The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) (5 page)

“None at all. Great.” Miles had a sudden
flashback to a can of Red Bull hitting him on the forehead. This
hurt worse.

“Damn it. I don’t mean that. I mean, I do,
but—shit. How’d we get in this hole? I came here to ask you to be
my best man.” He jumped and put the ball through the net.

Best man. Miles shouldn’t have been
surprised, but he was. Years of living on opposite coasts, wildly
different lifestyles—and Miles still hadn’t gotten used to the idea
of him being engaged. “I haven’t even met her yet.”

“That’s the problem right there. Once you
meet her you’ll understand.” Huntley grinned. “Why do you think I
kept her to myself for so long? I know how chicks get one look at
you and start thinking about mountain climbing.”

“Oh yeah, I’m a real ladies’ man.”

“Now that I’m pretty sure she loves me, I’m
willing to take the risk,” Huntley said. “And you’re too slow to
make any moves in time.”

“
Pretty
sure? And you’re marrying
her?”

“Damn right. Though I’m keeping my parents
away from her until the wedding. I’m not an idiot.”

Miles shook his head. “I was with Felicia for
three years—three—and it turned out we needed every single one of
them to find out we weren’t compatible. You keep her away from your
friends and family, run off to marry her like her daddy’s got a
shotgun and you’re just some poor slob like the rest of us—”

“I am just a poor slob like the rest of you.
You were the first to understand that.”

“Under the six-pack and the private jet.”

“Exactly!” Huntley picked up the basketball
and bounced it to him. “Don’t let me down now. There’s nobody else
I’d rather have at my side.”

Touched but unconvinced, Miles didn’t say
anything, just shot a few hoops and worried about his friend. “I’d
be honored to be your best man—”

Huntley whooped and ran for the ball.
“Excellent!”

“—but you have to promise me to do a prenup.
And be real clear with this girl—”

“Her name is Fawn. Use it.”

“—be real clear with
Fawn
about the
terms of the agreement. Don’t let your heart push you into
something stupid. Have your mother write the contract herself, see
if this—if Fawn—loves you enough to sign on without the hopes of
big cash prize at the end.”

“Did Felicia do this to you? I’m supposed to
be the paranoid one. You didn’t even get engaged. Or is this all
about your dad again?”

“Will you do it? The prenup?”

Huntley slapped him on the shoulder. “You
wasted your leverage, dude. You think my mother would let me have
her grandmother’s wedding ring without a prenup? The Ballbuster of
Connecticut?”

Relieved, Miles nodded. “Of course. Right.
Look, I’m sorry to be the practical one here. It’s just, you need
somebody to look out for you, and ever since my own experience with
this I’ve—”

“Become a sad, bitter loser. I know. Don’t
piss on my parade.”

“I’ll piss wherever I want.”

Huntley laughed. “Good thing we’ll be
roughing it for the ceremony. We’re going Full Granola—barefoot on
the beach, improvisational vows, New Age bullshit. It’ll be
awesome.”

Only half-serious, he said, “Why didn’t you
say so? I wouldn’t miss seeing your mother having to swallow Full
Granola for the world.”

“Excellent. The wedding is in two weeks.”

Miles froze. “Are you shitting me?
That’s—”

“Any longer than that and my parents will
find a way to cause trouble. And by the way, I’ll need you for the
whole week. It’s a vacation thing Fawn has set up.”

“A whole week? Right before school starts?
There is no way I can get away from the clubhouse on such short
notice for so long. I’m sorry, but—”

“I set it up with Ronnie months ago. He’ll
take over when you’re gone. He’s bringing in a young guy from the
Boys and Girls Club to back him up.”

“You little shit. You did this behind my
back?” Miles stared at him in wonder. “Months ago? That must have
been right after you met.”

“I really love her, Miles.”

Huh. Miles ran his hand through his hair.
“How did you get Ronnie to agree to it?”

Huntley’s grin faded a little. “He made me
write your club a check for two million dollars.”

Miles was only going to ask for one. Slinging
an arm over Huntley’s shoulder, Miles guided him to the clubhouse
lounge, wondering if he was a sentimental fool or a greedy bastard
to suddenly feel better about the whole thing.

“Guess now I have to give Ronnie a
raise.”

