Sex and Vanity

by Kevin Kwan

  Charlotte stared at Lucie fearfully. “What did George do?”

  “What he did, Charlotte, was he followed me outside when the movie was over, pushed me against a wall, and shoved his tongue down my throat!” Lucie said melodramatically.

  Charlotte put her hands to her face. “Oh my God, Lucie! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I got away from him fast.”

  “What is it with that boy? It’s the second time he’s tried to seduce you. He’s never gotten over you, has he?”

  “He humiliated me! He clearly hasn’t gotten the message that I’m about to become Mrs. Cecil Pike,” Lucie huffed, trying to sound indignant.

  “Did you tell Cecil?”

  “Are you mad? Of course I didn’t.”

  “Thank God! Knowing Cecil, he’d probably try to challenge George to a duel!”

  Lucie didn’t respond, but she suddenly had a vision of Cecil dressed up in a crisp white fencing uniform and helmet, saber in hand. It’s not a saber, Lucie, it’s called an épée, she could hear him already correcting her, as he assumed the proper fencing stance opposite George, who stood before him in his standard black tank top and surfer shorts. Cecil waved his épée threateningly in the air with great flourish, while George, in one swift Jean-Claude Van Damme move, raised his leg and kicked Cecil in the head, knocking him out cold.

  “Where is George now?” Charlotte asked, snapping Lucie out of her daydream.

  “He hightailed it back to Manhattan after the movie.”

  “With his tail between his legs, I should hope!”

  Suddenly, all Lucie could think of was George between her legs, ravishing her with his hands, with his tongue, with his deliciously hard…Stop, stop, stop it! Why was she thinking such obscene, shameful things? Wasn’t fantasizing about another man the same as cheating on Cecil? She couldn’t do this to Cecil; she couldn’t do this to herself. She couldn’t ruin her whole life because of some inexplicable obsession with George Zao. Yes, that’s what it was. She could admit it to herself now. She was obsessed, utterly obsessed with him, and it just wasn’t right. She had been torturing herself since the day she had found out he rented Cissinghurst, and it had tormented her to the edge of insanity. It had turned her life upside down. She had lost her appetite, she felt sick and anxious all the time, she was having the most intense dreams about reenacting pagan love rituals in cliffside caverns with George. It wasn’t natural to have these kinds of dreams, to feel such things for a man whom she didn’t even like. George was the polar opposite of the kind of guys she liked. He didn’t grow up in New York. He wasn’t suave and sophisticated. He didn’t dress properly. He didn’t in any way resemble Cary Elwes in The Princess Bride. He was nothing like the husband she had always envisioned for herself. He had driven her crazy and done nothing but mess up her life and mess with her head since the moment she had first set eyes on him in the lunchroom of the Bertolucci, and the one thing she hated more than anything was messy. Her life, her image, her whole being up till this point, had been a study in perfection. She had gone to Brearley and had always been popular as Lucie Tang Churchill, the cool half-Asian girl. She had graduated from Brown with honors. She had landed her dream job with the coolest company in town, and she was about to marry a dashing, erudite gentleman whom even Esquire proclaimed “The Most Desired Dude on the Planet.” They would live in an exquisitely original town house in the West Village, summer in East Hampton, and maybe even get a place in Provence. They would both serve on the boards of the Brooklyn Museum of Art and PS1 and maybe even the Dia. They would in precisely four and a half years start to have beautiful, gifted children (a boy, then a girl) who would attend Saint Bernard’s and Brearley, followed by Harvard or Brown or Bard—actually, no, not Bard, Brearley girls didn’t go to Bard—and be adored by everyone, adored by Granny, adored by all the Churchills. And if all went as planned, she would see Cecil and her children’s names appear alongside hers in The Social Register, and it would be the happiest day of Cecil’s life. There was no way in hell she was going to let George ruin this magnificent life she had planned out for herself since she was eight years old. All the happiness in her future, her family’s future, her children’s future, depended on the removal of George from her life.

  Lucie got up and turned to Charlotte decisively. “First thing tomorrow, you’re coming on a drive with me, Charlotte. We’re going to the city and we’re going to find George Zao. You were responsible for this mess, so you’re going to help me end it. Once and for all.”

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  XII

  Three Lives & Company

  WEST VILLAGE

  “Why are we meeting him at a bookshop?” Charlotte asked, as they approached the red French doors of Three Lives & Company on Waverly Place.

  “His office is at South Street Seaport, and I didn’t want to meet him way down there. And I didn’t want to be spotted with him anywhere on the Upper East Side either, so I thought this would be neutral territory where no one will know us,” Lucie explained, as they entered the quaint little bookshop filled with green shaded reading lamps that cast a cozy warm glow over the space.

  Lucie walked to the back of the shop to check if he was there. Perched against a shelf, flipping through a copy of Alan Hollinghurst’s The Stranger’s Child was Cecil’s mother.

  “Lucie! I didn’t know you’d be coming into the city today!”

  “Yes…er…I’m on my way to meet with a client,” Lucie blurted out as she attempted to hide her shock. It was the first thing she could think to say.

