"Harry!" Olivia exclaims, wiping her hands on a towel. "I had no idea you were going to be here." She grabs a frothy concoction in a margarita glass and takes a giant gulp.
"Uh, no. I didn't know you were going to be here either," I say, looking at James accusingly.
He merely shrugs, "It wasn't a secret."
Julia rolls up the towel she's holding and smacks James with it. "You didn't tell them the other was coming! James!"
The whole exchange rings true, which is how I know this isn't a set up.
"Minnie hasn't been over in ages," Julia wraps her arm around Olivia's waist, planting a kiss on her cheek, "We've all missed her," then she adds in a whisper, "Especially Max. He's had a crush for the last two years."
Olivia laughs, "Yes, so let's keep reminding him that I knew him back when he was just out of kindergarten." She takes another chug of her drink, making eye contact with me, clearly uncomfortable by my presence.
I'm feeling quite the opposite though. All day I had wanted to see her and hear her laugh. (I live for you. I long for you.) And now here she is in front of me, relaxed.
"Harry!" Carey leans her forearms on the counter next to him, "Why'd you call Minnie by that other name? Olivia?"
Olivia laughs, throwing her head back, "Oh, Care! That's my name too."
"It is?" the child questions, her head swiveling to Olivia. I'm lost in the shuffle, still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that she's here. Almost like I conjured her.
"Yep," Olivia takes another swig from her half-full glass, brushing her hair from her face, "My full name's a mouthful. Do you want to learn it?"
Carey nods, her eyes wide.
With a deep breath, Olivia says, "WilhelminaOliviaWakefield."
"Holy cow! That's long!" squeals Carey, and I nod my head because she's right. It is quite long. "But there's no Minnie in there," the child ponders.
"Minnie is a nickname for my first name, Wilhelmina. Which is a name I only use on my driver's license," Olivia cautions, "So I better not hear you trying to call me that. I won't answer." And she bops Carey's nose, causing the girl to giggle.
Just then Olivia's phone rings. With a worried glance at where it rests on the kitchen table, she turns away from the counter, grabbing her drink. "I better take this in private," she says, carrying her phone outside by the pool.
Without her presence, the room grows dimmer. At least that's my impression.
==============
Minnie's hands are shaking as she answers the phone. Not because she's worried about the call. No. That's not the issue. It's Harry. Here. In her world. KNOWING HER NAME. Damn.
"Amelia," she answers the phone, "What's going on? Are you okay?"
Twenty minutes later, Minnie is completely drained from the emotional encounter with her former client which started with veiled threats of suicide and ended with Amelia agreeing to think about counseling again. It isn't a solution, but it's a step in the right direction. The woman has at least promised to not hurt herself today. Minnie makes a mental note to call and check on her tomorrow.
During the call, she's done as threatened, emptying her margarita, and it's definitely shaping up to be the kind of night where she needs two or more to stay sane. She's sitting on the chaise lounge and leans her head back to look at the stars overhead.
What the hell is she going to do about Amelia?
What the hell is she going to do about Daisy?
Fuck. What the hell is she going to do about Harry?
Just then, as though she's summoned him, the man in question exits the house, carrying a margarita and a glass of clear liquid -- maybe water?
"You better be bringing that margarita to me," she warns.
=================
I smile, handing over the beverage before I sit on the lounge next to her. "Jules said you might need one. Was that about Xavier?" I nod to her phone.
She debates before she answers me, biting her lip, sipping her drink, licking said lips in a gesture that makes my dick jump in my jeans.
"Nope. Not Xavier," she sighs, leaning back while downing another gulp. "Most of my clients are...." she pauses, searching for the right word, swirling the drink around on her tongue, "troubled" is what she settles for, "when they get to me. And my assistance doesn't always solve their problems for life. So sometimes they call me when they are having a rough time, even though I don't work for them anymore."
Taking her in, I recognise the quality I've been trying to put my finger on for quite a while. She will likely disagree, but the truth is obvious. "You've got a bleeding heart," I tell her.
Startled, she laughs -- a real laugh -- and the sound tightens the muscles in my gut. I love her laugh. It's similar to the song of a bird in the trees, calling to its friends. It's like the water in a stream bubbling over the pebbles and rocks. It's like the first day of vacation from school. Free. Open. Warm. I could soak in her laughter for a lifetime.
