Sex and Vanity

by Kevin Kwan

  Charlotte, however, had a different take on the situation. “It’s an absolute sin to be paying such an outrageous rate for a room that looks nothing like the ones shown on their website. I mean, we haven’t even talked about the decor!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s absolutely hideous. It looks like a Versace dress exploded all over my room.”

  Lucie laughed. “Well, I kind of like the giant gold octopus headboard.”

  Charlotte continued to rant. “It’s your first time on Capri, one of the most beautiful places in the world. I’ll be fine, really, but it’s totally unfair that you should be deprived of a room with a decent view.”

  Suddenly, they heard a voice behind them. “Miss, excuse me, miss.”

  Lucie and Charlotte turned around to see an Asian lady in her fifties smiling at them. She was wearing a fuchsia sarong wrap dress and an enormous black-and-white-striped hat.

  “Yes?” Charlotte asked.

  “My son and I have rooms that look out at the sea and the Faraglioni rocks. We should swap rooms!” The lady gestured at the youth—a boy of twenty—sitting across from her.

  Charlotte paused, momentarily caught off guard by the offer. Who was this curious woman with the flying-saucer hat, too much eye shadow, and quasi-English accent? And why would she give up her own rooms? “Um…that’s very kind of you to offer, but we’ll manage, thank you.”

  “Don’t just manage. If you’re so unhappy with your rooms, you should take ours.”

  Charlotte smiled stiffly. “We’re not unhappy.”

  “Oh? You’ve been complaining nonstop for the past ten minutes.”

  Charlotte felt put out by the woman’s statement. “Well, I’m sorry if we’ve disturbed you…”

  “You haven’t disturbed me, not really. But if it matters to you and your friend so much to see the sea, I want you to have our rooms. Actually, they are suites—deluxe suites—and they each have a nice living room, a bathroom with a huge Jacuzzi, and adjoining balconies. The view is amazing, I can assure you.”

  “Then it really wouldn’t be fair,” Lucie spoke up. She noticed the boy gazing at her with an intensity that she found a little disconcerting. Unlike his dramatically outfitted mother, he was dressed in khaki denim shorts, a black tank top, and Birkenstocks. But the simple nature of his outfit did nothing to camouflage the fact that he was strikingly, almost unbearably handsome. Their eyes caught for a moment, and Lucie felt a strange, almost electrical charge. She quickly averted her eyes back to his mother, who seemed relentless in her campaign.

  “Fair or not doesn’t matter to me. We have been to Capri before, and we come from Hong Kong, where our flat overlooks the harbor. And we have a house in Sydney, in Watsons Bay, where we can see whales do backflips, and another beachfront house in Hawaii, in Lanikai. We get to see the ocean till we’re sick of it, so this is nothing to us.”

  Charlotte let out a little gasp. The woman turned her attention to Lucie, and she could feel her giving her the once-over. “Are you here for Isabel Chiu’s wedding?”

  “We are,” Lucie answered.

  “So are we! How do you know Isabel?”

  “She’s a friend from childhood.”

  “Oh, you are from Taipei?” The woman looked surprised.

  “No, I’m from New York. I knew Isabel when she lived in New York.”

  “Ah, New York, I see. I love New York! Isabel’s mother and I are cousins. I’m Rosemary Zao [Maryknoll Convent School / University of Sydney / Central Saint Martins], and this is my son George [Diocesan Boys’ School / Geelong Grammar / UC Berkeley, Class of ’15]. We should all be friends, and you really should take our rooms!”

  “May I ask what the rate is for your deluxe suite?” Charlotte asked, not wanting to be stuck with an exorbitant bill at the end of their stay.

  Rosemary waved her hand dismissively. “Hiyah, don’t worry about the money. It’s my treat!”

  “No, no, that would be much too generous of you,” Charlotte said.

  While the two older ladies continued their pantomime of protestations, Lucie noticed George beginning to fold and twist the paper napkin on his table with a Zen-like calmness. Within a few moments, he had fashioned the napkin into a long-stemmed rose. He held the origami rose up and tilted it toward Lucie, as if offering it to her, before placing the flower on the brim of his mother’s hat while she was turned around talking to Charlotte.