  “Oh, look, here’s your cousin,” Renée said cheerily, as Charlotte peeked around the corner. “I suppose she must be coming to meet your client too.”

  Lucie looked at her like a deer trapped in headlights.

  Charlotte came to the rescue. “Mrs. Pike! What a divine jacket you’re wearing! Off-White?”

  “Alexander McQueen couture.”

  “Of course it is. Now, what brings you so far south, Mrs. Pike?”

  “Please call me Renée. I’m on the board of God’s Love We Deliver. I’m killing a little time before a board meeting and thought I’d come in here to take a browse.”

  “God’s Love—what a wonderful organization! I volunteered at their kitchen one Thanksgiving. Now, Lucie, have you found the book you wanted to get for Cecil? We’re going to be very late!” Charlotte announced.

  “What book are you getting for Cecil?” Renée asked.

  “Er…I already looked, and they don’t have it,” Lucie said, irritated that Charlotte had dug her into a deeper hole.

  “Well, perhaps Toby can help you find it? Who is the author?” Renée prodded.

  “Um, Maira Kalman,” Lucie said, spying one of her books on the shelf behind Renée.

  “Oh, I love Maira! But has Robert approved the book yet?”

  “Approved?” Lucie looked at her, confused.

  “Well, you know Robert only allows books with distressed spines in Cecil’s library. One shiny new spine could throw the whole look off.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot.”

  “Excuse us, we really are very late!” Charlotte interjected.

  As they walked toward the exit, the door suddenly opened and a blond lady in a chic camel driving coat entered with a little towheaded boy.

  “Lucie Tang Churchill! Long time no see!” the lady said.

  “Lief! What are you doing here?” Lucie gasped.

  “A good friend of mine lives in the Village, so every time I come down to visit him, I pop in here to grab the latest children’s books for William.”

  “And who is
this now?” Charlotte asked grimly.

  “Oh, sorry, Lief, meet my cousin Charlotte. Lief was my tennis partner a few summers ago at Dorset,” Lucie explained.

  Renée poked her head around. “Lief, is that you?”

  “Renée! What are you doing here?” Lief squealed. Turning to Lucie and Charlotte, she explained, “I just saw Renée this morning at qigong class. We must be on the same vibration!”

  “Yes, unfortunately we need to vibrate straight out the door!” Charlotte declared, taking Lucie firmly by the shoulder and steering her outside. Ducking around the corner, Charlotte let out an exasperated sigh. “What in the world possessed you to pick that dangerously adorable bookshop? Everyone you know in the whole wide world is in there today! What if Renée sees you with George? I think we should abort the mission!”

  “Too late,” Lucie said grimly as she saw George walking up West Tenth Street toward them.

  “Hey,” he said. “Did you want to go inside?”

  “Noooo!” the ladies said in unison.

  George frowned. “So why did you want to meet here?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Charlotte said, as she marched Lucie and George down the street, turned right on Greenwich Avenue, and herded them into Jefferson Market Garden. Finding a bench hidden deep in the lush foliage next to the lily pond, Charlotte sat down and looked from Lucie to George. “Well, here we all are.”

  Lucie folded her arms pensively, summoning the courage to say what she had come to say.

  George gazed at her calmly. “I suppose you want to talk about Olivia’s film?”

  Lucie shook her head. “I want to talk about what happened after the film. Actually, I don’t. I just want you to promise that you’ll never set foot in my house in East Hampton ever again.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, isn’t it your brother’s house? He invited me over for poker night next Saturday.”

  “It may technically be Freddie’s house, but it is my childhood home and I still spend the summers there. And I don’t ever wish to see you again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have crossed a line. You insulted me within twenty feet of my future husband by trying to kiss me last night.”

  “You thought that was insulting?”

  “What is wrong with you, you monster? You forced yourself on her! You’re lucky that we’re not reporting this to anyone!” Charlotte exploded.

  George gazed at Charlotte in shock. “Is that what she told you?” He turned back to Lucie, looking mystified.

  “I think you have a problem, George. You don’t seem to understand that your advances toward Lucie have been inappropriate and unwanted,” Charlotte said in a gentler tone.

  George snorted. “Inappropriate and unwanted? Lucie, in case I’m remembering incorrectly, you kissed me first in Positano. You shoved your hands down my pants last night and begged me to fuck you.”

  Charlotte stared at Lucie for confirmation.

  Lucie’s face turned bright red. Ignoring Charlotte, she took the opportunity to double down on her words. “You have offended me gravely, and you have offended my future husband. You need to realize that your proximity, your mother’s proximity, to my family, is making me very uncomfortable in light of all that’s happened.”

  “All that’s happened? We made out, Lucie. You’re making it sound like it was some tragedy.”

  “It wasn’t a tragedy, but it was a mistake, George. A big mistake. I was young and foolish in Capri, but there was no excuse for what happened last night. Do you not care that I’m about to marry Cecil?”

  George sighed deeply. “If Cecil were anyone else, you know I would never have kissed you. I would never do anything to disrespect the both of you. But you can’t really be serious about marrying him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he doesn’t love you!”

  “How dare you say that! How could you possibly know how he feels?”

