India's Summer (3 page)

“Wonderful to see you, Miss Butler,” he said, reaching for her luggage. “Welcome back!”

The air outside the terminal was dry and dusty. Trailing closely behind Robert as he crossed the frantically busy street, India looked forward to settling into the soft leather seat of the air-conditioned Town Car.

This is the life, she thought, as Robert deftly switched lanes and the car raced away from the International Terminal onto the sprawling lanes of the freeway. Cocooned in the luxuriously cool, dark car, India amused herself, looking at the blur of garish billboards. Number of people dead from smoking this year (Enough?) … Financial problems? Bankruptcy could be the solution. (Fun solution?)

Taking advantage of a brief traffic jam near the exit, India brushed her hair and touched up her makeup. Then, there they were, driving past the ornate iron awnings that spelt out the magic words, “Bel Air.” This was where Annabelle and Joss had their main home and where they spent most of the school year. Picture perfect, India thought, gazing out at a hacienda-style estate lined with dozens of lemon trees, an old mock-Tudor mansion, and what appeared to be a replica of Buckingham Palace, complete with porticos, stone lions, and a spectacular Trevi fountain.

Annie’s house was a surreal mix of French and Spanish Colonial styles, beautifully proportioned and elegant, with a pitched tiled roof and a long, gated driveway lined with olive trees. The car pul ed up at the carved wooden door where Maria stood, waiting to greet her. A small, dark-haired Mexican in her early fifties, Maria had worked for the family for twelve years and was especially fond of India. Unlike many houseguests, India was considerate and even washed her own underwear.

Leaping out of the car, India embraced her.

“Cómo estás?” Maria said, returning the embrace warmly. “Te ves muy bien.”

Taking India’s hand luggage, Maria started walking across the impossibly green lawn toward the annex. India loved coming back to the guest suite. The ceilings were as high as cathedrals and the tall bay windows overlooked a small, secluded patio surrounded by a fragrant lavender hedge. Thanking Robert profusely, and unsure about tipping, she hesitated for a moment before catching up with Maria and slipping through the door into her own private paradise.

Nothing had changed. The pale green silk-lined walls were bare but for the strikingly colorful de Kooning hanging on the wall by the shuttered windows. Taking in the priceless, jewel-toned oriental rugs scattered across the polished floor, India smiled. Hardly ”benign neglect,” she thought. More “benign opulence.” Fiddling with the remote control, she was delighted to see the gigantic wide-screen HDTV slide up discreetly from its cabinet. Then she looked longingly at the California king-size bed with its pristine linen sheets, down pillows, and white Frette coverlet.

But it was Annie’s own thoughtful and very personal touches that always meant the most to India: the handmade vellum note-paper, India’s favorite Moulton Brown soap in the bathroom, and the card on the bedside table with a note: “Maria’s cooked your supper. Please don’t wait up for me. I just can’t WAIT to see you in the morning. Love you, xxx.”

India had yet to master the art of relaxing while staff looked after her and was feeling extremely awkward as Maria laid out a stack of thick Turkish bath towels. To distract herself she started sorting through her English “souvenirs,” the little gifts she’d brought from London: Jo Malone candles from Bond Street (but really from the duty-free) for Annie, candy for the kids, and an outrageously expensive Pop art Paul Smith tie for Joss, who liked to wear them when he had dinner with the designer.

The guy’s impressive, he said to her once. “Never fails to recognize the exact year and season of every tie. “

After Maria left her alone, she took a quick shower, went over to the house, ate a delicious risotto, drank two glasses of Kermit Lynch Sancerre, and headed groggily back to bed for a good night’s sleep.

The glorious California sun had barely risen over the horizon when India sprang out of bed. It was 5 a.m.

Too early to wake Annie up, she thought, dashing over and opening the wide doors of the walk-in closet. A few sorry-looking linen shifts and two shirts hung there limply, as if forgotten by a departed guest. The rest of her clothes were still strewn across the floor.

Shit, those creases are supposed to fall out overnight, she thought. I should have brought that Ghost dress… Never mind. At least I remembered my new bikini.

A slow, luxurious swim in the infinity pool soon recharged her spirits. Reluctant to get her hair wet, she concentrated on keeping her head above water. What a metaphor for my life, she thought as she did a few more laps. Then she toweled off and ran toward the kitchen. Annie looked up the second the door opened and rushed across the room. Throwing her arms around India, she locked her in a bear hug.

