One of the perks of staying in an executive
suite in one of the best hotels on New York’s Fifth Avenue was the grand piano
in the living room. Over the six months of their stay, Veronica had become used
to waking up to the sound of Katrina running scales or trying new material, but
what was with her playing the Wedding March?
Opening the door of her own room, Veronica
was greeted by the sight of her best friend, client and employer, Katrina
Marshal, grinning from ear to ear while she thumped out the notes and sang,
"tum tum tetum, tum tum tetum." The singer was dressed in the
Christmas pajamas she’d worn for the last scene of the special they’d shot last
night--a gift, probably, from the delighted and grateful sponsor.
"Going for grand opera next?"
Veronica asked as she poured her first coffee from the room service carafe.
"You’ll have to learn the words. I’m sure they insist on that."
The pianist’s good mood was unflappable.
"I happen to know the words Ms. Smarty Pants. I am, after all, the
all-around musician that you, my super agent, keeps telling people I am. I
think you’ve scared my fans into thinking they better buy my songs or I’ll go
sing with the Met and they’ll have to endure culture in order to hear me. Do
you want me to practice the piece for your big event? I can see it now. Me
singing, accompanied by the New York Philharmonic, you in white with a
fifty-foot train carried by cherubs. The groom can afford cherubs, can’t
he?"
"What in the world are you talking
about?" Veronica demanded.
Katrina pointed to a small
package resting on the piano next to Snuggle Mutt, the toy Dachshund that
Veronica had given her for Christmas when they were in the second grade. The
box was tied with red and green silk ribbons, and the toy wore a seasonal
collar and red cap. "Those came this morning. Room service brought them up
with breakfast."
"Oh my God, it can’t be,"
Veronica moaned.
"It’s the right size," Katrina
said. "And that store doesn't exactly sell bonbons. If you don’t open it,
I’m going to."
Veronica opened the package, then the box
inside. Katrina sat back at the piano and played the first few bars of
'Diamonds are A Girl’s Best Friend.'
"You could sprain a finger wearing
that rock," she said.
"Oh lord, I hope this doesn’t get
out," Veronica said.
"Well, actually," Katrina reached
into the piano bench. "You should maybe see this morning’s papers?"
"I’ll kill him. I’ll murder him. I
don’t know what I’ll do." Veronica was now pacing while reading the
gushing news spread over not only the society pages, but a few front pages as
well.
"It was on the morning shows
too," Katrina said. "Let me see, what kind of announcement will you
guys have? I know! Alix Retstone, the nicest, most handsome, richer than just
about anybody and only about two hundred dead English relatives away from being
king, announces his intention to marry Miss it doesn’t count if I haven’t made
it by the sweat of my own brow, can’t imagine why anyone thinks I’m a success,
and doesn’t think she deserves the best. How’s that?"
"Cute. You know perfectly well I
haven’t said yes to Alix. I just don’t know if I love him."
"From the size of that rock, I’d guess
he’s in love with you," Katrina said.
"You still don’t get it."
Veronica said. "The Retstones don’t marry for love. To them, a wedding is
a merger with flowers and champaign thrown in. This last six months with Alix
has not been a whirlwind romance. It's been an extended job interview."
"Some interview, some job,"
Katrina said, and swung into a blues version of 'Santa Baby.'
Veronica went on, "I should have been
suspicious when he didn’t just happen to meet me. He had my bio memorized that first
night."
"You were flattered," her friend
reminded her. "And you said yourself, very rich people have to be careful
whom they date."
It had happened the previous May at the
party welcoming Katrina to New York for her six-months-long Broadway appearance.
The star had dutifully allowed herself to be introduced to the critics and
editors, most of whom had come for the free drinks, as well as the dignitaries,
who wanted to meet and be photographed with the star. After the news people had
gone off to file their stories and the crowd had thinned down to a few
hangers-on, the guest of honor did what she always did in social events,
organized an impromptu jam session with the other musicians.
Satisfied that she had accomplished a good
evening’s work, arranging just the right mix of publicity to guarantee sold-out
houses well through Thanksgiving and beyond, Veronica sought out some alone
time. The rooftop balcony was perfect for what she had in mind, contemplating
the lights of the city that had once been the culmination of her dreams and
ambitions. Lost in memories, she had been mildly annoyed at the interruption,
then curious about the tall, impeccably-dressed man who joined her carrying
champagne and two glasses.
