Sex and Vanity

by Kevin Kwan

  “I think Mary’s gotten quite lazy. She doesn’t dust or spritz your orchids quite enough. This one here looks like it should be sent to palliative care.”

  Lucie grabbed Charlotte firmly by the arm and forced her down the hallway into her bedroom.

  “What’s the matter now?” Charlotte said in a hushed whisper, even though no one was about.

  Lucie shut the door firmly behind her and gave Charlotte a look of frustration. “Did you know that Rosemary Zao’s attempting to buy an apartment in this building?”

  “She is?”

  “Yes! I just saw her in the lobby with her agent.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. She’ll never get past the board, especially in one of her crazy caftans. Doesn’t that Ferrer lady on the third floor rule this building like Catherine the Great?”

  “Mrs. Zao was stripped bare of makeup and dressed like a Scandinavian royal when I saw her in the lobby. And Ms. Ferrer is a huge fan of her father’s work. Apparently he’s some famous classical poet.”

  “Why on earth is she choosing to move into this building? I would have thought she would want to buy in one of those ghastly glass skyscrapers along Fifty-Seventh, where all the other international gazillionaires live,” Charlotte wondered.

  “Charlotte, get a clue! Now that I’ve broken things off with Cecil, she’s trying to force George on me, and she obviously thinks her moving into this building is going to help! From the very beginning in Capri, she’s been trying to get us together.”

  Charlotte almost cracked a smile. “Well, my dear, she can’t force you to do anything. We all know that. But you know, I’ve come to see that she’s really not that bad. She’s awfully generous with your mother and me. She treated us to that lovely Korean spa night.”

  “I didn’t realize you were that easy to buy off.”

  “That’s not it. She’s actually quite amusing. She was telling us the most hilarious stories about her dating days in Hong Kong. She certainly is an authentic soul, that’s for sure.”

  Lucie stood by her window, staring out onto Central Park pensively. “Why does everyone seem to think that I’ve broken up with Cecil because of George? First Auden Beebe accosts me in the park about it, and then Mrs. Zao actually has the audacity to try to invade my home! God knows what everyone will think when the news truly gets out that I’ve broken things off with Cecil, if it hasn’t already—Freddie’s been gossiping up and down Madison Avenue. I’m sure even the three guys at 3 Guys Restaurant know by now.”*2

  “Lucie, don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?”

  “Absolutely not! You know what? I think I should go away. The Ortiz sisters are going to Mongolia to visit the reindeer people on horseback, and then they’re going to drive the Silk Road all the way from China to Italy, tracing the route of Marco Polo. I’m sure they’d love another driver. I can even call it a work trip. I mean, you never know what emerging artists I might discover along the way.”

  “I really don’t think escaping to Mongolia is going to solve anything,” Charlotte gently suggested, worried by how worked up Lucie seemed to be getting.

  Lucie paced her room. “Actually, it’s going to solve everything. Don’t you see I must go away for a long while until this all blows over?”

  “I don’t understand. Why is this such a secret? Why are you acting like it’s the nineteenth century and you’re some cad who’s going to ruin a girl’s life by breaking off your engagement? You dumped Cecil. And I’m sure there’s going to be a thousand girls swarming around trying to land him the minute the news gets out.”

  “I don’t want to give George or his mother any ideas. And I certainly don’t want our family to ever think that I’m interested in George Zao!”

  “But what would it matter if you did?”

  Lucie stared at her incredulously. “I can’t believe I need to spell things out for you. Don’t you see? It was already bad enough when I was engaged to Cecil. Can you imagine what would happen if I brought someone like George home? I can already hear the snide comments coming out of Teddy’s and Cacky’s mouths.”

  “Oh my goodness, who cares about them?”

  “Charlotte, you of all people were against my fraternizing with George when we first met him in Capri, or don’t you remember?”

  Charlotte paused for a moment, trying to find the most delicate way to answer Lucie without spooking her. “You know, Capri seems like another lifetime. I hope you realize I have nothing against George. I mean, when you were nineteen and there was a risk of a drone sex video going viral, I had my concerns, but nothing about George concerns me anymore.”

