I need some L.A. clothes. Can you tell me where, and can I use the driver?”
Lily held up a finger, then picked up the phone she’d set on the table. She hit speed dial. “Mimi, do me a favor? Cancel my lunch date tomorrow and contact Gino—yes, now, at home. Tell him I need him to take care of my granddaughter tomorrow. That’s right, personally. We can work around his schedule. We’ll be shopping most of the day. Thanks.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Have to?” She threw back her head, let out a hoot. “Does a rooster have to crow? I’ve wanted my Gino to get his genius hands on your hair for years. Now’s my chance. Add shopping, it’s a day at the damn circus for me. And I do love a circus.”
“She does,” Hugh agreed. “It’s why she married into the Sullivans.”
“That’s the pure truth. Oh, Mimi’s fast. Here’s Lil,” she said as she answered the phone. “That’s just perfect. Yes, I’ve got it. You’re the best, Mimi. Kisses.”
She set the phone down. “Gino’s going to come in early—for him—just for you. Be ready at eight-thirty.”
“Mimi’s not the best, you are.” Cate sprang up again, gave Lily a noisy kiss on the cheek, then repeated one for her grandfather. “Both of you. I’m going to make you proud. Gotta go!”
As she raced off, Lily lifted her martini again. “I dimly recall having that kind of energy. You’re going to need to look after her, Hugh.”
“I know. I will.”
It had been years since Cate walked into an L.A. salon, the exclusive type that served its clients spring water or champagne, infused teas or lattes. The sort with private stations and a menu of services as thick as a novel.
When she did, the scents—expensive products, perfume, fragrant candles—melded together and shot her back to childhood.
Back to her mother.
She nearly balked at the door.
“Cate?”
“Sorry.” She pushed herself into a world of black and silver, of techno music pulsing low and bright chandeliers formed with curving silver bands.
A man in a shirt that might have been designed by Jackson Pollock manned a semicircle reception counter. His hair rose up in a wave, like a surfer’s curl, over his forehead.
He had a trio of studs in his left earlobe and a tattoo of a dragonfly on the back of his left hand.
“Luscious Lily!” Popping up, he clapped his hands together. “Gino’s already at his station. This can’t be your granddaughter. You’d have been ten when she was born!”
“Cicero!” Lily exchanged kisses. “Aren’t you the one? Caitlyn, this is Cicero.”
“My sweet girl.” He clasped her hand in both of his. “What a beauty! I’ll take you right back. Now, what can I get you? Your morning latte, Lily, my love?”
“We’ll both have one, Cicero. And how are things with you and Marcus?”
He wiggled his eyebrows as he walked them through the salon. “Heating up. He asked me to move in with him.”
“And?”
“I think . . . yes.”
There was a sweetness, Cate thought, in the way Lily put her arm around him, hugged. “He’ll be lucky to have you. You know, Cate, Cicero isn’t just another pretty face. He helps Gino run the business, and he makes the best latte in Beverly Hills.”
“But he does have a pretty face,” Cate said, and had Cicero beaming at her.
“Aren’t you a darling!” He whisked a black curtain open.
“Gino, two gorgeous ladies for you.”
“My favorite kind.”
While Cicero was slight and slick, Gino hit big and muscular. He had a shock of black hair tumbling to the collar of his black tunic, big, heavy-lidded brown eyes, and a perfect two-day stubble.
He didn’t exchange kisses with Lily, but picked her an inch off her feet in a bear hug. “Mi amor. You got me out of bed an hour early.”
“I hope whoever the lucky woman was, she forgives me.”
He offered a toothy smile. Then turned to Cate. “So this is Caitlyn. My Lily flower tells me about all her chicks.” He reached out, took a handful of Cate’s hair.
“Thick and healthy. Sit. Lily, my own, Zoe will give you a mani-pedi.”
“I planned to sit and watch. Quietly,” Lily insisted.
Gino raised both eyebrows, then just flicked a finger toward the curtain. “Close it on your way out.”
Cate sat in the big leather chair in front of the big silver station with its triple mirror and Hollywood lights. “You must be a genius with hair because nobody flicks Lily out of the room.”
“A genius with hair, and discreet as a sphinx. The