Chapter Fourteen

“Darling, that blue is just wonderful with your eyes,” my mother said as the photographer busied himself setting up his equipment in the Dautens’ formal living room in their Chatsworth Hills home.

“This old thing?” I inquired, glancing down at the silk Tommy Bahama camp shirt she’d bought me for my last birthday.

Natalie snorted, and Lauren -- who I rarely saw these days -- bit her lip trying not to laugh. I found it entertaining that my mother never bought me a garment in any color but blue. Different shades of blue -- and occasionally a pattern -- but always and without fail, blue. I’d pointed this out at the last Christmas extravaganza, and it had become a little family joke -- that Lisa did not acknowledge.

“He even got a haircut for the occasion,” Natalie offered.

Narrowly eyeing the photographer’s shapely assistant who was positioning Bill Dauten on the end of the sofa, Lisa replied absently, “That’s nice. Are you sure you don’t want Guy to be part of this portrait?”

“I’m sure,” I said, and my three stepsisters gazed at me with interest.

“It’s too late for that, darling,” Bill Dauten remonstrated gently.

“You’re a bit shiny,” the assistant told him, and Dauten grunted.

Dauten was a big man with the LA City Council. A big man in general -- a little soft around the middle -- bald and tanned. He had that aura of wealth and power that makes up for lack of looks and charm -- but he was unexpectedly both shrewd and kind.

And he’d managed to spawn three darling daughters.

They were darlings, too. Dolls. All three of them. Lovely, charming, intelligent girls bearing no physical resemblance to Dauten -- except they all had those blazing bright blue eyes. Maybe they took after Rebecca or Eleanor or whatever her name was: the first Mrs. Dauten. Or maybe Dauten was cranking them out of a factory somewhere.

“They aren’t married, Lisa,” Lauren said. Lauren was married -- for now -- to a handsome dolt who was wed to his upper management job; the spouse had apparently popped in for dinner, but couldn’t stay for the photo shoot. I wondered if Lauren sensed her days as Mrs. Corporate Clone were numbered. She was the toughest of my stepsisters to read.

“No, I suppose not,” Lisa said, meeting my eyes thoughtfully.

“That’s funny,” Natalie piped up. “Nobody has a problem with Warren not being part of the family picture.”

“Come on, Nat,” Lauren murmured.

“It’s hardly the same thing, darling,” Lisa put in. “Adrien has been seeing Guy for two years. You and Warren have only been dating a few weeks.”

“We’ve been dating for three months,” Natalie said.

No one responded to that.

Emma, sitting next to me, fidgeted in her frilly pink dress, and said, “I hate taking pictures.”

“Emma, don’t encourage Adrien,” my mother remonstrated, and Emma giggled. I met my mother’s gaze and she flicked her eyelid.

The photographer’s assistant began positioning us around the sofa, moving lights.

“What a lovely family,” she said, and Lisa preened as though she had responsibility for the whole kit and caboodle.

Eventually everyone stopped blinking and sweating and complaining about their bad sides -- and assuring each other they didn’t have bad sides -- and the photographer got down to it, clicking and snapping away while his assistant continued to flatter and instruct.

Finally it was over. The photographer packed up his gear and his assistant and left. Lauren and Natalie immediately fled to the nether regions of the house to “get comfortable.” Emma, who had complained several times about her scratchy, uncomfortable dress, apparently forgot all about it and settled on the floor with the box for Worst Case Scenario -- and a hopeful expression.

“Em…” I said.

“Adrien, you couldn’t take the time for dinner,” Lisa said. “At least you can visit for a bit.”

By which, I understood, that she planned on having a word with me.

I said, “In that case, I need a drink.”

“Darling, you mustn’t have alcohol while you’re on antibiotics.”

“I’m joking,” I said, although I wasn’t really. I missed alcohol. I missed it a lot at times like these.

She poured me mineral water, cut a wedge of lime, said way too casually, “Natalie said that your book is going to be made into a movie.”

“It’s been optioned. But lots of books get optioned, and almost none of them get made into movies.”

“You should have had Bill look at any contract before you signed it, darling.”

I nodded, sipped my mineral water, glanced at the clock.

“I’m seen some of Paul Kane’s movies,” Lisa said. “He’s very good. Very handsome. He makes a very good pirate.”

I shifted my eyes her way. “So does Bill,” I remarked.