  “But you tried to shame me! You said I couldn’t help being attracted to him because of my recessive genes!”

  Charlotte looked horrified. “Did I really say that? Oh dear, it was so long ago…”

  “Are you really changing your tune now? All my life, all you Barclays and Churchills have made me feel like I wasn’t really part of the family, like I was some little troll in the attic.”

  “What are you talking about? We’ve done no such thing!”

  “Why is it that every time you introduce me to someone new, you have to explain to them exactly how we’re related? Our racist grandmother does the exact same thing, as if no one would ever believe from looking at my face that I was really a Churchill, a bona fide Mayflower Knickerbocker Social Register Churchill!”

  “Lucie, our grandmother is many things, but the one thing she is not is racist. She is an insufferable snob and a creature of her background, and she has many limitations that I myself have been victim to.”

  Lucie shook her head vehemently. “I’m sorry, but Granny is a racist.”

  “But Granny loves you!” Charlotte insisted.

  “Don’t you see it’s possible to love someone without realizing you’re being racist toward them? How can you not see it? Especially after the way Granny treated you over your Jewish boyfriend?”

  Charlotte sank onto Lucie’s bed, visibly conflicted. Within her cocoon of privilege, it never even occurred to her to equate her own tribulations with those of her cousin. “You know, Lucie, shortly after your father passed, Granny called a few of us together for a special lunch. We were all quite aware there would be snotty, close-minded people out there, particularly among our crowd, and your father was no longer here to guide you through this maze. Granny wanted to rally the family and circle the wagons, as it was our duty now to protect you and your brother, and that’s all we’ve ever tried to do.”

  “But protecting me is precisely what’s made me feel like a total freak my whole life!” Lucie cried.

  Charlotte sighed deeply. “That’s the last thing any of us ever wanted to happen. I don’t know how you could ever think of yourself as a freak. I mean, jeez, what I would do for your skin! I’m only forty-two, but I’m already beginning to resemble an alligator Birkin.”

  “Charlotte, you’re forty-nine.”

  “Oh, hush! The point is, if you ever felt I was being insensitive, I am truly sorry. You know I have always adored you. You know you’ve always been my favorite cousin. I mean, hell would freeze over before I would travel anywhere with Cacky!”

  “Help me, then, if I’m really your favorite. I’m going to call the Ortiz sisters right now about Mongolia, and I expect your full support if Mom makes a fuss about it. Now, I just need to deal with Freddie, before he hits the R&T*3 this afternoon,” Lucie said.

  She walked down the hallway toward Freddie’s bedroom, passing her mother’s study along the way. Peeking in, she noticed a white envelope sitting in the wire tray by the door that her obsessively organized mother always used for outgoing mail. It was marked To the Co-op Board in her mother’s handwriting on the front. Curious, she carefully opened the half-sealed envelope and confirmed her suspicion. It was a letter of recommendation for Rosemary Zao th
at her mother had written to the board of their building, a particularly glowing letter that Lucie knew would go a very long way with the board.

  No, no, no, she simply couldn’t bear the thought of Rosemary living in the building, just floors away from her, and having to run into her and George all the time in the elevator. She didn’t want Rosemary invading for more Chinese meals with her suddenly woke mother. As if she was seized by some mania, Lucie sat down at her mother’s desk, opened her laptop, and began frantically composing a new letter, her heart pounding in tandem with the words she was pounding on the keyboard. When she was finished, she printed the new version on her mother’s letterhead, forged her signature quickly, and placed the resealed envelope back in her mom’s outgoing tray.

  DR. MARIAN TANG CHURCHILL

  999 FIFTH AVENUE, APT 12B

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10028

  (212) 358-9880

  July 14, 2018

  To the Board of Directors of 999 Fifth Avenue:

  It gives me great pleasure to highly recommend Rosemary Zao to our building. I met Rosemary earlier this summer, as she is renting the house of a family friend, Harry Stuyvesant Fish, in East Hampton. Though I have not known Rosemary for very long, we have become good friends and have shared many fascinating experiences in a very short time.

