case was the one belonging to Jonathan. It was his opinion that his big-man reputation simply couldn’t withstand the hit of his having convinced someone to do the right thing. And in a way I saw his logic. So I had taken the fall for Jonathan’s conscience, claiming to be the one who had forced Bruno to make an equitable arrangement. And I made a lifelong friend in Claudia Bronstein (the proud new owner of their house in Palm Springs, along with the third largest strip club in Hollywood) in the process.
“I still can’t believe that guy calls himself an entrepreneur,” Jonathan mused from the couch a half hour later.
“Meaning?” I looked up from my books on case law.
“Meaning—” he lowered his voice and glanced at the door to make sure that his pesky sense of morality would remain between the two of us “—in my opinion, a real entrepreneur is someone who makes something from nothing. Like my dad, who used all his savings to build an import business from scratch. He’s the perfect blend of an inventor and a salesman. But with Bruno, it doesn’t apply. He didn’t have to invent or sell anything. People are hardwired to want sex with ridiculously beautiful women, and to be fascinated with depravity, especially in this town. How much of an accomplishment is it when all you’re doing is essentially turning the lights on at the crack store to make it a little easier for the junkies, who were already looking to find it? Sure, he diversified into related businesses, but he never had to sell anything to anyone that they didn’t already want and kind of need.”
In order to keep some semblance of idealism alive within herself, a girl in L.A. has to search for signs of integrity in most men with the resolve of a drug-sniffing dog. Jonathan was one of the good ones, I had long since decided. And my resolution made it so much easier both to work with him and to recognize as a fact how influential in the upper echelons of the local legal community I had no doubt he would one day become.
“Okay. But he’s pretty damn proud of himself. As proud as I’m sure wife number three will be…just as soon as she turns eighteen and decides to apply for a job at his club, that is.”
“That guy doesn’t have much to be proud of.” He half laughed, turning his attention back to his work. “Take it from a junkie.”
three
OKAY, SO IT’S NOT A DIRTY LITTLE SECRET IN THE“NO OFFICER,I have no idea how that horse managed to dress itself up in full bondage gear and climb into a vat of Jell-O” sense of the phrase. But still, my obsession for the horoscope section of the otherwise godawful celebrity rag, Pucker, always made me feel a little dirty.
So in the end it turns out that my father was right. Family is the truest testament to the concept of karma, since they always get so much farther under your skin than anybody else without even trying. And that much irritation can only have been built up over multiple lifetimes. Case in point…Even though I hadn’t spoken to her in a week or more, I was thoroughly resenting my mother’s potential satisfaction at the mere thought of my resorting to the horoscopes for advice before I had even checked my weekly copy of Pucker, which Cassie left for me in a very nondescript-looking envelope on her desk every Friday afternoon. She referred to the magazine as my dirty little secret because she knew that despite my vocally vehement protests to the contrary, no one at the firm would ever believe I wasn’t reading it for the celebrity gossip.
But when you live your life surrounded by celebrities, you quickly find that you have about as much interest in their love lives as you do in their opinions on your love life. Which is to say, none. Once you have seen them standing in line behind you at a Starbucks at 11:00 a.m. on a day when their stylists, hair and makeup people have presumably gone simultaneously AWOL, it’s hard to muster any real interest in who they might have woken up next to. Unless of course you’re the one that woke up next to them. I’m far more interested in who I’m sleeping with, I’d often told my cousin Sheila, who never believed me.
Either way, after work I headed for the parking garage, climbed into my car and locked the door behind me. As I flipped to the page containing my horoscope, a small slip of paper floated out onto my lap. Inside the slip of paper was a single peacock feather. Of all the weird promotions, I thought…before clicking on the light and noticing the words scribbled on the paper: It’s shaped like an eye, get it? It’s like an amulet. Shut up and put it in your wallet! Love ya, Cassie.
Laughing, I tossed the feather and note onto the passenger seat. Then I got back to scanning Hayley’s Horoscopes, praying for something that might relate to me and Raj. After weeding through the useless bits about how some planet is rising in some sector of my chart, and how many years it’s been since it did that, I finally got to the specifics. But aside from a warning about unintended consequences for any capricious actions I might be considering this month, it offered up little in the way of help. So I switched to Taurus—Raj’s sign. It read in part:
Watch out for an upcoming eclipse, dear Taurus, which will occur in the second week of the month, and most likely affect your home and romance sectors. The planets are intent on misbehaving this month, making it difficult for you to be sure of the intentions of those around you. Trust me when I tell you that this disruptive influence is not only positive, but also necessary for many of you. The frenzied social calendar which will preceed the eclipse will set the stage for a much-needed examination of your romantic priorities, and those of your partner. If you’re stuck in a romantic rut, cosmic AAA is already on the way! If your partner has been misbehaving, it might be time to trade them in once and for all. Keep reminding yourself that, while things may start out difficult, they will soon begin moving in the right direction, and you will find your love life in far better shape than ever before.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. If the universe and Hayley were conspiring to pull Raj and I apart, then they weren’t gonna get us without a fight. I dropped the magazine, shifted into Reverse and slammed on the gas…only to have to jam down the brakes a split second later when an angry woman in a fast-moving SUV honked me back into the moment before zooming by in my rearview mirror. Had I hesitated, I would definitely have slammed into her driver’s side. I held a hand to my chest and hung my head to try and regain equilibrium. After catching my breath, I opened my eyes to fixate on the peacock feather watching me from the leather seat beside mine. Feeling like a child who’d decided to run away from home to her tree house on the night of the biggest snowstorm of the year, I looked both ways, sighed and reached for the feather. Folding it into three pieces, I tucked the feather inside my wallet, fastened my seat belt, and then ever so timidly backed my car out of the space.
“That torso is not a toy!” someone yelled at me through the phone at roughly 8:00 a.m. the following morning.
Sliding my Sleepy Time terry cloth mask away from my eyes to let in his voice along with the ambient light I replied: “Excuse me?”
“Is this Monica from Steel Associates?” a person who sounded a lot like an English butler asked, and then spoke to someone else, “How did she get a hold of a mannequin inside the dressing room?”
“Maybe,” I replied, fearing the worst.
“My name is Arthur Wood, and I am the Director of Private Client Services at Barneys New York in Beverly Hills…Madam, please refrain from abusing my staff!…and your client, one Mrs. Lydia Johnson, has caused a bit of a situation at our store this morning.”
“A situation?” I sat up, picturing her trying to set the place on fire, and wondering what that might have to do with me.
“Yes, let’s call it that. And we do not have the means to sedate her without calling the police, which I am sure you understand would alert the media. You are the only person she is willing to speak with. She has barricaded herself inside of a dressing room, and…Stop that immediately!
