by Kevin Kwan
“So is Freddie, and you wouldn’t call him a mocialite,” Lucie countered as she observed the sea of humanity parting to allow Freddie to cross the room diagonally from the dessert buffet, holding his plate high above his head. Every few feet, he would cast his winsome smile onto some girl he knew and she would come rushing up to him to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Freddie’s not trying to climb any ladders or get on any boards. He’s just the rascal next door that every girl wants to shag,” Charlotte said.
Lucie rolled her eyes. “Listen to you, Charlotte! One year in London and you’re sounding just like one of them.”
Freddie arrived at their table with several lipstick marks on his face. He sat across from Charlotte, putting down a plate piled with the biggest heap of chocolate mousse and fresh whipped cream that she’d ever seen.
“You’re starting with dessert?” Charlotte asked.
“Why not? I’m starving. Where’s Mom?”
“Right behind you,” Lucie said, as Marian came rushing up to the table.
“So sorry, I was dealing with a little crisis. Freddie, please don’t tell me you’re going to eat all that mousse before your lunch.”
“This is my lunch.”
Marian shook her head in dismay. “I weep for your kidneys.”
“Did one of your researchers screw up at the lab again?” Lucie inquired.
“No, I wish. That I can fix easily.” Marian sighed. “You know this year is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Animal Rescue Fund of Long Island, and we were planning our biggest summer gala yet. Jane Goodall was our special honoree, and everyone was so excited about that. But we just heard that she’s had to drop out because of some chimpanzee emergency back in Tanzania.”
“Oh dear, I hope the chimps are going to be okay,” Charlotte remarked.
Marian let out a deep sigh. “So now who are we going to get to take her place less than a week before the gala?”
“Leo,” Freddie volunteered.
“Ha! Fat chance!” Marian said.
Just then, Cecil arrived at the table. “Fat chance what?” he asked.
“Jane Goodall had to drop out as the honoree at Mom’s charity benefit, and Freddie suggested trying to get Leonardo DiCaprio,” Lucie explained.
“Ha! Fat chance!” Cecil said. “Lucie, would you come with me for a moment? I’d like to introduce you to Princess Marie-Laure de Polignac, who’s lunching with Elizabeth Merchant and Lord Ivory today.”
“Can we order first?” Lucie asked.
“Marie-Laure needs to see your engagement ring,” Cecil added.
“But I’m not wearing it today,” Lucie said.
“What? I specifically told you to wear it to lunch!” Cecil groaned in dismay.
“Cecil, I have to go down to Soho Art Materials after this to get supplies. I can’t be schlepping canvases and stuff wearing that ring.”
“Why do you need to be schlepping anything in the first place? I’ve told you so many times I have a multitude of underlings from Pike Projects ready to wait on you hand and foot. They can get you whatever you want, whenever you want, and deliver it right to the door of your barn in East Hampton.”
“But I need to choose the materials myself, Cecil. The brushes, the paints, everything.”
“Well then, where is your ring? I’ll have one of my three personal assistants go to the apartment and bring it here to you. It can be done within fifteen minutes.” Cecil took out his phone and began texting away furiously.
“Are you sure you want one of your assistants to go to all that trouble?” Lucie asked.
“Of course. What’s the point of being a billionaire if you can’t have an army of slaves at your beck and call to do whatever you want? My mother has one girl who does nothing but fly around the world doing all her returns for her.”
“But is it so crucial for her to see the ring right now?”
“Absolutely. Everyone’s been talking about my ring, and Marie-Laure has one of the most legendary joaillier collections on the planet. If Marie-Laure approves of the ring, she might actually come to the wedding!”
“Who is she again?” Lucie cocked her head.
“Baby, her family owns the Imperial Hotel in Gstaad and she’s a dear friend of my mother’s. We’re going to be seeing her every February from now on when we do the season in Gstaad.”
Freddie looked up from his plate. “I didn’t know you skied, Cecil.”
“I don’t. I go to Gstaad for the season.”