* * *

The narrow, winding drive through the
redwoods was making Lucy sick. Between the slow, sideways lurching
of the limo on each turn and the quart of champagne in her stomach,
Lucy had never been so miserable in her life. She should have gone
in the Honda with Krista and Betty. No bubbly in the Civic.

“I can’t believe you’re not even going to
tell me the guy’s name,” Lucy said, trying to distract herself from
the nausea.

Fawn didn’t look so great herself. She’d
stopped talking about her fantastic Huntley about forty minutes
earlier to grip the door handle and stare straight ahead with her
lips in an unusually thin, tight line. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll
know it in your heart.”

“But I’m going to be eyeing every man
remotely my age like—I don’t know—like my dad shopping for a new
recliner.”

Fawn sipped a bottle of water. “Better that
than you sitting in the cabin doing paperwork.”

“If he doesn’t know me, either… ” Lucy sank
down into the limo’s leather seat. “I don’t see how this is going
to work. Men don’t usually… go for me right away. This wasn’t our
deal.”

“We found the perfect guy for you. He’ll be
at the spa all week. If it’s meant to be… ”

“Cut it out with this meant-to-be crap.
That’s why I asked you guys to set me up. To eliminate the
guesswork.”

“I thought the point was to find a compatible
life partner.”

“With your help. How do I know you’ve really
found someone for me? What if he’s not interested?”

“He will if it’s—”

“Don’t say it.” Lucy closed her eyes. She
should have known Fawn would try to inject some touchy-feeliness
into it. She sighed. Ah, well, no harm in keeping her eyes open.
She’d been a little crazy to ask her friends to interfere,
anyway.

She glanced at the GPS screen mounted on the
glass behind the driver: estimated arrival time, 9:27. “One more
minute.”

“I hope I don’t look as shitty as I feel,”
Fawn said. “I’ll probably barf on his mother.”

“It’ll be her first test. Any good
mother-in-law would forgive you. A great one would clean it
up.”

Fawn laughed weakly. “Rosalind Sterling was
even richer than Huntley growing up. From what I’ve heard, she’s
never had to clean anything in her life.”

“Not even her own butt?”

“Stop it. If I laugh, I’ll hurl.” Fawn got up
onto her knees, sticking her head out the open window on her side.
“God! It smells so good here!”

Lucy leaned her head out on her side and
inhaled the scent of cedar and redwood. July days were long, but it
was past nine, and the huge trees blocked the last of the daylight.
They’d have to wait until the morning to see what the remote
property really looked like. The slicing glow of the headlights lit
up lots of trees with ferny undergrowth and not much else. No
buildings, no farms, no vineyards, no people.

She felt a bug slap her in the cheek and drew
her head back in, frowning at the GPS. 9:28. “We should be there by
now.”

“I think we are. I saw a little sign back
there.” Fawn came back into the car looking wind-blown and
refreshed, her tangled blond hair flying around her head like a
Barbie that had been stuck under the couch cushions for a while.
“Oh my God, I’ve got to clean myself up.” She lurched across the
seat to grab her bag, pulled out a square box shaped like a
miniature suitcase—chrome and studded, like in a movie about jewel
thieves—and popped it open. Shelves of makeup and brushes slid
apart under a mirror. Fawn propped it on her lap and got to work
while Lucy watched in fascinated disgust.

“Don’t,” Fawn said without looking over at
her. “You have your ways, I have mine.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I could hear your thoughts pouring out of
your ears, like in a cartoon.” Fawn made a face into the mirror and
brushed on her mascara. Her large eyes became impossibly enormous,
her lips lush and pouty, her skin a delicate porcelain.

The transformation always amazed Lucy. The
supermodel of today had never been popular or pretty like some of
the other girls while they were in grade school. Fawn was awkward
and kind of funny-looking, like Lucy, until that day in seventh
grade she’d come to school with some contraband makeup she’d scored
from a cousin. Something about her face, with a forehead as big as
a man’s hand and the wide mouth, made her look like a magazine
model as soon as she put makeup on it. Which is where she ended up
within a few years.

“I don’t suppose you have an extra brush in
there,” Lucy said. “Mine is packed in the suitcase.”

“Sure, here.” Fawn flipped open a travel
brush that looked like sterling silver. It was engraved—with the
initials Fawn would have next week if she changed her name—and had
little crystals around the rim.

