“I’m surprised your phone isn’t ringing off the hook.” Jenn rubbed her nose.
“I turned the ringer off when I got home last night. I thought that would thwart anyone who might try to disturb me before I had a decent amount of sleep. I guess I’ll have to start using the door chain.”
“She would have just stood there pounding on the door until you opened it.” Meredith came around and sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you know?” She pointed at Cliff’s picture.
Anne shook her head. “No. George was under strict orders to keep his employer’s identity secret. No one knew until just before the press conference.”
“Hello?” Forbes’s voice rang through the apartment.
“In here,” Jenn yelled.
“What is it with you people and Saturday mornings?” Anne flipped the folded paper over to look at the top of the page again. BALLANTINE TO MARRY LOCAL GIRL, the headline proclaimed. Poor Courtney. She tossed the paper aside as Forbes entered her bedroom.
“Aren’t you going to read the articles?” Jenn caught the section before it slid off the far side of the bed.
“I was there. I planned it. I think I know what happened.” She propped a couple of pillows against her headboard and scooted up to sit against them. She reached for the tall paper cup of coffee Forbes held in his hand and took a big gulp before handing it back to him. “Ugh. Gross. Skim milk and artificial sweetener. I always forget.”
“Everything okay?”
Why did he look so nervous? “Mostly.” She cocked her head to one side. “Did you know anything about this? No, wait.” She held up her free hand. “I don’t want to know. Anything you say will probably just make me mad, and then we’ll sit here all morning analyzing why I’m mad and I’ll never get any more sleep. So now that everyone is reassured that I’m okay, can you please leave so I can go back to sleep?”
His relief palpable, Forbes leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Yes. Yes, we can do that.”
Meredith patted Anne’s knee through the quilt. “Yeah. Sorry we woke you up like that.”
“Jennifer, let’s go.” Forbes stood at the end of the bed like a nightclub bouncer.
“But—”
“No buts. Now.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the door. He waited until his younger sister huffed out of the room, then turned back to Anne. “Rest up. If what they wrote in the paper is true, you’re not going to be getting a lot of rest anytime soon.”
As he walked out the door, Anne rearranged her pillows and curled into her favorite position. She yawned and closed her eyes. Ah, sleep.
If what they wrote in the paper is true… Forbes’s words bounced through her mind. What had they written about her in the paper? The feature they’d done on her after the article in Southern Bride had been extremely complimentary and had driven most of this summer’s business. But with whom had the reporter spoken last night?
Her head throbbed. She wouldn’t worry about that now. She needed sleep. Sleep. She tapped her fingers on the mattress. Sleep. Yes, that’s what she needed.
One professional photographer had been allowed in last night. George said Cliff’s publicist, that very nice young woman named Tracie, would choose certain photos from inside the party to be released to the major entertainment magazines. Anne hoped she wasn’t in any of them. She hated what the camera did to her already large frame.
Stop thinking about it. Sleep!
How many messages would she have on her voice mail at work? After the Southern Bride article, she’d changed her home number and kept it unlisted. But not only was her cell phone number on her business cards; she’d bought a display ad in the Yellow Pages this year. She was the only one out of the five planners listed in the category who’d done so. She was also the only one to ever be featured in a regional magazine. Or to have her own office in Town Square, just a few doors down from the store that did the most bridal clothing business in town. How much was this kind of national exposure going to grow her clientele?
She tossed onto her other side. She already had the answer to that in her appointment with Alicia Humphrey in a few hours. The girl was by no means a major star like Cliff, but her fiancé’s latest film had won several awards at this year’s independent film festivals. Buzz had already started about the possibility of an Academy Award nomination for best director. At least, that’s what she’d heard most often last night.
What if Alicia wanted Anne to come out to California to meet with her? She rolled onto her back and stared at her high, whiteplaster ceiling. No. Not even for a client could she board a plane. In this day and age, technology should allow her to do whatever necessary from here. Baton Rouge was only a two-hour drive, so that was no problem. But she had to make Alicia understand that Anne Hawthorne would not be flying anywhere.
All possibility of falling asleep again gone, Anne pushed up into a sitting posture and reached for the newspaper. The article contained mostly fluff. A truncated guest list. The reporter should have stayed later, as the most interesting names weren’t on it. A reference to the Mardi Gras–themed decor with Pamela Grant and the Delacroix Gardens Nursery & Florist both mentioned. Excellent, free publicity for her vendors. When she found her name, she took a deep breath before continuing on.
The event was planned and executed by Bonneterre’s own Anne Hawthorne, an event planner whose business, Happy Endings, Inc., is well known throughout Louisiana and the Southeast. Hawthorne has planned many high-profile events, such as the mayor’s inaugural ball, the annual Bonneterre Debutante Cotillion, and the society wedding of Senator Hawk Kyler’s daughter Aiyana Kyler-Warner.
“I totally relied on Miss Anne for everything,” bride-to-be Landry said. “She talked to me about what I wanted and then did everything just like I imagined. No, even better than I imagined.”
Hawthorne, a Bonneterre native, first appeared in the pages of the Reserve twenty-eight years ago as one of five survivors of a commuter plane crash that took the lives of twelve others, including her parents, world-famous photographers Albert Hawthorne and Lilly Guidry-Hawthorne.
According to sources, Hawthorne and Ballantine knew each other as students at Acadiana High School and UL–Bonneterre. Neither Hawthorne nor Ballantine could be reached for comment.
“Nor am I likely to comment.” She tossed the paper aside. At least they hadn’t written anything negative about the event or her company. She climbed out of bed and winced as her sore feet hit the hardwood. She hadn’t even worn heels last night, and her feet still ached.
Thank goodness she’d set the coffeepot up without changing the timer before climbing into bed in the wee hours. She poured a cup of the chocolate-caramel-pecan-flavored brew, stirred in half-and-half and sugar, and padded across to her giant chair-and-a-half. Cradling the blue ceramic mug in her left hand, she grabbed the TV remote and clicked the TV on. The screen came to life showing CNN Headline News.
“…confirmed all the rumors when he announced yesterday he is getting married.” The picture cut away from the cutesy reporter to footage of Cliff’s press conference. She smiled to see George in his butler-esque stance behind him. If George agreed to go into business with her, he’d never have to debase himself the way she’d seen him do with Cliff several times yesterday.
She clicked up one channel. MSNBC. Same story, same footage. Click. Fox News. Different news story—but then the scroll at the bottom of the screen ran the announcement. Click. Regular CNN. A repeat of Larry King Live from earlier in the week—with the announcement of Cliff’s engagement in the scroll at the bottom. Click. E! Entertainment Television. The True Hollywood Story of Cliff Ballantine. Couldn’t be all that “true” since they’d never interviewed her or Aunt Maggie, his employer for four years. Click. The Style Network. The fashion critique of a movie premiere event last night—and chatter between the hosts about the engagement announcement “a few minutes ago.” Click. Bravo Network. A repeat of Inside the Actor’s Studio featuring Cliff.