Market Street (18 page)

*   *   *

The day
Aidan left for Italy had been a disaster. He had insisted she take the day off and drive him to the airport. Cassie hadn’t seen Aidan since the dinner at Green’s, and felt the familiar sexual pull that started in the pit of her stomach.

She had dressed in jeans and a low-cut T-shirt. She had climbed into the Prius, and adjusted her Victoria’s Secret bra. She had decided it wouldn’t hurt to send Aidan off with a groping session in the short-term parking at SFO.

The battery in her Prius had died as she was approaching the Bay Bridge. At first she thought the other cars were driving too fast. Then she had realized she was barely moving and the Prius glided quietly to a stop. Cassie had turned the key in the ignition, helplessly checking Aidan’s impatient texts.

Eventually she had called Aidan and told him she was stuck. She heard him yelling over the phone, but cars were honking and she had to hang up to wave down the tow truck. Aidan hadn’t texted her again until he was boarding the plane. Cassie had read two terse lines: “Isabel gave me ride. See you when I return.”

When she had finally arrived back at Alexis’s house, she ran upstairs and climbed into bed. She had closed her eyes and pictured snuggling against Aidan in the airport lounge, sharing a travel-sized Scotch and bag of pretzels. She had tried to think about the red balloons she had ordered for the grand opening. But she couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking. She had buried her face in the pillow and cried.

The next morning Cassie had gone to work wrapped in a deep lethargy. She had moved papers around her desk, she made phone calls to suppliers, she answered James’s questions. But all she could see was Aidan arriving at the Rome airport, his leather jacket tossed over his arm, his black hair baking under the Italian sun. She had imagined him sitting at an outdoor café, watching boys and girls zoom by on Vespas.

She was at her desk, placing an order for cage-free eggs, when she received Aidan’s first text. He had never been one to text for anything other than utilitarian reasons. Years ago, she had tried sending him fun, flirtatious texts but he told her it distracted him from his lectures.

Cassie had checked her phone, still flinching from her failure to get him to the airport. The text read, “Ciao, bella! Rome cries without you and so do I.” Cassie had picked up the phone and read it again. She was about to reply when he sent another: “No Mona Lisa is as beautiful as my glorious Cassie.”

Cassie had pushed back her chair and run up the stairs to the first floor. She had found Alexis at the sunglass counter and handed her the phone.

Alexis had put down the Oliver Peoples sunglasses she had been admiring. “Do you have an Italian boyfriend you’re not telling me about? Some gigolo that wears a gold cross and black leather pants?”

“James Franco is your fantasy.” Cassie took the phone back. “These texts are from Aidan.”

“I thought he was furious at you for not providing cab service yesterday.” Alexis had grabbed the phone as another text popped up. She had read it quickly and handed the phone to Cassie. “Stop him before it gets X-rated. You’ll fry your eyes.”

“Aidan has never sent me a text other than ‘I’m making pizza, please buy tomatoes.’” Cassie read the text and blushed.

Alexis had tried on a pair of aviator frames and studied her reflection in the mirror. “Either he got drunk on the plane or he’s trying to tell you he misses you.”

“It’s not like him. I don’t know how to respond.” Cassie had held the phone as if it was an unexploded grenade.

“You’ve been through hell, this will be good for you.” Alexis tried on a pair of tortoiseshell Armanis. “Pretend Aidan’s your European lover. Turn the heat up. When he comes home, you can both forget everything else that happened.”

Cassie had studied Alexis in the mirror. “How do you have time to watch afternoon TV?” She slipped her phone in her pocket and took the escalator down to the emporium.

*   *   *

Cassie received
texts from Aidan every day. Sometimes they were romantic. Often they were so hot she read them in the bathroom so no one would see her blush. She carried her phone in her purse like a pair of silk underwear, and felt a thrill of anticipation each time it rang. She replied with sexy texts that made her giggle when she sent them. The days until the grand opening flew by and Cassie worked with a secret smile on her face, racing the clock to get everything ready.

*   *   *

Cassie pulled
into Fenton’s parking garage and checked her makeup in the mirror. She wore thick mascara, a sparkly bronzer, and pale pink lipstick. She wanted to look young and sophisticated, serious but with a playful side. She had chosen to wear a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and a diamond Tiffany necklace.

