Redesigning Landry Bishop Page 2

  “You packed the scarlet hanky, right? That’ll make the whole thing pop. Anyway, it’s a night show. Something a little more understated is called for.” He often dressed in bright colors, but this time he didn’t want to march across people’s TV screens looking like a parrot. He could pull off elegant as well as electrifying.

  They’d reached the Coldwater Canyon exit, but Elaine ignored Landry’s wild gesticulations and continued on the freeway. “Van Nuys will be slower yet, even without construction,” Landry protested, although it was too late.

  “Bummer. But back to the matter at hand. You have the ten-fifteen red-eye out of LAX tonight. I’ll come get you at seven so you don’t have a stress fit about missing your plane. A driver will pick you up on the other end. Do you want to go to your hotel first or just catch some breakfast before your morning meeting?”

  He had to think about that one. “If I go to the hotel, do I have time for a shower?”

  “Yeah, but only if you zoom through your hair routine and skimp on the skin care. You’ll have time to mess with your hair before the show tapes anyway.”

  “Fine. Then hotel, no breakfast.”

  She gave him a quick, stern look. “You’ll eat something at the hotel? Wait, don’t even bother lying to me. I’ll have something delivered to your room.”

  “Fine,” he repeated petulantly, although he secretly liked it when she fussed a little.

  “Good. So that’s everything for tomorrow. It’s New York—you can figure out your own dinner. Your Friday meetings are calendared, your driver’s all arranged, and you’re booked on the 4:30 p.m. back to LAX. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He was very good at showing up when and where he was supposed to—and he’d look damned fine when he arrived—but arranging all the details himself would have spiraled him into anxiety.

  “All in a day’s work. Which reminds me—” She stomped on the brake to avoid colliding with an old lady in a Buick. “Douchebag! Don’t get on the highway if you don’t know how to drive!”

  While Elaine cursed the lady’s offspring and ancestors, Landry steeled himself for what he knew was coming. Elaine had introduced this conversation several times already, and so far he’d been able to shut her down. But she was more stubborn than he was, and eventually she’d win. Now that he was a captive audience, she had him pinned down—unless he was willing to jump out of the Benz and run screaming up the 101.

  He seriously considered it.

  “Two weeks,” Elaine said ominously. “That’s all you have left with me.”

  “Sixteen days,” he corrected her.

  “During two of which you’ll be in New York. Landry, you haven’t made any steps toward replacing me.”

  “You’re irreplaceable.”

  She wasn’t sidetracked by his charm. “You need a new personal assistant.”

  “I don’t. I already have the world’s most perfect PA.”

  “Yes, you do. But she’s about to quit so she can spend quality time with her family in Hawaii.”

  “I could move to Hawaii,” Landry mumbled.

  “Sure, but that puts you pretty far away from your guest appearances and meetings and the rest of your work. Besides, you’d be on your own there too. I’m going to take care of my parents while they’re still around, remember?”

  Of course he remembered. And he was more than aware of how incredibly selfish he was being. Elaine had worked hard for years, and she deserved to spend time relaxing in tropical comfort. She certainly had the right to choose her relatives over him. And by doting over her aging parents instead of finding some handsome guy and living it up, she’d probably achieve sainthood.

  But Elaine had been running his life for a long time, and when she left, Landry would be alone.

  “I’m never going to find anyone as good as you,” he said.

  She grinned. “Nope, probably not, because I’m a goddamn goddess. But you can still find somebody good. What about that guy I sent you last week?”

  “He kept saying hella. ‘Man, your house is hella nice. Wow, you have a hella great view.’ I’d end up smacking him within a day and then he’d sue. And I’d be without a PA.”

  Elaine snorted. “And that sweet girl before him? She has an MA from Tufts and she doesn’t say hella. She speaks better English than you do.”

  “Yes, but she wears cheap perfume, which makes me sneeze. And with the fancy graduate degree, how long do you think she’ll be happy dealing with my laundry and taxiing me around town?”

