Finding Mr. Right (20 page)

CHAPTER th
irty-two

Dear Diary,

Do you know how much a Chanel handbag costs? The cheapest one costs thousands. I should know; I’ve been searching eBay for years for a real one. Years, I tell you. So, I mean, what would you expect me to do if I came across a huge sale and Chanel handbags were included? I mean, how could I resist? Though it seems that I may have a Chanel handbag and no boyfriend now. Sigh.

The lobby had several yellow pages, and I was lucky because the front desk clerk helped me write down the names and addresses of all the Holly Matthews in London. And let me tell you, there were quite a few. I was able to scratch off quite a few names, though, because I called and put on a kid’s voice and asked to speak to Madeline. Of the people who answered the phone, none of them knew a Madeline. I also crossed off the addresses of those with voicemails who sounded old or single, or whose recordings included names of every family member and excluded a Madeline. I had five Holly Matthews’ addresses to visit, consisting of three phones that just rang out, and two whose voicemail was the standard phone company greeting. I never understood why some people never personalized their voicemails. I mean, my current voicemail was a duet between myself and Michael Jackson singing, “We Are the World.” I figured that anyone who knew me would recognize my voice and know they had the right number, and in the off chance that a record producer called, well, he’d hear me and offer me a deal. Not that it had happened yet, but you never know.

I ran out of the hotel feeling energized and excited. I even had my iPad with me so
I could write on the bus to each house. Blake would be proud of me, taking advantage of every opportunity to write. I looked at the first address on my list; it was in a place called Herne Hill. It sounded quaint, but I sure hoped that the house wasn’t situated on the top of a hill. That would suck. I hadn’t been to the gym in a while, and I wasn’t really feeling up to hiking up any hills.

“Hi, excuse me please.” I walked up to an old man at the bus stop. “Do you know what bus I take to get to Herne Hill?”

“Where?” He looked at me in confusion; he had a deep accent from somewhere like New Zealand.

“Herne Hill?” I smiled at him winningly.

“Where, mon?” He frowned and scratched his scalp. I watched him, mesmerized by the length of his dreadlocks.

“Herne Hill?” I paused. “Perhaps it’s near the hilly part of London?”

“Me no know what’cha saying, mon.” He shook his head at me.

“I’m sorry. I’m from America. I guess it’s hard for us foreigners to be understood.” I laughed at him. He just looked at me blankly.
Maybe he’s a bit slow,
I thought to myself.

“How long have you been in London?” I spoke slowly. “I guess you must be missing New Zealand right now?”

“Carry your rass.” The man turned to his friend. “Who dis girl tink she is?”

I thought that it was quite rude of him to talk as if I wasn’t there, but I figured I would try one more time. “Do you know where the visitor’s center is?” This time I addressed his friend, who was looking at me with laughter in his eyes.

“Girl, me no know what’cha talking ‘bout.” He had the same accent as the other man but was wearing a ‘Made in Jamaica’ T-shirt.

“Forget about it.” I sighed and walked away from them. This was going to be a long day if I couldn’t even get to the first house. I walked into a store and decided to approach a young lady this time.

“Excuse me?” I waited for her to look at me and I smiled. “Do you know where a village called Herne Hill is?”

“Huh?” She looked at me, baffled. “What top are you looking for?”

“I’m not looking for a top. I’m looking for a house in Half Moon Lane, Herne Hill.”

“Oh, hold on.” She turned around. “Nick, can you come and help this lady?” And with that she walked away. I had half a mind to ask her if she knew who I was. If she knew I was Bradley Cooper’s kind-of wife, well then she’d be much nicer to me.

“Hi, can I help you, ma’am?” A handsome young man, who I assumed was Nick, addressed me.

“Yes, is it possible for you to tell me how to get to Herne Hill?” I smiled politely and crossed my fingers.

“Oh sure,” he said pompously. “I’m from Dulwich.”

“Oh okay.” I paused, having no clue where Dulwich was.

“Let me think.” He whipped out his phone. “I think you’d be best served going down to Brixton first. Yeah, so take the tube to Brixton on the Victoria Line and then take the number three bus to Herne Hill and get off by the park.”

“The park?”

