Still jubilant that she had settled her living arrangements, Jean made her way across the sandy lawn from Mattie's house to Lucien's. She had noticed which door he used while unloading the groceries and figured (correctly) that it must open into the kitchen. She could see him through the screen as he peeled and cleaned the shrimp.
"Hello," she called softly. "May I come in?"
"Of course," he said. "Mi casa es su casa, especially if you'll be living next door."
"And it looks like I will be," she said, letting herself in since his hands were occupied.
He gave her a big smile as he nodded for her to take a seat. "I'll be done with these in just a minute, then I can show you around." He nodded toward a huge tower of fresh fruit wrapped in festively colored cellophane. "Help yourself if you're hungry."
Jean picked out a couple of large strawberries to eat, and while she waited she glanced around the kitchen. Judging by what she saw, he was serious about cooking. It was a huge room, dominated by the island on which he was currently working. Not a lot of gadgets, just essential appliances, and of good quality, from what she could tell.
He finished with the shrimp and placed them on ice in the refrigerator that was practically as large as Jean's whole kitchen in the studio apartment. Then he washed his hands and cleaned up the mess.
She nodded approvingly. "I see you tidy up as you go. My kind of cook," she told him.
That earned her a grin. "I knew we'd be compatible in the kitchen. Now, let me show you around."
The house seemed much larger inside than it appeared from the outside, which had worried her if he was planning to have a dozen guests for Christmas dinner. And when he showed her the large porch that stretched across the entire side facing the beach, she understood how he could accommodate so many guests. It was like an extension of the living room and kitchen.
Upstairs there were four bedrooms. His and one of the guest rooms shared a balcony that also looked out onto the beach, accessed by floor-to-ceiling French doors. The view was spectacular.
"I can't wait to move out here now," Jean sighed. "It seems so perfect. So tell me about the downside to living at the beach."
"The commute into the city is long at the best of times," he said. "Even worse in winters when there are mudslides closing the highway, the PCH. And, of course, in the summer it's more at risk for wildfires than in the city proper."
"Oh, I hadn't really thought about the commute," said Jean.
"We can always carpool to the club on nights we're both working. It would be rather irresponsible not to, don't you think?"
"I'd like that. And if you've lived here for so long you must know all the shortcuts."
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said with a smile. "And for the right price I may just share them with you."
"And just what would that price be?" asked Jean with a mock frown.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe some more of your shortbread?"
"Done. Now, then, hadn't we better get started on this dinner of ours?"
"Soon. Just one more room I'd like to show you," said Lucien. He held out his hand to her, and she gladly accepted it. "My refuge."
He led her back down the stairs and then down another flight. She noticed that even the sounds of traffic and the surf were muffled there below the ground. He opened a heavy, thick door and flicked on the lights.
"Oh, my," said Jean. She had thought he must have a piano somewhere in the house but hadn't seen one until now. A gleaming black baby grand piano stood in one corner of the large room, and the wall behind it was covered with guitars, a ukulele, a mandolin, and a couple of other stringed instruments that she couldn't name. The opposite corner held a pair of comfortable chairs, with floor-to ceiling bookshelves behind it. Another wall held shelves of music media - vinyl albums, cds, even some reel-to-reel tapes. And the final wall held banks of audio equipment, much of it so sophisticated that Jean could only guess at its function.
"I had all of this installed when I was still recovering," he explained. "I needed a place where I could shut the whole world out. It's nearly soundproof, and when I put some music on, I can pretty well forget everything else exists. Is there anything in particular you'd like to hear?"
Her heart clenched at the thought that he had needed to isolate himself completely at times, but she could understand that the world might have seemed a very scary place after what he'd endured. Trying not to let him think he could see pity on her face, she walked over to study the titles on the vinyl. One immediately drew her eye. "Billie Holiday singing with the Count Basie Band? Where did you find this? I've been looking for this for years."
"Cec Drury found it for me. You know Cec?"
"Yes, of course, the bartender at the club," said Jean.
"He's also a music collector. Knows everything there is to know about the history of the blues."
"Really? I had no idea. I'll have to make it a point to talk with him more."
"He'll be here tomorrow," said Lucien. "He's a fascinating man. Very knowledgeable."
He removed the vinyl from its sleeve and placed it on the turntable. "I thought we could listen while we're making dinner," he said, pressing a button to activate the music system.