  Over the months, my respect for Rosemary has grown as I have watched her tirelessly pursue her special gift as the consummate hostess. She is very social, and her theme parties in East Hampton, thrown on a weekly basis, have already become legendary for their originality. Especially memorable was the Beasts of Burden S&M-themed party that she threw last month, complete with thirteen boa constrictors, a lemur, a cheetah, and dominatrix twins from Berlin. (You should have seen what those twins could do with those snakes!) Rosemary took great effort to line all the hallways leading all the way up to the attic of this National Register Victorian wooden house with tens of thousands of long-tapered medieval candles, flickering away freely, and it was such a success that she has promised to host a similar soiree at her new Manhattan apartment on a bimonthly basis with the same type of candles.

  Rosemary is above all a very considerate and polite person, and I have learned from people who have known her far longer about her extraordinary humanitarian work. She has consistently provided a haven to those in need, and her homes around the world have always had an “open door” policy. She has looked after Islamic dissidents released from Guantánamo Bay and homeless Appalachian teenagers addicted to opioids, and after meeting two pregnant Syrian refugees at a UN action alert party, Rosemary invited both women to stay at her home for the duration of their final trimesters and even financed their home births.

  Such generosity and sensitivity is a hallmark of Rosemary’s. As she painstakingly sought to create a well-appointed home out of her Hong Kong apartment several years ago, I was told how conscientiously considerate she was to her neighbors during the renovations and the sixty-nine applications of aubergine-colored lacquer to her drawing room. She even rented special trucks with ventilation units to ease the fumes from the building for the fortnight that it took to dry the layers of lacquer. (The effect was stunning. Very much like what Mario Buatta did for the Langerford apartment, before their tragic double suicide.) I am certain Rosemary will do the same in her new home and that she will become a treasured addition to the building.

  Sincerely,

  Marian Tang Churchill

  *1 See the White Diamonds perfume commercials for the specific era of Elizabeth Taylor’s hair.

  *2 A diner on Madison Avenue between Seventy-Fifth and Seventy-Sixth Streets, 3 Guys Restaurant has been called New York’s “Most Powerful Diner” because it’s a popular haunt for many of the city’s biggest business titans like Michael Bloomberg, Lloyd Blankfein, Jamie Dimon, and, of course, Freddie Churchill.

  *3 The Racquet and Tennis Club, a private social and athletic club on Park Avenue that boasts an exquisite cigar lounge and one of the handsomest locker rooms this side of the Atlantic. It is also one of the few private clubs in New York that has retained its men-only membership policy.

  XVII

  The Animal Rescue Fund Summer Gala

  SOUTHAMPTON

  Marian, Freddie, Lucie, Charlotte, the board of the fund-raising committee, and all the staff and volunteers of the Animal Rescue Shelter of Long Island formed a receiving line at the entrance courtyard of the spectacular thirty-acre oceanfront equestrian estate in Southampton. At 5:40 p.m., a Chevy Suburban could be spotted turning onto the long gravel driveway from the majestic gated entrance, and when it came to a stop outside the front door of the main house, Cornelia Guest (Green Vale School / Foxcroft / Wheatley / Professional Children’s School), who was at the wheel, stepped out looking like a no-nonsense country girl in a faded yellow T-shirt, Lilly Pulitzer shorts, a pair of flip-flops, and a cardigan slung over her shoulders.

  She walked around the SUV and opened the back door, and out tumbled a Great Dane, an equally gigantic Newfoundland, a Great Pyrenees, a Jack Russell terrier, a white West Highland terrier, a Chihuahua, two rescue dogs of indeterminate breed, and an inquisitive black duck. “I thought it’d be fun to bring all my dogs!” Cornelia called out.

