India's Summer (17 page)

India’s head was beginning to ache as she struggled for answers. Come on. Visualize! Focus! You’re a leader not a follower, a believer not a doubter, remember?

A few minutes after she started the drive back, she screeched to a halt and pulled over to the side of the dirt track. Looking beyond the roofs of the houses to the outline of the hills in front of her, she suddenly felt a rush of excitement. Yes, I can do this, she thought. I know exactly what kind of courses I should offer. There would be no turning back. She was certain. Grabbing her phone, she pressed speed-dial.

Lizzie picked up right away.

“Hi, Lizzie, how’re you?”

“Good, thanks. How’re you?”

India paused. She was getting the hang of this convention now.

“Lizzie, I’ve an idea I’d like to run past you as soon as possible … if I may…”

“Of course,” Lizzie said. “I’m just done with my hike. I’m on San Vicente. How ’bout we meet at the Coffee Bean in say, half an hour?”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes, India, and I’ll grab us a table.”

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

“Great to see you, India. How is Annie? How’re the kids?” Lizzie asked, air-kissing her then sweeping a pile of LA Times off the table.

“All good, Lizzie,” India said, squeezing into the tiny space. “Sorry I’m a bit late – I couldn’t find a meter.”

“It’s okay, I was catching up with the news. So Annie’s going to be just fine? That was one hell of a scare,” Lizzie said, adjusting her wide-brimmed Nike baseball cap. “It must have been tough on you all. But she’s okay… Thankfully, she’s okay.”

“Yes. I’m still reeling. She has such amazing stamina though, always did. Joss’ friend flew them to Waikiki in his V5. I thought it was all a bit soon, but apparently there’s a great hospital on the island and she can have all her follow-up appointments there. This way she’ll get complete rest and privacy.”

“Joss is wonderful. She’ll be absolutely fine,” Lizzie said. “I loved the piece, by the way, it really captured how close you two are.” She paused. “So now, go on. How can I help?”

“Well, before that, tell me how you are… I mean really.”

“I’m hanging in there.” Lizzie took off her Gucci aviator sunglasses. “Taking my time, getting legal advice. I need to understand my options.”

India winced and put down her cup. “Sorry. That’s hot.” She slurped. “I’ll never get the hang of cappuccinos. How do you know where the frothy bit stops?”

Lizzie laughed. “I think that’s where this comes in handy,” She handed her a white plastic spoon and a paper napkin.

“Thanks. Well… I’m pleased you’re okay… Sorry. So I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things. I’m staying on for a while to be with Annie,” she said, wiping off her foam mustache.

“That’s great. I’ve often thought it’s a pity you two live so far from each other. I know she misses you.”

“Lizzie,I hope you don’t mind my bringing this up, but I keep thinking about the night at the hospital.” She paused long enough to see that Lizzie was up for the conversation and lowered her voice. “I keep seeing Sophie, unconscious on that gurney, and Joan in shock. I keep imagining what you must have gone through when you found her. She could have been brain damaged for the rest of her life. What if you had been too late?”

Lizzie was listening intently. “Go on.”

“Well, everything here seems so perfect from the outside, then when you get up a tiny bit closer it’s all… Well, it’s sort of a mess. I need to understand more, Lizzie. I just assumed these kids were different, that they had it made. Now, of course, I can see they still have their own shit to deal with. But I want to know where they’re coming from. I’ve worked for years with teenagers who have nothing. They don’t have cell phones unless they’ve stolen them, they don’t drive, they’re angry, and they hate being in school. But I love working with them. I get a real kick out of seeing them do something they didn’t know they could do.” She blew on her coffee. “I used to think I stayed on the job because I was stuck; because I was afraid of change. Now I know it’s because I know it’s worthwhile. I relate to the kids. They’re so vulnerable underneath all the bravado.”

“It’s obvious you’re a great teacher,” Lizzie said.

“How so?”

“India, you have such a spark and such great energy.”

“Thank you, that means a lot.”

“So … where to start?” Lizzie said, breaking off a tiny piece of croissant. “Okay. What can I tell you? The kids here aren’t legal to drink until they’re twenty-one but they can carry a gun when they’re eighteen.”

