“How much farther could it possibly be?” I demanded as we tramped over the carefully manicured grass toward the lights up ahead. “It didn’t look this far.”
“Yeeps!” Amanda shrieked and flew to my side as a peacock made its way out of the dark underbrush, examining us suspiciously with its beady little eyes. “Becca, get it!” She slipped off a lethal looking stiletto and held it up like a knife. “Back, you beast, back!”
“Mandi! Stop!” I said. “It’s not a pit bull.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s worse! It can peck me to death!”
“We’re not hurting the poor peacock,” I said. “Now put your shoe back on.”
The peacock rolled back its head with a languid caw, and I could have sworn there was pity in its eyes as it shuffled off slowly toward the valets at the main door. We followed it at a safe distance and ditched it quickly amongst the parked cars as we wound our way through to the bouncer at the gate.
“Hi,” Amanda said sweetly, turning on the charm. “I’m Amanda Gates, and this is my friend, Rebecca White.”
The man scanned down his list, surprisingly unaffected by her foolproof charms. It must be all the beautiful women here tonight, I thought as I smoothed my dress and waited.
It was only then that I really took in the house for the first time. I’d been far too concerned with the rogue peacock to notice it until now. House wasn’t really the right word. It was more like...compound. Headquarters. Lair. Something like that.
It looked like exactly what you’d imagine when you thought of the most ridiculous, opulent wealth in a place like the Hollywood Hills. Sculpted lawns, sparkling fountains, exotic lethal wildlife. You name it—this guy had it. And much more.
“Here you are.” The bouncer finally found us and scratched our names off the list. “You with William Colson’s Talent Agency?”
“That would be us.” Amanda smiled as he lifted the velvet rope for her. “Thanks. You have a good evening.”
The man looked surprised, like he didn’t get many thank yous or well wishes in his line of work. Looking around the people climbing out of their foreign sports cars, I could easily believe that. The crowd here looked like they’d been purchased to go with the house. Not a calorie or polyester thread among them. PETA would have a field day...
A little nervous for the first time, I followed Amanda inside. It was everything I could do to keep my jaw from dropping open like an idiot.
And I thought it had looked big on the outside...
It was like stepping back in time to the place that fairy tales and fantastical balls were based on. Ten diamond chandeliers glowed like ethereal orbs from the ceiling, reflecting off the white marble floors in watery golden pools. A huge winding staircase led to an upper level that seemed to be off-limits, but I think that if I were given the entire night, I still wouldn’t have had time to explore every room just in the downstairs. A massive foyer led to a sitting room, led to a parlor (is there a difference?), led to another sitting room, led to a dining room, led to a dancing room, and so on and so forth. The walls were hung with what even an art apathetic like me could identify as priceless pieces, adding the only bits of color to an otherwise extravagant but sterile environment.
Caterers appeared from nowhere and faded back into the walls, balancing silver trays with bubbling champagne as Stravinsky leaked down from invisible speakers. Um—scratch that—it was a live orchestra out on the terrace.
I almost laughed as I imagined being in a place that required my mental narration to use the word “terrace.” We were certainly a long way from East Hollywood.
“Well...it’s smaller than I imagined.” Amanda turned to me and sniffed with disdain.
I shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “What? No coat rack? That’s rude.” We grinned but stuck close together, a little thrown off balance by our
statuesque surroundings. “But seriously, I bet this guy loved to play with Legos when he was a kid.”
She snorted. “All right, well we have our marching orders. Mingle with as many people as possible.”
“Check.”
“Drop the Colson Agency’s name as many times as possible.”
“Check.”
“And don’t get too drunk.”
I hesitated, and we turned to each other. “Let’s...just see how the night plays out.”
She nodded in relief. “Agreed. But no swinging off the chandeliers drunk.” With a quick smile, she started weaving through the crowd. “Call if you need anything.”
“Yeah, I’ll just flicker the chandelier—” But she was gone. With a nervous glance around the ballroom, I grabbed the nearest champagne flute hovering toward me and downed it in three large gulps. Swapping it out for another, I sipped far more demurely, floating through the crowds like the caterers did, hoping to chance my way into a conversation or two.
“...same every year. We have this huge get together—everybody and their mother wants to come—and he never shows up on time. Honestly, it’s like...why not just wait until you’re going to be home to throw a party?”