They finally got in his Acura at five-thirty, left Venice, California, and headed toward Malibu. They were almost an hour late when they passed the old Getty Museum, then the Malibu Pier. Shane drove while Alexa chattered nervously.

"That last guy Nora dated, remember him, Shane? The one who traded futures on the stock exchange?"

"Yeah. Bill something, with the dimple in his chin…"

"That flicking dimple was a surgical add-on," Alexa growled. "Boy, was I glad when Nora gave him the old flusheroo."

"Yep. Bill was sleaze."

"And remember Paul Bennett? Remember him? How on earth Nora ever decided to get entangled with Paul Bennett, with his polo ponies, which everyone thought he owned but it turned out he just rented, and the rented Ferrari… he should've rented a personality."

"Yeah, Paul was definitely toe-jam. A skunk."

She turned and looked at him. "Are you humoring me, buddy?" She smiled.

"I agree Nora's been flying in a bug storm, but we don't know anything about this new guy either, except that he has a great press agent. He's in almost every national magazine."

"Whatta you mean we don't know? I've been talking to Nora about Farrell Champion since she started to decorate his Malibu house last year. He's the real deal-A-list all the way and she's so happy, Shane. At last I think she's found Mr. Right."

"Yep, yep… pretty exciting." God, he was dreading this party.

When they passed the Serra Retreat, the former mansion of the woman who once owned twenty miles of California coastline, Shane slowed the Acura and picked up the expensive invitation. It had a slightly corny Hollywood theme. On the top of the embossed card it said: "It's a Wrap on Farrell's Bachelorhood." There were some old-fashioned drawings of 35mm movie cameras, underscored by the inscription: "Come Help Us Celebrate Farrell's Biggest Epic Yet… It's a Love Story."