  Everyone gasped at the delightful menagerie, as the board member who had generously opened up her hundred-million-dollar property for the gala and Marian—already dressed in her heirloom purple silk cheongsam—walked up to greet their VIP. “Ms. Guest, it is such a great honor to have you here with us. Our little fund-raiser has become the hottest ticket in town tonight because of you. I can’t thank you enough for your tremendous help!” Marian gushed.

  “Oh please, you guys are doing all the work, I’m just coming to a party. I’m so happy to help this worthy cause.”

  “May I ask, why is the duck here?” Marian inquired.

  “This is Lucky. He thinks he’s a dog and goes everywhere with the pack. Now, where can I change?” Cornelia asked as she took her luggage out of the truck.

  Freddie came forward in his dapper new bamboo-print Etro linen blazer and matching linen slacks. “Here, let me help you with your bags.”

  “Are you the cutie who roped me into doing this?” Cornelia asked as she handed him her bags.

  “Sure am!”

  “Yes, this is my son, Frederick, and here’s my daughter, Lucie,” Marian said.

  Lucie, in a pink ruffled Alexandre Vauthier cocktail dress cinched at the waist with a black satin bow, came forward and shook Cornelia’s hand, slightly awed.

  “What a gorgeous family you are!” Cornelia said, as she was escorted upstairs to a guest suite to get ready.

  By 6:30 p.m., the party was in full swing. Marian had decided on a Chinese theme this year, and guests dressed in their festive summer finery wandered around the meticulously manicured grounds just as it was transforming into the golden hour, sipping on mai tais and munching on delectable dim sum appetizers. The central courtyard had been transformed into an ice sculpture fantasyland straight out of Harbin, China, and massive pavilions carved out of ice and lit in a spectrum of colors had been generously flown in for the occasion courtesy of Isabel and Dolfi De Vecchi, who unfortunately could not attend the gala, as they were at an intimacy retreat at Lake Titicaca. Meanwhile, towering arrangements of rare flowers encased in blocks of ice by Japanese artist Makoto Azuma stood melting in the late-afternoon sun.

  Despite the jaw-dropping decor, the most popular attractions were the rescue animals, of course, and each of them was showcased in one of the luxurious stables—each state-of-the-art, climate-controlled stable boasted its own chandelier. Everyone oohed and ahhed over the adorable dogs, cats, and even a few miniature horses, trying to decide which ones to adopt and bid for in the charity auction later in the evening.

  Cornelia had morphed in less than half an hour from country girl to fashion goddess, making her entrance into the central courtyard in a shimmering sil
ver off-the-shoulder Oscar de la Renta gown and mingling happily with all the guests as a band of Chinese musicians dapperly outfitted in white silk tuxedos played 1930s Shanghainese jazz standards.

  Lucie approached Cornelia, shyly handing her a mai tai. “I thought you could use one of the signature cocktails. You’ve been talking to so many people nonstop.”

  “How sweet of you. Thanks!”

  “So I understand you were friends with Andy Warhol?” Lucie began, a little intimidated, knowing that Cornelia had been good friends with Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat as well.

  “Yes, he was an absolute doll to me.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I went to see the Warhol retrospective at the Whitney, and I couldn’t help but notice that out of all the iconic silk-screen portraits he did of famous people, yours was the only one that had a bit of…um…nudity,” Lucy asked delicately.

  “I was topless,” Cornelia said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes. Was that his intention or yours?”

  “I was nineteen. It was my intention to piss off my mother,” Cornelia answered.

  They both broke out in laughter.

  Freddie came rushing up, looking a little disheveled. “Lucie, can I steal you for a moment?”

  “Can you give me a sec? Cornelia and I were just chatting—”

  “Actually, I really need you now,” Freddie said through gritted teeth.

  “Everything okay?” Cornelia asked.

  “Perfect!” Freddie flashed her his megawatt smile as he rushed off with Lucie.

  “What’s the deal?” Lucie asked, suddenly alarmed.

  Freddie took her into the kitchen, where several of the kitchen staff appeared to be hugging Cornelia’s humongous dogs.

  “The animals somehow got into the kitchen, and now half the Wagyu beef sliders we were going to serve the guests have disappeared.”