On Wednesday morning, Jenna and Andy came by the office pretty much first thing. I brought up some properties, and we considered a few, ultimately deciding to go and look at two houses in Sherman Oaks that we’d just bought but hadn’t done anything to yet. After touring the two houses and discussing what could be done with them, Andy and Jenna chose the less expensive of the two. It did have a better location, and better bones- it just needed more work.
Back at the office, Andy and Jenna sat down, and, nervous as anything, started the bank transfer of two million dollars to cover the purchase price and expected remodel costs, with the remaining one point one million to go into the investment trust.
“That’s pretty much all the money I got from signing,” Andy explained. “My contract is structured so that I get three hundred grand a year for the remainder, and then any bonuses as they happen. I figure we can pay off our student loans and live on half that, if we don’t have a mortgage or anything, so we want to keep adding to the trust as we go along. That’s cool, right?”
“Of course,” I said. “And you can withdraw any time you need it, too. It’s your money. I’m just investing it for you guys.”
“What if you have a loss?” Jenna asked. “What happens then?”
“Over the long term, there is no such thing in real estate in California. We may hit a bumpy patch, but that only ever lasts a few years at the most, historically speaking. Look at the Great Recession, for example. That was the worst economic decline since the Depression in the Thirties, right? Southern California home prices took a serious hit, but within four years were higher than before. Smart money was buying everything they could back then, knowing it was going to go back up.”
“Like Will Rogers said,” Andy explained, holding Jenna’s hand. “Buy land. They ain’t making any more of it.”
“That’s what it boils down to, all right,” I agreed.
“You guys are coming over tonight, right?” I asked as they were leaving.
“Of course!” Jenna replied. “Seriously, it’s like, the highlight of our week, having dinner over at you guys’ place.”
I hadn’t invited Stephen and Teddy Bear that week and they had no idea it was a recurring event, so I texted to Emmy that she should ask Jen, Lee and Jackson over that night. They all agreed, and Jackson asked if it’d be O.K. if he brought a date, so we said sure. At nine people, dinner would get a little bit unwieldy since the dining table only had eight chairs, but we could make something work.
As it turned out, Jackson’s current girlfriend couldn’t make it, so eight chairs was enough. We didn’t really spend all that long at the dining table, though. Since September is Southern California’s warmest month, the temperature was perfect out on the balcony even after the sun went down. While the rest of us relaxed, Emmy and Jackson sang a duet accompanied only by her guitar and Lee drumming on the table- a really nice, soulful rendition of that old Willie Nelson song, Seven Spanish Angels. When they finished, clapping from the next balcony over could be heard, even though a wall separated the two balconies.
“Lacy?” Emmy called out.
“Hey, Emmy, don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying hearing you guys sing,” came the disembodied voice.
“Come on over!” Emmy replied. “We are just drinking wine and enjoying the evening- we would love to have you join us.”
“You sure?”
“Of course!” Emmy said.
A few minutes later, Lacy was handing Emmy a bottle of wine and taking a seat on one of the couches, next to Jenna. A quick round of introductions later, and it was like she’d been there all along, engaging in the conversation perfectly comfortably.
It turned out she had been an actress when she was younger and had made a lot of money starring in a popular family drama I’d never seen, socking it away in a time when that just wasn’t fashionable. She’d gotten out of acting, investing her royalties and never needing to work again. She was over twice as old as any of the rest of us, but was every bit as current as anybody and did just fine with the group.
“It’s going to be a loss when you two move out,” she lamented at one point. “I’m going to miss our lunches, Emmy.”
“That is nice of you to say,” Emmy replied. “There is no reason we cannot still get together- after all, Hollywood is not that far away.”
“I suppose not,” agreed Lacy. “And it’ll be good to get out of the house once in a while.”
Going inside to mix up some more drinks, I found Jenna talking to Jen about the house she and Andy were buying from me.
“We’ve been doing a lot of house hunting, you know?” Jenna said. “And Leah is one hundred per cent right. It does all come down to buying the worst house on the best block, and with her contractors, soon it’s gonna be the best house on the block.”
“I wish we didn’t buy where we did,” lamented Jen. “The area’s all right, I guess, but the neighbors all suck, and the house is old and kinda crappy. It looks charming enough, but it needs more work than it could ever justify, if you know what I mean. I just don’t think it’s the right place for us.”
“With the new studio being built,” I said as I mixed up some Boulevardiers, “It should be easy to talk Lee into moving closer to Hollywood.”
“Jesus, wouldn’t that be awesome!” Jen said, accepting the drink I handed her.
After everybody left and Emmy and I snuggled in bed, she told me, “I took Angela shopping today. I bought her some nice clothes to wear on the trip.”
“She has a ton of clothes,” I objected. “I’ve seen her closet. It’s jammed.”
