*
Oakley’s driver takes me to a small bistro on Rodeo Drive. It’s called the Wicker Garden and I Googled it on the way and found out it’s the place for celebrities to eat lunch. Apparently it’s famous for its kale Caesar salad and for being the site where Paul Davenport proposed to Hallie Wolfe. They’re famous actors whose marriage lasted about as long as it takes for your food to arrive at the Wicker Garden.
I wipe my damp palms on the front of my dress as I reach the hostess stand. “Ah, hi,” I tell the elegantly dressed woman. “I’m Vaughn Bennett. I’m, uh, supposed to meet Katrina Ford?” I never, ever thought those words would be coming out of my mouth.
“Right this way.”
She leads me through a white archway that’s covered in ivy and I think is made of wicker. The Wicker Garden is really trying to live up to its name. All the tables here give off the illusion of being secluded, thanks to the huge planters of ferns and palm fronds situated all over the patio. But it’s not at all private—there are nearly a dozen photographers standing beyond the railing that separates the bistro from the street.
I know they’re taking my picture, so I make a conscious effort to keep my shoulders straight and my expression blank. I don’t want them getting any shots of me slouching, or catch a weird angle of me scratching my cheek and then reading tomorrow that Oakley Ford’s girlfriend picks her nose!
Katrina Ford hops out of her chair when I reach her table. She’s wearing tight black pants, a loose-fitting black top that somehow accentuates her slenderness, silver hoop earrings and stilettos with the famous red heel. I stare at her for a long second, because she’s even more beautiful in person. Her eyes are the same shade of green as Oakley’s, but her wavy mane of hair is a few shades lighter.
“Vaughn!” she squeals, and then I’m pulled into an unexpected hug. She smells like expensive perfume. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
I offer an uncertain smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Ms. Ford.”
“Call me Kat.” She tugs on my hand. “Sit, please. I’ve been looking forward to this all morning, ever since Claudia phoned on Oak’s behalf. She said he was dying for me to meet his new girlfriend.”
My brow furrows. Is that what Claudia told her? That Oakley wanted us to meet?
Guilt tickles my belly as I take the seat across from her. A waiter wearing all black rushes up to take my drink order. I ask for a Coke, and Katrina orders a mimosa.
“It would have been nice if he’d phoned himself,” she admits, folding her hands on the crisp linen tablecloth. Her fingernails are shiny and perfect, as if she’d just gotten a manicure. “But I get it. Hollywood, right? Everything is done through agents and publicists, even conversations between a mother and son.” She smiles carelessly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
That guilty feeling gets worse. It clearly bothers her that Oakley didn’t call her. I know why he didn’t—he had no clue this lunch date was even happening until after I was informed about it. Claudia set it all up without his approval.
But I can’t exactly tell his mother that.
The waiter returns with our drinks and then takes our orders.
“Have the kale Caesar,” Katrina urges. “It’s divine!”
Gag. Kale is so gross. “How about a regular Caesar salad?” I ask tentatively. “Like, with lettuce? Do you have that?”
The waiter arches a brow. “We don’t serve lettuce in any of our salads. It’s all kale.”
Double gag. I give the menu a speedy scan. “I’ll have the turkey and avocado sandwich, please.”
“Brie or goat cheese?”
“Um. Brie.” There aren’t any prices listed on the menu, and I’m suddenly terrified I might have ordered a hundred dollar sandwich, but Oakley’s mom doesn’t seem concerned.
“That sounds fabulous,” she tells the waiter. “I’ll have the same.”
Once he’s gone, she beams at me and says, “Tell me about yourself, Vaughn.”
I take a hasty sip of my Coke. “Oh. Well, I just graduated from high school last spring—” Crap! I’m already breaking one of the rules. I quickly try to think of a way to change the subject, but Katrina speaks before I can.
“Good for you!” She doesn’t seem upset at all. “You must be really smart.”
I blush.
“I’m glad for that,” she says frankly. “My son needs an intelligent girl. Someone with a good head on her shoulders.” Her tone becomes rueful. “Oak is way too impulsive, doesn’t always make the best decisions. He gets that from me.”
“Does he?”
She nods then swallows the rest of her mimosa in one long gulp. “I’m nothing if not spontaneous. It’s the only way to live life, in my opinion. Did Oak tell you I married Dusty when I was seventeen?”
Great, another no-no topic has been breached. I don’t know what to do. Claudia and Amy made it clear I wasn’t supposed to talk about Oakley’s dad, but she brought him up. It would be rude for me not to respond, right?
“No, he didn’t tell me that.” I pause. “That’s superyoung.” My age, in fact. I can’t envision being married right now. Of course, I can’t envision anything about my future, so that’s not saying much.
Katrina laughs. “I’m sure it seems young to you, but you have to remember—by that point, I’d already been working full-time for ten years. I started acting when I was seven.”
Right, I think I knew that.
“You grow up fast in this business,” she goes on. “I was practically middle-aged by the time I met Dusty. It was on the set of the only movie we did together.”
Middle-aged at seventeen? Damn, Hollywood is brutal.
She waves the waiter over and orders a second mimosa.
It kind of bothers me that she doesn’t thank him, but I’m hoping she makes up for it by leaving him a huge tip.
“Oak was born when I was twenty.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Wow. She’s only thirty-nine? Except, wow again, because she looks way younger than that. Do not bring up plastic surgery, I order myself.
“I’m thirty-two.” She winks at me.
I press my lips together to contain a laugh. “And nobody has ever done the math and realized that would mean you gave birth at thirteen?”
“Oh, Vaughn.” She’s grinning now. “School math and Hollywood math are two very different things.”
My laughter spills out, and she joins in. I didn’t expect to like her this much, but I do. She’s so quick to smile and laugh, and her enthusiasm is contagious. I’m totally aware of the photographers snapping pictures of us from the curb, but Kat pays them no attention. I suppose if you’ve been acting for three quarters of your life, the sounds of camera lenses whirring is like white noise.