Blaise rolled his grandfather’s red 1969 Ford Mustang convertible into our driveway at precisely 3:30 in the afternoon. He was picking me up to drive me to their Palos Verdes Estates mansion by the sea. Later that evening, Henry Glover’s birthday party was being held on the grand lawn of the property. I had personally been invited by Blaise’s grandmother, Doris Glover, owner and CEO of La Belle Cosmetics.

Wearing a casual outfit of pink polo shirt and blue jeans, as I had been instructed by Mrs. Glover, I grabbed the garment bag containing my party dress and locked up the house behind me. I might have skipped to the car, returning Blaise’s broad smile as he scooted over to open the passenger side door. After placing the garment bag in the back seat, I settled into the shotgun seat.

I thought it would be a good idea to give Blaise a gentle kiss on the cheek. He must have agreed since he turned my face around to kiss me back on the lips.

“Hey, beautiful, ready for the big shindig tonight?” Blaise teased as he shifted gear, released the brake pedal and gently pressed down on the accelerator. Seconds later, the Mustang moved down Beverly Ridge Drive.

“So, you’re picking me up at 3:30 for a party that starts at 7 to avoid rush hour traffic?”

“Rush hour traffic on the 105 would turn a 90-minute drive into a two and half hour slog,” explained Blaise. “But the real reason is because grandmother wants to have your help setting up the layout for the party on the lawn. She’s hired some extra help for tonight but it’s a lot of moving parts for one woman to supervise. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh no, not at all. I’m actually really stoked to help. Is Jack Nicholson really coming?”

“Grandmother says she got a call from Anjelica Huston saying they might be a little late for the cocktail hour but they’re definitely coming. Anyway, she only invited them because we ran into them at Ma Maison. Grandfather was the agent who sold Jack his house on Mulholland Drive right after Easy Rider made him a household name. Right next to Marlon Brando’s house. Down the road from Warren Beatty too. $21,000 was a steep price for a house back in 1969, even in Hollywood. So, Jack and him go way back. Grandmother might tell you about the parties they went to in that house someday…if you’re a good girl,” Blaise laughed.

“I hope your grandfather won’t be offended but I didn’t get a gift for him. Lori worked in the office all week and I couldn’t think of anything that was, frankly, affordable to give him.”

“Not even a birthday card?” I thought for a moment that Blaise was serious before his mouth creased into a sly smile. “I forgot to tell you. Grandmother insisted that no one bring gifts. After all, grandfather has everything of a material nature that anyone could have. Honestly, he and grandmother are loaded. She just wants him to be surrounded by friends and well-wishers and for everyone to have a great time celebrating his entering his 7th decade.”

“Oh, good. I thought I was going to have to do something illegal to get the money to buy him a gift.”

“The real highlight of the party is going to be the three guests of honor and their wives. You know, the heads of the firms that are bidding to build that South Bay Galleria project. Your dad’s boss is one of them. And your boyfriend’s father is another—”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I protested. “We grew up in the same town and went to the same schools but, really, we’re just old friends. What’s more, his mother absolutely hates my family and me especially.”

“She’s coming, you know.”

“Maybe we can manage to avoid each other.”

“For an entire evening?”

“I’ll hide in the bushes.”

“There’s a hedge that’s pretty thick and tall you could hide behind,” laughed Blaise.

“I’ll make a note of that.”

Despite our best intentions of beating the rush hour crush, the trip from Sherman Oaks to the Glover estate in Palos Verdes took two hours and change. When we arrived, Mrs. Glover met us at the door, followed behind by Lupita, her favorite maid. She greeted me warmly, brushing cheeks with me, and instructed Lupita to show me to the guest bedroom I could use to change into my party dress when the cocktail hour loomed.

“You didn’t bring a makeup case?” Lupita asked.

“Just the few things in my shoulder bag.”

“Mrs. Glover told me to put some of her favorite items from her La Belle Evening Romance line on the vanity table for you, just in case you didn’t bring anything specifically for outdoor evenings in summer. She especially created a warm bronze base that pops beautifully under dim evening lights. And it’s water-based, lightweight, and sweat-blocking. I think we’re in for a muggy night.”

