Like a Charm Read Free Page A

“style” Early Bohemian. I, the snob, called it Hippie White Trash.
    But this place was modern, visually pleasing to the eye, and, well, sterile but calming.
    After a hot shower, which made me feel immensely better, I checked out the bamboo armoire in the corner. I found my clothes, but the choices were limited. Justin must have done most of the packing. He has this idea of what women should look like at all times, and it’s right out of Vogue . There were my striped D&G black trousers, a skirt that matched, and a few button-down blouses with a jacket. I opened the drawers below and found three pairs of shoes, all with four-inch heels. My La Perla sets of bras and panties were in another drawer. For a moment I wondered who had unpacked my belongings, and for some reason it embarrassed me that my mom knew I wore expensive, sexy lingerie and that none of it was cotton.
    I sighed. All I really wanted were my well-worn button-flies and my crimson Harvard sweatshirt. A woman needed some comforts in life.
    I couldn’t find my makeup and tried not to stare into the mirror too much. I’d lost weight, and the dark circles under my eyes looked like they’d been put there by someone’s fist.
    I made use of the clothes available and slid on a pair of Christian Louboutin pumps I’d drooled over in September. It seemed like a million years ago, but it had only been two months. If I stayed here more than a couple of days, I’d need some more comfy clothes.
    I have to call the office, but first I need food.
    The bedroom sat on the first floor. I walked out into a large common area with bamboo floors and white couches. There was a series of hallways and I wasn’t sure which one to take. It was quiet and I didn’t see anyone.
    I desperately needed food and a cup of coffee. Standing here isn’t going to get me anywhere. I headed toward what I thought might be the front door. My joints and muscles ached and I moved slower than normal. I heard a voice behind the third door on the right and stopped to listen.
    â€œGeorge, we’re booked here until June, hon. Yes, La Jolla too.” It was my mom. I knocked lightly and opened the door a crack. She was behind a large glass desk, sitting in a big white chair made of cloth. My mother didn’t believe in wearing or sitting on animal skins. Of course she’d never slipped her foot into a nine-hundred-dollar pair of Manolos. She might change her mind if she did.
    She waved me in. “Look, I’ll see if Cathy can get you into Palm Desert in January, but that’s the earliest. Oh, don’t worry about it. You know we’ll make room if we can. I know you need your peace on earth.”
    Pushing a button on the phone, she slipped her headset off. “You have color in your cheeks.” She smiled and came around the desk. Taking me in her arms, she squeezed me tight. “I was worried about you, my Kira.”
    â€œI’m better. Hungry, but better.” I let her squeeze me, partly because it felt good and partly because I didn’t have the energy to make her stop.
    â€œWell, goodness, let’s get some food in my girl.” She pulled out a tiny cell phone and pushed a button. “Joe, she’s awake. Yes, meet us in the kitchen.”
    That’s when it dawned on me. Oh my God, my mother has a cell phone — and an office . I looked back at her desk. And a Macintosh .
    â€œMother, I think I’m hallucinating.” I was serious.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, honey? What do you see?” She pulled back and stared at me, worry furrowing her brow.
    I pointed to the computer. “What’s that?”
    She turned to see where I gestured, then faced me again with a smirk.
    â€œYou know it’s a computer. Don’t be a snob.”
    â€œAnd this?” I pulled the cell phone from her hand.
    â€œFine, we’ve come into the twenty-first century, are you happy? You can’t run a business