"That lighted corner office, two
buildings over, would have been yours if you had stayed in New York," he
said. "Your old boss says you could have it now if you wanted. The
partnership offer is still good."
"You seem to know a lot about
me," Veronica had answered, accepting a glass. "It’s Mr. Retstone,
isn’t it?"
"Please, call me Alix. We met a year
ago at a fundraiser for some disease or other. Before then, back when you were
about to move into that corner office, you handled the PR for some of the
family’s charities. You were destined to be the partner in charge of good
works."
It was flattering, and fun, being pursued
by the best-looking millionaire in New York. And their six-month affair was
nothing short of amazing.
Dates with Alix ranged from
hotdogs in the park to opera in Vienna. Everything necessary for a fairy-tale
romance was present, except the feelings. The word love never came up, even at
Thanksgiving when Alix began to talk about a 'permanent union.'
It was then she realized, she was being
recruited for a job.
*
* *
"So it’s a job," Katrina said.
"...with so many down-sides." She played a dirge on the base keys.
"Like being driven in limos, flying in private airplanes, houses all over,
travel, hot and cold running servants, hopping over to Paris to shop. You poor
thing, how will you cope?"
"Not interested," Veronica said.
"I like driving myself, we already fly first class, one half a house is
good enough for now. Heaven knows the last ten years have cured me of the
travel bug, and I prefer to do my shopping from the LL Bean catalogue, thank
you."
Katrina put on one of her rare serious
faces.
"Alix has his good qualities too, you
know,” she said. “He’ll never be unfaithful. He’ll always be reasonable. You
haven’t complained about him as a lover, and I just know he’d be a wonderful
father. So you don’t feel mad, weak-in-the-knees romance. You could do a lot
worse. We both could. We have, in
fact."
"Don’t you see?" Veronica said.
"He would be all of those out of duty. The Retstone men have duty pounded
into their heads from the time they start to walk. Is it too much to expect all
of that, simply because he loves me?"
"Maybe," answered the singer.
“...it’s time to be practical."
Veronica looked at her friend in amazement.
Of all the characteristics that made up the beautiful, talented Katrina
Marshal, practical was not one.
She wondered what could be going on under
that gorgeous mop of red hair.
*
* *
Veronica had planned the day around three
main tasks: finalize their Christmas-giving list, deal with an unpleasant
situation in Brookline...and, deliver Katrina and herself to the airport in
time for the five o'clock flight.
She opened her laptop, thought for a
moment, sighed, and closed it.
"I’m going to have to go see Alix
before we leave New York," she stated.
"Seems like maybe one of those things
you really need to do," Katrina agreed.
Veronica thought over her now-shattered
schedule. She hated having plans disrupted.
"We’ll have to go over the charity list
tomorrow,” she said after a pause. “I’ll deal with Alix, then the other
problem, and be back in plenty of time for the airport." She didn’t
believe in pushing her luck where deadlines and airline schedules were
concerned.
Katrina offered to step in. "I’ll go
to Brookline. After all, he is my problem. I should be the one to deal with
him.”
"That’s what you have me for,"
Veronica reminded her. "Besides, you’re way too soft-hearted. You’re the
talent, I’m the hard-hearted one. Let’s each play to our strengths."
As she headed for her room to shower and
dress, she heard Katrina play and sing "Hard Hearted Hanna the Vamp of
Savanna."
Veronica showered quickly and put on the
one outfit she hadn’t packed, winter boots with a good tread for icy sidewalks,
a dark gray wool skirt that brushed the top of those boots, a white blouse and
a light gray cardigan. She finished dressing for the weather with a matching
gray leather coat and Irish rain hat.
Stepping out of her room, Veronica found
Katrina still at the piano, working over variations of the same song. As she
stuffed her slim briefcase, she joined in singing the phrase, "I saw Hanna
down by the shore, pouring water on a drowning man."
"Just getting in the right mood,"
Veronica said as she let herself out the door.