“Good to know, Lupita.”

Eventually, after spending an hour supervising the placing of tables and chairs, checking the bulbs in the globe lanterns that hung in lines above the lawn, and making certain the amenities in the hospitality tent were sufficient for the expected guest list of 15 couples plus family and friend (me!), I used the half-hour before 7PM changing into my dress and applying the recommended La Belle makeup. It took a bit longer than I expected. I had to wash it off twice before getting it somewhat right. Now it looked like I had a slight tan instead of someone who worked in a citrus grove. Success!

By the time I emerged from the house, the cocktail hour had already started. Guests were floating in from a fleet of luxury automobiles. There were Lincoln Continental Mark VI’s, the definitive choice for executive corporate transport, Cadillac Fleetwood Broughams and Deville’s, ubiquitous among SoCal’s premier black car services, and even some Mercedes-Benz 300SDs, favored by more cosmopolitan guests.

Henry and Doris Glover stood on the terrace in their dinner party finery, regally greeting the guests as they approached the throne. Hearty birthday wishes were exchanged, glasses of champagne or wine held high in toast, and congenial slaps on the back delivered. I found Blaise standing a few feet away from the reception line, looking quite handsome in his olive Armani suit. He was holding a glass of Perrier in his right hand when he spotted me sidling up beside him. Smiling, he placed his arm around my waist. From time to time, he would raise his glass to the guests he knew. Some of them nodded in my direction. A server came by with a tray of champagne glasses. Blaise shook his head and signaled to another server, who handed me a glass of club soda with a twist of lime. Blaise winked. “Technically, I could have a glass of champagne or wine since this is a private party hosted by my guardians. But, I’d rather have a clear head to enjoy your beauty. So, no alcohol for me tonight.”

“Oh, sir, I do declare. You silver-tongued devil, you!”

“Hey, the bidders are back-to-back and belly-to-belly right now. That was Vincent Lundberg, the head of Empire Construction. They’re big in Orange County. Here’s your dad’s boss, Franklin Stover. He runs Stover-Simpson Design. His stuff’s all over Santa Barbara and Ventura County. He had the second-place bid on the Galleria in Sherman Oaks. Winning the bid for the Redondo Beach project would be a real coup for him.”

“Oh, no, there’s Rafe’s mom and dad.”

“Where are you going?” Blaise asked. “They can’t do anything or say anything to you. Not while you’re on my grandparents’ property.”

A shiver went down my back when Slyvia Metheny’s eyes met mine. There was the glimmer of recognition in her gaze, followed by a look of bewildered confusion. I turned into Blaise’s shoulder. Thankfully, the Methenys just continued their elaborate toast to Mr. Glover, undoubtedly continuing to pitch the project at an occasion dedicated to a birthday celebration not a business meeting. Mrs. Glover’s face betrayed her unease with Mrs. Metheny, given her recent hysterical display at the Pantages.

“You know it was really grandmother’s idea to invite the three bidders to the party,” Blaise said.

“Why?”

“Well, grandfather’s a really smart businessman but grandmother’s a better judge of character. And character is very important to her.”

“I shudder to think what her opinion of me is.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Blaise. “She hired you to chaperone me this summer.”

“You…you know?”

“She should never share secrets with Emily. That girl is a real tattle tale.”

“Are you angry about it?”

“Quite the opposite. I’d pay you myself to keep you around. I’ll miss you when you go back to New York. I’d like to keep in touch…if you wouldn’t mind.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all. But…New York’s a long way from Los Angeles. I’m sure you can find a nice girl closer to home.”

“I don’t think so—”

“Oh my God! It’s Jack Nicholson and Anjelica Huston!”

Jack Nicholson swaggered onto the terrace, holding a bottle of Jim Beam in his right hand, as he had promised Mrs. Glover at Ma Maison. The Glovers exchanged embraces with Jack and Anjelica. Holding the bottle of Jim Beam like an Oscar statuette, Jack addressed the party of celebrants.

