"I've always wanted to do a big event at the Museum of Nature." I added freshly sliced tomatoes and a couple of bay leaves to the cooking vegetables. "It is awfully cool."

"It is awfully expensive," Wes noted, as he continued to whir various sweet ingredients into his batter. "Didn't we look into renting that place for a wrap party one time, Mad?"

"Right. It's over ten grand just to get in the door, plus thousands for each additional room you need. It's fabulous but it's a hassle. They have a gazillion restrictions and rules and fire codes. Anyway, this couple, Sara Silver and Brent Bell, were going through a bit of a crisis today. Actually, I'm glad to hear they're over it."

I added a sliced red bell pepper to the pan and heard the delightful crackle as cold veggie hit sizzling oil. Heaven.

I quickly stirred arborio rice into the cooked tomato and peppers, while I turned down the heat under a pot of chicken broth simmering with paprika and saffron.

Wesley came over to lend a hand.

Holly sliced the sausage into nice thick diagonals, and tossed them in, and Wes began adding the cooked chicken to the rice mixture. I topped it by carefully pouring the hot chicken broth over all. With a tight twist of heavy-duty aluminum foil to seal in the steam and juices, Wesley lifted the heavy pan into the oven. Wes and Holly each went back to their own workstations, jobs still to do, but I was ready for a break.

"So it's going to be a fabulous wedding," Holly prompted, trying to pick up the thread of our conversation.

My refrigerator is never without a stash of Diet Coke and I poured myself a glass and got back to the tale of my day. "I hope so. They seemed like a very nice couple. And they have no discernable problem spending money."

Holly put her salad greens in the refrigerator to crisp up and said, dreamily, "I love that in a man."

"Well, then, I think you'd have a crush on the bride's grandfather. Apparently he's paying for it all."

Forty minutes passed while the savory paella simmered in the oven, spreading its marvelous scent of the Mediterranean. I stirred rich chocolate icing as Wesley finished up baking his orange-almond cake, and Holly happily filled us in on all the latest news she'd unearthed in her amazingly stealthy way.

The phone rang just as I was adding the garlic-marinated shrimp to my nicely cooking paella, so Holly answered.

"Mad," she said, "it's for you. Whisper Pettibone."

Wes put the cakes on the cooling racks and turned to listen.

Wiping my hands and placing the paella back into the oven, I took the receiver.

"Hello."

"Is this Madeline Bean?"

"Yes."

"We've never met, but I know you were with Vivian this afternoon. I hope you don't mind that I am calling."

"Why, no."

"I work with Vivian and of course she called me this afternoon, right after she ruined her wonderful suit. And, as I'm sure you know, replacing this season's Chanel suit in a size four is simply impossible. But we'll get over it. She told me the angels had sent you from heaven to take over her tabletop."

I doubted the angels in heaven were too worried about Vivian's party-planning schedule, but I thought it rude to make any such comment.

"The point is, Vivian stopped back for a moment to change clothes, naturally, but now she's off again. And she is not answering her phone. I'm simply desperate to find her."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry. Is she with you?"

"Sorry," I said, imitating his precise way of speaking without thinking. "No."

"Oh. I see. Terribly sorry to burden you. Don't give it another thought." And then the man hung up.

"Vivian is missing?" Wes asked, a furrow creasing his normally smooth brow. Wesley was as thin as they come, and had that thick brown hair that stuck out with a little prompting and the right sort of gel.

"Apparently. And I'm getting a bad feeling. Suddenly, Vivian Duncan is all over my life. She even wants us to buy her wedding business."

Wes shot me an everyone-has-a-good-idea-what-we-should-do-with-our-windfall look.

"I know, but with all the ruckus, and then that poor woman looking pretty bruised, well, I never got it settled that we weren't interested. Don't worry. I will."

"First someone steals her car, then she gets lost. That woman is having a terrible, no good, very bad day," Holly said. Then she put the final touches on her salad, tossing the greens with marinated artichoke hearts and vinegar, adding fresh goat cheese, and topping it all with the migas. I had to admit, it looked spectacular.

