“Nope, but I have a five.” She handed him a crumpled dollar bill from inside her tiny clutch. “Here’s another tip, don’t talk about your clients.” He harrumphed as she very carefully climbed out of the car.
Pierre’s Seafood was one of the swankiest new restaurants across from Citygarden, part of the downtown revitalization efforts. Huge glass globes spun outside the door, reflecting blue light onto the front of the restaurant. Swarms of photographers were gathered outside, looking bored. Were these all for Lola? That was impossible. How many pictures could they possibly get of her coming and going? Also, how did they know she was here? Fame was insanity, she thought as she walked quickly past them, her head to the ground. Elly entered through the bar and lounge area, where beautiful people swirled through large collections of sea-glass art, their thin glass flutes clasped tightly at their sides. In the corner, a jazz pianist played riotous riffs on a baby grand, as waiters in dark-blue windsor suits gave out tiny, artistic appetizers. A crowd of people gathered around a rope divider leading to the second floor. A large black man held out his arm as Elly tried to enter. “Sorry, VIPs only.”
“I’m here to see Lola Plumb?”
“I’m sure you are.”
“No, I really am.” She tried to sneak past him. If she could just see Lola and wave….
She felt a strong hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am, you need to back up. Everyone in here wants to see Lola Plumb. Can’t you see that? Step back.”
Elly ground her teeth together. “I’m in her party. In fact, she is coming here to meet me.” “Don’t play me, ma’am. There are about twenty people up there.”
Elly made a face. “What? That can’t be right. I’m supposed to just have a one-on-one meeting with her about her wedding next week. I’m important! I’m her florist.”
The man made a face. “That’s such a pathetic reason for getting past this rope, I almost believe you.”
Elly tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. “Believe me. I have no interest in taking a photo or getting her autograph. I’m here to talk to her about wedding flowers.”
His lip curled. “Tell me what you know about wedding flowers.”
“Well, for starters, this year’s trends, which are always evolving, are leaning toward the romantic and vintage. I’m seeing a lot of mints, yellows, and subtle gray tones that carry through the weddings’ overall themes. This year’s most popular flower choices are the Queen Anne’s lace, the East Coast variety, and rounded-out black dahlias, to give the arrangements that extra lushness. And that’s just for bridesmaids’ flowers. For the bride, we are talking about a rich bouquet that embraces the European style….”
The man rolled his eyes. “Go on through, but if I see you doing anything other than talking, I will take you out.”
Elly gave an obedient nod. “Noted.” He unclipped the velvet rope, and Elly slid in between the gap, clutching her purse nervously. She climbed the short flight of stairs and followed the signs to the VIP room. Another bouncer gestured to an open door, and Elly gave him a thankful smile as she slipped in.
Lola stood to greet her. “Elly! You came! I’m so glad. Everyone, this is my awesome florist, Elly.” Twenty pairs of bored eyes looked up at her, each person with a glass of hard liquor in their hand. Elly had never felt so out of place her entire life. There were two male redheads, twins, at the end of the table, obviously high on something other than life. There was a stunning African-American model sporting huge hair and a see-through shirt, a handsome Scotsman flirting with a wispy blond waif who appeared to be straight out of Dennis’s fantasy novel, two college-age jocks that screamed East Coast money, and a man that appeared to be either a very high-concept artist or a hobo. Lola’s famous entourage was here, and Elly instantly hated all of them. Lola herself looked radiant, as always, but deep shadows marked her sad eyes. She was wearing a minidress made entirely of blue peacock feathers and thigh-high black boots, her hair a tousled masterpiece. She was holding a half-full glass that looked a bit more like vodka than water.
Elly gave her an awkward hug. “Nice skirt,” mumbled someone sarcastically at the table. Sorry, I didn’t know looking like a train wreck was the thing, she thought bitterly.
Lola led her by the hand to the long oak table and sat down. Food covered the table—fresh shucked oysters, chipotle salmon, herb-crusted tilapia, potatoes, and salads—in a bountiful spread, but it seemed no one was eating. A fly circled lazily over a dish of hummus. Lola sat back in her chair. “So! I am sooo excited to talk about wedding stuff! I’m getting married!” Her entourage clapped and whooped.
Elly looked around. “Where’s Joe?”