“And they can drive a car when they’re sixteen. What’s that about?” India interrupted.

“It’s crazy. They don’t know how to make a sandwich for themselves but they’re on the roads in those Escalade tanks or their BMW or Mercedes. That’s the divine right of every sixteen–year-old around here,” Lizzie continued.

“It’s surreal. I mean, what do you have to look forward to if you get everything so easily? What’s that teaching them?” India tore at her chocolate muffin, swiping away the flying crumbs.

“There’s no school uniform, so you see all these twelve-year-olds with their Chanel backpacks and Louis Vuitton purses. If it wasn’t so sad it would be funny,” Lizzie said, dryly. “So how is it different in London?”

“We have our fair share of drug problems, believe me, and kids start to drink young, but I put a lot of that down to a lack of money. The class sizes are huge. Annie’s dog gets more individual attention at Doggy Daycare than my schoolkids do. She gets a printout of what Clooney’s had for lunch each day, for God’s sake.”

“India, you have no idea how dysfunctional these families can be,” Lizzie answered. “I worked as a civil rights lawyer downtown for a while; only half an hour away from here and yet it’s another world; real poverty, teacher shortages, crime rate through the roof. To me, it seems almost like a kind of abuse not to train these privileged kids on this side of town to give back.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, at Sophie’s school the ‘community service’ requirement is a complete sham. They can pass it just by picking up trash on the playing field. There are no real volunteer programs, no weekly social responsibility. So they live in this vacuum where everything’s easy. At some level, they’re bored.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Why don’t you apply for a job here? We’re desperately short of teachers.”

“That’s just it, Lizzie. I don’t want to be in a school or a college. I want to work with people, have a laugh with them, challenge them, but not go home to mark a thousand essays and write reports and fill in endless grading forms.”

India paused for a second, then asked her the direct question she had been asking herself.

“Do you think I could somehow run some workshops, courses for parents? They could be sessions where I would give them some practical help with managing their kids. They must be feeling pretty lost themselves to be letting everything get so out of control. I mean you were … Joan is.” India blushed. “That came out the wrong way, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. A lot of my friends have younger kids, like me, and we’re thrown into this world of teens unprepared. I’ve been coping with Sophie and her clique of cheerleading friends without any guidance for an eternity.”

“That must be so hard,” India said, shifting her chair to let a woman with a baby in a stroller get by.

“It’s really difficult to fight the culture, and yes, I think there’s room for something here. I mean, there’s all this advice for toddlers; the Supernanny books and her reality show. And what you say is true. You hit the teen stuff without a road map. There’s not a whole lot of help out there until there’s a crisis.” Lizzie sighed.

“I know I haven’t got kids of my own, but I do have a lot of experience with teenagers and mothers. I’ve learned a lot over the years that I could share, but I don’t really know how I would get started here in LA.”

Lizzie smiled. “Well, Supernanny’s English, and she doesn’t have kids of her own either, but we all listen to her because she makes a lot of sense. I’m thinking this through on my feet, but how does this sound for a first shot?” She paused. “We create an invitation-only evening at my house, with handwritten invitations, the same way I promote my friends’ jewelry lines and books.”

India leaned forward on her elbows, listening hard.

“So people come to your house and then what?”

“Well, we’ll have wine and canapés and you can do a little presentation about how to survive your kid’s teenage years. You’ll make it entertaining – how could you not? You always make me laugh and think at the same time.”

India smiled and Lizzie continued her train of thought.

“Then you can tell everyone that you’re starting a support group… You could also say you’re planning on writing a book, a ‘survival guide’ for parents, and you want their help with it.”

“That’s a fantastic idea. You’re brilliant, Lizzie, and you know, I could write a book on all this. I really could. Like Supernanny – Superteacher. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Listen, I really love this idea. I’m more than happy to help. Sophie and Henry are not my favorite people right now, but I also know they’re not bad human beings. Deep down they’re lost and scared … just like me.” She paused, then said quietly, “And you know, it did happen on my watch. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” India said. “We do the best we can at the time. By the sound of it, this was always going to happen and thankfully it WAS on your watch.”

