Evening Bags and Executions(19)

Sheridan headed for the door, then stopped and turned back. “Oh, and I want those people from the Beatles show in Las Vegas to do their act at the party.”

Yikes! She wanted me to arrange for the world-renowned Cirque du Soleil dancers and acrobats to perform?

“Have them do the ‘Lady Madonna’ number,” Sheridan said. “I love that one.”

Jeez, how was I suppose to arrange that? I had no idea if the Cirque du Soleil even did private shows. So what could I say but, “Sure.”

Sheridan left. Muriel was typing furiously into her iPad. I didn’t want to look like I wasn’t taking things seriously, so I pulled out my cell phone and sent a text message to Marcie asking about scheduling another purse party.

“I’ll send you Annie and Liz’s number,” Muriel said. We exchanged info, then she asked, “Would you like to see the memorabilia?”

I must have looked as if I didn’t know what she was talking about—because, really, I didn’t—so she said, “The Beatles memorabilia that’s being auctioned off at the party. The proceeds are going to The Adams Foundation.”

“Yeah, that would be great,” I said.

We walked across the foyer, down a hallway, up some stairs, and through another corridor. The beige carpet was thick under my Jimmy Choos. Framed prints and paintings hung on the walls. The only sound was the soft swish of cool air through the vents.

We turned right down yet another hallway, and Muriel gestured to the room on our left.

“That’s the library,” she said. “One of them.”

I glanced inside and saw floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and several oversized chairs.

We moved on and Muriel pointed again. “That’s the doll room.”

Hundreds of glass-eyed dolls stared at me, some in toy baby cribs, others in high chairs or seated at tiny tables, most packed together on custom-made shelves.

I gasped. Yikes!

“Yeah, I know,” Muriel said. “They give me the creeps, too.”

We headed down the hallway once more, and just as I was thinking I should have left a trail of bread crumbs if I had any hope of seeing daylight again, Muriel stopped in another doorway and pointed into a room.

“The whatever room,” she said.

“Wow,” I said, walking inside.

The room was large with built-in mahogany cabinets and shelves; a desk with a computer sat in one corner. A single window overlooked the rear lawn. A team of gardeners was clipping a tall hedge that camouflaged what I figured was an access road to the service wing, judging from the vans from a cleaning service and a plumber I spotted there. One of the pools—complete with a pool house—was nearby, and beyond that was the tennis court.

The shelves held dozens of Beatles items—lunch boxes, notebooks, book covers, all with pictures of the Fab Four on them. There were record albums, posters, art sets, bobbleheads, photos, and a model yellow submarine, some still in their original packaging.

“Mrs. Adams has been working for months to acquire them,” Muriel said.

“Are these original?” I asked.

“All rare, and in mint condition,” Muriel said.

Memorabilia collectors were fanatic about their favorites—Star Wars, comic books, superheroes, whatever—and would pay any price to own a desirable piece.

“These things must be worth a fortune,” I said.

“Mrs. Adams expects to raise over a hundred grand,” she said.

I took a final look around the room, then Muriel led the way back to the foyer.

“If anything comes up about the party just give me a call,” she said. “I’m available twenty-four-seven.”

I could easily see that working with Muriel would be far preferable to dealing with Sheridan.

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” I said, and left.

I got in my car and headed toward the freeway. My appointment with Sheridan Adams was concluded, and there was no real reason not to return to the office. Yet there was no real reason not to abuse the opportunity, either.

The freeway would have been quicker, but I decided what the heck and headed north on Beverly Glen, and wound my way into the parking lot of the Sherman Oaks mall.

I loved this mall. I mean, jeez, what’s not to love? Bloomingdale’s was here, and a Macy’s. I figured this gave me two excellent opportunities to find the Enchantress evening bag I wanted. I only wished Marcie was here with me.

I struck out at both stores. Neither of them had the bag, which was majorly disappointing, but I put myself and Marcie—that’s the kind of BFF I am—on their waiting lists.

Still, I saw no reason to rush back to the office.

It’s always good to keep up on current trends, so I went to the Michael Kors store, then the Coach store. Everything looked fabulous, of course, but I was saving myself—handbag-wise—for the Enchantress.