  “What about the other woman I sent? She doesn’t have an MA.”

  Landry flapped a hand dismissively. “She wants to be an actress.” That was really all he needed to say.

  They’d finally reached the exit, although Elaine had to squeeze the car onto the shoulder to avoid waiting even longer in traffic. Things were moving a bit more briskly on the surface streets. Hoping Elaine had given up, Landry bent over his phone.

  But she came to a stoplight and poked him in the knee. “You need a PA. You can’t function without one.”

  “I am a grown man in my late twenties—”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “—in my early thirties, and I can do fine without a PA.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure.” She gunned the engine when the light turned green, then turned a few blocks later onto Beverly Glen, where they began to scale the Hollywood Hills. Almost home, and they were moving faster here. He’d have time for a quick workout and shower, and maybe a light bite to eat before Elaine returned to take him to the airport. He might even have a bit of time to work on that piece he owed the Huffington Post, a take on the upcoming Emmys. Or maybe he’d just deal with that on the plane.

  “I’m going to send you another applicant,” Elaine said, dashing his hopes.

  “But—”

  “This kid is different. No graduate degrees, and he has no interest in acting. Actually, he’s from Seattle and doesn’t know the industry at all.”

  “Seattle?” Landry sounded as incredulous as if Elaine had told him the guy came from the moon. “So what qualifies him to be my PA?”

  She paused. “Nothing, exactly. But he’s a nice kid, and I hear he works hard.” She sighed. “And he’s my sister’s husband’s brother’s son, so he’s family.”

  Landry tried to figure out what relation this person was to Elaine. Step-nephew-in-law? No, that wasn’t right.

  He tucked the phone into his pocket and crossed his arms. “I’m not in the market for a new PA.” He said it quite firmly.

  Elaine was silent the remainder of the way home. She used the remote to open the gate and then pulled into his driveway, her face set into a frown. “Seven,” she finally said.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Landry strode into the house, focused only on his workout.

  Chapter Two

  NEW York was a success. After bantering playfully with the talk-show host, Landry told an amusing story about a celebrity—he didn’t mention the name—who’d inexplicably attempted home hair-dyeing and ended up with green curls. Landry concluded with a short segment on how to choose a lapel style in men’s suits. Afterward, the host seemed honestly pleased and promised him a return visit. Landry had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, national airtime was valuable. But on the other hand, it involved more cameras, more pretending to be the Fabulous Landry Bishop.

  After the taping, Landry changed into less formal clothes. He texted a couple of friends, and they spent the evening sampling appetizers in a few of Manhattan’s trendiest restaurants. They had drinks too, all of them getting slightly tipsy, but even though an adorable waiter gave his phone number, Landry spent the night alone in his hotel room.

  On Friday he had a morning meeting with a literary agent to discuss plans for a book: styling tips for professional men on the go. He had released a similar volume aimed at women a year earlier, briefly appearing on the New York Times Best Sellers list. He had lunch with an up-and-coming designer a friend
had told him about, and later a meeting with a cosmetics exec touting a new line of skin care for men. They both gave him samples; Landry ended up having to buy an extra suitcase at a shop near his hotel.

  During the return flight, he finished the HuffPost essay and then dozed through most of a Ryan Reynolds flick. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a movie in an actual theater. He should remedy that. Maybe if he found a way to work moviegoing into one of his talk-show visits, he’d have a good excuse to go. Hmm. How to Go On a Movie Date and Feel Like You’re the Star. That was a possibility.

  As promised, Elaine met him at the airport and watched with amusement as he struggled to fit his extra luggage in her car. “I saw the show last night,” she said as soon as Landry was in the passenger seat. “You were great.”

  “Really? I wasn’t too….” He searched for the right term. Smarmy? Stiff-necked? Punctilious? He knew he often came across that way. “Unapproachable?” he finally finished.

  “You were cute and funny but also informative.”

  He sighed with relief. Elaine was honest in her appraisals, which was something he’d valued since the day they’d met. In fact, it was the main reason he’d hired her.