  Weirdo, Lucie thought. Confused by his gesture, she pretended like she hadn’t seen him.

  Meanwhile, Rosemary’s voice had gone up several decibels. “No, no, it’s your first time in Capri, you should have a view of the sea. You must see the sunrise, and the sunset, and, oh—the seagulls! They are so cute; they come flying right up to my balcony and try to steal my toast! Come on, I know you’ll love it. You must take our rooms!” Lucie saw that everyone was staring openly at them now.

  “We simply cannot impose,” Charlotte said firmly.

  Rosemary gave them an exasperated look before turning to her son. “Why won’t they take our rooms? George, nei tung keoi dei gong la. Keoi dei wui teng nei ge.”*2

  Up till this point, George had sat as silent as the Sphinx, but now he looked straight at Charlotte and Lucie and spoke up in a soft drawl that was vaguely reminiscent of an Australian surfer. “There’s nothing to say. Of course you must take our rooms. We insist.”

  “Well, let me insist that we won’t!” Charlotte scoffed.

  George turned to his mother as if he hadn’t even heard Charlotte. “Let’s just speak to the manager and he’ll handle it.”

  “Yes, yes! Ettore can get housekeeping to pack up all our bags and move everything!” Rosemary said excitedly.

  This was too much for Charlotte. She stood up from the table and said, “You’re very kind, but we really cannot trouble you like this. Have a nice day. Lucie, come.”

  *1 Pretentious Italian for “olive oil” and “balsamic vinegar,” which, by the way, only Americans use to dip their bread in. Italians would never be caught dead doing anything like that, preferring to eat their bread plain.

  *2 Cantonese for “You go talk to them. They will listen to you.”

  III

  Poolside at the Bertolucci

  CAPRI, ITALY

  Charlotte and Lucie left the dining room and found a table under the loggia by the pool. As they sat down, Lucie looked at her cousin and started to giggle. She couldn’t help it—she always seemed to giggle whenever she felt uncomfortable.

  Charlotte shook her head in annoyance. “Jesus! What a crazy lady! What was her deal? Was she trying to impress us with her parade of oceanfront properties? Does she think we are some sort of charity cases that are going to bow down in gratitude just to spend a night in her ‘deluxe suite’?”

  “I think she was just doing the ‘Chinese auntie’ thing.”

  “Well, she’s not your auntie, and she’s certainly not mine.”

  “That’s not what I meant. She’s just being a bit of a showoff but trying to be generous at the same time. I’ve met a bunch of Mom’s relatives who are just like that. You should see these ladies fighting over the bill at lunch. It’s like watching an opera.”

  “What do you mean? They don’t want to pay their fair share?”

  “No, Charlotte, they’re all fighting to pick up the whole check! They screech at each other, play tug-of-war over the bill, or try to bribe the waiter not to let anyone else pay. Apparently it’s considered good manners to make a big show of it,” Lucie tried to explain.

  “I’ll never understand that sort of behavior. To me, this woman crossed a line. And what do you make of that son of hers?”

  “I’m not sure. He barely spoke,” Lucie said with restraint. The truth was she had an instant aversion to really attractive guys, ever since her eighth-grade boyfriend, Ryan
Frick—who looked like a young Jared Leto—two-timed her with Maggie Hoover, a Spence girl who was known to everyone in their generation because she could put her entire fist in her mouth.

  “Well, I thought he seemed like an arrogant snot! Who is he to insist that we take their rooms? My God, this hotel is turning out to be a nightmare. First they give us the wrong rooms, and then we have to deal with these sort of people. I should have listened to Giles, my travel editor, and just shelled out the money for the Punta Tragara. This would never have happened there. Penny wise, pound foolish, as they say. Shall I call them up and see if they have any ocean-view rooms available? I don’t care what we have to pay anymore. I’ll call up Diane at the family office and sell some bonds if I have to.”

