but I call for
maid service hoping for a miracle.
Wanting to spare my nose from any further
punishment, I dress quickly in gray slacks and a black button-down
shirt and leave my polluted penthouse. I take the elevator down to
the lobby and head straight for the reception area. I see that I
have a voicemail on my cell and listen to it as I walk. There is a
message from Lizzy, my hairstylist, and it’s bad news. At least
this small emergency will divert my attention from last night. I
know…I’m a fucking idiot. Moving on.
It’s a quiet Wednesday morning, as
Wednesdays usually are. Most tourists come for a long weekend, so
that leaves the middle of the week on the slower side. I see the
girls, Lily, Sarabeth and Dawn, gathered at the check-in desk, no
doubt talking about my head chef, Lily’s upcoming wedding, which
takes place here this Saturday.
Lily has been working for
me for about seven years now. She moved here with her family
from the U.K. when she was a teenager, settling for many years
in Florida. She eventually decided to go out on her own, and after
completing culinary school, she moved here to Malibu and came to
work for me at La Fuga. She and I have spent many nights
staying up late drinking at The Underground, telling stories.
And trust me when I say, she has some pretty good ones. I am
sad to report that most of them involve her fiancé, Christopher,
and their sex life. But, I digress. I have some bad news to
deliver.
“Doesn’t anybody ever work around here
anymore?” I try to use my angry boss tone, but the girls know me
all too well, and we all begin to laugh at what an ass I can be
sometimes.
“Lily, how is everything coming along for
Saturday?” She lights up as she tries to answer, but all of the
girls chime in, explaining just how everything is coming along down
to the very last detail. Every last excruciating detail. Lily’s
barely getting a word in edgewise. I glance her way, rolling my
eyes at the others blathering on and on.
“Thank you, girls. And now that I know
everything down to the color of all of the bridesmaids’ panties, I
can breathe a sigh of relief.” I shake my head as I laugh. Yes, I
tease them, but they are really a great group of girls and we have
a lot of fun together. “Lily, come with me for a moment will you?
As for the rest of you, get back to work.” I can hear the girls
giggling as they sarcastically respond with “Yes sir.”
I lead Lily through the lobby and down the
corridor to my office. As we pass through the reception area that
leads to my office, I am quickly reminded that my assistant,
Patrice, has the week off. “Do you want coffee, Lily?”
“No thanks, Donovan. I’m good.” We enter my
office and as I take a seat behind my desk, she sits in the chair
just in front of it. “What did you need to see me about?”
“I didn’t want to mention this in front of
the girls, but we have a slight problem. Lizzy broke her leg
yesterday, so she won’t be available to do hair and make-up for
your wedding.” And, as expected, she begins to tear up. “Can’t you
girls just do each others’ hair and makeup?” I ask, like the
clueless wonder I am when it comes to weddings.
“No Donovan, we can’t. Oh my god, this is a
disaster! There’s no way we’ll ever find anyone else in three
days!” She is actually in full-blown tears at this point. I hand
her a box of Kleenex and am now extremely thankful that I didn’t
ask the others to come along, or there would be three girls in here
losing it right now. They don’t make enough tissue for this sort of
thing.
“No, this is a small bump in the road, Lily.
Do you know of someone or shall I make some calls?” She doesn’t
answer, instead she continues to shake her head and cry.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Christ. What is it
with women and their hair? How hard can this be? Put it up, slap on
some make-up and get your ass down the aisle.
But I can see by Lily’s reaction that