Lizzie smiled. “Let’s talk more about this when I’ve had a chance to think it through. We can make this work. We need you here.” She stood. India rose too, and they lifted their Styrofoam cups in a toast. India scooped her leftover chocolate muffin in a napkin and threw it in the trash, while Lizzie picked up India’s sweatshirt from where it had fallen under her chair.

“Everything happens for a reason. At least that’s what I tell myself lately,” Lizzie said, hugging her. “I’ll call you later.”

India gulped and stared at her bank statement in horror. There’s been some dreadful mistake, she thought. Maybe I’m the victim of identity theft.

Swallowing a mouthful of coffee, she pulled the gilt bergère chair closer to the secretaire and scrutinized the figures. The trip to Agent Provocateur (a wise investment that had certainly given her and Adam a great return) had come out at fifteen hundred dollars (plus tax).

The highlights, lowlights, waxes, manicures, pedicures, thread-ing, teeth whitening, dermabrasion facials, and Botox added up to another two thousand terrifying dollars. (All the more horrifying when converted to pounds on her English credit card.)

Clearly the jaunt to Fred Segal had been a grave error, but she would need the yoga pants and cutoff tops (in a variety of colors) for her workshops and the Fendi tote to carry her papers. The La Perla bikinis and Louboutin clutch had seemed imperative at the time.

And then there was the outrageous Smythson bill. India sat back and ran her finger over the gold lettering and the blind-embossed pressed flowers of the hand-engraved invitation card. What a moment that had been, sitting with Lizzie on the leopard-print chaise, sipping champagne and picking them out. The expense had clearly been worth it; as Lizzie predicted, the acceptances were flooding in. Lizzie had moved at warp speed to set up India’s event and now, just ten days later, it was only a matter of hours away. The idea of making a speech to thirty or so of Lizzie’s contacts was daunting enough in the abstract, but now it was a terrifying reality.

India scrunched up a bundle of receipts. She had much more important things to be doing right now. She closed her laptop and picked up the Mont Blanc pen.

How to begin? she wondered. “Dearly beloved…” Scratch that. “Friends, Romans, countrymen…” Been done. Okay, get serious. Two hours and several laps around the garden later, India decided she was as prepared as she was ever going to be. Tossing aside her notes, she ran inside, stripped, skipped into the steamy shower, and spent the next twenty minutes singing to loosen up her vocal cords.

“They tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no…”

She toweled off, spritzed herself with Mitsouko, and climbed into an Agent Provocateur satin body and a tiny lace thong. How can they charge so much when there’s so little fabric involved? She mused, carefully pulling on a fine mesh stocking, then zipping her ruched silver Nicole Miller dress and wriggling it down until the hem skimmed her knees. Picking up a tiny stack of copper-plate business cards (with hand-painted edging), she put them inside her new sequined clutch and snapped it shut, then squeezed into Annabelle’s patent leather Prada four-inch pumps. She did a full turn in the long mirror.

Good, she decided. A look that says “gravitas” and at the same time, “call me sister.”

India ran outside, surprised to see that Robert was waiting.

“Miss Butler called from Hawaii,” he explained, opening the car door for her. “She said she wanted to make sure you didn’t get to Beverly Hills via San Francisco.”

“Ah … she has a point, Robert. I still can’t get the hang of that GPS. Thank you.”

When they got to Lizzie’s, Robert said, “Miss Butler, when you’re ready, just call. I’ll be two minutes away. Have a wonderful evening.”

“Thank you, Robert. I will.” Omygod, India thought, catching a glimpse of waiters weaving between cocktail tables balancing trays of champagne and women milling around in the stone courtyard. Slipping in unnoticed through the side entrance, she stopped to admire the Henry Moore sculpture, the garden, and the geometrically arranged tables draped in white cloths with or-chid centerpieces. Lizzie had really gone all out for her. Squeezing behind the line of stewards taking instructions from the chef, India was reminded of being backstage before Annie went on in a show at Covent Garden. And then she realized: Omygod. I AM the show!

Lizzie was waiting by the kitchen door to greet her, looking elegant as ever in an Yves Saint Laurent Le Smoking suit.

“Great. You’re in good time, India. I’m going to start getting people into the drawing room. Do you want a few minutes to yourself? You look amazing.”