  “And the meetings were a success too?” She knew they were, because he’d kept her updated via texts, but she also knew he liked to talk about it.

  “Yes, definitely. Dana says the new book’s a go, which means I better start cracking. Oh, and we came up with another idea as well. How to make your bedroom into a luxurious retreat on a budget.”

  She laughed. “My bedroom’s a dumping ground for unfolded laundry and stuff I keep meaning to read someday.”

  Landry had never seen Elaine’s home. He knew she had a nice apartment in WeHo, close enough that she could get to his house quickly, and without his heart-stopping mortgage. He’d seen the outside of her building a couple of times, when she double-parked the car and ran inside to fetch something. But their relationship had never fully crossed from colleagues to friends, at least not enough for her to invite him over for coffee, and he’d never presumed to ask. Now he wondered if he should have.

  “Well,” he said, trying to keep his mind on cheerier subjects, “maybe you just need better storage options. My concept for this new book is stylish hacks of items from IKEA, Target, and thrift stores.”

  “I like it! But it’s going to keep you busy.”

  “It is.” He was happy about that. Mostly.

  When they arrived at his house, Elaine helped him wrestle the suitcases inside. They took them straight to the master bedroom, where the bed was neatly made and fresh flowers adorned the little table near the window. His housecleaning service was responsible for the bed and the generally spotless state of the place, but Elaine must have arranged the flowers. They were pretty, with sunflowers and mums adding bright colors to his mostly white décor.

  Elaine stood near the door, hands on her hips. “Do you need help unpacking? ’Cause if not, I have some stuff to take care of at home.”

  Landry swallowed a pang of regret. He had hoped she’d be up for a light dinner, maybe some takeout Thai. They could talk about his trip and her Hawaii plans. “I’m fine. But hang on—Gaspard gave me a dress for you.”

  Elaine looked down at her ample figure skeptically. “Designer clothes for me? They don’t come in my size.”

  “Of course they do. Well, Gaspard’s do at any rate. That’s his focus, actually. Styles that bring out the beauty of men and women who don’t have models’ bodies.” He unzipped the garment bag and pulled out the dress, a cocktail-length number in black and red with slightly retro styling. He held it up. “You’re going to look amazing in this.”

  The glint in her eyes said she liked it. “Very pretty. But where am I going to wear something like that in Hawaii?”

  “Anywhere you want to, my dear. A night out at a nice restaurant. A special occasion at home with your family. Or when you’re standing on the lanai drinking lilikoi-guava juice for breakfast and you want to feel extra gorgeous.”

  She took the hanger from him, draping the dress over her arm. “You’re good at that, you know?”

  “What?”

  “Making people feel like they can be glamorous. I think it’s why you’re so popular.” She said it thoughtfully, as if she’d never considered this before.

  “Thank you. I do believe everyone deserves to have at least a little sparkle in their lives.”

  “You deserve that too.” She gave his arm a quick squeeze.

  After Elaine left, Landry unpacked and thought about what she’d said. By any objective standard, his life had a lot of sparkle: an expensive house in an exclusive neighborhood, designer clothes, a pricy car he rarely had to drive, exquisite meals, and a jet-setting life with talk-show appearances and best-selling books. He was a fortunate man who led an enviable existence. And if his personal life was a little sparse, well, he’d been in love once, and he’d spent seven years with a wonderful man who loved him back. That was enviable too.

  As if pulled by invisible strings, Landry wandered out of the bedroom and into his study, which housed his only displayed photo of Steve. It was a picture of the two of them, taken during one of their rare vacations. They stood on a damp, windswept beach in Oregon, both of them looking a little ridiculous in raingear. They had their arms around each other’s waists, and Steve, sporting a goofy grin, held a hermit crab in his open palm. His hair was a mess.

  “Oh, Stevie,” Landry said with a sigh.

  And that was enough of that.