In two hours, San Francisco’s top tiers of society would gather for the unveiling of Fenton’s food emporium. Cassie had signed each invitation and sealed them with red wax. The opening had been tweeted about by the
Chronicle
,
San Francisco
magazine,
7x7,
and
Town & Country
. The mayor was expected to attend and Wolfgang Puck was flying up from Los Angeles.

Cassie walked through the revolving door and stood at the top of the escalator. She looked down at the basement, feeling like Cinderella arriving at the ball. A sea of red balloons hovered at the ceiling and the walls were draped with red velvet. The murals were lit from behind and made the room look as if it were full of people laughing and mingling.

Cassie walked down the staircase, trying to take it all in. The marble pedestals borrowed from the Legion of Honor were topped with vases of red roses. In the corner the band had set up their instruments. There was a long bar with bottles of wine, champagne, and a dozen different liqueurs.

Every surface was covered with food. Oranges and melons were arranged on one counter; avocados, asparagus, and leeks on another; and brussels sprouts, artichokes, fennel on a third. Fresh apple and rhubarb pies were displayed on ceramic plates. Oysters and jumbo prawns sat in buckets of ice. Cassie could smell fresh bread baking in the oven. She saw glass jars full of coffee beans and smelled the scent of freshly ground coffee.

“You look lovely.” James walked up the stairs to greet her. He wore a navy suit with a red tie and red silk suspenders. His hair flopped over one eye and his glasses peeked out of his suit pocket.

Cassie blushed. “I thought you were blind without your glasses.”

“I’m wearing my contacts”—he patted his suit—“these are back-up. Are you ready to greet five hundred of San Francisco’s elite?”

“I’m so nervous.” Cassie walked down the staircase. “I lay awake thinking what catastrophe might happen. Tony Bennett will forget the lyrics or the caterer will serve bad fish and everyone will get food poisoning.”

“I doubt Tony Bennett is going to forget the words to ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco,’ but we do have a small problem.” James followed her down the stairs.

“Oh, God, what did we forget?”

“Miles Cavendish got stung by a bee and is on his way to the emergency room. He’s allergic. He said he was swelling up like a watermelon.”

“The poor guy; I’m sorry he’ll miss the opening.” Cassie straightened a line of champagne flutes.

“His neighbor took him to the hospital. Our cake is sitting on his kitchen table.” James shifted from foot to foot.

“Our cheesecake isn’t here.” Cassie froze. The cake was going to be the room’s centerpiece. After Tony Bennett sang and the balloons dropped, Cassie and her mother would cut the cake and the archbishop would bless the emporium.

“His back door is open; we’re going to have to get it.”

“Now?” Cassie checked her watch. “We’ll never make it back in time. He lives in the Castro. And the cake is six feet tall! It’s not going to fit in my Prius.”

“Do we know anyone with a truck?” James asked.

“We’ll ask Alexis if we can use her Range Rover.” Cassie thought of all the hours she spent designing the cake with Miles. “The cake comes in two sections. We can each hold one and she can drive.”

*   *   *

Cassie found
Alexis in a dressing room with Princess Giselle. Giselle was draped in yards of silver chiffon and Alexis circled around her, her mouth full of pins.

“Cassie, you remember Princess Giselle? Giselle’s social calendar filled up and she needs a dozen new gowns. I explained everyone in San Francisco buys couture. One wouldn’t want to wear the same dress as Samantha Traina to the Black and White Ball.” Alexis adjusted the chiffon over Giselle’s shoulder.

“We have a little situation,” Cassie whispered.

Alexis saw the panic in Cassie’s eyes and turned calmly to Giselle. “I’ll have Kitty bring you champagne and truffles. Try not to move, we don’t want to disturb these perfect lines.”

“That dress cost twelve thousand dollars,” Alexis hissed when they stepped out of the dressing room. “I don’t want her to take it off until she’s married to it.”

“Our cheesecake is stranded on a kitchen table in the Castro. You have to drive us to pick it up,” Cassie said desperately.

“I’m not leaving Princess Giselle. She showed me her new black AmEx.” Alexis wound her long ponytail into a bun. “You can borrow my car.”

“James and I each have to hold a section of the cake,” Cassie begged. “Please, guests are arriving soon.”

“Can’t they just eat caviar and salmon balls?” Alexis secured the bun with a pearl-tipped chopstick.