“I’ve known Henry for 15 years, even before he was the agent who brokered the purchase of my house on Mulholland. A stand-up guy, no bullshit, straight arrow. I learned to trust his business judgment. That’s why I’m buying up the neighborhood.” He laughed. “And his lady, Doris – what a beautiful, classy dame. And I mean that in the best possible way.” He pointed at Blaise with the bottle in his right hand. “I can see great things coming from the next generation of their family. Blaise, their grandson, is going to be a film director, an auteur, as the French say. He’s certainly got an eye for beauty. Look at the girl on his arm.” He turned to Mrs. Glover, sotto voce, asking “What’s her name?”

“Joey!” Jack announced. “Odd name for a beautiful girl but there it is.”

I saw Sylvia’s reaction when Jack said my name. Her eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips. I had been found out! But she couldn’t make a scene here, could she? Not after Jack Nicholson’s grand entrance.

“So, everyone join me in a toast to my good friend Henry on his birthday. May you live as long as you want and never want as long as you live!”

The crowd responded with shouts of “Cheers!” and downed whatever beverage they held in their hand. Jack and Anjelica exchanged hugs again with the Glovers. The countdown to the actual dinner began as the staff busily arranged place settings on the tables below the terrace. As one would expect, a throng surrounded Jack and Anjelica, hoping for a word or two with the famous actors or, at least, a close-up glimpse. Slyvia and Matt Metheny included.

“Kids, you got some heady praise from Jack there,” Henry Glover said to us. Mrs. Glover smiled beatifically at me.

“I’m sure he was just trying to be nice. I’m no raving beauty, believe me,” I replied.

“Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart. Jack is around beautiful women all the time. If he says you’re beautiful, he means it,” Mrs. Glover said.

“I say we get Joey a screen test. Jack said he could get her one with one of his director friends.” Blaise pressed my shoulder against his side.

“I…I really don’t have any ambitions to act or model. I’m very shy.”

Jimmy, the Glovers’ chauffeur, was acting as a valet for tonight’s party. He appeared at our side unexpectedly.

“Mrs. Glover, there’s a situation I’ll need your guidance on.”

“What is it, Jimmy?”

“Someone is trying to deliver a new town car to a Mr. Metheny. He says he’s one of the guests at the party. Should I let him drive it up to the curb of the lawn?”

“Why would he have it delivered here, of all places? Doesn’t he live in Washington, D.C.?” Mrs. Glover was nonplused. “Blaise go over to Mr. Metheny and ask him what he wants done with his car delivery? Jimmy, go with Blaise.”

“Have you ever heard of anything so strange. Getting a delivery at someone else’s property? At a party no less?” Mr. Glover just shook his head.

A few minutes later, Blaise returned to the terrace.

“He wants the car brought to the curb and he wants us to join him down there as the car arrives. He’s already gathered the rest of the party at the curb. Shall we go down?”

“Dinner’s served in 10 minutes.” Mrs. Glover checked her watch. “Alright. Let’s go see what this is all about. Henry, Joey.”

“Oh, good!” Matt Metheny said as we joined him near the curb. I tried to keep myself as far away from Sylvia as possible without actually disappearing from sight. Blaise, noticing my skittishness, used his body to block me from view.

“I was praying the delivery would come on time, before we started dinner,” Matt said. “I must say they were right about this dealership. They’re good to their word and punctual. Ah, here it comes!”

A shiny new Lincoln Continental Mark VI stopped on a dime at the curb a foot from Metheny.

“Henry, please accept our gift of a 1982 Lincoln Continental Mark VI to you, on your birthday. In appreciation of what we hope will be a long-lasting partnership on awesome building projects, beginning with the Galleria proposed in Redondo Beach.”

The driver of the car stepped out. It was Mateo Cortez, wearing his Ford Dealership work coverall. When he saw me in the crowd, standing behind Blaise, his expression turned to shock and dismay. He must have felt trapped in embarrassment. The car behind him and the crowd of wealthy elites in front of him.

“Okay, kid, toss me the keys. Thanks for driving it all the way down here from Sherman Oaks. You did a good job,” Mr. Metheny declared, his open palm waiting for the keys. Without a word, Mateo placed the keys in Mr. Metheny’s hand. Turning around quickly, he trotted down the roadway, looking back only once to see me shrinking behind Blaise.

