Immaculate Reception Read Free

baggy jeans and an oversize T-shirt, made his presence felt. His dark complexion was marred by scars. As he sat, waiting, he kept hitting the fist of one hand into the palm of the other, like he was toughening up for the ring. I felthe wanted to get my attention, but I carefully looked the other way, back towards Victor and his companion.
    Since I had to wait, too, I sat in a black leather chair next to the mayor’s buddy.
    I tried to guess his age. Maybe ninety? Victor had a perfectly bald head and the benign expression of a happy gnome. He wore an expensive suit, heavy gold cufflinks, and, actually, too much Calvin Klein for Men cologne. I tried to guess what he might have been before retirement. Attorney, I thought.
    Next to Victor sat a young woman with a radical cropped haircut. It went from black at the root to flaming red at the tip. I was amazed at how perfectly the spikes stood at attention. This gal must spend a bundle on gel. A small gold hoop delicately pierced her left nostril.
    How could I not eavesdrop on such an unlikely pair?
    â€œYou are always giving,” she chided him, with affection.
    Wife? Even in L.A. this would be considered bizarre. While young wives were a recognized status symbol, this one stretched the boundaries of even that Hollywood fat-cat privilege.
    â€œWhy not?” he asked, amused.
    â€œLet someone else give, for a change,” she said, although it sounded more like teasing than a serious complaint.
    I stole another glance in her direction. Way too young for a daughter.
    â€œThe good Lord has given me much,” said Victor quietly. “I can only do the same, Beatrice.”
    â€œThen let the mayor give you his award. Why shouldn’t people know how generous my great-grandpa is?”
    Aha. I felt better about the whole relationship and relaxed. That shows how weird things can get here sometimes. You never really know.
    The young man across the room stood up and stretched, exposing a not very pretty gut beneath his oversize tee. I felt his brown eyes on me and kept my gaze down. Whowere these people who waited to speak to the mayor? And was security nearby?
    â€œI do not do this for awards, cara…” I heard Victor saying, but then the secretary called me and I rose.
    â€œMiss Bean,” the woman said when I approached her desk. “The mayor would like to thank you for coming down here on such short notice. Mr. Zoda,” she called.
    I had been dismissed.
    As I turned to go, I caught the eye of the young Latino man. He did not return my casual smile. I still believed that pretty much every male within city limits was looking to score. But—addendum to the rule—not necessarily with me.
    By the time I drove home, Xavier had already left a message. We were approved by church and state, as it were. We had been granted the most thrilling contract to be had by a caterer since the grand opening of the Getty Museum.
    I told the entire tale to Wesley and he loved it. To one another, we were better than Oprah.
    â€œXavier made it happen,” I said.
    â€œYou know what they say in this town,” Wes said admiringly. “It’s not about talent, it’s about contacts.”
    Another of our oddball L.A. rules flew by and I smiled.
    â€œI offered to do the event at cost, of course.”
    â€œWhich we can manage,” Wes said with a gleam in his eye, “because we’re newly well to do. Oh, I always suspected that money was in some way connected with happiness.”
    â€œNot happiness. Freedom.”
    â€œYes, and now we’re free to feed the pope . Wow. This is a great way to kick off Mad Bean Events.”
    â€œNow there are a few hundred details they need to settle. And the pope’s schedule is not nailed down. But assuming there are no pressing miracles, come hell or high water, we’re feeding His Holiness.”
    â€œMadeline, I’m actually feeling a lot more conciliatory toward this ex-boyfriend