Havana Adams - Black Diamond

CHAPTER 10

“You got a light?”

Lola looked up and in the dim light of the narrow alleyway at the back of Gin, yet another hot new bar, she watched a tall, powerfully built man move towards her. Long dreadlocks were pulled away from his face in a ponytail and as he walked, the long rope of hair swung from side to side, halfway down his back, almost touching his elbow. There was a directness about his gaze that disconcerted Lola and made her feel defensive. She stared back at him, determined to hold her ground. Close up, she saw that he wore the distinctive pinstriped Issey Miyake waistcoat that was the uniform of all the wait staff in the bar. As he stopped in front of her, Lola took a deep drag on her cigarette and she gave him a brief nod. She reached for his cigarette and for a moment their fingers touched. He had clean fingernails. Lola placed his cigarette against the smoking end of her lit one and watched, mesmerised as the orange glow kissed the unlit cigarette to life. She handed it back to him and continued to watch him as she exhaled.

He was tall, really tall and built. Beneath the waistcoat he wore nothing, and Lola could see his bare chest and the beginnings of a light dusting of chest hair and well defined pecs. Down one arm, snaking out from beneath the waistcoat, were an impressive set of sleeves, zigzagging up and down his biceps all the way to his wrist.

“Nice ink,” Lola said nodding at his tattoos. The waiter smiled.

“She speaks,” he replied and Lola was unprepared for the smile that crept across her face, before she quickly resumed the pout that was fast becoming her default expression.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she drawled, wondering why she was still standing outside with the help.

Lola watched the waiter lean back against a dumpster and drag deeply on the cigarette. His lips were thick and Lola looked away quickly, surprised at the flare of lust that slammed into her. Lust was no part of her life, not really. Sure there were the random hook-ups and the orchestrated ones that made it into a few magazines and the blogs, but the wash of lust as she stared at this quiet waiter with the watchful eyes was unexpected and not entirely unwelcome.

“How’s the party?” The waiter spoke and Lola shrugged.

“It’s work,” she replied unthinkingly.

“For me too.” Lola winced. She was unused to dealing with real people with real jobs.

“So how does it ‘work’ for you?” the waiter asked, his brow furrowed, and Lola dragged on the last of the cigarette and then ground the butt beneath her boot.

“New bar, wants to get a buzz, so they pay some celebrities to come hang out and be seen here.”

“Nice.” The waiter half smiled again. “How much do they pay you to do that?” His bluntness surprised her.

“How much do they pay you?” Lola shot back.

“Six bucks an hour,” he replied without missing a beat and Lola felt her skin flush as she watched him angle his head, his dreads swinging over one shoulder as he stared intently at her. “You?” he prompted again.

“Fifteen thousand.” A low whistle emerged from his lips and the waiter turned to face her directly. Lola was struck once again by how tall he was. “Paris and Kim get double that,” she muttered, wondering why she felt it necessary to justify herself to this stranger.

“Nice work if you can get it.” Lola nodded and looked up at the clear, black sky. The tedium of the conversation and the air kissing and the bullshit inside the bar had gotten to her, but as the awkward silence lengthened, all Lola wanted was to get back inside away from this silent watchful stranger, who was provoking unexpected feelings.

“You work here all the time?” Lola winced inwardly. Why was she prolonging the conversation? She turned towards him, but he was glancing at his watch. Quickly, he stubbed out his cigarette.

“Here, the Italian place at The Grove, a few places,” he finished with a smile. “Break’s over.” A rueful smile flickered across his face. Lola smiled back, a feeling of relief mingling with something else. “Have a good night,” the waiter said and in a bang of double doors, he was gone.

CHAPTER 11

The next day, Lola woke in a bad mood.

She’d tossed and turned all night and then at 5 a.m. as the sun was starting to rise, she’d fallen into a restless sleep. When she finally dragged herself out of bed, to start the day, she had the dreadlocked waiter on her mind. Hitting the gym, she put herself through a gruelling workout with the punch bags, determined to knock away the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach and which seemed unwilling to leave. This was the problem with doing business with friends, Lola thought darkly. Once upon a time, she might have called Amber so they could hit the shops on Rodeo or at The Grove, but these days Amber was all work and no fun. Amber was always talking about strategy and media presence and ways to monetise. Lola sighed. Despite the fact that she’d been thrown out of every exclusive high school on the West Coast, she was, it seemed, finally getting a career; shame it had to come at the expense of her best friend.

After she had showered, the thought of returning to the empty apartment filled Lola with a dread that she chose not to examine too closely and instead she swung her car down Fairfax towards 3 rdand headed to The Grove Mall. After she’d valet-parked Lola walked to the main thoroughfare of the mall. She glanced at her watch and sighed. She was bored and boredom, with her, usually led to trouble. With that thought she headed towards Barneys. As she strode through the high-end department store, flicking through the racks of merchandise without really noticing them, Lola bit back a sigh of irritation and flipped open her cell phone. She waved away an eager-looking assistant and listened as the phone rang and rang. No response. Lola felt anger and frustration course through her. It was happening, she thought, she was losing Amber too.

In her world, people always left. She had learned that young. Deep down, she had always marvelled that her friendship with Amber had survived quite so long. But as with everything in her life, Lola had known that it was just a matter of time.

“This is Amber, you know the drill.” Lola ended the call without leaving a message, carelessly dropping the phone into her bag. She turned back to the department store and gave it her full attention. Lola felt a thrill run through her that had little to do with the exclusive, expensive designs on display. She could buy half the store and the other half, designers would gladly gift to her for free. Since childhood, her mother’s name had meant that bundles of free designer goods routinely turned up and since her turn as Miss Golden Globe, the summer she had turned sixteen, hot up and coming designers would often ensure that packages of their latest collections made their way to her. Who better to showcase their wares for free than one of Hollywood’s up and coming It girls? But the itch that Lola longed to scratch wasn't one that shopping could reach, the adrenalin that coursed through her had little to do with embellished LBDs or this season’s Manolos. The pressure that had been building in her chest these last days would be solved by only one thing.

She grabbed the first thing, a dress and then another item and another and another, barely glancing at the items and not bothering to check sizes. These things would never be worn. Barely pausing to draw breath Lola moved towards a fitting room, drawing the curtain firmly behind her. She stared at the stash of clothes barely seeing them, feeling only the thrum of excitement. Quickly, she stashed the items into her oversized Gucci tote bag and with a deep breath she emerged from the fitting room. Lola strode towards the exit with her head held high. She nodded at the assistant, who waved her off. She gave a wide smile at a stylist she’d known for years. Lola lived for these moments, the charge of excitement coursing through her, her heart beating fast and then faster, as the exit came into sight, as she saw the daylight that lay beyond. She already had one foot outside of the store when she heard a voice.