“Brockwell Park.” He looked at me like he thought I was stupid. “Try not to skiv off and go to the Lido, though.” He laughed. “Though I don’t know if it’s open right now.”

“Um, okay,” I smiled quickly. “Thanks. I’ll try not to go to the library.” What sort of people were these Brits that they went to the library instead of doing their jobs?

“The library?” He looked at me in confusion.

“Nothing.” I walked to the front of the store quickly. “Thanks again.”

I walked quickly to a subway station, thinking it shouldn’t be too hard to find the Victoria line. I knew my way around subway stations. This, I could make work. I got to the subway station and looked at the map. There were colors all over. Which one was the Victoria line? Finally, I figured out it was the blue one and looked for Brixton. It took me about five minutes, but I found it. I went and bought a one-day travel card and hopped onto the subway. I whipped out my iPad and started typing. I couldn’t think of anything to write about in my YA fantasy novel, so instead started writing down what I was going to say to Holly when I saw her. I had a few choice words for Madeline as well, but didn’t really think it would be proper to go off on a little kid.

Getting off the subway at Brixton was like entering another world. This was not the London I had become accustomed to in the west end. South East London, according to the map, was a lot more urban and boisterous. It reminded me of my apartment in Los Angeles. This was where the real folks lived, away from the glitz and glamor. I walked up the steps out of the station and looked around. There were hundreds of people walking around, and I quickly had to get out of the way so
I wasn’t hit.
Okay, I’m looking for the number three bus,
I thought to myself. There were at least three different bus stops right outside the station, so I went to check them out first.

I wasn’t planning on shopping, but the huge red “SALE” signs beckoned to me from across the street. It didn’t hurt that the brands that were on sale were luxury brands like Louis Vuitton, Michael Kors, and my beloved Chanel. I figured I didn’t have much to lose. I could just cross the street, check the sales out quickly, and then run back across the street and head to Herne Hill. It seemed like the perfect plan.

I’d never heard of Morley’s before, but it looked like a bigger “Ross.” I walked in expecting to be spritzed with perfume and greeted by well-coiffed women, but there was no one at the door waiting to greet me, and frankly, the place looked a little unkempt. But I figured that was how they had to have sales on items like LV and Chanel.

I ran up to a sales clerk. “Where are the Chanel bags?” I was gasping, worried that all the bags would have been sold out.

“Chanel?”

“Yes, the ones in the sale?” Was everyone in England dumb?

“Oh, the Chunnel?” She pointed into the corner. “They’re over there.”

I didn’t even bother saying thank you. I just ran and ran until I got to the bags and then I searched through the bargain bin like the police were after me. It did pass my mind that it was a bit odd for LV, MK, and Chanel handbags to be in a bargain bin, but who was I to second-guess the English? I finally unearthed two Chunnel bags. I did wonder why they said Chunnel instead of Chanel, but I figured they had a different trademark in England. But I was getting them for a deal. They were only one hundred pounds each, way less than the $1,500 they were asking for in the States.

I bit my lip as I studied the bags. I didn’t have much money in my bank account, and I didn’t have any income coming in anytime soon, but I just felt like the bags were such a steal. I looked at the Macy’s card in my wallet and sighed. I doubted Morley’s was going to accept my store credit card from Macy’s.

I decided to go and get a bite to eat in the store café before making up my mind. I ordered a cheese and onion pastry and a cup of coffee. I sat there and wrote down my expenses as I contemplated which of the bags to get. As I sipped on my coffee, I started playing Temple Run on my iPad and got sidetracked from my decision.

“Excuse me, ma’am, we’re closing in ten minutes,” the cashier called over to me, and I jumped up. I had been sitting down playing the game on my iPad for the last two hours.

“Darn it. Can I pay for my handbag here, please?”

“Sure, ma’am.”

I jumped up and pushed both handbags into her open hands. I didn’t have time to make an executive decision right now. I figured I could always sell one on eBay and make a nice profit to boot.

“This is such a good deal,” I beamed at her. “I love Chanel.”

“Chunnel.” She looked at me with an odd look. “This is Chunnel.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grinned. “Whatever they call it here. Back home a Chanel handbag costs over a thousand dollars.”

“I see.” She folded my bags in tissue paper and put them in a plastic bag.