Lucie finally gave in, knowing Cecil wouldn’t stop fixating on this till he got what he wanted. “The ring is in the top-left drawer of my highboy, behind all my sunglass cases. Mom, could you please call Tony and tell him someone’s coming by?”
Marian gave her a weary look. “Mary’s got the day off—there’s no one at home right now. Are you sure we want a total stranger up there?”
Charlotte leaned in. “Do you trust your assistant, Cecil?”
“Of course I do!” Cecil insisted.
Marian reached into her thirty-year-old Coach handbag and got out her phone. “What’s the name of your assistant? I need to tell Tony to let them up.”
“I don’t know,” Cecil answered.
Marian looked up at Cecil incredulously. “Uh…you don’t know the name of the assistant you’re going to be sending to rummage through my home looking for a multimillion-dollar ring?”
“Marian, they change so frequently, I can’t be bothered to keep track of their names. Rose, Kirk, Lili, Emile, who the hell knows? But I can ensure you not a single one of them would ever be stupid enough to risk being fired for screwing up this errand. We only hire kids from the Ivys, and they are all grossly overpaid if you ask me. Besides, the ring is insured, and trust me, there’s really nothing in your apartment that anyone would want to steal.”
Freddie projectile spat his mouthful of chocolate mousse all over his plate as he burst out in laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Cecil asked angrily.
“Nothing,” Freddie answered lightly. “Where’s the waiter? Don’t we need to order?”
Lucie fumed as Marian and Charlotte sat in uncomfortable silence, not sure how to resolve this matter.
“You know what? If you don’t trust one of my Ivy League minions, I will go and get the ring myself,” Cecil announced, rising from the table and rushing off just as the waiter arrived to take their orders.
“Oh well, let’s go ahead and order first. I’m not waiting for Cecil,” Marian said decisively.
After everyone had placed their lunch orders, Charlotte suggested, “Let’s google some famous animal activists and find the perfect person to honor at your benefit, Marian.”
“Yes, who should we try for?” Marian wondered.
Charlotte scrolled through her phone. “Okay…here’s a good list of celebs. Let’s see…Paul McCartney…we’ll never get him either. How about Penélope Cruz? She was so good in the latest Almodóvar film.”
“Hmm…I’m not sure she’s quite right for this crowd,” Marian assessed.
“Jared Leto.”
“Love him, but not right for this crowd either,” Lucie assessed.
“Oh, how about Bea Arthur?”
“She’s dead,” Freddie said.
“When did she die?!” Charlotte cried.
“Like, years ago,” Freddie replied.
“How sad! I must have missed that news cycle. Wait, here’s a good one for the Long Island crowd—Wendy Williams.”
“That’s a good possibility. Any others?”
Charlotte gasped. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! Cornelia Guest!”
“Oh, she’d be terrific!” Marian agreed.
Charlotte held up a PETA ad featuring Cornelia with an incredible mane of blond hair cleverly covering up her volup
tuous nude body, accompanied by the slogan I’D RATHER GO NAKED THAN WEAR FUR.
“She’s a babe!” Freddie said.
“She’s so much more than a babe, Freddie. She’s an actress, she’s a cruelty-free fashion connoisseur who designed a line of vegan handbags, she runs her own vegan catering company and animal rescue operation, and she’s actually from Long Island!” Charlotte read out loud from the web page.
“Even more perfect!” Marian clapped her hands together excitedly.
“You know, I think Cecil might actually know her,” Lucie said.
“Really? Then this will be a piece of cake! Making the connection is the hardest part. Usually I have to spend months going through all these awful PR reps, agents, and managers to get to anyone famous.”
When Cecil returned to the table, everyone looked at him in anticipation.
Lucie grabbed his arm eagerly. “Cecil, we solved Mom’s problem while you were away. Cornelia Guest!”
“What about her?”
“Mom wants to honor her at the summer gala for the Animal Rescue Fund of Long Island!”
“She’ll never do it.”
Lucie was confused. “But isn’t she your friend?”
“Of course she is…but I wouldn’t dare ask her.”
