Authors: Thérèse
“Thanks, Lizzie. I’d no idea you were going to go to so much trouble. This all looks incredible. I’m so nervous.”
“You’ll be great. Relax. They’ll love you… Through there…” Lizzie said, directing her to the bathroom. “I’ll see you in a minute.”
India darted in and decided against using the Toto toilet. It had too many options. She didn’t want to risk a misplaced water jet and wasn’t sure she had time for a full blow-dry. She checked her hair and makeup, went over her opening lines a few more times, then took a very deep breath.
Focus. You can do this. You want this… FOCUS… Are you ready? SAY YES!
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Lizzie beamed at the group of women assembled around glass-topped tables, sitting on low banquettes, or swinging their legs in the basket-style seats of her high-ceilinged drawing room. “What an amazing turnout. Thank you all so very much for coming, and thanks to Forest Wood School for extending the invitation to so many parents. Please meet my wonderful friend, India Butler.”
A healthy smattering of applause greeted India, who stood up and joined Lizzie at the oversize brick fireplace. “India has been an absolute inspiration to me and to my family,” Lizzie continued. “I would like to share just a few of the qualities of this remarkable woman, who has brought such a light into my world. India is one of those women you know instantly you can trust. She is an extremely sensitive facilitator with more than eighteen years’ experience dealing with teenagers in London. She has worked with countless parents to help steer them through the turbulent years when children can be at their most challenging. Knowing her I have discovered new depths in myself, and I have begun to appreciate my strengths and my resilience.”
Lizzie paused to wipe away a tear, and India began rapidly reframing her own opening words. I’m going to have to be more effusive, she decided.
“India is writing an exceptional book that will help guide us through these emotionally turbulent years. I will have the privilege of hosting her first series of workshops here in my studio. I hope that you will all sign up for them tonight. Congratulations for the courage you have shown by being here this evening. We mothers need to ‘come out,’ admit when we are struggling, and ask for help. We must be supportive of one another. With India’s help I know we can do this. Please join me in welcoming my dear friend, India.”
Another round of applause and Lizzie gave India a hug.
“Thank you so much, Lizzie,” India said, surprised at how emotional she was suddenly feeling. She continued: “Lizzie is taking my dream of working with you all and helping me turn it into a reality. I can’t thank you enough, Lizzie.”
Lizzie smiled at her and sat down on one of the Eames armchairs.
Five hours later, India called Sarah. “I can’t remember a single thing I said!” She laughed. “It’s all a blur. But it must have been good, because nearly everybody signed up. Lizzie gave me such a buildup, I thought she must have been talking about someone else.”
“I’m sure you were brilliant,” Sarah said. “I’m so excited for you. How was dinner?”
“Wonderful. All these women kept coming over to say how much they’re looking forward to the workshops. The food was incredible, though I was too excited to eat much. Sarah, I miss you madly, but I’m having a wonderful summer. I love it here. You have got to come out at some point, promise?”
“Try stopping me! Love you. And India – well done, you deserve this.”
India knocked a water glass off the bedside table as she scrambled to grab her phone. It was Lizzie.
“Hope I’m not calling too early. I just got the kids off to school. You were great last night. I told you… They all loved you. Twenty-nine women signed up. You’ve got yourself two classes a week! Congratulations!”
“Lizzie, I cannot thank you enough. It was a wonderful night. I hardly slept. I was so pumped up on adrenaline. It really did go well, didn’t it? And you put together such an amazing dinner. I’d no idea it would all be so … well, glamorous … and the food was to die for. Thank you. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” Lizzie laughed. “I just want to give you a heads-up. You can expect a call from Larry Hertz this morning. He’s an agent at CAA. He’s such a celebrity fucker – he loved the idea of Annabelle Butler’s twin sister writing a book.”
“Omygod, Lizzie, you’re a fast worker.”
“Let me know how it goes and if there’s anything else I can do.”
“I will. I’ll call you later. Oh. And Lizzie, I want to give you something for the use of the studio and also I hope you know that any work you might want to do in my courses will always be on the house, always, Lizzie. I mean it.”
“Okay, India. I might take you up on that offer. I could certainly use the help. But the studio is just sitting empty. It’s yours. No charge. If it all goes well, you can open up in Brentwood Village at some point.”