“Yes, but it is all that ‘fast fashion’ that the clothing company she represents sells. I am certain you have noticed it is a bit… unsophisticated,” Emmy said as she snuggled into my ‘big spoon’.
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it trashy,” I hedged. “But yeah, a lot of it is, um…”
“Exactly. That is why I took her shopping for clothes of a higher quality.”
“That was nice of you,” I said.
“If she is going to be our… Our long-term companion, I would like it if she would dress a little bit better.”
‘Our long-term companion’? I mused, but didn’t say anything.
Since I’d packed that morning, all I had to do after class was take a quick shower and throw on some casual clothes, and we all climbed into the X6 for the short drive to the Burbank airport. I pulled up in front of the executive terminal and the porter took our bags while the valet gave me a receipt for the key to the car.
“This doesn’t look like a real airport,” Angela said doubtfully as we followed the porter’s cart out onto the tarmac. As soon as Angela realized we were headed to a private jet, she let out a little squeal of excitement.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“You guys have your own jet? How come you never told me?”
“It actually belongs to Emmy’s parents- we’re just borrowing it for the week.”
“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Lascaux,” said the pretty attendant whose name I could never remember. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Farmer.”
As we took our seats, Angela’s wide eyes took in everything. “This is amazing,” she said. “Is it O.K. if I take pictures for the socials?”
“Of course,” Emmy replied. “But do not mention that the plane belongs to my parents.”
“Of course!” Angela replied, still stunned.
The moment we hit cruising elevation Angela handed me her phone to snap some photos, and we went through the whole routine of angles and poses, much to the attendant’s amusement. In fact, we even got her to take a couple of shots of the three of us together, sipping champagne.
A few hours later we landed at Chicago Executive, where a driver was waiting to take us into town. It was very late at night (or very early in the morning) when we checked into the hotel downtown, but the desk clerk had known to expect us and soon enough we were up in our two-bedroom suite on the twelfth floor.
After the bellhop left, Angela flopped down on the couch in the living room. “God, this is so amazing!” she said. "Thank you guys for bringing me with you!”
“I am tired,” Emmy announced. “I am going to go pass out.”
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed.
“See you guys in the morning,” Angela said as she took out her phone to snap a few selfies in the luxurious suite’s main room.
“Do not stay up too late,” Emmy advised. “We have sight-seeing to do tomorrow.”
I slept in the next morning, which I rarely ever do. Of course, the two hour time zone difference made it even later, but good rest is sometimes more important than rising to meet the dawn. Even with my laziness, I was still the first one up and so I had time to do some yoga before the others stumbled out of bed.
We had a late breakfast at the hotel’s second-story restaurant, with great views of the Chicago River to the south. After we ate, we walked the few blocks east along the River Walk to the Millennium Park.
“I want to see that big shiny bean thing,” Emmy had announced, so that was first on our list to see. As expected, Angela took a fair number of selfies, as well as shots of the sights we passed as we walked. Further south, along the shore of Lake Michigan, we hit the thing I wanted to see- the aquarium. I’d heard it was well worth the time, and it absolutely was. Having lived my whole life within a few miles of the Pacific Ocean, I had never really given any thought to what sort of aquatic life might even exist in the Great Lakes, and was surprised by the diversity and vibrancy of the exhibits. Of course, they had coral reef tanks and so on, but it was the freshwater tanks that really made me stop and stare. For Angela and Emmy, the best part was the shallow petting tank where you could feed and touch the stingrays, but I’d seen that before at Sea World when I was little.
I got a work call while we were walking back to the hotel, so I dropped back behind the other two to talk. Brenda had a question about the new office organization chart, and what to do about Tracy- easy stuff to answer. While I talked, I watched Emmy and Angela walking, admiring the way their hips swayed as they strolled, and their nice, firm legs and great butts. I like boobs as much as the next girl, but I am on the record as a strong believer in great butts.
Emmy leaned in to point something out to Angela, and they paused for a moment, Emmy taking Angela’s hand to get her walking again afterwards. The two held hands for a while, laughing and chatting as they walked, making for a truly charming sight.
After we returned to the hotel, Emmy settled down for an afternoon nap while I got out my laptop to get a couple of hours of work done. Angela did the same, but her work involved some photo adjustments and uploading to Facebook, Instagram and who knows what else.
“Emmy mentioned dinner plans,” Angela said, looking up from her computer. “Do you know what time?”
“I think we have an eight o’clock reservation,” I answered absently. “The car’ll pick us up at twenty of.”
“I need to take a shower and get ready,” Angela decided, looking at her watch.
“It’s still two hours before time to leave,” I protested.
“Exactly.”