  Just as Lucie was about to answer, she saw someone familiar in the distance. “Look at that man coming down those steps. Isn’t that Auden Beebe?”

  Charlotte peered at the tall man in his forties with a perfectly groomed beard and shoulder-length blond hair walking through the archway of the lobby out onto the terrace. “It sure is! Auden! Auden!”

  Auden Beebe (City and Country / Saint Ann’s / Amherst*) turned and approached them. “Hullo,” he said warmly, although it was clear that he recognized the ladies without quite being able to place them. As a celebrated yoga master, life coach, motivational speaker, and self-help author (his bestseller, The Preppie Guru, had been on the New York Times bestseller list for the past two years), he was accustomed to meeting thousands of people who felt that they knew him intimately.

  “Auden, it’s Charlotte Barclay and Lucie Churchill. We were at your workshop at Canyon Ranch last spring? In Lenox?” Charlotte said effusively.

  “Yes, of course, the cousins!” Auden said, breaking into a wide smile. “What brings you to Capri?”

  “We’re here for a wedding,” Lucie answered.

  “Ah. Let me guess…Dolfi De Vecchi’s?”

  “Yes!” Lucie and Charlotte said in unison.

  “Dolfi has been coming to my workshops for years, and Isabel more recently. I’m officiating the wedding.”

  “What serendipity!” Charlotte was clearly enraptured by the trifecta of Auden’s fame, his family’s listing in The Social Register, and his resemblance to Alexander Skarsgård.

  “Mr. Beebe, is it true you’re opening a Preppie Guru Lounge in East Hampton?” Lucie asked.

  “Please call me Auden, and yes, next summer. It’s going to be a pop-up on Newtown Lane, right next door to James Perse. We’re going to start small at first and offer an Ayurvedic juice bar, qigong, puppy yoga, breath work meditation, and maybe some sound healing. See what the community responds to.”

  “Excuse my ignorance, but what is puppy yoga?” Charlotte inquired.

  “It’s a yoga session in a room filled with puppies. They’ll be frolicking around your mat and licking you in the face while you’re in downward dog.”

  “How adorable! My family summers in East Hampton, and I’m going to be at puppy yoga every day,” Lucie said.

  “Terrific! In the meantime, I’ll be leading yoga every morning down by the pool here, minus the puppies.”

  Just then, two ladies in their sixties dressed in smartly tailored linen pantsuits stopped by their table on their way to the garden. One of them smiled wryly at Charlotte. “You poor things! We saw what happened in the dining room. I’m sorry you were put in that situation. What an atrocious lack of manners!”

  “She’s been like that all week,” added the other lady. “She overheard us talking about how much we loved the orchids at this flower shop next to the church, and the next thing you know we came back to our suite and found it filled with orchids. Dozens of pots, compliments of Rosemary Zao! Now it looks like we’re having a wake!”

  “I do hope you and your friend can get your rooms sorted out to your satisfaction,” the first lady said to Charlotte sympathetically.

  “Thank you. Lucie is actually my cousin. My mother and her father were brother and sister,” Charlotte said.

  “Oh, how nice,” the ladies said in unison. They nodded at Auden before walking on, and his curiosity was piqued. “May I ask what happened in the dining room that so scandalized the unflappable Ortiz sisters of Manila?”

  Lucie and Charlotte hesitated for a split second, and Auden immediately picked up on it. “Apologies, I’m being too nosy.”

  “No, you’re fine,” Charlotte said, before breathlessly recounting what had just transpired with Rosemary Zao in the dining room. “…she kept insisting, and she was making such a spectacle of it, we felt so uncomfortable that we had to seek refuge here.”

  “Actually, I think she was trying to be nice—it just came out in a peculiar way,” Lucie interjected.

  “Peculiar is an understatement! She was trying much too hard, and I can’t figure out what her angle is,” Charlotte said.