“That’s wonderful, Lizzie. Thank you, thank you so much for all you’ve done to make this possible.”
India kept her phone tightly clamped in her dressing gown pocket as she did laps around the room. She was too excited to even think of getting dressed and too distracted to do anything more than make coffee and sit on the kitchen sofa waiting. She bounced up the second her cell buzzed.
“Larry Hertz putting in a call for Miss Butler. Can you hold, please?”
India hung on for what seemed an age and then found it almost impossible to keep up with Larry as he yelled in her ear at machine-gun-fire speed in a thick Brooklyn accent.
“I’ve put in a call to a few of my contacts to see if they’ll bite. I’ll need a proposal to do a real pitch. Celebrity endorsements sell. This’ll sell. I might be able to get an advance … can’t promise … publishing business is in the toilet, but with the right hook… It’s all about getting an angle.”
India wasn’t at all sure what he was talking about. He seemed to be using a lot of fly-fishing terms.
Larry got back to her within a few hours. “Okay, they’re hooked and I reeled ’em in. I need a fast turnaround on a proposal. Peter Cohen in my office is expecting your call. 310-693- …” India didn’t have a pen, and he’d already dropped the line. She took a deep breath and then called the CAA switchboard.
Larry had made writing a book proposal sound easy, but by the time she’d finished talking with Peter, she needed to lie down for half an hour. The guidelines were straightforward but involved all kinds of research. What were the competitive books in the field? The comparable ones? How did she plan to market it? How fast could she get Larry a one-page outline, a summary, an overview, sample chapters, a résumé, a list of signed A-list celebrity endorsements? Could she make sure it was double-spaced, in 12-point Calibri or Times New Roman and draft a cover letter? And a strap line to go with the title?
India’s head was racing as she started her research and began googling.
Why is Supernanny wearing hot-teacher glasses? she wondered. Everyone knows nannies don’t wear glasses or suits … what’s with that? Well, nobody’s persuading me into a cap and gown no matter how many books it’ll sell.
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“Hi, India. Have you got a minute?” Lizzie whispered. “I thought of you just now, and I have to share.”
“Absolutely. I’ve been stuck in front of the computer all morning,” India said, closing the shutters in her bedroom. “Go on … but speak up a bit, there’s a lot of background noise.”
“I’ve come into the garden to make sure nobody’s listening. Can you hear me okay now? Good. So … Joanna, one of Sophie’s friends, has just left the house. Stan’s sending Sophie off to New Leaf for a month, and from the way she and Joanna were clinging onto each other, you’d have thought they were auditioning for a part in Titanic.”
“What’s New Leaf?” India asked, settling down on one of the walnut Louis XV tapestry armchairs and resting her legs on the matching footstool.
“It’s a rehab facility in Malibu. I think Stan’s lost it, but that’s not why I’m calling.” Lizzie lowered her voice. “Okay, so Joanna just turned seventeen, and she arrived in a three hundred and fifty grand, fully- loaded Maybach, a birthday present from her father. And you want to hear the worst of it?”
“What?”
“She was pissed that she didn’t have a full license and can’t carry passengers yet..”
“You can’t be serious,” India said.
“I am. I tell you, Jack was more excited about getting his goldfish last week. Apparently Diddy bought a Maybach for his son and so Joanna asked for one too.”
“That’s outrageous.”
“Yes, well, I thought you might like to see what you’re dealing with here.”
“Omygod. That’s serious.”
“Yes, well anyway. Look up New Leaf and tell me what you think. Call me later.”
As soon as she clicked off, India went back to her laptop and searched for New Leaf. A couple of weeks sleeping in the wild, somewhere like Uganda, would be a better solution, she thought as she stared openmouthed at the five-star facilities with spas, views of the Pacific, and luxurious private rooms with king-size beds. Lizzie’s right. Stan’s lost all sense of perspective.
