California Christmas Dreams. J.M. Jeffries
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back and looking amused.
“Because they understand what the customer wants and they give it to them. That may be on a much grander scale than we can manage, but the principle is the same.”
“All right,” he said with a shrug. “I’m going to give you this one. But I want to see a complete cost breakdown of every penny you want to spend.”
“I don’t cut corners, Jake,” she warned.
He nodded. “I understand.”
She stared at him, trying to gauge the sincerity of his response. “I’ll get the cost analysis and email it to you when I get back to my office.”
* * *
After Merry left, Jake stood and went to the window to watch her walk along the path back to her office. He loved the way her hips swayed side to side as she walked. Occasionally she would stop and stare at a ride or an orange tree as though calculating what she would need to make the spot look Christmassy.
She had fire and passion, he’d give her that. And even he could see she knew what she was talking about, but for some reason he couldn’t stop giving her a hard time. He’d wanted to see how she responded to obstacles, and the fact that she’d stood her ground and crafted a logical argument impressed him.
His phone rang and he glanced at the display. Agent Orange, aka Cecil Jones, his newest client, was calling. Jake sighed, trying to decide if he should answer or let the call go to voice mail. He wasn’t certain he was up to dealing with this guy’s issues. Jake and Cecil’s lawyer had just done some fancy dancing with the IRS to fix the rapper’s tax problems. Things were just starting to look up. The guy had money in the bank from all the music he’d written for commercials. He was never going to be a rap superstar, but he was making a damn good living if he didn’t spend it all the way he wanted to.
“Cecil,” Jake said. “What can I do for you?”
“I found a house,” Cecil said without any other formality.
Cecil wanted a prestigious address. “Okay, tell me about it,” Jake said, preparing himself for the coming fight.
“It’s just a bungalow in Santa Monica.”
“And how much is this bungalow going for.”
“Six point five mil, man. I can afford that.”
Jake sighed. “You can afford to buy the house, but don’t you want to put some furniture in it, pay the utilities, put some food on the table for your kids?”
“But if I buy this house, it means I’m back on top, man. I can get out of this dump.”
“Hollywood Hills is not a dump, Cecil,” Jake said with another sigh.
“I’d be a lot closer to work,” Cecil stated. “And I can live in a real house.”
“You’re living in a real house.”
“I’m living with my mother.”
“There’s no shame in that. Your lawyer and I have worked really hard to get you back to the point where you could afford a house. But six point five million is way out of your price range. Buy something you can pay for outright and not have to worry about a house payment again.”
“Jake, I want this house.”
“Cecil, your children want to eat.”
“The schools are good,” Cecil said, changing the direction of his argument.
“And your kids are already going to one of the best magnet schools in the Hollywood Hills, and Cecil Jr. is in one of the best music programs.”
“It’s Santa Monica, man.”
“Cecil, you’re not talking me into this. I gave you a budget and that’s what you’re going to follow. The real estate agent found four houses in Hollywood Hills you can afford. You can send your kids to great schools and have your studio in your house. If you buy this house, all you’re going to have is a house. If you buy one of the four houses in the Hollywood Hills I suggested you look at, you’ll have a life. So you have a decision to make.”
“I want that house.”
“Okay,” Jake conceded. “You’re telling me your ego is more important than your future or your children’s future.”
“That’s not right, man.”
“But it’s the truth,” Jake replied. And everyone laughed at me when I majored in finance with a minor in psychology. He heard a long-suffering sigh from the other end of the phone and knew he’d won the argument. Cecil was a challenge, but he eventually accepted Jake’s arguments. He disconnected and Jake went back to the window.
Merry was standing in front of the carousel. She tilted her head from side to side. Jake watched her, running the conversation with Cecil over again in his head. He’d managed Cecil without any problem. How come he couldn’t use the same skills with her? He should have been able to talk her around to what he wanted, yet he’d tried to intimidate her instead. He was used to working with difficult people, and she wasn’t even trying to be difficult. She was trying to do her job.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He stared at her, and for a moment he felt fifteen years old again, watching her on TV, knowing she was way beyond him and he would never get her no matter how much he fantasized. How crazy was that? He’d been dealing with people like her for fifteen years, yet around her he was completely clueless.
If he couldn’t force her to his way of thinking, maybe he should try flattery. Stroke her ego a bit. He pondered that idea for a minute. He was used to stroking fragile egos; he could do this.
He opened the door to his office and stepped out into the September heat. Heat waves shimmered from the sidewalks. After a glance at the thermometer, he started toward her. She had climbed onto the carousel and was studying one of the hand-carved animals. She sat down on a bench and opened her ever-present sketchbook.
“Did you know that carousel can also mean horse ballet?” Jake asked as he swung up on the platform. A glance at her sketchbook showed him she was drawing the horse. She frowned slightly as she added a flourish to the mane and then looked up at him.
“That’s beautiful. I can see why a carousel could be called a horse ballet.”
Jake stroked the horse she’d sketched. “All the horses on this carousel were hand carved in Germany in 1896.” He smiled, remembering how much he’d loved riding the carousel as a child. “Want to see my favorite horse?” He held out his hand, and after a slight hesitation, she took it. He pulled her to her feet, led her around to the back and stopped in front of a white horse with a flowing blue mane. “When I was a kid, I used to pretend I was a knight of the Round Table and this was my trusty steed.” Joy filled him as the pleasant memories returned. “And I would win the gold ring and present it to my princess.”
“Really,” she said, her dark eyes showing a touch of cynicism.
“You’ve never played make-believe?”
“Sure I did. Five days a week, eight hours a day for eleven years, until I outgrew the roles and decided to go to college.”
“Why didn’t you keep on acting? You were good.”
“I got tired of playing the second banana. Then the roles started slowing down. I was never going to be lead-actress material. I had to make a life decision, and I decided to leave.”
“Do you miss being catered to, fawned over and treated special, the way only actors are treated?”
She studied him. “No. That was not allowed in my mother’s world.”
“You mean you had a crazy mom manager.”
“I wish,” she said. “My mom wasn’t my manager and she isn’t crazy, but the one time I acted