  Landry returned to the bedroom and considered changing into Armani trousers and a plaid Alexander McQueen button-down. But recognizing that nobody would see him, he allowed himself the luxury of sweatpants and a T-shirt instead. He’d go through the emails he’d neglected over the past day or two, have a little workout in his home gym, and then rustle up something to eat. A stir-fry, maybe. Elaine would have made sure the fridge was stocked with fresh veggies.

  Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he picked up his tablet and tapped on his email. He got through the first several without any problem, deleting the spam and sending quick replies to his agent, the Suzee Show producer, and the cosmetics exec he’d met in New York. But when he discovered another message from Missy, he just couldn’t bring himself to open it. At least he didn’t delete it this time. He set the tablet aside instead.

  He meandered through his house. It was a really nice place, albeit too big for just one person. In fact it had been too big for two, but when they’d bought it, Landry had held hope for children. Steve had been lukewarm on the idea but had wavered just enough that Landry thought he could persuade him.

  So yes. Today only one person lived there.

  The house had been built by a prominent architect in the sixties and had remained in the hands of the original owners until they passed away. Steve and Landry got a good deal on it and then spent a small fortune bringing it into the twenty-first century. They kept the basic bones of the structure, including the clerestory windows, the exotic wood floor and trim, and the grand—if unnecessary—fireplaces. But Landry had overseen a complete remodel of the bathrooms and kitchen, marrying midcentury modern with some sleek contemporary lines. They’d also replaced one of the pool-house walls with floor-to-ceiling glass panels that could slide wide open, and they’d turned the structure itself into a small art gallery of sorts. They used to invite their friends over for parties where the food and drinks were in the pool house and the guests would spill out onto the patio. Landry hadn’t hosted a party in the eighteen months since Steve died.

  Standing in the quiet night beside the still water, Landry missed the laughter.

  And then, still in his exercise clothes and with his hair unstyled, he grabbed his wallet and keys from the house, marched into the garage, and stared for a moment at his car. The Jag was impractical in several respects, ranging from its unnecessary horsepower to the metallic black paint that showed every speck of dust. He rarely drove it. But Ste
ve had bought them matching cars as a Christmas gift—and died when his was T-boned by an inattentive truck driver—and Landry couldn’t bring himself to trade in his own.

  Anyway, he reminded himself as he pulled out of the driveway, the seats were really comfortable.

  Feeling as guilty over his destination as a man about to rob a bank, Landry drove down to Sherman Oaks. He would have texted Elaine and asked her to run this errand for him, but she was busy. And there was nobody else in the universe he trusted for this.

  As soon as he caught sight of the familiar crossed palm trees, Landry regretted his decision to leave the house. This was stupid. Even a little dangerous. But going back empty-handed would be even more stupid. So he turned into the drive-through and rolled up to the speaker.

  “Welcome to In-N-Out!” chirped a tinny female voice. “How can we help you today?”

  He didn’t even have to read the menu board. “A hamburger, animal style. Fries. With a lot of salt and ketchup, please. And a chocolate shake.”

  She told him the price, and he pulled up to the window. She took his outstretched twenty without paying attention to him. But she got a good look when she handed back the change.

  “Oh my God! You’re Lan—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are! You’re Landry Bishop! Oh my God! My mom and I watch you on the Suzee Show all the time. You know that one you did on the garden-themed baby shower? We totally did that for my sister ’cause she likes flowers and she, like, absolutely loved it.”

  Landry smiled wanly at her. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “My sister loves you too. She did her baby’s room using your ideas, and my mom does your fifteen-minute express workout. Oh! Oh! I totally organized our linen closet just like you said, with all the towels folded right and everything. Will you autograph something? My mom and sister will be so hype!”

  “Sure.” He took the napkin she gave him, found a pen in his glove box, and looked up at her. “What’s your name?”

  “Trinity. Oh my God!”

  He used the center of the steering wheel as a makeshift desk and carefully wrote a short note: Dear Trinity, Thank you to you and your family for such enthusiastic support. Yours, Landry Bishop.