Mr. Metheny placed the keys in Mr. Glover’s hand, expecting either a handshake or a thank you. He received neither.

“I don’t know what to say,” Mr. Glover said.

“I do,” Mrs. Glover interjected. “I expressly asked everyone not to bring gifts to the party. Henry and I just want to gather together friends and family to celebrate the occasion. We have so much. We wanted to give everyone a fun evening with good food, drink, and friendly conversation. That is all. We cannot accept your gift. We appreciate the thought behind it, but we stand by our principles. Don’t we, Henry?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, dear. Sorry, Matt, but I can’t accept it. Nice looking car though, I must say.” Mr. Glover returned the keys to Mr. Metheny.

“But we bought it for you, Mr. Glover,” Sylvia Metheny cried. “How can you turn down a gift that comes from our hearts? We knew you were a car enthusiast. A collector of classic cars—”

“Sylvia,” Matt Metheny said. “It’s alright. Forgive us, Mr. and Mrs. Glover. I guess we’re not familiar with the social mores of Southern California. We meant no harm or insult by it.”

“Fine. Now that that’s settled, dinner is about to be served,” Mrs. Glover announced. “There are place cards on the tables so please find your seats and settle in. Melanie has a chart you can consult if you’re having difficulty finding your table.”

I waited for the crowd to disperse and move toward the tables on the lawn. I didn’t want Sylvia Metheny to have the opportunity to hang back and disrupt the dinner before it even started. Blaise, reflexively, followed his grandparents, expecting me to be right behind him. After a decent interval, I trudged toward the dinner tables. But, as I was about to step clear of one of the tall hedges that Blaise had spoken about, Sylvia jumped out and blocked my way.

.

“This is all your doing isn’t it? You pervert! Your boozehound of a father got you to do this! Right?” She started jabbing me in the chest with her finger. “I told Rafe to stay away from you. And the moment we leave him alone he goes running off to see you. Yes, I knew about it. Sally’s been keeping tabs on him. Nothing gets by her. I’m sick of you and your father. Trying to ruin my husband’s business. Trying to morally corrupt my son!”

“What’s going on here? Mrs. Metheny?” It was Mrs. Glover. She had a scowl on her face. “I won’t have you verbally or physically assaulting someone I consider to be part of my family on my property. You are a guest, Mrs. Metheny. I would like you to act accordingly. Now, please find your table and be seated. Dinner is being served.”

Sylvia opened her mouth but, apparently, thought better of saying what she meant to say. Silently, she walked away. Mrs. Glover took my hand.

“Come, sweetheart. Ignore that dreadful woman. I have no idea what she was going on about, and I don’t care to know. I meant what I said to her. You are like family to me and Henry. Straighten out your beautiful dress and come with me.”

Blaise drove me home. We sat in the car for a few minutes, doing what they used to call petting. When we finally came up for air, Blaise turned serious for a minute.

“Grandfather is entering a trout fishing tournament this weekend up at Big Bear Lake. He does this every year. You know he’s a real outdoors type. Hunting, fishing, you name it.”

“Are you going with him?”

“Yeah, well, it’s a sort-of father-son deal. I guess grandsons qualify too. It’s kind of boring but there’s places where you can go in the village after sundown that have live music and stuff.”

“Uh huh.”

“Would you…want to go up to Big Bear with me, I mean us? Grandfather usually rents a boat that can fit three people on it. Have you ever gone fishing? Like lake fishing?”

“My dad loved going fishing on the Long Island Sound off the North Shore where we lived. He had a friend who owned a boat. It was one of the few things we did together as father and s--- child. Striped bass, fluke, bluefish, stuff like that.”

“You’re probably better than me at fishing. So, would you like to come with us?”

“Of course. Do I need a license though?”

“Grandfather will take care of it. It’s simple paperwork and a nominal fee. We’ll get there Friday evening and stay in this cabin right off the lake that we always rent for the weekend.”

“Say, isn’t your grandfather supposed to decide on the winning bidder by Monday? He’s going to be fishing all weekend.”

