Chapter 5

5

“ W e can come down to twelve million. No lower.” Alexandra Fairchild crossed her arms over the lapels of her tweedy red Chanel blazer. Nora got the impression that Alexandra thought she was a tough negotiator. In that suit, which hadn’t been tailored for a perfect fit, she just looked like a petulant teenager. Veruca Salt came to mind. Daddy, I want it now!

Nora stifled her grin at the thought, hiding it behind her mug of coffee. God bless Laurie for suggesting they get the oversized mugs for the office. She drained every last drop of her French roast before she felt calm enough to put the mug down and smile at the trio of siblings sitting in front of her desk. “You’re getting warmer. That’s not a bad number.”

In fact, it really was the best she could expect for the Fairchild Building. She and her team had crunched numbers, gone over inspection data, the rental history, the likely prospects of the building and the neighborhood… twelve million was a great number for a historic building in Downtown LA. And she was 98% sure she was going to take it.

The thing was, she just really liked annoying Alexandra Fairchild. Nora watched with glee in her heart as the woman exchanged glances with her brothers. The men shrugged. Alexandra looked like she wanted to chew through sheet metal. “It’s the final price tag,” she spat, shooting up to her feet. “Take it or leave it.”

Nora remained seated and looked up at Alexandra with as bland as an expression as she could muster when all she wanted to do was laugh in her face. “All I said was that it’s not a bad number. I’ll have to discuss it with my team.”

“See that you do.” Surprisingly, Alexandra didn’t actually flounce out of Nora’s office, and that was a good thing. Nora wasn’t sure she’d have been able to control herself if she had.

Oliver and Matthew had also stayed seated during Alexandra’s display. “I don’t want to keep apologizing for Alexandra’s behavior,” Oliver began, and Nora waved him into silence.

“You don’t have to. I’ve met a hundred Alexandras and more in my lifetime.” She shrugged. “I can assure you that her personality is not going to be a factor in whether or not I purchase your building.”

“Just the price?” Oliver raised a dark eyebrow.

“As I said, I need to talk to my team.” Nora got to her feet, prompting the men to get to theirs. “Thank you all for coming in again. We’ll be reaching out to you soon.”

Matthew picked up their copy of the Fairchild Building file from Nora’s desk and gazed at the photo clipped to the front of it. To Nora’s surprise, he actually spoke for the first time since entering her office an hour and a half ago. “I’ll miss the building when it’s not ours anymore. It’s been in the family for two hundred years.” He looked up and met her eyes. “Do you think you’ll keep the Indigo Lounge?”

Nora hesitated. “I don’t know. Probably not, to be honest. I believe in fresh starts. I also just don’t think it’s a good fit for the neighborhood. Shouldn’t a place like that be out in West Hollywood?”

She’d done some research over the last couple of days, lying in bed with her laptop propped on her chest, eating some of the frankly incredible leftover nachos from the Lounge. Now, Nora knew more about the LA gay community than she ever had before. And she was curious as to how Esme Bloom had ever picked downtown LA for the location of her lesbian hangout.

Oliver looked at her in surprise. “The Indigo Lounge would never work out in WeHo. That’s not the vibe. Esme wanted somewhere away from the typical scene, not a dance club, something more intimate.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks. “There was a purpose behind everything she did when she created that space.”

“You sound like you admire her a lot,” Nora remarked.

“We’ve known her since we were kids.” Oliver gestured back and forth between himself and his brother, who nodded in agreement. “She came from nothing and nobody, but she wanted to give everything she could to the community. To queer women especially. Other lesbian spaces in LA have come and gone. Esme persevered. And she’s done so many fundraisers, given so much money to aid orgs and non-profits.”

“We thought she’d be there forever,” Matthew said in a low voice. “She’s done a lot of good in that little corner of our legacy. It doesn’t feel right to think of the Lounge not being there.” He sighed. “Selling the building is really Alexandra’s pet project. But we can’t afford to buy her out and keep it for ourselves, and she’s been relentless about offloading it.”

“And I hate that us giving in to her is going to hurt Esme like this.” Oliver was visibly unhappy. “Closing the Lounge is going to be a huge, huge loss, Nora. I know we can’t stop you, but I urge you to consider not evicting her. The office tenants can operate from anywhere in LA, and Shirley who runs the little accessories boutique has been talking about retiring for the last two years. But Esme and the Lounge…” he trailed off. “Esme doesn’t deserve to be booted out on her ass. Not after all she’s done.”

Nora took in a deep breath. “Well, nothing’s set in stone. The fact is, though, that the businesses opening in that neighborhood in the next year or two are nothing like a café-bar-performance space, whatever the Lounge is. I’ve seen the plans that have been filed. Upscale restaurants and retail shops, for the most part. A boho little bistro like the Indigo Lounge will not only stick out like a sore thumb, it may face serious opposition from its new neighbors. And it’s going to struggle even more to turn a profit than it already is.” She gazed steadily at the Fairchild brothers. “It’s not personal, boys, it’s business. And honestly, it may breathe new life into the Lounge if it moves to somewhere more suitable.”