"Yes," she finally responds when she's calm, "I suppose I do. I'm a sucker for them, Harry. The needy ones. The broken ones. They make me feel useful."
Tilting my head, I observe her. What I'd thought earlier were tears from the onions? I was mistaken. What pain -- what burdens -- had she taken on for others that caused her to look this way?
I'm about to probe more because this side of her intrigues me. She always appears to have everything in control. Maybe she doesn't? Just as I open my mouth to ask her about it, she jumps in with, "Sorry about the confusion."
"Confusion?" I wasn't lost before, but I'm completely out of the loop now.
"My name," she says softly. "I've known James and Jules for years. They've earned the right to call me by my nickname."
The message is unambiguous.
I don't have the same permission.
Her hair has fallen in her face, and I reach to brush the strands away, tucking them behind her ear. Learning forward, I'm prepared to taste her lips. But she's not having it.
"Not here. Not now." she whispers as her eyes flick over to the door.
I pull back. She's right. We're at a dinner party hosted by our mutual friends. Not a good idea, especially with the kids around.
"DINNER!" James yells from the other side of the patio where he's prepared the turkey burgers, and I'm relieved that we hadn't put on a display for him.
As we're delivering food to the table (because everyone at the Corden house helps with setup and cleanup), Olivia gets several texts, but after the first three, she excuses herself, turning off her phone and placing it in her purse by the front door. When she pads back to the dining room, the only seat left at the table appears to be between me and the 14 year old. I hold my breath, but she doesn't even pause, sitting quietly next to Max who is overjoyed to have her there. Naturally, I act nonchalantly about having her seated by me. My pulse picks up nonetheless.
Julia smiles, ducking her head; she thinks I haven't seen her observing us. James hops up, pulling a bottle of wine from the sideboard. Holding it up, he offers it to me, but I decline. My tequila earlier had been enough. Olivia (Dammit. Minnie.) accepts his offer of whatever grape gave its life for the wine, gulping down nearly a third in her first sip.
Once seated, James opens the conversation, "That skit today was great fun! That Xavier kid isn't what I expected. I suspect the world has you to thank for that, Minnie." Jules passes the kale salad to me, and I pile it high on my plate before handing the serving dish to Olivia.
Adding more oranges and feta than kale to her plate, Olivia responds politely but evasively, "He's getting stronger every day." She then turns to Max, giving the dish to him, "How's high school going?"
"Ugh. Don't ask!" he pouts, skipping the kale salad entirely.
"Okay, I won't," and my girl turns immediately to Carey, "How's school for you this year?"
I stifle a laugh when I glance over at Max who looks like he's just swallowed a goldfish. He'd really wanted her to sympathize with him for a while.
Carey starts talking and doesn't stop for a good ten minutes. When she finishes her monologue, I see that Max is taking a breath, ready to answer the previous question about high school, but Olivia turns to the youngest Corden child instead, asking how she's enjoying second grade.
"My teacher is awesome!" Charlotte shares a story about how the whole class is planning for their Valentine's Day party when they will all get to decorate a box for their valentines. "This year, I'm going to make all of mine!" She announces, "Mum bought me some construction paper and glitter, and I've got fancy scissors. It's going to be awesome!"
Her enthusiasm makes me smile, and I ask a few questions about the kinds of valentines she plans on making and the friends in her class. "Anyone in your class going to get a special valentine?" I tease, and she giggles.
"No, Harry! I'm only in second grade," her girly squeals bring a smile to my face, and I love her gap-toothed smile where she's lost some teeth recently.
Finally, Olivia -- no, Minnie -- turns back to Max. "So.....are you playing basketball this year?"
She knows James' son well, or maybe she simply understands human nature. He's now ready to spill everything to her, talking for the rest of the meal. By the time he's wound down, the younger two kids have been excused from the table. Max probably feels like a grown-up now, and I'm sure he's going to stay at the table longer with the adults, but he jumps, pulling his buzzing phone from his pocket. I see the face of a girl on the screen, and Max's head swivels over to me and then to Minnie, knowing that we must have seen her picture. But Olivia, I mean Minnie, has turned to Jules, pretending as though she hasn't seen it at all. I give him a thumbs up, and he scrambles away from the table.
"Thank goodness!" James stands, refreshing Oli- Minnie's glass with her third wine refill. "The adults have at long last got the table! Harold, tell us about your painting. How is it going? Any new creations?"