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India worked with such laserlike focus over the next few days that she hardly even missed Adam. It felt as if he’d been gone for months already. Accustomed to unreasonable deadlines and burning the midnight oil, she pulled her résumé together. Then she began decoding the jargon. Supernanny had a “program.” That’s what teachers call a “curriculum,” India realized. I need a six-week program. Okay, brainstorm. Week One, Stress Management. Week Two, Boundaries. Week Three, Creativity … and I definitely need some “steps.” Step One… Focus… Step One … Step UP and Take Control! Okay. And Step Two … mmm… Take a Step Back. Sounds like a dance routine, but I kind of like it, she mused. Sinking back in her chair, in a flash of inspiration, she leaned forward again and wrote “Two Easy Exercises Needed.” Which gave her the satisfying acronym “TEEN.” She typed it in bold.
Supernanny also had “tools.” As in “resource materials” – worksheets, templates, and PowerPoint presentations. No problem there, Supergirl, India thought. I’ve changed way more slides than you’ve changed stinky diapers.
She would also need “case studies” for her sample chapters. “Case studies” translated to “progress reports.” Omygod! I’ve done a zillion of those, she thought, although not with adults, so I’m going to need fresh material, and I’d better tape the sessions.
She called Lizzie.
“Hey. Quick question. How do I go about recording my sessions?”
“No problem. I have a 4x Pro. You can download it onto Windows. We have camcorders as well. I wish now I’d had them installed in Sophie’s bedroom.” She laughed. “And just a thought, India: I’ll draw up some disclaimers for you.”
“How do you mean?”
“This is personal stuff. So you’ll need to cover yourself. California’s one of the most litigious places on Earth. You need to own the rights to every story you publish.”
“Thanks, Lizzie. I’d no idea.”
India flicked through Simon Clements’ book. It was crammed with affirmations and inspirational quotes. She’d need some of those too, but that’d have to wait. She’d just had a text from Adam. Her man was back in town.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
India was sitting out by the pool, about to take a bite of her tuna melt sandwich, when she glimpsed the caller ID. Play it cool, don’t be too keen, she thought. He’s the one who scooted off on safari.
Putting down her plate, she took a sip of her lemonade and picked up. “Adam, how are you? How was your trip? How’s Max?”
“I’m tired, really tired, but good.”
“Guess what. I have news – I’m going to be running some workshops in LA starting tomorrow!”
“Fantastic. Fast work. Great. I want to hear all about it … when can I see you?”
India paused. “I’m free this weekend,” she said, too quickly she thought. “Well, Saturday, anyway.”
“So let’s make a plan. Please. I’m going to stay over at this end of town, keep an eye on Max,” Adam said quietly.
“Why don’t you come over here?” India replied. “I’ve the whole place to myself. And I could do with your help. I’m writing a book proposal and it turns out I don’t write American. It’s a foreign language – even the punctuation’s different. But sorry. You said you’re tired. How come? Was it a long drive?”
“You’re in that bubble again Indie … I guess you haven’t seen a paper or the TV this morning?”
“No … I can’t work out how to use all the remote controls. Maria must think I’ve had a lobotomy or something. But I’ve never seen so many options and if I grab the wrong one, the drapes fly open.”
“That’s funny,” Adam said. “Well, I could hardly get Max in and out of the courthouse this morning with all the fucking cameras and TV vans. Alanna and Lauren were there… It was a total shit show.”
“Why was he in court? Was it the accident?” India asked, shunting out of the sun and climbing under a canopy.
“Yeah. He was arraigned for DUI. Easy bail. His attorney’s pretty sure he’ll get off with a fine. He’s already been to rehab and nobody died. But he’s not in the clear yet. There’s always the chance the judge’ll get heavy just to prove she’s not starstruck. We stopped off at Kate Mantilini for a burger on the way back.”
“Joss told me they do great mashed potatoes there.”
“They do. I’ll pick some up on my way over Saturday,” Adam said, “but I’d also like to take you out somewhere special. It’s been a while. Let me think. I’ll text you, but how ’bout we aim for seven?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
India put down her phone, stood up, and took a running dive at the pool. “He’s back! Wahoo!” she screamed before perform-ing a magnificent belly flop.
India was checking out the sound system when Lizzie stuck her head in.
“All okay?” she asked her. “I’ve told everyone to park on the road and walk up.”
“This is perfect.” India beamed, looking around the spacious octagonal room with its maplewood floor and long windows. “I love the Zen Garden. It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” Lizzie sighed. “Pity, I never use it myself. Good luck! And promise to drop by before you leave to let me know how it went.”