"Let's eat," I said, pulling my paella out of the oven and peeling back the foil. A heady steam of saffron scented shrimp arose from the pan.

I looked up to Wes for some approval, but he seemed lost in some other thought. A little tic played around his eyes. In the past, Wesley could always sense trouble. He had that exact look about him.

But, it was almost nine. I was hungry. And, let's be real. Who wanted to stop to think out what kind of trouble might be coming tomorrow when such a lovely meal awaited us tonight?

Chapter 5.

Three weeks squirmed by. I was not amused by the idleness of being out of work, and the only diversion from the monotony seemed to be the occasional phone calls from attorney Paul giving updates on the lawsuit that was crawling along. It appeared that Five Star Studios wanted to go to court. While they had no interest in the food business, their lawyers showed a litigious zest for keeping me from competing with my former, and now defunct, company. At least that's what I think Paul said.

When Wesley and I had taken Five Star's money for my old, and at the time, very much out-of-favor catering company, we'd agreed not to start a new company that would compete in the same field. It had seemed reasonable at the time. They'd given us nearly three million dollars for a business that was sinking.

But Wes and I had never intended to retire. We'd always dreamed of going beyond cooking alone, so we focused our energy on a new firm that allowed us to create entire events. We began Mad Bean Events a few months ago. Our kickoff extravaganza was a sit-down breakfast for thousands in honor of the pope's visit to Los Angeles. Of course, we did that one for free.

In our, well, enthusiasm, shall we say, we dismissed any thought of Five Star. In our minds, at least, we were no longer "caterers." After all, we weren't actually cooking. Instead, we subcontracted a caterer for the event. And besides all that, Five Star had never had any intention of operating a catering business. It's a long, strange story, but they had been "negotiated" into buying us out.

In the year since, they never so much as opened an office or hired a staff. Madeline Bean Catering was now only a name on their books to them. And a fond memory to us.

And, hell. We figured they'd never notice.

It seems, however, that Five Star Studios had not built up a three-floor legal department simply to intimidate their producers and their distributors. On the odd day when business was slow, they felt perfectly happy to use their lawyers to harass Wes and me, too. Hence, the nasty slump in Mad Bean Events after the heady triumph of entertaining the pope.

After that very high profile success, our phones were ringing. We were approached by several of L.A.'s leading celebrity fundraisers. In one week, we'd been moved from nowhere to the "A" list. Million dollar events that only last year we hadn't been able to bid on as caterers, we were now being invited to run. And at the height of this explosive launch of our new, improved, events-planning firm, entered the angry giant. Five Star Studios appeared waving lawsuits and announced we had already breached our contract when we put on the lavish party for the pontiff.

"Who was that?" Wes asked, looking up as I cradled the phone. We were in our office, an airy room with French doors out to the courtyard that used to be my home's dining room. We sat facing each other at a huge double-sized old partner's desk. Such antique charm costs an arm and a leg-the very same arm and leg that was currently being fought over by lawyers.

"Money," I muttered.

"Yes?"

"You know," I said, rubbing one finger along the edge of the desk, appreciating the warm, expensive patina. This large noble desk had been our one splurge, and it had only been ours for a few weeks. "Root of all evil."

"The lawsuit. No progress?" Wes asked, taking an easy guess at the state of things in lawyer-land.

"Seems Five Star is feeling generous. They're leaning towards forgiving our historic reception for the pope."

"Forgive us? Could they have possibly been influenced by the fact that they don't have a frigging leg to stand on? We didn't cook. We didn't charge a fee. We..."

"Yes. They have been told. And for the moment they are not threatening to press for damages on that one party."

Wes looked at me across the desk with a pained expression. "So they are beginning to be reasonable?"

"You know better than that," I said, daring him to smile. "Actually, my friend Brother Xavier called a friend of his at the Vatican, and he arranged..."

"What? To have all the nasty Five Star executives excommunicated!"

"...he arranged," I said with emphasis, ignoring the interruption, "for Mrs. President of Five Star Studios to take a VIP tour of the Vatican Museum."

"I can't believe this. We were saved by art."