She followed him back up the stairs. It seemed there were speakers throughout the house and even on the rear porch so the music could be heard anywhere. Jean found herself humming along to "They Can't Take That Away".
When they were back in the kitchen, she said, "Now, dinner. How do you want to go about this? Shall I do one and you the other or shall we work together on both?"
"Have you ever made paella before?"
She shook her head. "I've eaten it a couple of times, and I love it, but the ingredients are so expensive that I didn't dare try making it in case it came out wrong and I'd wasted all that."
"Then we should definitely make it together so you can gain the confidence to make it yourself whenever you want."
"That sounds perfect. Where do we start?"
He pulled up the recipe on his iPad and she set to work on the saffron and chicken broth while he began chopping parsley and garlic, and juicing lemons. Then while she lightly sautéed the chicken breasts, followed by the shrimp, he went outside to get the fire pit going, then came back to the kitchen to clean peppers and onions.
While they worked, they chatted, mostly about their respective childhoods. Jean told of growing up on the farm, how she loved taking care of the animals.
"I've missed having animals around," she told him. "How do you think Mattie would feel about it if I got a cat for company?"
He chuckled. "I can guarantee that Mattie wouldn't mind at all. You haven't met Scout yet, have you?"
"Scout?"
"Technically Scout is my cat. She adopted me at a gas station just off the freeway one night when I was driving back from San Diego. The attendant said she'd been there all day, no collar or tag on her. He was about to close up for the night, and since she was so friendly, I was afraid she'd wander out onto the road when there was no one around, so I took her in the car with me. I brought her to a vet in the morning to check for a microchip but she didn't have one. So now she technically lives here, but spends an equal amount of time over at Mattie's."
"I'd love to meet her," said Jean.
"You will. As soon as we start cooking over the fire, she'll smell the food and put in an appearance."
"So she's an outdoor cat?"
"Only during the day. Unless I'm outside with her, she's in the house as soon as it starts to get dark. We sometimes have coyotes in the neighborhood, and they've been known to attack small pets."
Jean's eyes widened. "That's good to know, in case I do get one."
"Yes, I had intended her to be an indoor cat, but she had other ideas, and she's an escape artist. You wouldn't believe the tiny holes she can wriggle through when she's determined, so she got her own way after all."
"I look forward to meeting her."
Lucien smiled, one animal lover to another. "Now, I think we're about ready to take this outside. Let me put most of it onto a tray to carry out, and if you'll take the paella pan, we'll be in business."
The hot pan had the vegetables and aromatics so she handled it carefully as she made her way out to the fire. And just as Lucien had predicted, a tabby cat made her way over to where Lucien was laying out the food to be added to the paella. As soon as he had emptied the tray, he picked up the rather small cat, holding her at his chest. She immediately snuggled against his neck. Jean could hear her purring.
"What a beauty she is," Jean observed. "Will she let me pet her?"
"She'll insist on it," said Lucien, as Scout lifted her head and turned to look.
Jean reached to stroke her, and the cat leaned into it
"I'll have to put her in the house while we eat," said Lucien. "Otherwise she'll beg to be fed from the table, and she's very good at begging."
"I'll just bet she is. How could anyone resist that face?" Jean laughed.
"If you want to finish up here, I'll just take her inside to feed her and throw the salad together."
The sun was setting as Jean finished stirring the rice and then added the meat and seafood back into the pan. It all smelled delicious. Jean felt proud of herself, as the dish looked just as good as it smelled. Lucien brought out the crusty bread wrapped in foil, and he set it in the pit to warm as the paella finished. The final steps were to remove it from the heat, sprinkle on lemon juice, and cover it with a towel to rest for ten minutes.
While waiting, they set the table out on the porch, and Lucien opened a bottle of Chardonnay. When all was ready, they sat down to eat just as the setting sun met the horizon in a display of brilliant pink and orange.
"To a beautiful evening and a beautiful lady," said Lucien, raising his wine glass.
Jean blushed at the compliment but lifted her own glass. "This has been fun. Maybe we can do it again once I've moved."
"I'd like to do it regularly on nights we aren't working," Lucien agreed.
"I'll be so glad to move out of that hole in the wall," said Jean as a soft breeze ruffled her hair. "I never thought I'd be able to find something like this. To be honest, I thought it would be years before I established myself enough in the business to make the kind of money I'm making."