“Why not?” Lucie asked.
Cecil paused for a moment. “I just know she’ll say no.”
“Why?” Marian prodded.
“I hate to say this, but I think it would be too low class an affair for her.”
“Low class!” Marian looked taken aback.
Charlotte was indignant. “But Cornelia’s a huge champion of animal rights, and she grew up on Long Island!”
“Not that part of Long Island. She’s from Old Westbury, which as you well know is haute WASP country. Besides, I think she’s mostly in LA these days, busy with acting projects.”
“But our crowd would adore her. They would open up their pockets even more at the gala. Come on, Cecil, pleeeeease? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg?” Marian said with a little laugh.
“Oh, Cecil, won’t you please just ask her? What’s the harm in just asking, for Mom’s sake?” Lucie pleaded.
“Lucie, Cornelia Guest was the Debutante of the Decade in the eighties. She was BFFs with Andy Warhol, and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor were her godparents. She’s the daughter of polo legend Winston Guest and C. Z. Guest, who was the swan of all swans, and she’s the closest thing we have to royalty in this country. Trust me, we will never get her to come to your mother’s dinky fund-raiser, and I wouldn’t dream of wasting my social currency to ask her.”
Everyone was stunned speechless. After an awkward pause, Charlotte cleared her throat and offered encouragingly, “Well, let me see how I can connect the dots to Wendy Williams. I think someone on my PR team in London will know how to get to her.”
Cecil nodded. “Yes, Wendy Williams, whoever she is, will be a much better choice. Now, Lucie, please put on this 26.5-million-dollar ring I bought for you—and designed myself—and come with me to meet the princess!”
Lucie could feel her jaw grinding in rage. She forced the ring on to her finger and got up from the banquette.
“Wait—where’s the jacket Mother gave you?” Cecil asked.
“It’s draped behind Freddie’s seat.”
“Well, put it on! It’s Chanel couture, and Marie-Laure is very close to Karl. She’ll be so touched to see you in it.”
Freddie, Marian, and Charlotte watched in silence as Lucie put on her black-and-white bouclé jacket and walked slowly behind Cecil as he weaved expertly through the crowded room.
XIV
Rockefeller Center
MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
After lunch, everyone dispersed in various directions—Marian had to get back to her lab at Columbia; Charlotte was off to her dermatologist for a “mole check,” which everyone knew meant that she was getting Botox; Freddie was going to meet a friend for tea at Cha-An; and Cecil had his weekly appointment with his wealth psychologist.
Lucie, who was headed to Christie’s to look at some Hockneys coming up for auction for a client, decided to walk the ten blocks or so to Rockefeller Center since it was such a pleasant summer afternoon. Freddie, who was on his way to the East Village, decided to stroll down Fifth Avenue with his sister for a while.
They walked in perfect sync, keeping the same pace the way siblings often did, Freddie texting away at warp speed, barely looking up while expertly dodging the multitude of tourists, dogs on leashes, babies in strollers, and other sidewalk obstacles that got in his way as only a native of this island knew how, while Lucie stared straight ahead, never making eye contact with passersby.
“Ha ha—mission accomplished! Only took four texts,” Freddie proudly announced.
“What mission?” Lucie asked distractedly.
“Cornelia Guest said yes to Mom’s gala!”
Lucie stopped dead in her tracks and stared at her brother. “How on earth did you pull that off?”
An office lady walking a few paces behind them swerved around them and cussed loudly, “Fuckin’ Asian tourist,” yet the siblings didn’t seem to notice.
“I texted my friend Sloane, who texted her friend Chai who went to Brearley with Penelope, who as it turns out is related to Cornelia. And Cornelia just texted me right back. Look: ‘I am honored and thrilled!!!’ ”
Lucie looked at the text, shaking her head in wonder as they started walking again. “It didn’t even occur to me to use the Brearley connection. Everything just happens so easily for you!”
