In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [27]
“Oh . . . yes, of course.” Mel was suddenly nervous. “Riley, grab the dog. Won’t you please come in, Mr. Vincent. This is Harriet Simons, my friend and partner. And my daughter, Riley.”
“Are you going to have dinner with him, Mom?” Riley demanded. “He asked you a question and you always told me I should answer when I’m asked, and so should you.”
“Oh, oh . . .” Mel threw Ed an embarrassed smile. “Okay. Yes. I guess so. Thank you. I mean . . . well, I guess I have to change. . . .”
“That would be a good idea, Mom,” Riley said dryly. “Now,” she said, taking charge, “would you like a cold drink, Mr. Vincent? A Diet Coke, or lemonade?”
Mel hurried to take a quick shower, leaving Ed with Riley and Harriet. He looked around, pleased. Mel’s home was a mixed bag of pretty antiques, probably from that antebellum Merrydew plantation house, and scruffy overstuffed pieces. An ancient baby grand was squashed into a corner, and the sea breeze wafted the gauzy cream curtains at the open windows.
Bunches of mixed flowers in jolly yellows and oranges wilted in pottery jugs; there was an unfinished sandwich on a plate on the window seat, and Riley’s schoolbooks were spread out on the old pine table in the cheery blue and white kitchen. The hardwood floors bore many scratches, and dust motes floated in a beam of sunlight. It looked comfortable, lived in. It was exactly right, he thought, satisfied. Exactly Zelda.
The dust got in his nose and he sneezed, accepting a lemonade from Riley, who proceeded to question him closely about where he lived and what he was doing in LA.
“A proud mama could not have interrogated you better,” Harriet told him afterward, with a grin.
Ed hauled himself out of the big sofa as Mel appeared, wearing what looked to him like a dress made out of black elastic bandages stitched together. It fit closer than any glove. It was low cut, short, tight. Stunning.
“It’s the latest thing,” Mel explained, catching his look. She hiked up the neckline, tugged down the skirt. “Tight as a corset but it pulls a girl in and pushes her out in all the right places. And I guess I have to suffer for beauty, or whatever I can catch of it, fleeting as it is.”
“You mean when you take it off, all that’s left is a shapeless sausage?”
He was laughing at her and she grinned back at him. “Some days that description fits. However, this dress is to your advantage. Because of it I’m what’s known as a cheap date. I can’t possibly eat more than a hint of soup, a touch of salad. . . .”
“Or else the dress bursts and all you’re left with is that sausage,” Riley finished for her, with that great rollicking laugh that Ed thought must come from the gut. “Don’t you think Mom looks like a tart?” she added sotto voce to Harriet, but loud enough to be heard by all.
“Thanks, child, for your vote of confidence.” Mel dropped a kiss on her daughter’s copper curls as she said good-bye.
21
“So, where are we going?” she asked, settling into the spacious front seat of the parked BMW.
Ed shrugged. “LA’s your town, not mine. Where would you like to go?”
Her eyes slid sideways and she looked at him, considering what kind of place might please him. He looked such a dude, she thought, all LA casual in a gray cashmere sweater, chinos, and loafers. On an impulse, she decided to take him to Serenata, a funky little Mexican-style place where she was a regular, along with other young wannabes, writers and actors, as well as just locals. It was low-key and busy and they served a terrible concoction they called a wine margarita, of which she was secretly fond.
She ordered two and smiled at him across the table. “You’ll like it,” she assured him when he raised his eyebrows. “Besides, they don’t serve the hard stuff.”
He laughed. “Then I guess I’d better like it. And since I don’t know my way around a Mexican menu, maybe you’d better order the food as well.” Her wide, slightly lopsided smile reminded him instantly of Riley. Like mother, like daughter, he thought.
“It’s nice, being here with you,