Hollywood Hills

Chapter Two

She'd finished the shopping but by 11:00 scarcely had begun her preparations for lunch. Alice was a fair to middling cook when pressed, and since, for obvious reasons, she'd had to let the help go, she now was pressed. It was her sole concern not to screw things up before Eli's 11:30 arrival, but she was off to a poor start.

The doorbell rang at a quarter past.

"I didn't hear you come up," she said as she rubbernecked around the front door, looking for his vehicle. His early arrival had knocked her further from her game.

"I left my truck up at the worksite. Do you always leave the security gate open?"

"Yeah, uh ... long story. I just put the chicken in the oven. It'll be close to an hour before we eat." She winced. "Sorry."

"About what?"

"I made such a pompous fuss about you being on time and freeing up so much of your schedule."

"You know, I didn't come for the eats, as delightful as I'm sure that'll be. And my schedule's pretty much my own."

She liked smiling—she lived in LA for chrissake—but she hated not being able to stop smiling. That was clearly back on the menu for today.

"Give yourself the nickel tour," she said with a twisted grin as she moved toward the kitchen. "I'll be along in a few."

Her home in the Hollywood Hills was her delight. It wasn't perfect—she'd always wanted a yard, with some grass and flowers, a proper garden—but it was large, airy, and so loomed over the city below that it felt as if she lived in a castle. Now the place felt cavernous. It had always been far too much for just her and Otto, but having a non-stop flow of friends and clients in and out, as well as a full-time cook and a cleaning lady, had made it feel cozy.

After six months of neglect, though, the place had been looking decidedly shabby. So, over the last few days, in-between her other chores, she'd spent quite a lot of time cleaning and arranging. The results were gratifying.

"I love this place," she said to no one.

A few minutes later, her guest returned and took a spot on one of the wooden barstools Anna had always used when shucking or cutting.

"Drink?" she offered before he'd even had a chance to sit.

"No, I'm going to be driving later on."

"Not even one?"

"I got pulled over about ... oh, back when I was still a kid, drunk as a lord. Somehow my lawyer made it go away, but I promised myself from then on if I had to drive, I'd never drink ... not even a little bit."

"Good on you," she said enthusiastically. She took a luxuriant drink of red and added, "I'm already home. You do like chicken, don't you?"

"I love chicken. But full disclosure, I have a weakness for just about every kind of food."

"Every kind?"

"There are dishes I like more than others, but I like everything."

Who could believe that? But the notion made her feel better, and she suspected that was his intent. Baking lemon chicken and rice for lunch was a little extravagant—he probably would have been happy with soup and a sandwich—but their encounter on Tuesday had had that same effect. It'd made her feel better. She felt some tiny need to do something nice for her guest.

But what was it about Eli that affected her so? Because he was nice looking? Or because he was something from her past? She'd abandoned being Kate Johnson twenty years before, feeling it was what? Mundane? Ordinary? She really couldn't put her finger on it, but becoming someone new had been important to her then. Except for her parents, she'd eschewed all things Kate. Alice was more than just a stage name. It had been a new her.