“It may look easy to you, but I was formulating a plan all through lunch. Remember the theory of six degrees of separation, where anyone on the planet can be connected to anyone else through no more than six different people? Like I could be connected to Cornelia if I just found the right six people to connect me to her? I looked at her Instagram and noticed that along with animals, she’s into art and fashion, so who of my WASPy fashion friends might know her? Well, Sloane interns in the Vogue fashion closet* and knows everyone. I remember this story about how a big fashion shoot at the Armory fell through at the last minute and Sloane texted her mom, who made one call and was able to shut down the MoMA Sculpture Garden for a whole day so they could do the shoot. So I started with her and just got lucky, I guess.”
“See, you’ve always had that luck. I feel like I’ve never had a fraction of the kind of luck that you were born with.”
“Me? Born lucky?” Freddie snorted.
“Oh my God, Freddie, look in the mirror! Actually, look at your reflection in this window!”
Freddie glanced quickly at the Bergdorf window. “Ooh, I like that linen jacket with the bamboo print. Think that’ll look good on me?”
“Everything looks good on you, Freddie! That’s my point. You’re the perfect mix of Asian and WASP, and that’s why Granny adores you.”
“She adores you too.”
“That’s not true at all. She has come to ‘appreciate me.’ Her actual words, not mine. You know, when I was a little girl, Dad and Mom would send me down to Florida to spend summers with her, and she would spend all her time trying to fix me? I was subjected to hours of etiquette lessons, speech lessons, bizarre Victorian-era posture exercises. She would get her maids to poke and prod me till I looked acceptable enough to accompany her to one of her clubs. This frightful maid, Oonagh, would spend hours brushing out my hair till my scalp bled. Everyone thought I was having such a good time in Hobe Sound, but it was torture.”
“Fuuuck! I had no idea. Although I remember Granny would occasionally say things to me like, ‘I’m so glad you got your father’s eyes, not your mother’s.’ I remember thinking that sounded totally whack. But look who’s laughing now. You have the prettiest hair, Lucie, everyone says so.”
“Thanks, but it take
s a lot of work to make it look like this, while you just roll out of bed every morning and your hair looks like it’s straight out of an Aveda ad. And besides, you were born at just the right time. You don’t remember Mom being depressed, do you? Like, not just saying she was depressed, but actually being so depressed she couldn’t even get out of bed.”
Freddie shook his head.
“You were barely four when Dad died. I had to deal with it all—I took care of you, I shielded you from everything, and by the time you were fully conscious Mom had already adjusted to all her meds, so you’ve only ever known ‘Happy Mom.’ You have no idea how lucky you are.”
“I guess I don’t.” Freddie suddenly stopped and gave Lucie a big bear hug.
“What was that for?” Lucie asked.
“For being so lucky to have you as a big sister.”
Lucie smiled. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m going on and on about this. I guess I was just a bit blown away by how effortlessly you charmed Cornelia into coming to Mom’s fund-raiser.”
They walked in silence until they reached Forty-Ninth Street.
“Okay, I’m going this way,” Lucie said.
“Wait a minute.” Freddie paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “You know, you say you’re unlucky, but I’ve never seen it that way. I’ve always seen you as the lucky one.”
“Oh yeah? Name three ways that I’m luckier than you.”
“That’s easy. You got to have time with Dad. I have his things, but I have barely any memory of him at all. And you’re an amazing artist. I can’t even draw a straight line with a ruler.”
“Okay, that’s two. What’s the third thing that makes me luckier than you?”
“Hmm…let’s see…You’re going to become Mrs. Cecil Pike,” Freddie said.
“Ew,” Lucie blurted out before she could stop herself.
Brother and sister stared at each other for a split second, and then they both burst out laughing. The two of them stood on the corner of Forty-Ninth and Fifth for a few minutes, leaning against the gray limestone wall outside Michael Kors, doubled over in laughter. When they had recovered enough, Freddie turned and continued down Fifth Avenue, while Lucie began walking along Forty-Ninth Street toward Christie’s auction house. In the middle of the block, right outside NBC Studios, she stopped, got out her phone, and sent Cecil a text, her fingers shaking uncontrollably.