"Don't tell that to Matthew," Lucien joked. "Seriously, you're worth every penny. The crowds are already larger. I imagine we'll be standing room only after that review. May need to check the fire codes about overcrowding."
"Speaking of money if I may, I think I'm going to need to hire a financial adviser. I've never had enough money to worry about it before. Do you know of anyone you could recommend?"
"I do, actually. He doesn't normally take on new clients these days, but I'm sure he would if I asked him. That big basket of fruit inside is from him."
"Oh?" said Jean, sensing a story behind it.
"I've known him since we were both kids. Patrick is a couple years older than me, closer to my brother's age. Our parents knew each other, so we saw one other at social events. Then when I went to UCLA, Patrick was already there. He was a business major, and I think his father had asked him to keep an eye on me. Anyway, when I left school to join the army, he was just getting his investment broker's license and was looking to start his own firm, so I gave him power-of-attorney to look after the money that had been put away for me."
Jean waved a hand to indicate the beautiful house he now had. "Your friend Patrick must have known what he was doing."
"He did indeed. Invested in a lot of tech stocks and got out of most of them before the crash."
Her eyes widened. Finance was certainly not her area of expertise, but if Patrick had timed the dealings just right, Lucien must be very wealthy indeed. "So why aren't you living in Beverly Hills or Pacific Palisades with all the really rich people?"
"I have everything I need right here, and the neighbors are much friendlier, believe me. I grew up in Pacific Palisades, you may recall. The only time you even see your neighbors is through the tinted windows of their BMWs. No, thank you. And Mattie has similar stories about growing up in Beverly Hills."
"So you don't hang out with the Kardashians?" she teased.
"No, I'm afraid not. Disappointed?"
"More like relieved," said Jean. "Somehow, I don't think I'd fit in."
"Their loss." He paused. "Actually, I may be required to hang out with some of them for an evening in January. I'm told they've been invited to the annual charity ball my parents host. I'm expected to put in an appearance every year, since I'm on the board of the charity's foundation. I don't suppose you'd like to come with me? Your company would make the night bearable."
"Really? What kind of a charity is it?"
"It provides music lessons for children who otherwise couldn't afford it, now that the public schools have stopped teaching music. My father started it with money from my concerts when I got very upset at hearing that music was being cut due to funding."
"That was decent of him," Jean observed.
"Yes, well, there's an overly dramatic backstory behind it, but he does keep it going and children benefit from it, so that's what's important. And at the ball we present a couple of scholarships for students to attend Fine Arts programs at the college of their choice. What do you say, will you make the evening infinitely better by accompanying me?"
"I can't exactly abandon you to your fate, can I?" she said with a smile. "Yes, I'd love to come with you. It's formal?"
"I'm afraid so. Is that a problem?"
"I suppose I'll have to buy a new dress. Not exactly a problem, no. Since Matthew said the party at the club on New Year's Eve is formal too, I needed one anyway. Two birds, one stone. Just one thing, though. If I stare at Kim Kardashian, pinch me before I make a fool of myself."
"It's a deal. But only if I can also pinch her if she is staring at you in jealousy because you're the loveliest woman there."
"Since that definitely won't happen, you're on."
The sun had disappeared long before, and after finishing the meal and lingering over a final glass of wine, they began to clear away the dishes and take them back into the kitchen. True to form, Scout the cat weaved herself between their legs and loudly protested that they hadn't shared their meal with her.
"I know it isn't really good for her, but how can I say no to that?" Lucien remarked as he leaned down to give her a single piece of shrimp.
He was just standing up again when a loud popping noise came from the direction of the beach. Jean spun to look, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blur as Scout raced to hide.
"Someone starting the Christmas celebration a little early," said Jean. "I've never understood how firing guns in the air equates to celebrating, but to each his own, I suppose. Poor Scout." She turned back to Lucien and was startled by the change in him. A moment before he had been smiling and joking, but now he stood frozen, his eyes glazed over and he was visibly trembling. Then he shot out of the room, much as Scout had.
Jean cursed herself for a fool. Gunshots. Of course they would be just as terrifying to him, after what he'd been through. The cleaning up could wait. Seeing to Lucien was much more important.
A/N: Like Jean, I've never understood the custom of firing guns in the air at certain holidays. When I moved to Los Angeles it genuinely shocked me the first time I heard it. Needless to say, the local authorities frown upon the practice, but it still continues.