Lucy peered more closely. Not crystals.
Holy Moses.

Afraid to touch it, Lucy ignored the treasure
Fawn was waving at her and ran her fingers through her short hair,
tugged out the tangles. “Never mind, this is fine.” Nobody would
see her and it was dark. She had plenty of time to doll up for her
potential marriage partner tomorrow.

Fawn was smiling at her. “Your hair always
looks great. I’m so jealous.”

She would have snorted at anyone else, but
she knew Fawn meant it. “Thank you,” Lucy said. “For what it’s
worth, I’m grateful to be beautiful with so little effort.”

The car slowed to a stop in the middle of a
dark clearing; the driver got out and opened Fawn’s door. Lucy got
out by on the other side by herself and sucked in the fresh,
conifer-scented air, happy for the solid gravel under her feet.
They were in a parking lot with no buildings in sight, just
trees.

“We have to take an electric golf cart to the
spa from here,” Fawn said, grabbing her arm. “Isn’t that cool? It’s
like going into another world!”

“Or a country club.”

“It keeps it pristine. Prehistoric. Totally
eco. Back to earth.”

Lucy sighed, knowing the cheapest rate at the
earthy prehistoric spa was over nine hundred dollars a night. She
couldn’t imagine what the exclusive use of the complete resort cost
for a billionaire’s wedding party for a whole week.

A trio of four-seater golf carts appeared out
of the darkness, their electric motors quietly humming, and three
men in white uniforms got out and helped the driver move their
luggage. The young men were solemn and polite and said little other
than “hello” and “over there.” They were more like ushers at a
funeral than waitstaff at a wedding. Lucy caught one of the guy’s
eyes, the oldest one with black plugs in his ear lobes and a
Groucho Marx mustache.

“How do you drive around in the dark without
hitting anything?” she asked as she climbed into his cart.
“Sonar?”

He flashed her a grin, his mustache unfurling
like a fan. “Hold on tight.”

They thanked everyone and went off into the
quiet night, Fawn and Lucy in the back of Groucho’s cart, their
luggage—and the driver—coming on the other two carts.

Lucy bent around and watched the third cart
pull behind them. “Why is the limo driver coming?”

Fawn shrugged. “Making sure we get there
okay?”

“Maybe somebody has to sign for you. I bet he
has one of those electronic clipboards, like a UPS guy.”

Fawn didn’t laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The cart bounced over a rut in the dirt road,
covering up Lucy’s pained groan to think her friend was marrying
somebody who would put a tracking number on her, have her in the
grasp of his minions at all times.

But she had to admit he had great taste in
vacation spots. In spite of the cold and the fog and her limited
nighttime view, the Soul of Muir Resort was clearly paradise.
Already Lucy was thinking it might be worth a month’s salary to
come back again. She’d scoffed at the golf carts, but having them
slide through the trees so quietly drew her attention to the
cathedral canopy above. She never would have noticed it if she’d
been in the limo.

Groucho pulled up in front of an unassuming
little cabin that blended into the forest. She got out, enjoying
the sound of her footsteps, muffled and peaceful, on the damp
earth. For the first time that day, she let a genuine sense of
peace wash over her.

And then, like an explosion, a thundering
motor roared behind them, the sound rising as it grew closer, much
too fast. All five of them froze in surprise to stare back into the
darkness at the single headlight that flared to life between the
trees.

The Groucho staffer pulled out a
walkie-talkie. “I’ll get Linda out here,” he said to one of the
other guys, moving to head off the motorcycle in the road.

Annoyed with the disruption of her moment of
peace, Lucy looked at Fawn. To her surprise, Fawn was grinning, her
hands clasped together near her heart. “Oh, this is awesome! He
came!”

“That’s your prince?”

Fawn gave her a funny look out of the corner
of her eye, her lips pressed together in a smile she couldn’t read.
“No, it must be Huntley’s friend. His best man. He was afraid he
wouldn’t be here until later.”

“Well, the wedding isn’t until Saturday.”

Fawn exhaled loudly. “We reserved the whole
week and want you guys to enjoy it.”

Lucy frowned at the man in black leather as
he cut the engine and straddled the bike. A mechanical popping
continued, echoing into the disturbed peace of the clearing. “I
don’t think he’s supposed to drive that here.”