What do you do when a teenage movie star makes it seem as if you've kidnapped him? After working two summers at his father's health club as a towel boy, Peter Fisk saved enough money to visit California. He literally runs into Lance Hardwood in his...
The wake-up call came promptly at 7 a.m. What was truly luxurious about it is that the call was made by a live person, who asked if there was any information they could provide for the day. In my ear James chimed in with his own 'Good morning.'
"I took the liberty of ordering some clothes for both you and Lance. Today's outfit is hanging in the closet. I consulted with your mother, and what she selected was a bit more stylish than you're used to. I based Lance's outfits on some suggestions he provided."
While I pulled on a pair of Joe Boxer briefs, I'd replied, "You've already spoken to Lance? When?"
"Five a.m. He said to say he'd meet you for breakfast with Scarlet. Which is in 10 minutes."
My clothes were worth a small fortune. A deconstructed linen jacket in ice blue, a white silk shirt and matching sand-pale beige linen pants, a ice blue silk pocket square with tiny white polka-dots; and a pair of slightly worn, plain but polished cowboy boots. I looked good, even with my shiny, bowling ball head.
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I found Scarlett, who was wearing a form-fitting leopard print jumpsuit with a lacey safari helmet that looked weightless. "Good morning, Buenos Dias, Buongiorno, bon matin, my dear boy. Your mother had this delightful ensemble waiting for me when I woke up. Such a lovely, delightful gesture! I don't know who she is, but her taste is exquisite."
"Sometimes, Miss Fever," I'd honestly responded, "I don't think I know her at all."
"So, did you two finally..." she began, but I rudely cut her off.
"Please don't. Don't ask, Scarlet. I'm a very private person, and though you've somehow become wrapped up in this crazy drama, I'd just as soon not talk about Lance and me, if there is a Lance and me. I'd like there to be, and I think he might want there to be too, except as long as he's with Disney there can't ever be an 'us.' Even if we both want it."
"So, you didn't," she deadpanned. "That's all you had to answer, hon. You'll work it out. You're a smart, resourceful young man. And he likes you." She sipped her Mimosa. A waiter arrived with an order of Brioche French toast for her. I was about to order when a second waiter placed a bowl of yogurt, a cup of mixed fruit and a tropical mango smoothie in front of me. I looked at Scarlett.
"Your mother said to order anything for myself and gave these suggestions for you."
"What about Lance?" I asked, diving into my meal.
"You know, he said he'd come back to place his order, but that was an hour ago. Last time I saw him, he was talking with that hunk of a car valet – what was his name? Henry, Horace?"
I grabbed my smoothie. "Hector!" I growled. "Excuse me, I will be right back." I found a secluded spot in the lobby. "Locate Lance, James."
"Lance is on penthouse floor 2."
"WHAT? Who or what is on penthouse floor 2?"
"One moment. It is being rented by Pay to Play Studios. Accessing info about PtP...there is no available information, I'm afraid."