Oliver’s gaze back at her was just as direct. “You know, when I suggested something like that to Esme, I could see it upset her, but I didn’t know why. Now I see what an asshole thing it was to say.” He looked at his brother and jerked his head towards the office door. “Let’s get going, Matty.”

Matt nodded and followed Oliver out, not even looking at Nora.

A business deal had never made her feel so shitty before. She sat back down at her desk and pulled up the Indigo Lounge website. Laurie came in. “Want your lunch, Boss?”

“Yeah.” Nora rubbed her head and clicked around to find the events calendar for the Lounge. “Can you order me a veggie supreme pizza?”

Laurie bent down to get eye to eye with her. “You okay?”

Nora’s hands froze on the keyboard and she looked at her assistant. “Yes. Why?”

“Because it’s Thursday. I ordered you the same salad from Sweetgreen that I have ordered for the last 365 Thursdays and beyond.” She held up a lidded takeout bowl. “I have it here in my hand. But you want a… pizza?”

“I would very much like a pizza.” She clicked on the Menu button of the Lounge website. “Actually, can you DoorDash me this smoked salmon and pesto flatbread?” A thought occurred to her. “Order it under your name, please, and don’t put the Hartley Group anywhere on it.”

“What, why? Are you starting a new career moonlighting as a food critic?” Laurie came around the desk to peer at Nora’s laptop screen. “Oh, I see. Bold move.”

“The chef doesn’t like me,” Nora admitted. “But the food there is amazing .”

Laurie stood up straight and observed her shrewdly. “You getting a little personally involved there?”

“No. I just really want the flatbread.” Nora looked at the menu again. “And a side order of the Elevated Greek Salad.”

“Anything you say.” Laurie pulled out her phone and started to put the order in. “That it?”

“That’ll do.” Nora clicked back over to the calendar page as Laurie left. The Lounge was hosting a fundraiser this Saturday evening to benefit a local chain of thrift shops that worked with the AIDS Healthcare Foundation. The party would be “Pink Pony Club” themed, whatever that meant. There would be drag performers, Mia Cortés was going to do a set, and there would be raffles of Indigo Lounge gift cards, edible arrangements, items from a local leather boutique, and more.

Nora wanted to see the Lounge in full swing, lights and colors and music and all. She wanted to see Esme in her element.

She wanted to see Esme, period. The dichotomy of the soft long skirts and flowing curls compared to the fire Nora had seen in Esme’s eyes when she defended her life’s work was intriguing to her. If ever a woman contained multitudes, it was Esme Bloom, and that was something Nora found too irresistible for words.

But what the hell, she wondered, was a Pink Pony Club? With a sigh, Nora opened up a new tab and began yet another Google search.

“Esme! This is incredible!” Ruby shrieked from under a pink velvet cowboy hat heavily fringed with silver beads. Her fire engine-red hair was down from its usual ponytail and bounced over her spaghetti-strapped shoulders as she danced with a drag king clad in a sharp candy-cotton pink suit. The Indigo Lounge was full of similarly dressed patrons, head to toe in various shades of pink and coated in a rainbow of sparkling glitter that Esme knew would be impossible to ever fully vacuum up.

That thought made her smile a bit grimly. If she was facing eviction, at least she’d make damned sure that the Indigo Lounge was leaving an extremely annoying mark.

With a smile, Esme waved at Ruby and threaded her way through the crowd, looking around at the transformation the Lounge had undergone for this night. She was pleased with how the place had turned out after days of hard work. Many of the warm white overhead lightbulbs had been replaced with pale pink ones, casting the Lounge in a rosy glow. Strings of silver and pink tinsel festooned the walls and window frames, interspersed with long strands of silver beads and stars. It was more pink than the Lounge had ever seen in its existence, and it was probably taking the whole pink aspect of Pink Pony Club a little too literally, but Esme didn’t care. She’d wanted to go all out for their first Chappell Roan-themed party.

Two years ago, much like Chloe Riley, Chappell and her keyboard had done a mini-residency at the Lounge. Now she was on a world tour and much too famous to perform at a venue the size of a Manhattan studio apartment. But she’d sent Esme a sweet note of gratitude when she’d heard about the tribute night and fundraiser dedicated to her and had even sent in a video message to be played later. Esme was so proud of her, the way she was proud of all her little sapphic music protégées.