“Here’s my card.” I crossed my fingers as she swiped it, hoping that it would go through. I was going to be super broke, but at least that would stop me from buying junk food.

“Here you go, ma’am. Thanks for shopping at Morley’s.” The cashier handed me my bags, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“No, thank you.” I grabbed the bags and hurried out of the store. It was getting dark, and I still hadn’t been to the first house yet. I sure hoped Holly and Madeline lived in Herne Hill. I thought someone was looking out for me, because I saw a number three bus pulling up to the bus stop as I exited the store and crossed the street. I got on the bus with my Chanel handbags, feeling very happy.

CHAPTER Thi
rty-Three

Dear Diary,

I’ve never been a fan of the police, but I think the police in England have got to be a lot meaner than the police in the States. Do they not know what trespassing means? And do they really think I look like a robber? And why do they use the term robber? Shouldn’t they use the official term of thief? I’m going to ask Blake the legalities of it all. I’m definitely suing them and suing Holly Matthews. I’d sue that little brat, Madeline, as well, if I could. But maybe I’ll hold off for a bit – just to see if Ollie calls me.

I told the bus conductor that I needed to get off by Brockwell Park in Herne Hill, and he was kind enough to let me know when to get off. He pointed down the street and told me to walk under the train track overpass to get to Half Moon Lane. I walked slowly, enjoying the look of this town. It was quaint. The kind of place that I would like to live with Blake and a bunch of kids; if he hadn’t already dumped me. I walked past a pub and some stores and pulled out my paper to see what number I was looking for. I walked past Stradella Road and then Winterbrook Road; there was a church at the end of Winterbrook Road, and I wondered if I shouldn’t pop in for a quick prayer before going on to see Holly Matthews. But I knew I didn’t have time.

I finally came to the address that was on my paper, and I looked up at the house. It was cute. Actually, it was more than cute. It was homey and grand at the same time, a tall brick house with a gorgeous front garden. I could see lights on, and I walked up the pathway to ring the doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” I heard a young girl’s voice running towards the door, and my breath caught. It sounded very familiar. Could it be that I got the right address the first time around?

“Hello.” Madeline opened the door, and I grinned at her like the Cheshire cat. YES!

“Hi, Madeline. Is your mummy here?” I waited for her to recognize me and beam with happiness that her new friend from Hollywood had come to say hello.

“Who are you?” She frowned at me.

“It’s me, your friend.” I smiled at her gently, hoping to prod her memory with my soft smile. “I…”

“Help, there’s a stranger here to kidnap me!” Madeline screamed and ran away from the door, leaving it wide open. I didn’t want to say anything, but I wondered if she was a bit slow, having not recognized me and thinking I was a kidnapper but leaving the door wide open as she ran. She was either slow or stupid. I stood, smiling at the open air like a fool, and decided that I should walk in and explain the situation. It’s not like Holly Matthews wouldn’t recognize me. I mean, she was the one who had leaked the story of me marrying Bradley Cooper. She owed me!

“Hello,” I called out as I walked in. “It’s me, Maggie Lane.” I walked past a rather messy living room and down the corridor to what I assumed was going to be the kitchen. “Hello, Madeline, it’s me Maggie, also known as the kidnapper.” I laughed in jest at my joke and screamed as I felt someone come up behind me and twist my arm.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” a man’s voice growled at me, and I yelped in pain.

“Ow, watch it!” I screamed out. “I just came to visit Holly and Madeline.”

The man dropped my arm, and I turned around, jaw dropping. He was gorgeous. Holly had done well for herself; he looked more around my age than hers. He had golden blonde hair and hazel eyes that stared at me meanly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews.” I apologized to the sex god who was standing in front of me.

“Richards,” he corrected me.

“Sorry, what?” I looked at him in confusion.

“I’m Oliver Richards.”

“Um, sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” It was his turn to look confused.

“Sorry
Holly didn’t take your name, and I’m guessing she didn’t give it to Madeline, either.”

“Uncle Ollie, why would I have your name and not Daddy’s?” Madeline looked up at her uncle with big bashing eyes.

“I have no idea, Maddy.” He stuck his tongue out at his niece and then looked at me. “I’m Maddy’s uncle, Holly’s brother. Holly and Luke are out to a show right now.”