“Well, we’re down to two bidders. Lundberg dropped out tonight. That leaves Metheny and your dad’s firm, Stover-Simpson. Grandfather’s got them meeting with him up at Big Bear. Final pitches Saturday evening and final decision Sunday afternoon, after the tournament ends. So, we’ll be on our own in the evenings. Like I said there’s live music venues and the scenery is amazing. Most days after being out on the lake I’d sit at the end of the dock in front of the cabin and just watch the sunset.”

“When are you picking me up tomorrow?”

“We. We’re picking you up. Grandfather’s driving his 4X4. Be ready at 3PM.”

Big Bear Lake is surrounded by San Bernardino National Forest. It’s a man-made reservoir that became a year-round resort destination with fishing, hiking, boating, and mountain biking in summer and skiing and snowboarding in winter. Along the lake itself there’s a village that caters to the weekend visitors and sports enthusiasts. Seven million people a year flock to Big Bear. July is one of its busiest months.

It took Mr. Glover 2 hours on Friday afternoon to drive us from Sherman Oaks to Big Bear Lake in his Jeep Wagoneer 4x4. After settling into the cabin Mr. Glover regularly rents on weekends year-round, we went into the Village to register for the trout tournament, purchase licenses, and pick up some new fishing gear.

We walked through The Village as the sun started its descent to the horizon, filling the sky with a yellow-golden hue that slowly turned into orange and soft-pink tones. The streets were lined with the rustic wood edifices characteristic of an alpine village. Local shops offering mountain fashions, art galleries, jewelry, crystals, souvenir shops, and specialty stores like the The Village Sweet Shoppe and Bear Essentials drew my attention as we made our way to The Old Country Inn, a restaurant in the very heart of town. Several people stopped Mr. Glover along the street, renewing friendships and recalling tournament memories. Mr. Glover took great pleasure in introducing me as Blaise’s girlfriend. I was caught in mid-protest whenever they would compliment me on my looks while winking at Blaise. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of being told I’m a pretty girl.

The wooden rafters of The Old Country Inn hummed with the pre-tournament energy of Big Bear Lake Village. Waitresses in traditional dirndls that were emblematic of the Alpine milieu of the restaurant cut through the crowded dining room, balancing heavy plates of sauerbraten and pitchers of dark beer to tables packed with eager fishermen.

Mr. Glover sat comfortably back in his wood-framed chair, entirely at home in the rustic warmth of his favorite mountain retreat. Across the table, Blaise was tearing into a prime rib sandwich, while I sat quietly, tracing the grain of the wooden table with my index finger, my mind caught somewhere between the Southern California summer and the New York autumn waiting for me.

“You know, Joey, a summer is a terribly brief window to truly experience California,” Mr. Glover pointed out, leaning forward and swirling his beer. “A girl with your sharp sensibilities belongs out here in the sunshine. New York is all brick, gray skies, and cramped subway cars.”

I noticed Blaine’s wide-eyed reaction to his grandfather’s choice of topic to discuss at the table. He even slowed down his chomping on the prime rib sandwich he held in both hands.

I smiled faintly, surprised by Mr. Glover’s words. “Well, It’s beautiful here, Mr. Glover. Truly. But New York is where my plans are. Columbia is a great school.”

“Columbia is an old institution with old ideas. West of the Rockies, everything is expanding. Take UCLA, for instance. The campus is magnificent, the faculty is unmatched, and the energy—it’s forward-looking. I happen to know a few people on the board of regents who could make a phone call Monday morning. A girl like you would find doors opening very quickly.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you, Mr. Glover. But UCLA isn’t exactly a commuter school for someone from Long Island. Even if I wanted to, without a massive scholarship, I simply couldn’t afford the tuition and board. I’m able to go to Columbia because of my father. You know, the whole Legacy deal?”

“Money is the easiest problem in the world to solve, Joey.” Mr. Glover waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t let a ledger book dictate your future. If you were to enroll at UCLA, your tuition and expenses would be entirely looked after. Consider it an investment in talent. And as for room and board? The estate in Palos Verdes has more empty wings than we know what to do with. You’d have your own privacy, a car at your disposal, and you'd be part of the family.”