“The cake is the centerpiece. The whole party revolves around it.”

“Fine, but I’m going to promise Giselle front-row seats at the ballet. I told her she has to get her dress before the Traina girls come in.” Alexis smiled smugly.

“Throw in an autographed copy of Danielle Steel’s new book.” Cassie grabbed her arm. “Get your keys. We’re running out of time.”

*   *   *

“See how
handy valet parking is when you have to make a quick getaway?” Alexis grinned when the valet brought up the car.

Cassie climbed in beside Alexis, and James sat in the back. “Since when did you become a seamstress?” Cassie asked as Alexis turned on Market Street and gunned through a red light.

“I’ll be Princess Giselle’s personal maid if she shops exclusively at Fenton’s. Her palace in Liechtenstein has a hundred and twenty rooms. Imagine the linens she’ll need if she buys a house in San Francisco!”

“Do you think you could slow down?” James clutched the headrest on Cassie’s seat as Alexis maneuvered around a Muni bus. “I feel like I’m on
Miami Vice
.”

“Carter and I attended Porsche’s driving school in Alabama last summer. He’s having matching roadsters shipped from Germany.” Alexis passed a red Ferrari and turned onto a leafy street with small houses stuck together. “I love the Castro.” She pulled into a narrow driveway. “Everyone paints their houses and the yards are neat and clean.”

*   *   *

The cake
was sitting on a long white table in the middle of the kitchen. It was covered in red frosting and the base was littered with rose petals. White chocolate pearls ran down the sides like seams, and a white chocolate bow sat on top.

“I love these Warhol prints.” Alexis wandered into the living room. “We should have a modern art department at Fenton’s.”

“We’re all going to be fired if we don’t get this cake to the emporium.” Cassie slid the top section of the cake off the table and balanced it in her arms.

“You two look like matching bookends.” Alexis walked back into the kitchen. “Let me take a picture with my phone.” Alexis snapped a picture of Cassie and James standing side by side, holding twin sections of cheesecake.

“Alexis”—Cassie gritted her teeth—“we need to go. And if you pass one car and this cake lands in my lap…”

Alexis clicked her tongue. “I’ll drive like my grandmother. Don’t blame me if we get stuck at every red light in the city.”

*   *   *

Alexis pulled
up at Fenton’s and slammed on the brakes. “I have to get back to Giselle.” She jumped out of the car and tossed the keys to the valet. “I’ll join you as soon as I separate Giselle from her AmEx.”

“Alexis has a lot of energy.” James laughed as they carried the cake into the store.

“In high school she ran half marathons and ate a jar of peanut butter every afternoon. She has the metabolism of a seven-year-old boy.” Cassie stepped onto the escalator. “Oh, God, people are starting to arrive. What if the press is already here?”

“You look perfect, Cassie, and so does the cake. Just relax.” James got off the escalator and placed the cake on a round table. He scattered rose petals on the linen tablecloth and handed Cassie a glass of champagne.

Cassie felt the bubbles drift straight to her toes. She remembered sitting at Boulevard poring over James’s sketches. Now she watched women mingle in little black dresses and wild Pucci designs. They wrapped their French-manicured nails around pots of sea salt, bottles of Chardonnay, bags of chocolate-covered almonds. They nibbled steak tartare and ahi tuna and carried glasses of pink champagne.

A young woman with strawberry blond hair and green eyes framed by thick lashes walked toward them. She wore an antique lace dress and carried an embroidered evening bag. Her mouth was painted pale pink and she had an ivory brooch pinned to her dress.

“James, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She smiled, showing pearly white teeth.

“Emily.” James’s mouth dropped open. “I thought you couldn’t make it.”

“The furniture shipment arrived early so I hopped on the first plane west. I came straight from the airport.” Emily had a whispery voice like Melanie in
Gone with the Wind
. “Who is your friend?”

James looked from Emily to Cassie, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “This is Cassie Blake, my boss.”

“My mother is our boss.” Cassie extended her hand. She noticed Emily had long French nails and wore an emerald and diamond ring on her left hand.

Emily followed her gaze. “It’s lovely isn’t it? It was my grandmother’s ring. James had it reset and gave it to me during a carriage ride through Central Park. He’s so romantic. He planned a whole engagement weekend in New York.” She patted her hair and glanced around the room. “So this is your emporium.”