“But Bill has kind eyes,” my mother returned equably. “Were you at Paul Kane’s house when that terrible tragedy on the news happened?”

By which, I assumed, she meant Porter Jones’s murder.

“Yes,” I said. “But you don’t need to worry about me getting involved in some murder mystery.”

She grimaced. “I notice you say I don’t need to worry about it, not that you’re not involved.”

“Adrien!” Emma called impatiently from the front room.

I bussed Lisa’s cheek. “Don’t fuss,” I said and went to join Emma.

* * * * *

Emma read, “‘How to get skin out of a zipper. Do you, A - Rub peanut butter or margarine on the zipper and gently jiggle it --’”

“Wait, I already know this one,” I said. “Give me something about recognizing bubonic plague. I always forget that one.”

“Ad-ri-en!”

“What?”

She tucked the card away, read the next one. “‘How to soothe a wound in the wilderness. A - Rub tree sap between your hands, then apply it to the wound as a soothing sealant. B - Wrap the wound in wet dark green leaves. C - Wrap a warm rock in a piece of cloth, then press it against the wound.’”

“I’m going to go with the warm tree sap,” I said.

She gave a throaty Ming the Merciless chuckle. “Wrong. ‘Wrap a warm rock in a piece of cloth, then press it --”

Lauren appeared in the doorway. “Guy’s on the phone, Adrien.” She studied her sister. “Emma, you should change that dress. And you’re monopolizing Adrien.”

“Not yet. Monopoly is next,” I told her, going into the kitchen to pick up the phone.

“Where are you?” Guy asked.

The question was clearly rhetorical since he was calling on the Dautens’ land line. Just one of those subconscious little guilt inducers, I guess. “At Lisa’s,” I said. “I told you. It’s the photo thing tonight.”

“You didn’t tell me that was tonight.”

“Yes, I did. Didn’t I?”

“No.” He sounded put out, which was not normal for him. “I’m over at your place but you’re not here. It’s beginning to feel eerily familiar.”

I started to answer, then lowered my voice, aware I had an audience although the adults in the family room appeared to be mesmerized by some reality show on the television. “What are you talking about?”

Guy said, “Paul Kane left a message for you, apologizing for landing you in deep shit with Riordan again. What was that about?”

“It’s not a big deal --”

“Really? Because it sounded like it was a big deal to Paul Kane.”

“Really.” I glanced over at the family room again -- the Dautens looked like a magazine layout for fine living -- their taste in television notwithstanding. “It was -- look, we’ll talk about it when I get home.” I hesitated. “I mean, if you’re going to be there?”

“Of course I’ll be here.” His tone changed again -- flattened. “Or would you prefer that I wasn’t?”

“No, I wouldn’t prefer that.” I caught a look exchanged between Lauren and Natalie and broke off the rest of what I had been about to say. “I’ll be home in an hour or so, all right?”

“I’ll see you then,” he said.

I hung up.

“There’s Tab in the fridge, Adrien,” my mother said brightly.

“Thanks. I’ve got to get going,” I said.

I returned to the living room to break it to Emma. “Just one more game!” she pleaded.

“I can’t, sweetie.”

“Please!”

“Emma,” Lisa said sharply from the doorway. “Adrien’s tired. He’s played with you for over an hour. We didn’t get to visit with him at all.”

Emma directed a mutinous face at Lisa. I ruffled her hair, and said, “Next time for sure, Em.”

She gave a sort of droopy, unappeased nod.

I followed Lisa back to the family room to make my good-byes. There was the usual ring of kisses and then a handshake with Bill.

“We don’t see enough of you, Adrien,” he said, clearly cued by Lisa.

I watched her stage-managing the Dautens, and I thought how perfectly she fit in here. She had successfully managed to build a new life, a new family for herself -- and I was happy for her. But yet tonight I felt distant, detached from it all. Or maybe it was just the knowledge that Guy was sitting at home waiting for me -- seething.

“You know Guy is always welcome here,” Lisa said, walking me to the front door.

“I know.”

She opened the door to the scent of smog and jasmine. Crickets chirped loudly.

“Good night,” I said.

But she said, as though she had been thinking it over all evening, “It’s a pity you can’t make up your mind to settle down with Guy. He’s very good for you. But you’re still not quite over Jake, are you?”

I stiffened. “Jake? Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“Watching you,” my mother said with unexpected dryness, and kissed my cheek.