“Look at you.” Annabelle grinned, stepping back and taking both of her hands. “Here you are… I’ve been counting the days.”

“I’ve been counting the months!” India laughed. “I can’t believe I’m finally here. I’m really here!” She paused. “You look so beautiful, Annie. Your hair got lighter and your skin’s amazing. You haven’t even got tiny frown lines, and your forehead’s so smooth. Teaching’s giving me wrinkles. I’m obsessed. See this frown line here?” she said, running a finger between her eyebrows.

“Thank you,” Annie said, turning around to fix the lid of the gurgling coffeemaker. “Good flight?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Great. The seat went almost flat and the food was good, too.” She grinned. “I could get used to that.”

Annie smiled. “Are you ready for breakfast? I think I know the answer. We have the house all to ourselves. Joss thought we’d appreciate the time to catch up.”

“He’s so thoughtful. Yes, I’m starving. Have you still got that waffle machine?”

“Ready to go,” Annie said, dragging it out of a drawer. “Orange juice in there” – she nodded toward the refrigerator – “and there’s a fruit plate ready too.”

“It’s like I’ve never been away,” India said, opening the heavy steel doors to the fridge. She pulled out a jug, placed it on the kitchen table, and then dashed over and gave her sister another hug.

“I want all the news. How did the girls get on in Hawaii? Do they still hang out with the Nicholsons? Is Bella still freaking out over meeting Jason Mraz? Will I recognize them? Did they get the backstage passes for Miley Cyrus?” India was remembering how shocked she had been seeing them go off to school with their (monogrammed) Louis Vuitton backpacks and Juicy Couture pants, or the time their friend’s dad had ordered in tons of real snow so they could all enjoy a white Christmas. That was the year he also flew them in his the Gulfstream jet to a bar mitzvah in Vegas. At the time, India was not sure if she was disgusted or jealous.

“Yes, yes, and yes.” Annabelle laughed, setting out a couple of plates. “But not in that order. They’re still cute as hell but Bella is starting to get attitude already; can’t think who she takes after!”

“And Joss? Are things good?” India probed.

“Yes, we’re good. Really good,” Annie said with a smile. “He just came off tour and he’s loving the Malibu place. It’s very laid-back. He’s set up another recording studio there. Says he feels more creative by the ocean.”

“I can’t wait,” India said, “and it’s a beach party, right?”

“Just a few friends. Joss has it all organized – special charcoal for the barbecue, meat from Spago’s kitchen. He’s in his element, hanging out.”

“So what shall I wear?” India asked.

“Don’t even think of worrying what to wear,” Annie told her. “Malibu’s very casual. It’s come as you are. So now fill me in. Tell me, how’s Sarah? Is she still trying out the dating agency? How’s the job? Any men on the horizon?”

The hours flew by. Annabelle and India hardly left the kitchen all day.

Late next morning they packed up overnight bags and drove out to Malibu. Looking forward to a relaxed afternoon with Annie’s friends and her nieces, India planned to swim at the beach, too.

“It’s almost like being in the country,” Annie had told her.

They drove down Sunset Boulevard past the suburban estates of Pacific Palisades and onto the Pacific Coast Highway. After a few miles, Annie turned the SUV expertly up the incline of a steep hill that led them a few miles into the canyon. Then she slowed down on a tiny dirt road, avoiding the lines of precariously parked cars. The sprawling ranch property was set way back in acres of land. While they waited for the electronic gates to open, India noticed a large sign underneath the surveillance cameras. “Private Party: No Tweets or Video, Please.”

“That’s funny, Annie.” She laughed. “Do we get a full body search? Hope so, it’s been a while.”

“We try to keep this place a secret,” Annie said, laughing. “Well, we’re a bit late. Let’s freshen up quickly.” She climbed down from the car and led India up a back stairway.

India splashed her face and straightened her hair in a bathroom. She had opted for a white linen shirt, black capri pants, and flat leather moccasins. This was working beautifully, or so she thought, until Annie reappeared in a heavily jeweled Tory Burch smock, meticulously ripped blue jeans, and high, gold, strappy Jimmy Choo sandals.