"Something like that. However," I continued, rubbing my scalp, "Wesley, they aren't going to drop their main lawsuit. They're hung up on the fact that we blatantly started a competing business. And even though they are wrong, they have so much money and so many lawyers on their payroll, they don't have to drop it. Paul says they can drag this on for years, even if they end up being proved dead wrong."

"Yeah, but why jump all over little guys like us? There's got to be a reason they won't let go. What do they want?" Wes asked, resigned.

"Their three million dollars back, probably."

Wes swallowed. "Oh, boy." He looked around, taking in the photo of the two of us standing with the pope, each of us holding a crystal glass containing strawberry smoothies. That was some breakfast bash.

"But we don't have all that money anymore."

I nodded. We had spent a lot on the pope's party, all donated to the cause. In addition, I had paid off my home's mortgage, part of which was a business expense. We'd bought a few pieces of furniture, as a treat.

"And," Wes continued, "we can't go out and earn back the money unless they give us permission to work."

We had been over this road more than a few times. It was always more or less gruesome.

"Our only option is to buy an existing company with the money we have left and build it up," Wes said, not for the first time.

I may have groaned. For months, I had been getting calls from every barely break-even food service company in L.A., and I was not interested. With the rumors floating around town of our new fortune, we were being pecked to death by a flock of hungry business owners wanting out. Under these circumstances, it was not surprising that Vivian Duncan, a woman who had never spoken to me in the past, was courting me big time.

"Please, Wes, don't say we have to become wedding planners. I don't think I could face many more jittery brides."

"No, dear." He smiled at me. Wesley has a very handsome chin, and the rest of his face wasn't bad either. His thick dark hair was currently cut like a brush, which I find slightly GI, but on him it worked. As always, he was immaculately dressed. Today, he wore a simple light denim shirt and khakis, but on his tall thin frame it looked elegant.

"We are not about to pay over two million dollars for a business that would give you hives."

"Well, thank God for that, at least."

"You ever hear where Vivian disappeared to that night Whisper called?"

"Not my business. Actually, I've been avoiding giving her the big N-O."

"You ever gonna tell her?"

I took a deep breath. "I hate to disappoint people. I end up getting so worked up that when I finally talk to them, I blow it."

"Mad," Wes said, looking at me kindly. "Just say no."

"I've got to tell her tonight."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Tonight? You're going to confront Vivian Duncan with the news that we will not buy her business at the humungoid wedding of the century? You really think that's going to be the best moment to give her a pass?"

In Hollywood, we avoid mentioning words that sound too much like rejection. Series are not cancelled, anymore. They are "rotated out of the schedule." A T.V. project is not "turned down" it's "passed" on. Almost sounds like a compliment.

"I've been trying to get my nerve up to tell her for weeks," I said, "but we keep missing each other on the phone. I'll just have to tell her tonight. If I can get her alone."

A slow smile spread across Wesley's face. "You got the guts?"

"Please," I said.

Wes regarded me but let it slide. Instead he said, "Holly will be happy. She's never seen a Vivian Duncan wedding spectacular in person."

"We can't disappoint our Holly," I said, standing.

"Is this my cue to leave?" Wes looked at his watch.

I looked at mine. Three-thirty. "I better get ready. We have to be at the Museum of Nature at six."

"I know. Holly is taking this thing pretty seriously. She's actually gone to the Brandon Hoskins Salon for a Day of Beauty."

That stopped me. Our hip-hop assistant was spending a day being manicured and pedicured and, in all likelihood, getting various parts of her body seaweed-wrapped. I almost pitied the poor salon.

Laughing for maybe the first time all afternoon, I felt some of the heavy pressure lift. "This wedding could be fun."

Chapter 6.

I don't care what your mother taught you. If you are ever invited to a California wedding, wear black. Everyone does. Black is now equally appropriate for attending weddings or funerals and, frankly, for all occasions to which you must look five pounds thinner in between. Black is so cool, so classic, so slenderizing, that more and more brides are selecting gowns in basic black for their bridesmaids. Go ahead, pack a rose-colored dress if you must, but wear the black. You'll thank me for it.