Blaise stopped chewing. His eyes darted from his grandfather to me and a sudden tightness in his jaw preceded his response to his grandfather’s proposition.

“Grandfather… don’t you think you’re pushing a bit hard?” Blaise interjected softly, but with an edge in his voice. “Joey’s a very serious student. Going to an Ivy League school is something she’s set her sights on since she was in elementary school. Isn’t that right, Joey?”

Mr. Glover narrowed his eyes at Blaise. “I am offering options, Blaise. Generosity isn’t pressure unless the recipient chooses to see it that way."

I felt the temperature at the table rise. The walls of the restaurant suddenly felt as thin as the walls back home, and the weight of Henry Glover's casual wealth felt less like a gift and more like a beautifully gilded cage. Furthermore, it was an impossible ask. God knows what the Glovers would do if they found out about me. So far, it’s been a blissful few weeks in a place where no one knows the real me. Although, of course, this was my TRUE self. In any event, I needed to defuse the air before Blaise and Henry started an argument right over their dinner plates.

“Mr. Glover, I… I don’t even know what to say,” I said, lifting my hands in gentle truce. “It’s an extraordinary offer. Let me think about it seriously. It’s a lot to process, but I promise I’ll give it real thought.”

Mr. Glover smiled, satisfied that the seed had been planted, and took a slow sip of his beer. I let out a quiet breath, relieved to have shifted the spotlight away from me.

I let my gaze drift toward the heavy glass doors of the restaurant entrance, watching the next wave of diners escape the cooling mountain air. The bell above the door chimed. Two figures walked in.

My heart did a sudden, violent flip. Standing in the entryway, brushing the dust off his jacket, was Rafe Metheny. Beside him was his father, Matt Metheny, looking intense, sharp-eyed, and entirely out of place in a rustic lodge. He was holding a thick, bound folder—their final presentation for the Redondo Beach Galleria project. They had come to Big Bear to meet with Mr. Glover after the first day of the tournament tomorrow. I’m sure Blaise will be able to persuade his grandfather to show me the nightlife of The Village, so we won’t have to cross paths. I instinctively pulled back into the shadow of the booth, my breath catching in my throat.

Thankfully, Mr. Metheny’s eyes scanned right past our table, entirely focused on the hostess desk, his mind locked onto business metrics and presentation strategies. He didn't see Mr. Glover sitting only thirty feet away. But Rafe looked up. His eyes locked directly onto mine. He froze for a fraction of a second, recognizing me instantly, his eyes then shifting to take in the sight of Blaise and Mr. Glover. I shook my head just a fraction of an inch, a silent, pleading prayer in my eyes.

Rafe swallowed hard. He looked at his father, then back at me. Deciding against a scene and knowing the volatile stakes of the Galleria project bid, he deliberately averted his eyes, adjusted his collar, and followed his father toward the lounge in the back of the restaurant without making a sound. I forced myself to look back down at my plate, my hands trembling slightly as the chatter of the dining room rushed back into my ears.

The rest of the dinner proceeded without issue. The three of us discussed the upcoming weekend of tournament fishing. I told Mr. Glover that I had often gone fishing for striped bass in the Long Island Sound with my father on his friend’s boat. Blaise’s grandfather was quite impressed by my knowledge of the angler’s art. He turned to Blaise, his face beaming with a broad smile, and punched him in the shoulder.

“You’ve got a real winner there, Blaise, my boy. You man enough to keep her here in the Golden State?”

Blaise looked down at his plate. I came to his rescue by telling Mr. Glover, “He’s certainly making a strong case for keeping me here. He might even succeed.” I laughed, hoping we could drop that line of thought.

Standing up from the table, Mr. Glover let Blaise and I walk past before reminding us about getting up early for the tournament tomorrow.

“The best fishing happens in the first three hours after sunrise, kids. So, sleep fast, as my college baseball coach used to tell us. Tomorrow morning, the real fun begins!”

I was hoping I’d make it through the weekend with my mind and body intact.