Right now, there was a young drag queen on stage bouncing her way through “Femininomenon” wearing a sleek, lilac-sequined jumpsuit with such a low v-neck her silicon boob bib threatened to pop out. The long blonde curls of her wig were flying as she lip-synced with more energy than Esme thought she’d ever had in her twenties. The crowd was into it, singing along to the lyrics and exploding into cheers when the queen jumped into the air and landed in a split.

At the side of the stage, Mia Cortés was tuning her guitar and grinning at the spectacle. Her girlfriend/agent Harper Nightingale stood protectively by, keeping any would-be autograph or selfie seekers at bay with her stern expression. She’d told Esme that she felt a bit silly playing the heavy like this, but Mia needed time to get into her performing headspace and was too soft-hearted to resist pleas from fans who wanted her attention.

Her pearly white smile lit up her face as she saw Esme approaching, though. Harper was a stunning woman, with deep velvety black skin and brown eyes so warm and light they appeared almost golden. She always wore black, in the form of pantsuits cut to fit low and close, and her hair was styled in long, glossy braids that looked like ebony beads. Next to her, Mia looked like a charming ragamuffin, even if her tank tops and artfully cut up thrift store jeans had been traded in for more deliberately tattered Levis and a vintage pinstriped vest.

“Esme,” Harper purred, reaching out both of her hands for Esme’s. She drew her in for a very continental kiss on both of Esme’s cheeks. “The party is amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thank you, Harper. I do feel pretty good about it.” She beamed and turned to Mia. “How are you feeling?”

“Great! I’ve got some new songs for this crowd tonight. Think they’ll love them.” Setting her guitar aside, Mia bounded over to give Esme a bone-crushing hug. “How are you doing? You look wonderful. Like a goddess.”

Esme blushed, self-consciously tugging at the hem of her silver sequined mini-dress. “Ruby helped dress me. I’m not too sure about this.”

“You do look divine. Literally.” Harper stood back and gave her a once-over with a wink. “I’m amazed to discover you’ve got legs , my darling. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in anything other than those ankle-length skirts.”

“I do feel more comfortable in those,” Esme admitted. “But this is a special occasion. It called for a special look.” In addition to the tiny sequined handkerchief that Ruby had called a dress, Esme was wearing silver kitten heeled sandals—the single inch of them as high as she was willing to let Ruby take her, heel-wise—and her hair had been styled into a thick braid that draped over one shoulder. Ruby had then arranged pre-Raphaelite ringlets and long tendrils of curls around Esme’s face, creating a cloud around her head, and there were sparkling silver and pink rhinestone flowers placed all through the hairstyle, holding baby’s breath in place. Finally, she’d fixed a fragrant flower crown of real full-bloom roses and peonies across the top of Esme’s head and painted Esme’s face in cherry reds, rosy pinks, and iridescent glitter. Esme felt like Aphrodite, a tempting queen of love and revelry.

It didn’t at all feel like she was dressed anywhere near her age, and she was slightly self-conscious about the over-the-top nature of the whole thing, but everyone seemed to think she looked great, so she’d go with that. Leaning up on her tiptoes, Esme kissed Harper on the cheek and then gave Mia a much gentler hug than she’d gotten. “Thank you both. Mia, love, break a leg.”

Harper opened her mouth to reply, then frowned and grabbed Esme by the shoulders. “Esme, my darling, I don’t mean to harsh your buzz, but I don’t want you be unprepared when you turn around.”

“Unprepared for what?” Esme laughed, squirming out of Harper’s grip. She turned, up on her toes again, and craned her head, trying to find whatever her friend thought would upset her.

Nora . Esme’s heart began to race.

Nora’s height made her easy to spot at the doors of the Lounge, where she stood surveying the party in mild bemusement. Esme noted with some irritation that she hadn’t bothered to costume herself up, giving the impression that she had simply come to the Indigo Lounge to observe the community there like a bunch of zoo animals on display.

She looked fantastic nonetheless, Esme noted in irritation. Wide bone-colored linen trousers and a matching linen vest top, secured with large, glossy wood buttons in a rich shade of brown. Her hair was a perfectly sculpted gleaming cap of gold, now streaked with pink from the overhead lights. Money, confidence, and security radiated from her—all things Esme had never felt in such abundance within her own life. As much as Esme almost envied that, she also admired it. What must it be like to be able to go through the world never having to worry about a thing?

And why in heaven’s name was she continually drawn and attracted to the woman? Of all people on Earth to make her feel anything like sexual interest in over a decade, it had to be the one who was going to take everything Esme loved away from her. Someone who was nothing like her at all, with whom she couldn’t possibly share any values.

And yet. Here she was, eyes fixed on Nora as she began to explore the party with interest.

Esme slipped away from Harper and Mia and began to cautiously wind her way through the crowd. She wanted to be near Nora, partly to figure out just what in the world the woman was doing here, and partly to…

Well, Esme wasn’t ready to talk about that, not yet. Not even to herself.