Evening Bags and Executions(57)

I snapped back to reality in time to hear her ask for Sheridan Adams’s e-mail address. No way was I going to give that out, so I gave her contact info for Muriel, which seemed to suit her just as well. I thanked her and hung up.

Huh. That was easier than I thought it would be, thanks to my dropping Talbot Adams’s name.

I didn’t think playing on someone else’s celebrity was really the thing to do in life—unless it benefited me, of course.

I got on the Internet again and found the names of companies that specialized in creating celebrity gift bags for the Oscars, the Emmys, and other high-profile award ceremonies. One of them, Distinctive Gifting, jumped out at me. I remembered hearing my mom talk about the fabulous swag they’d provided for an event she’d attended with some of her ex-beauty-queen friends, so I decided to call them.

“This is Haley Randolph from L.A. Affairs,” I said, using Mom’s I’m-better-than-you voice. “I’m calling regarding an event for Talbot and Sheridan Adams.”

“One moment, please,” the receptionist said.

Two clicks and a few seconds later, a woman picked up.

“Well, hello, Miss Randolph.” She had a kind of Jamaican accent thing going. “This is Tiberia Marsh. It’s always good to hear from L.A. Affairs. I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you new with the firm?”

“Somewhat,” I said.

I saw no reason to explain that this was my first event.

“And you’re handling Talbot and Sheridan’s party? My, but you must be very well respected at L.A. Affairs,” she said.

I saw no reason to mention that my job was dangling by a thread that Vanessa couldn’t wait to snip.

“I’m always pleased to work with your firm,” Tiberia said. “Just tell me what you need and it will be yours.”

So far, I was loving Tiberia—even though I suspected she’d made up her own first name.

I gave her the info about Sheridan’s Beatles-themed party and explained that I’d ordered the bags so all she had to do was provide the luxury items for people who probably didn’t really need them.

“Sorry it’s sort of last minute,” I said.

Tiberia chuckled. “Everything Sheridan does is last minute. We’re used to it, as I’m sure L.A. Affairs is.”

Okay, that was weird. L.A. Affairs had worked with Distinctive Gifting on Sheridan’s parties in the past?

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what will make Sheridan and her guests happy,” Tiberia said. “I’ll handle everything.”

“Great,” I said, and we hung up.

Whew! I was really relieved that Tiberia had taken over the whole gift bag thing, but it bugged me that I hadn’t known to call her in the first place. I wondered why it hadn’t been noted in Sheridan Adams’s file.

Just to be sure I hadn’t overlooked it I flipped through the file and reviewed the vendors listed for all the parties and events L.A. Affairs had handled for Sheridan. No mention of Distinctive Gifting.

Then it hit me—oh my God, Vanessa must have taken it out on purpose. Just to make things harder on me, to make me look incompetent in front of Sheridan, to try to get me fired.

Bitch.

I was ready to storm down the hall and confront Vanessa when my cell phone rang. Mike Ivan’s name appeared on my caller ID screen.

“I’ve got a sample of the gift bag you wanted,” he said when I answered. “I can bring it over, if you want.”

Since I didn’t think it was a good idea to have a maybe-connected-to-the-Russian-mob guy show up at L.A. Affairs, plus I didn’t like to miss a chance to get out of the office, I said, “I can come by your place.”

“I’ll be here all afternoon,” he said.

We hung up. I got my things and left.

There was no quick way to get anywhere in Los Angeles at this time of day, so I settled on the 101 freeway, then went south on the 110. I crept along the surface streets to my favorite parking lot on Santee Street, then hoofed it a block to the fabric store on Ninth Street, where I’d met Mike before.

The same guy who’d given me stink-eye the last time I was there sat behind the counter. He gave me stink-eye again.

I spotted Mike at the rear of the store. He was on his cell phone. We made eye contact, and a few seconds later he hung up. As I walked over he disappeared into the stock room, then came out again carrying a brown box.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling off the lid.

I moved aside the plastic wrap and picked up the sample tote bag his designer friend had made. It was black with a red heart that had “all you need is love” stitched across it in a colorful pattern that I think was called psychedelic back in the day. The lining—crucial to the success of any handbag—had the same pattern. The fabric felt great, and the design was awesome.