  “What if there was no angle? I think, coming from New York, you have a natural instinct to look for a motive in everything…I do the same thing myself,” Auden offered. “Having gotten to know Mrs. Zao, I think her offer was likely made in a pure spirit. She’s only known me for a few days, but she’s already invited me to do a workshop in Hong Kong and even told me she’d arrange the space to host it and invite all her friends. And yesterday, she spontaneously ordered pineapple and coconut sorbets for everyone lying around the pool. I thought it was a lovely gesture.”

  Charlotte let out a deep sigh. “Well, I guess I’ve made a mistake. You think I’ve been too suspicious and judgmental?”

  “Charlotte, Auden’s not saying that…,” Lucie began.

  “Not at all,” Auden insisted.

  “Yes, I’m afraid my weakness is that I’m too uptight and proper. I believe too much in decorum. Everyone says it.”

  Lucie wanted to roll her eyes but kept herself in check. She knew this game of her cousin’s all too well—Charlotte was the queen of guilt trips, and now she was looking her straight in the eye. “Lucie, everything I do, I do with the best of intentions. I’m here out of your generosity, and my only interest is in safeguarding your good name.”

  “My good name? You sound as if we’re living in the Edwardian age!” Lucie laughed.

  “Lucie, you are a Churchill, don’t ever forget that. Your name and standing are everything, and wherever you go, you are representing the family.”

  There it was, the “family” reminder that Charlotte never failed to invoke. Charlotte was inordinately proud of their storied roots—all that lore about being Mayflower descendants who married into one of Britain’s most aristocratic families and kept the roof over their castle repaired thanks to their great-great-great-grandfather’s Wall Street fortune. Lucie tried to brush it off, but then she realized Charlotte was still going on about it.

  “Your mother specifically wanted me to look out for you, but maybe I’ve been too overzealous in my attempts to protect you. Would you like me to obligate you to these strangers? Would you like me to see if the Zaos want to be turned out of their rooms?”

  Lucie sighed in resignation. “No, I wouldn’t want you to do that.”

  Auden observed the stalemate between the two cousins and decided to make an offer. “Ladies, might I make a suggestion? Since I know the Zaos a bit better, I am happy to act as your intermediary. I’ll see if they are truly willing to trade their rooms, and if the offer still stands, I will make sure they aren’t going to be inconvenienced.”

  “Well, apart from that, I do want to be sure there are no expectations implicit in their offer,” Charlotte said.

  Auden paused for a split second, catching her drift. “Yes, yes, of course. And if the Zaos have changed their minds, I can promise you there will be no awkwardness.”

  Charlotte gave Lucie a circumspect look before turning to the man. “Auden, you are a godsend!”

  * Dropped out his junior year to go t
o shaman school in Peru.

  IV

  The Gardens of Augustus

  CAPRI, ITALY

  The Gardens of Augustus were once part of the estate of the German munitions heir Friedrich Alfred Krupp, who created a series of expansive terraces perched high on a cliff that afforded incredible views of the island and the sea. Here, pathways lined with lush beds of pink geraniums and dahlias wound around towering Italian cypresses on meticulously manicured lawns.

  Arriving at the garden gates, Charlotte whispered urgently to Lucie, “Are we at the wrong party?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lucie said, glancing again at the invitation on her phone as they joined the clusters of guests lining up to enter the park.

  Charlotte surveyed the assembled group of men and women dressed as though they had been invited to cocktails at Buckingham Palace. “You said tonight was going to be casual!”

  “I swear that’s what the invitation says. Welcome cocktails. Informal,” Lucie insisted.

  “Well, everyone here is obviously illiterate. On what planet is this considered ‘informal’?” Charlotte grumbled as she eyed the lady ahead of them in a pearl-gray cocktail dress, her ruby-and-diamond pendant drop earrings sparkling in the late-afternoon sun. Charlotte was wearing her favorite sleeveless navy linen dress from Max Mara, which she thought she had smartened up with a brown pashmina embroidered with blue flowers draped around her shoulders, but among this crowd she might as well be dressed for the farmers’ market. Lucie at least looked dressier in her calf-length ice-blue Stella McCartney dress, and she had the advantages of her improbably photogenic features and youth.