“Come on, darling. Joss and the girls are bursting to see you,” Annie said, grabbing her hand and leading India down the stairs and into the garden.

A woman passed by in a long sequined evening dress, also wearing emerald earrings and a choker of enormous black pearls. Obviously this “California Casual” look doesn’t come cheap, India thought, and began speculating on the total cost, starting with the woman’s highlighted hair, her makeup, manicure, pedicure, shoes, handbag, and jewelry. She’d reached a rough estimate of $5,500 and was about to start on Annie, when she was interrupted by a shout from Joss. He raced across the garden and lifted her up off the ground for a hug as she threw her arms around him.

“My favorite, favorite sister-in-law,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Your only sister-in law,” India replied. “Now unhand me or people will start tweeting about us.”

“Ah. Yes. The sign. Last time we had a party it was all over TMZ as it was happening! You can’t be too careful in this town, believe me.”

“Ha!” India replied. A woman in a low-cut, skintight minidress and eight-inch platform heels teetered by. India whispered: “That’s some outfit for a barbecue! Annie said this was going to be really casual for just a few friends.”

“Yes. This would be Annie’s idea of a few friends, all right.” He laughed, eyeing the crowds near the pool. “And you’re a breath of fresh air, India. Now come on; let me get you a drink.”

Shortly after, she was standing alone, sipping a mimosa, and feeling that weird sense of disconnection she’d had in the session with Pete just before the firewalk. What did she want? What had she ever wanted? She watched Joss hoisting one of the kids onto his wide shoulders and admired the strength in his back as he went toward the haze of charcoal smoke. Incredible to think his band is outselling Zeppelin, she mused. It’s different for guys. He just gets better looking every time I see him.

“India! Give us a hug, you gorgeous thing!” shouted a total stranger, a man in tan shorts and an open-collared plaid shirt.

She took a step back as he tried to put his arms around her. “I’m Ben. And I just know you must be Annie’s sister.”

“You do?” she replied, smiling tentatively. “Have we met?”

“No,” he said, gently leading her toward a trestle table that was set up in the shade beneath a wooden trellis covered in wisteria. “But don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

“Me either,” she said.

“I’m relieved. Now please take a seat and say hello to Max. Oh, and the ugly one is Adam.”

India nearly dropped her glass when she saw “the ugly one.” Sarah would die, she thought. And she’d also know the name of every movie he’s been in. Oh. My. God. The arms! They were the sexiest arms she’d ever set eyes on. And Max? She’d heard about him, too. He had been one of Hollywood’s funniest, most successful comedians, until the drugs killed his career.

“Hey,” Adam said, standing up, slowly, to shake her hand and holding eye contact for what seemed an exquisitely torturous amount of time. “How are you?”

“Fine. I … I’m doing fine, a little bit tired today, but doing okay. I woke up earlier than usual though… I’m good…” she said. Shut up now, she thought, it’s a form of greeting, not the Spanish Inquisition.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, letting go of her hand and sliding over on the bench. “Sit right here, next to me.”

India sat down so quickly, her drink spilled.

“Sorry. It must be jet lag,” she said, wiping the table with her hand.

“No problem. Where’ve you come from? Long flight?”

India felt positively light-headed. Her heart was pounding. It certainly wasn’t the jet lag or the mimosa. It was his dark, wavy hair, the absurdly broad shoulders, those intelligent, piercingly blue eyes. And forget the thigh muscles…

She started to answer him. “London … just…”

“So India,” Max interrupted, touching her elbow. “Ben here is trying to convince us he met Cynthia in another life. He’s been seeing a hypnotist and just finished a past life regression. What do you make of that?”

Adam caught her surprised look and they shared what she was sure was a complicit exchange. “Sorry, who’s Cynthia?” she asked.

Max lifted his chin. “Over there. The blonde.”

India recognized her immediately. She was a very tiny actress, famous for her insanely large bosoms. “I see,” she said, not seeing at all.

But Max was way ahead of her. “My theory about Ben is he’s just regressing, period.”

Everybody, including Adam, laughed. “Yeah, well, thanks, that’s funny, man!” Ben said. “We’ve all been here before, right? I mean, you’re still a Neanderthal!”

Adam glanced in India’s direction. “Why dismiss the possibility?” he said. “I’m open-minded. Sometimes you do have an instant connection with people. You feel like you’ve known them before.”