My eyes grow big, as I wasn't planning on revealing that little detail to HER, certainly not tonight. "Uh, it's, uh, fine."
"You paint?" she turns to me, animated, and I honestly can't tell if she's truly interested or if it's that she's tipsy. Two margaritas. Three glasses of wine. Not that I'm keeping count. Except I am. "Watercolors? Oils? Acrylics? Tell me! I'm curious."
With a dirty look at my host, I decide the topic is here now, so I've got nothing to lose by sharing. "Um, I've been experimenting with acrylics. I'm not talented at it, but it's something I, um, enjoy doing. It's relaxing."
"I can see how it would be," she nods, leaning towards me a bit, squinting. "I'd love to see something you've painted."
A very unladylike snort escapes Jules' mouth, and I glare at her.
"What?"
"She'd like to see your etchings, Harold," Jules teases, and although I know I am beet red, I make the conscious decision to laugh at the joke, trying to brush off the fact that this woman has seen the etchings -- on my body -- multiple times. And I am hoping she gets to see them again tonight.
"UNO FLIP!" screams the youngest Corden, running back into the dining room. "We want to play Uno Flip!"
I sigh in relief now that the talk has moved from me. Together, we all clear the table and clean the kitchen. It's a typical family night at the Corden household, and I'm highly aware that Oli - Minnie -- is a familiar fixture at these when she knows where to put away the dishes after I dry them.
The seven of us plant ourselves around the poker table in the game room. It's Jules this time who comes around with a bottle of brandy, and I once more refuse. Minnie (Ha! I'm getting better at this now!) shakes her head, "Gotta drive home tonight, Jules."
James laughs, "You've already passed the point where we would let you drive home, Minnie. You'll take a cab. Or a Lyft."
"Um," I speak without thinking, "I can take her home."
"You're toooooooooo nice to me," Minnie purrs in her tipsy state, sliding her hand along my arm, and I shiver at her casual touch. "Pour me some brandy, Jules!" She holds her glass up, waiting for the golden liqueur.
The game starts, and before the night is over, it all gets a bit out of hand. You see, the Cordens don't play by the rules. If someone yells "Uno!", everyone who has more than one card runs around switching seats, leaving laughter everywhere as musical chairs-type shenanigans ensue. It takes an hour before Jules is able to discard her final card -- a Wild Draw Four card, and the game ends.
The kids give us all hugs before trotting off to their dreamlands, and I assist Jules in putting away the plates from the cheesecake dessert.
"She's a lovely girl, Harry," Jules isn't shy, and I realize I didn't count her drinks, but she'd likely had as many as Minnie. (Hee hee "many as Minnie". It rhymes a bit, doesn't it?) "We're quite fond of her, and she has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known -- except you of course."
"How did you meet?" I ask, curious.
"Well....when she first started out in the business, she was with a larger agency, and she was floundering a bit. It wasn't until she got a really rough client one year and did wonders with the arsehole that her career took a turn. When she waded off on her own, she would help James book guests and provide free publicity for him." She puts the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, closing the door and setting the dial. "And he would recommend her to celebrities he met who were having difficulty in their personal lives that bled over into their professional lives."
"So why haven't I heard of her before? She's amazing at what she does, right?" I fold the kitchen towel I'd used to wipe the granite down, crossing my legs as I lean back onto the counter.
"She's beyond incredible, Harry. The woman has a waiting list a mile long. But she always says that she's not the story: the celebrity is. So she keeps herself out of the public eye," Jules is ready to say more, and I'm ready to hear more, so I fold my arms across my chest to signal that she should continue.
Looking around at the door, probably ensuring that James and their guest aren't returning, Jules whispers conspiratorially, "I worry about her, though." My eyebrows raise, but I say nothing. People tend to fill space with words when you don't talk, and I'm right as she continues, "I think she's getting burned out. I know I shouldn't say anything, but...."
"I've got her bundled up at the door, Harry, so you can take her right home. She lives at the Carlyle on Wilshire. It's quite swanky, so the doorman will be able to help her upstairs," James booms as he enters the kitchen. "Haven't seen her toasted in quite a while, but it's good for her to cut loose occasionally. She probably hasn't laughed this much in months." He claps me on the back. "Take good care of her, would you? She's special to us."
I steer Minnie through the front door, patting my friend on the back and hugging his lovely wife. Despite the surprise of Minnie's presence, or maybe because of it, I've had a wonderful evening with friends.