“Oh.” I sighed, though I did feel a tinge of happiness to hear that he wasn’t Holly’s husband. “When will they be back?”

“Not until later.” Ollie stared at me with keen eyes. “Why’d you want to see them?”

“Well your sister printed some lies about me,” I started, before the front door came crashing in (I had been smart enough to close it, unlike Maddy). Three policemen came running through the door.

“Hands up, hands up!” they screamed at us. “Hands up!”

I reluctantly put my hands up and wondered if there was some sort of drug bust going on. It wouldn’t surprise me. It did seem that Holly was a shady sort of character. It was just my luck to get involved with her.

“Who’s the trespasser?”

“She is!” Madeline screamed and pointed at me before falling to the ground in sobs. “She came to kidnap me! Save me, save me!”

I stared at her with my mouth agape at her theatrics before a policeman grabbed me. “Ma’am, why are you here?”

“Wait, what?” I looked at them with a beguiling look. “That little brat is lying. Ask Ollie.”

Ollie looked at the scene in front of him and he looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Um, Officers there has been a mistake. I called the station prematurely.”

“So this lady is not trespassing?”

“Trespassing?” I looked at them indignantly. “I am just here visiting these liars. I think the whole family are liars frankly. Can you arrest them for that?”

The policeman looked at me like I was the crazy one and started to leave. “Sir, please call us if you need help.”

“Yes, I will. Thanks.” Oliver walked with them to the door and closed it behind them. Madeline stood up gracefully and ran to the kitchen, singing a nursery rhyme. I stood there in shock, wondering what had just happened.

“Your whole family is crazy, huh?” I frowned at Oliver.

“Madeline is a little drama queen, if that is what you’re asking,” he grinned, and I noticed that one of his front teeth was slightly chipped.

“A little drama queen? She’s crazy.” I sighed. “She could have had me arrested.”

“Well, to be fair, you did just walk into the house uninvited.”

“She left the door open.”

“She’s a kid.”

I bit my lip and kept the words “a stupid one” to myself. I didn’t think Oliver would appreciate me slagging off his young niece. And yes, ‘slagging off’ is an English term; I learned it from watching an English show called ‘EastEnders’ in my hotel room.

I sighed. “When will Holly be back? It is of vital importance that I speak to her.”

“Well, I suppose after all this, you can have a beer with me, watch some TV, and wait for them to get back.”

“Thanks,” I smiled. “I’d like that.” I followed him to the kitchen and took the Foster’s Lager he handed me, deciding that it would be too much to ask him if he would be able to make me a cocktail instead. My nerves were frazzled, and I felt like I needed a really stiff drink that was sweet enough to hide the taste of a killer, super strong liquor.

“So, can I ask what is so important?” Oliver asked me as we settled into the couch. I noticed he was sitting quite close to me, and I wasn’t sure if I should tell him that I had a boyfriend, though I didn’t really know if I did.

“Your sister printed a story saying I was married to Hollywood heartthrob Bradley Cooper and that I was a star myself, and it’s not true.” I paused. I didn’t really want him to know why she got the idea that it was true.

“Hmm,” He looked at me in surprise. “Why would she do that?”

“I have no idea.” I crossed my fingers quickly.

“Hmm,” he said again. “That’s weird, and if it’s not true, she could get in a lot of trouble for libel.”

“I promise I won’t sue.”

He laughed. “I think she would be more concerned that Bradley Cooper was going to sue.”

“Oh. True.” I looked at the clock on the wall and yelped. “Oh my. Is that the time? I have to go.” I jumped up off of the couch. “I seriously can’t stay any longer. Can you please tell Holly what I said, and ask her to print a retraction?”

“Okay.” He looked at me oddly. “Do you have a phone number for me to call?”

“Yeah, you can call me here. Ask for Maggie Lane’s room.” I wrote down the hotel’s number.

“Okay, Maggie Lane. I’ll be in touch.” He walked me to the door and then shook my hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Maggie.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek and I walked away, dazed and confused, with a warm feeling in my stomach. A handsome Englishman had kissed me; I thought I was floating on cloud nine as I walked down the street. He didn’t know me or owe me anything, and he had kissed me, albeit on the cheek, and he had my number. I walked to the bus stop, grinning like a fool, and didn’t think about Blake at all on the way back to the hotel.