"You know why she’s going to turn him
down, don’t you?" Katrina asked the stuffed dog. "Us, of course. She
doesn’t think I can manage on my own. And darn it, she’s probably right."
The toy had patches of fur missing from being
held. His button eyes didn’t match and one ear had been poorly repaired.
Katrina’s fans sent her a constant stream of replacement stuffed dogs, which
Katrina passed on to Christmas toy drives.
Only talking to Snuggle Mutt would do, when
she needed to think.
*
* *
If Veronica wanted a taste of what life as
a Retstone would be like, she only had to step outside her hotel suite.
The theater had treated their star soloist
to the best. Their floor, just below the Presidential and Royal Suites, had a
full-time concierge on duty, day and night, to see to the guests’ any need or
whim.
Upon seeing her, that gentleman quickly
arose from his desk by the elevators.
"Good morning Ms. Nobel," he
said. "Allow me to say how happy we all are to read the news! And please
convey my heartiest congratulations and best wishes to your husband-to-be. He
is truly a lucky man. I speak for the hotel and staff, as well as for myself,
of course."
Veronica couldn’t help but laugh.
"Andrei, you are a silver-tongued devil. I’ll pass on your regards."
A door slammed at the end of the hall and a
raucous voice spoiled the moment.
"Daahling, there you are, the woman of
the hour! You did it. You hooked the biggest fish in the pond."
The woman hurrying to share the elevator
with Veronica wore plain slacks, a sweater, dark glasses and a scarf over her
pile of blond hair. It was a completely effective disguise, provided you had
never seen a movie, watched television, or read a tabloid.
The star turned from Veronica to the
concierge. "See to it that Mr. uhh . . . "
"Smith, Madam," Andrei said, in a
perfectly formal, ice-tinged voice.
"Yes, see that Mr. Smith gets
breakfast, just eggs and bacon, and knows to check out before noon," the
actress ordered.
Turning her attention back to Veronica as
they entered the elevator, she gushed,
"Daahling, I’ve got to see that stone!
You’re not wearing it? Of course, it has to be sized, doesn’t it? Is he going
to stick you with a prenup? Don’t sign it, dear. I can give you the name of a
lawyer who can tie it up in knots."
The annoying woman stayed with Veronica as
she walked through the lobby and out onto Fifth Avenue. It seemed the actress
was an expert in the care and handling of rich husbands, of which she’d had
several. Her lecture only ended when they stepped onto the street and were
faced by a solid line of photographers.
The actress preened. Veronica, used to
being ignored by paparazzi, began walking away only to have half of the news
hounds follow her.
"Have you and Mr. Retstone set a
date?" one shouted.
"Will you keep your name?"
another wanted to know.
Flustered, Veronica turned. "There’s
no news today. I’m on my way to talk to my fiancé now. When there are more
details, we will announce them through the proper channels."
Disappointed, some of the reporters turned
back to the actress.
"You just live a couple of blocks from
here," one asked her. "What were you doing coming out of this
hotel?"
As a public relations professional,
Veronica was interested in how the guilty party would answer.
"Isn’t it obvious?" she heard the
actress say. "I was here trying to convince Veronica Nobel to handle my
career. We in show business are of course happy for her, but it’s so sad that
we’re losing the greatest agent in fifty years. Katrina Marshal must be
devastated. My heart goes out to her."
The PR side of Veronica had to admire the quick-witted lie. True, the
actress, like many others, had pestered her to take her on, and had been turned
down. Somebody should ask about Mr.
Smith. No he might have a wife who could be hurt. Leave it to his conscience,
Veronica thought and walked rapidly away.
She had other concerns.
Had she just
acknowledged her intention to accept Alix? Had she just settled for practical
rather than love?
*******
Thank you for reading the beginning of Six
Hearts Under the Christmas Tree. If you like this sample, I believe you will
enjoy the full story of Veronica, Katrina and four others who are determined to
find their life partners without all the nonsense of love and romance. That is
until Christmas, an old boyfriend or two, a gold digging starlet. A vengeful
hacker, and an overly ambitious government lawyer all conspire to spoil the most
practical of marriage plans.
Six Hearts is available from Amazon http://amzn.com/B0063Q0PH8
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