About an hour later, I woke Emmy up and we took a shower together. We had a little bit of fun, but not too much, since we really didn’t have all that much time. September weather in Chicago is nice and warm in the day, but it cools off quickly in the evenings, so I wore a blazer with my Oxford shirt and nice trousers. Emmy chose a beautiful forest green silk shirt and black pencil skirt, looking stunning as always. She opted to wear her pearls, setting off the satiny smoothness of her charcoal-black skin and her white, white hair. When Emmy dressed up, nobody, and I do mean nobody, could possibly compare.
Angela came out of her room wearing a snug, self-belted knit dress in a dove gray. It was elegant but not too much so- and clearly showed Emmy’s touch in its selection. She looked great, and certainly a lot more classy than her usual outfits.
The limo was waiting for us when we exited the lobby, the dark-suited driver standing beside the car. He opened the door and helped Emmy in first, then Angela, then me. Of course, as soon as we got rolling towards Lincoln Park, Angela had her phone out and was taking selfies to post. I can’t even say that I found it annoying- after all, selling this ‘aspirational lifestyle’ was her job, and she was diligent about it.
The restaurant had been listed by Condé Nast as among the top twenty in the world, so I was looking forward to dinner and wondering how it would compare with some of the other world-class restaurants we’d eaten at. My initial impression of the place was very positive. We’d booked a table for four (necessary, since they only took reservations for even numbers of patrons) on the main floor, so we could watch the chefs through the glass wall separating the small dining area from the kitchen. The maitre d’ promptly sat us at our table, and within moments the sommelier was asking about our preference for wine pairings. I let Emmy handle that, since I still really didn’t know much about wines, even after reading all Luisa’s emails on the subject of our New York cellar.
Angela, predictably, was awe-struck, marveling at the small restaurant’s elegance and the other patrons’ obvious wealth.
Wealth is good, and it’ll get you reservations at places like that, but fame is what you need to get a table on demand, which Emmy had essentially done. She’d mentioned that typically the place is reserved two to three months in advance, but she got us a table on the day she requested with only a week’s lead time.
Of course, having extremely recognizable patrons enhances a restaurant’s cachet, so places like this always kept a table open for celebrities. It isn’t fair, by any measure, but it’s true.
The tasting menu was truly excellent, on par with anything I’d ever eaten, and Angela soon got over the shock of these tiny little morsels of food served up like jewelry, perfect examples of presentation as much as of the culinary arts. Of course, it was all supremely delicious, especially the quail drumsticks- truly heavenly.
The wine pairings were indeed stellar as well, and even my unrefined palate appreciated the way the wines complemented the many tiny little tidbits cooked to perfection.
All those little courses do add up, eventually, and it’s fair to say that we left the restaurant with our bellies full enough, our heads buzzed enough, and our tongues very happy, indeed. Dinner took nearly two and a half hours, as these things do, so we had no plans for afterwards except to return to the hotel, basking in the glow of a fantastic dinner. Even though I’d had to pay for the empty fourth seat, dinner with the wine came to significantly less than I’d expect to pay back in the Bay Area or in New York, so I didn’t complain at all.
Angela, though, was curious how much I’d just spent for dinner and didn’t get the hint when I tried to change the subject. Eventually, I had to admit that with gratuity, it came to just shy of three grand, all told.
“Three thousand dollars? For dinner?” she breathed, having a hard time wrapping her brain around the idea. “How much is our hotel room?”
“Fifteen hundred a night,” I told her, making her eyes open even wider.
She took a moment to think about it, and then said, “It’s costing you almost three thousand dollars to bring me here to Chicago… Just for the one dinner and hotel… plus however much it costs to fly the plane, and the limo, and breakfast… So maybe five thousand dollars?”
“Angela, stop that line of thinking right now,” I said. “We invited you because we enjoy your company, and we both thought you’d enjoy a little trip out of town.”
At that, Angela sat back in her seat there in the limo and looked pensive, so Emmy just took her hand and held it.
“It is true, Angela,” she said. “We wanted you here, and that is what matters.”
“Thank you,” Angela said, softly, and by the looks of it, she was on the verge of tears. “That was the best meal I’ve ever had in my life, and you two have been so…” That was as far as she got before the tears did well up and spill out, but they were happy tears, at least. “Today has been so wonderful. Thank you, both of you.”
When we got back to our twelfth-floor suite, Angela disappeared immediately into her room, while I went to the refrigerator and got myself a bottle of water. Emmy and I had just started talking about the next day’s plans when Angela returned, completely nude. She came over to where Emmy and I were looking out the window down at State Street and reached out and took our hands.
“Leah, Emmy,” Angela said, nerves making her voice a little unsteady. “I want you two to… take me to bed with you. I want to give myself to you two. I want you two to make love to me tonight. I want…” she said, trailing off, not sure how to express herself. “I want you. I want you both, and I really, really hope you want me, too.”
I was completely floored, so I looked to Emmy for guidance. She looked up at me and said in a very soft voice, “I want this, too.” Then, almost too quietly for me to hear, she added, “For us.”