“All navy?” Elly nervously started gathering the white tablecloth in her fingertips. There was not one, not one true navy-blue flower in existence, to her knowledge. There were darker cornflowers, hydrangea, and delphinium, but those weren’t navy. Not even close. Elly forced herself to continue the consultation. This wedding is going to be impossible, she thought. “What were you thinking for centerpieces?”
Lola pushed back her hair, her bangles clinking together. “So. When Joe and I were in Morocco, I saw this tiny little hookah shop tucked back behind this mall area. They had the most beautiful little silver shisha pipes. I bought one, just to own, but I think that I want those to serve as an inspiration for the centerpieces.”
“You want to have actual hookah vases on the tables?”
Lola gave a shrug. “Maybe. I’ll leave that up to you—I trust your talent, Elly.”
The compliment made Elly’s ego inflate with pride, like a balloon expanding in her chest. Lola Plumb thought she was talented! Too bad everything would be hideous!
“Also, I was thinking maybe we could have little Chihuahua statues on each plate?”
The balloon deflated. Hurley appeared beside the table, white china plates of steaming hot food in his hand.
“Miss Plumb.” He put down a gorgeous assortment of dishes in front of her.
“And for Miss Jordan,” he set down a mouth-watering steak, artichoke, and a perfect, tiny piece of pecan pie.
“Thank you.” They began to eat in silence. Elly, ravenous, made quick but polite work of half of her steak and mushrooms. When she looked up again, Lola was motioning for the waiter.
Hurley stood by the table. “Is everything okay, miss?”
“It is, I’m just done.”
Elly stopped, mid-chew, her fork hovering in the air. Lola had maybe taken three bites of everything she had ordered. Her eggplant parmesan sat virtually untouched.
Elly motioned with her utensil. “Are you done already? You barely ate anything!” She instantly regretted being so bold.
Lola gave a sad shrug. “I’m full, I guess.” Elly looked at her with disbelief. Lola fidgeted with her hair. “Well, okay, I’m not full, I’m actually starving, but I can’t eat very much. The last time I put on five pounds, I was on the cover of OK! Magazine. They said I was pregnant.”
Elly remembered a recent story she had read about Lola, claiming she was anorexic. Lola had been disembarking from a yacht, her ribs exposed and painfully visible. “So, if you gain a few pounds, you are pregnant or getting fat, and if you don’t, you are anorexic or bulimic?”
“Or a drug addict.” Lola gave a sad sigh and took a swig of her water. “That’s my favorite one. And occasionally true. And on the cover of Us Weekly a month ago.”
A rush of red-hot guilt flooded Elly’s senses. She had seen that magazine—not only that, she had picked it up at the grocery store and read that specific story, about Lola’s battles in and out of rehab, of her eating disorders, of her wild nights and wardrobe malfunctions and dysfunctional relationship with Chloe Britt. She had been one of those people, those heartless individuals, who had gleefully watched a celebrity fall from grace. Guilt, stabbing and real, ate at her stomach. Elly felt convicted that she had contributed to Lola’s pain—from a distance and indirectly—but she had. “I saw that magazine cover. But I want you to know that I didn’t buy it. I only read it in the checkout lane.”
Lola gave a deep, real laugh, and it sounded lovely.
“But you are sober now, right?”
Lola gave an unhappy sigh. “Pretty much. I’m better than I used to be. I have a hard time staying away from that stuff when I go out, but Joe has helped immensely. My goal is to be one hundred percent sober by the wedding. I promised him that I would. Although, Gemma makes me want to drink. She sets my teeth on edge.”
Elly nodded and took a small bite of steak. “She’s just trying to do her job. I’m sure dealing with celebrities all the time, plus the demands of the network, don’t exactly make for a peaceful job.”
Lola rested her extraordinary face on her palm. “I love watching you eat that steak. I remember the days when I could eat a steak and no one cared.”
Elly swallowed. “I’m not going to lie, it’s a pretty good steak. Have the rest. Please.”
Lola eye’s widened. “Really?”
“Really.” Elly slid her plate over and Lola took a single, small bite. She closed her eyes in rapture. “Oh. Oh, that is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” She paused before taking another bite. “Elly, tell me all about you. It’s rare that I get to just talk with a normal person.” Somehow, something that was mildly insulting came across as charming.
“Well … I grew up in Peachtree, Georgia with my mother….” Elly felt like she talked forever, telling Lola everything in rich detail—her childhood, her mother’s death from ovarian cancer, her marriage to Aaron, the affair, moving to St. Louis, the opening of Posies, about Keith and Aaron and Dennis and Kim, about her new shop and her fears of it not being successful. At the end, the steak was gone, and Lola’s huge brown eyes were flooded with empathy.