled.

  “That’s the rumor,” he said, guiding her over to join the receiving line. “Oh, and let’s not forget to grab our gift bags on the way out. Ophelia does not skimp on the gift bags.”

  Margot was beginning to feel a bit more optimistic. Surely a woman who spent so lavishly on a party was open to charitable giving. As the line inched forward, Margot caught a glimpse of the star. Ophelia was in a form-fitting white satin gown that fluttered into a small fishtail at the bottom. She was dripping in diamonds from her ears to her ankles. Yes, she even had on a diamond-studded ankle bracelet. No tiara, though, Margot noted with a hint of disappointment.

  As they drew closer, Ophelia’s face came into focus. She was just as stunning as she appeared in the movies. Maybe even more so, Margot decided. Her blue eyes were wide and tilted slightly, her honey-blonde hair piled high on her head, revealing an incredibly long neck and some very well-formed décolletage. Margot couldn’t even envy the movie star her remarkable good looks. Her beauty was almost surreal, like staring at a tigress out on the Maasai Mara.

  After digesting a bit of the glamour, Margot began to note how things were set up for the receiving line. Ophelia was standing in front of a blank wall that was obviously freshly painted in a subtle white. It functioned as one of those backdrops that photographers use for fashion shoots. The chandeliers were strategically placed to light Ophelia with a soft, pink glow. She greeted her guests with well-executed pleasure, clasping their hands and air kissing their cheeks. No one wanted their makeup smudged. There were three photographers documenting the whole process. If the guest was somebody recognizably famous, then Ophelia would pose with them so the photographers could get some really good shots.

  Then it was Noah and her turn, and the two of them stepped forward. When Ophelia saw Noah, her eyes lit up. “Darling,” she said, extending both her hands toward his. “How splendid of you to come. I was so hoping you would.” She leaned in close to air kiss him, much closer than she had with previous guests, Margot noted. Ophelia glanced in her direction. “Oh, and I see you’ve brought a friend.”

  “Let me introduce you.” Noah began. “Ophelia, this is…”

  But the actress cut him off with, “In a minute, darling. Let’s pose for a few snaps first.” She threw a glance in Margot’s direction. “You don’t mind, do you?” She gestured with her chin for Margot to stand to one side.

  Having no desire to be in the photos, Margot was only too happy to comply. The receiving line was crowding in on her so she dropped back, toward the blank wall. And that’s when she saw it—the blossoming red stain on the back of Ophelia Blain’s white gown.

  Chapter 7

  “Oh, God,” Margot whispered under her breath. Ophelia’s monthly Curse of the Woman had arrived and was making itself know across the creamy satin of her dress. With her back to the wall no one had noticed it yet, but she’d have to turn one way or the other at some point, and the stain, dark red on such a light fabric, stood out quite prominently.

  Margot eyed the photographers. They were happy enough for the gig, but the money that some of the sleazier scandal magazines would offer for such a humiliating picture would soon outweigh any gratitude they might have felt toward Ophelia for giving them an exclusive. The star obviously wished Noah had come without a date, but that was no reason to leave her open to such humiliation. I’ve got to do something, Margot said to herself.

  “Okay, I think they’ve got the shot,” Noah finally said, breaking off the photographers’ feeding frenzy of flashbulbs. He turned back to Margot, holding out his hand to her. “Ophelia, let me introduce you to my date, Margot Hernandez…”

  Noah would have continued with the introduction, but Margot cut him off with, “Oh, of course, we already know each other. In fact, Ophelia, I brought you that wrap you asked to borrow.” The star took half a step backward, assuming the woman standing in front of her was flat out crazy. That was until Margot managed to whisper, “There’s a stain on the back of your gown. I’ll meet you in the bathroom with some club soda.”

  Ophelia’s perfect face froze for a couple of seconds as she processed what she had just been told. Then she broke into a wide smile and said, “Darling, I’m so glad you could make it. And thank you for bringing that shawl… thing. It’s just so lovely.” Ophelia snatched the mantón out of Margot’s hands and deftly strung it over her arms so it hung low enough to hide the stain. “I’m going to take a few minutes break now,” she announced to the room in general. Then, after shooting Margot a significant look, she turned and proudly walked down a small hallway to the left of where everyone was standing. The photographers and waiting guests exchanged confused looks.

  “What’s going on?” Noah asked, looking a bit confused himself.

  “I’ll explain later,” Margot told him. She scanned the room, which was really only the entrance to the main room of the nightclub. She could just catch a glimpse of the bar inside the room with the main dance floor. Margot knew it was very unlikely that she would get any kind of prompt service from a bartender, so she turned to her date. “Would you do me a big favor and get me a large glass of club soda and a couple of lemons?”

  “Don’t you want anymore champagne?” Noah asked, a bit bewildered.

  “Oh, I’d definitely love more champagne,” she assured him. “But I need the club soda really quickly. And the lemons. I promise I’ll explain later.”

  Noah cut through the crowd and got Margot a pint glass of soda plus a pile of lemon wedges and another flute of champagne in less than two minutes. Fame brought good service. “Thanks,” Margot told him, and she grabbed the stuff. “I’ll be right back,” she said before heading down the hallway where Ophelia had disappeared.

  The sign read “Ladies” but there was another big, burly bouncer at the door. “Um…” Margot said in a hesit
ant voice. “I’ve got some things for Ophelia.”

  The bouncer looked skeptical, but the door cracked open and a voice hissed, “Let her in!”

  “Oh, thank God,” Ophelia said, grabbing the champagne and guzzling it once Margot had stepped into the ladies’ room. The actress had taken off her gown and was standing there in her bra and panties, both cream colored to match the dress. The actress was very fit but also Hollywood skinny, which didn’t look all that pleasing anywhere besides the big screen. “It’s over here.” Ophelia gestured to where she had laid the gown over a chair at a dressing table. Margot had to assume the actress had the women’s room specially modified for the event because it was way too pretty, clean, and comfortable for a night club facility.

  “Okay,” Margot said, setting the pint glass and napkin full of lemon wedges on the vanity. “If I were you, I’d put a towel or something absorbent behind the stain so it doesn’t leak through to the other side.”

  “All right. There are some towels by the sink, I think,” Ophelia told her, flapping a hand toward a connecting door.

  They both stood there, Ophelia waiting in an expectant manner. “Fine,” Margot said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll get the towels.” She went into where the toilets and sinks were and found a stack of white towels. “Here,” she said, after she’d fetched a few, trying to hand the towels to the movie star.

  “Do your best.” Ophelia nodded at her. “And try to be quick about it. This is my party, after all. I can’t stay in here all day.”

  Blinking several times, Margot tried to get a handle on the situation. Did this spoiled brat of a movie star really think she was going to take care of the problem, just for the privilege of helping someone famous? “Sorry,” Margot told her. “I really wouldn’t deal with that kind of personal stain, not even for a good friend.” When the actress continued to gaze at her without understanding, she added, “Not even on her wedding day, if I was the maid of honor.” Still not getting through to the star, Margot finally summarized her position with, “I’m not touching it.”