  “Because of who Cecil is. He doesn’t even know you! He doesn’t have a clue who you really are, or the fact that you’d never be caught dead driving an Aston Martin. He loves the idea of you, the image of you; he just wants to post beautiful, hot pictures of you and him and see how many likes he gets. He’s in love with the social media impression of you, how you enhance his brand. It’s all about sex and vanity to him, nothing else! He can’t possibly love you in the way you deserve to be loved because he’s incapable of seeing you as a real person, a real woman. But I see you. I see the beauty inside you, and also your sadness, your fears, your flaws. I see exactly who you are and I love you for all those things, Lucie. I’ve loved you since the moment we met. I love your family, I love your mind, and I love your art. I want to be there to support your passions and dreams, whatever they are, and I want to know you more so I can love you more.”

  Lucie was stunned speechless. Her throat felt like it was closing up, but she stubbornly stood her ground. “There’s only one problem. I don’t want all that from you.”

  George stood stock-still for a moment, and then gazed at her fiercely. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care what you believe!” Lucie shrieked, throwing up her hands.

  Charlotte placed a hand on Lucie’s shoulder, trying to calm her down. “Lucie, please…”

  “Stop it, Charlotte! Haven’t you done enough?” Lucie turned back to George. “I’m in love with someone else and I’m going to be his wife in September. So will you please just…just go. Just leave us alone.”

  “Can you hear yourself? You can’t even say his name!” George groaned, looking to Charlotte in frustration. “Do you believe her? Do you really want to see her married to someone like Cecil?”

  “I…I’m here to support Lucie, and I think right now you both just need to stop fighting and calm down,” Charlotte sputtered.

  George placed his hands on Lucie’s shoulders, staring into her face. “Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. Tell me you really don’t love me.”

  Lucie’s eyes darted away from his as she fought back her tears. She couldn’t ruin everything, not even for him. “I don’t love you.”

  An ocean of hurt flashed across George’s face. Then he turned abruptly and walked off without another word.

  “George! Stop, George!” Charlotte cried out.

  Lucie glared at her cousin as if to say, Get a hold of yourself!

  Charlotte sat there with tears in her eyes. She knew now—hearing George’s words and looking into his face today—that she had made a huge mistake. She had been wrong about him today. She had been wrong about him from the very beginning.

  XIII

  Doubles

  FIFTH AVENUE

  The handsomely appointed lobby of the Sherry-Netherland hotel was a haven of tranquility just steps away from the hustle and bustle of Fifth Avenue, with its discreetly watchful uniformed attendants, dignified Louis XV bergère chairs, and barrel-vault ceilings painted with neoclassical scenes. Ten feet into the lobby was a velvet panel on the left that looked like it was part of the wall, but when the select crowd who knew of its existence pushed against it, the hidden panel would swing open smoothly, revealing a narrow red carpeted stairway that was like a secret passage to one of New York’s most legendary hideouts.

  One flight down was Doubles, a private dining club that was one perpetual, elegant, raucous party from the moment it opened for lunch till the last scented votive candle was snuffed out late into the evening. Every surface of the exclusive subterranean playground was bordello red, from the red floors to the red ceiling, and mirrored walls only amplified this empire of scarlet. With founding members ranging from Rockefellers and Whitneys to society icons like Nan Kempner and the much-missed comedienne Joan Rivers, one ceased to notice the red after a minute or two because the club was always pac
ked elbow to elbow with the sort of crowd that added the true color to the place.

  Lucie had been coming here since she was a young girl—Doubles was a regular haunt for the Churchills in the same way that TGI Fridays might be for a different set, the local standby when they couldn’t be bothered to think of anywhere else to go. Today, as Lucie navigated through the festive crowd to their table, she wasn’t in much of a celebratory mood. It had been only a few days since the big confrontation with George, and though she hated to admit it, she was still a complete wreck. She had decimated several boxes of chocolate truffles and hadn’t slept a wink in the past few nights, as she lay in bed replaying the encounter over and over again in her head.

  It didn’t help that everything Cecil did seemed to annoy her today. He had been the one to suggest lunch at Doubles, which had become one of his favorite eateries, and he had made her change outfits twice, finally producing a Chanel couture dress that was yet another gift from his mother. Now she was irritated by Cecil’s insistence on stopping at practically every table along the way to greet yet another society doyenne. Fed up, Lucie decided to let Cecil work the tables at his leisure and went on ahead of him.

  “Here you go, Ms. Churchill,” the hostess said, showing Lucie to the corner table where Charlotte sat pensively waiting.

  “It’s absolutely packed today! What is going on?” Charlotte asked.

  “Mom isn’t here yet?”

  “No sight of her,” Charlotte replied.

  Lucie frowned. It wasn’t like her mom to be late to anything.

  “Where’s Cecil?”

  “He’s making the rounds.”

  “Quite the mocialite, isn’t he?”

  “Ugh, I hate that term, Charlotte! Please don’t call Cecil that!”

  “You don’t think it fits him perfectly? He’s the quintessential male socialite—he doesn’t really seem to work, he spends most of his time jetting around the world to parties, and he’s far more popular here than you’ll ever be.”