Emerald Coast

by Anita Hughes

  “I’m terribly sorry. I forgot the name of the yacht.” She ran up the steps.

  The deck had polished wood floors and chaise longues and a pink marble bar. Creamy leather sofas were littered with silk cushions, and there was a tennis court and a Jacuzzi.

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Lily breathed. “I want all these fabrics for my store.”

  “Christoff’s girlfriend is an interior designer,” Ricky explained. “The yacht has been featured in Architectural Digest.”

  “The mistress in Portofino or the one in Monte Carlo?” Lily said and laughed. She had to learn to enjoy herself. Isn’t that what people did on the Emerald Coast?

  “I didn’t ask him.” Ricky took her hand. “Come, I’ll show you the whole yacht.”

  There was a salon with white carpets and white sofas and a white grand piano. Abstract art lined the walls, and vases were filled with white roses. There was an entertainment room with a billiard table and a movie theater with plush velvet chairs. And the guest rooms! Cabin after cabin filled with crisp linens and sea foam towels. They drank champagne and slurped oysters and talked about swimming and sailing.

  “It’s like a luxury resort with a view of the ocean from every window.” Lily leaned over the railing.

  Men and women wore bright swimwear and carried frosty glasses. Music played over the loudspeakers, and the air smelled of suntan lotion and cologne.

  “In Greece, everyone owns a yacht.” Ricky stood beside her. “I know a Greek jeweler whose yacht has a parking garage. He buys Bugattis and Aston Martins, but then he parks them on the yacht and never drives them. They’re like performance art.”

  “I love buying Louisa pretty dresses but I could never spend money like that.” Lily fiddled with her earrings.

  “What would you do with a lot of money?” he asked.

  “Open more Lily Bristol stores and give some to charity,” she mused. “There are so many people who don’t have opportunities.”

  “Visitors think all of Sardinia is like the Emerald Coast, with its white sand beaches. But in 2012, the coal mining industry collapsed, and many miners are still out of work,” Ricky began. “Every month, I take books and food to villages in Carbonia. Someday I hope to build a library. It’s nice to meet someone who wants to help people who are less fortunate.”

  Lily remembered Ricky saying he had to be with a woman who shared similar interests and a felt a thrill of anticipation.

  “I’m terribly thirsty.” She smoothed her skirt.

  “I’m failing as a host.” He touched her arm. “I will ask the bartender to make blood orange mojitos.”

  * * *

  Lily waited for Ricky to return and shielded her eyes from the sun. Sailboats skimmed over the waves, and she felt warm and happy.

  “It’s spectacular, isn’t it?” A woman approached her. She wore a pastel-colored sarong and gold earrings. “Christoff spends more money feeding his guests for one week than some hedge fund managers earn in a month.”

  “It’s the most stunning yacht I’ve ever seen,” Lily said. “And everyone is so glamorous. I’ve never been around so many fabulous-looking people. I feel completely underdressed.”

  “I haven’t seen you before, are you new? I’m Marjorie.” The woman held out her hand. “I join Christoff every summer. We start in Crete and stop in Portofino and Capri. I like the Emerald Coast the best. The water is clear, and you don’t bump into tourists with bulky cameras and terrible sunburns.”

  “I haven’t met Christoff yet,” Lily replied. “My name is Lily, and I’m here with Ricky. He went to get some drinks.”

  “You’re here with Ricky?” Marjorie raised her eyebrow.

  “Is there something wrong with that?” Lily suddenly wondered if Ricky had a girlfriend.

  “I’ve known Ricky for years, and he usually likes women who are blond and well-endowed.” She laughed, and Lily noticed her teeth were white as pearls.

  “We’ve only known each other a few days,” Lily answered. “I’m American and I’m opening a home furnishings store in Porto Cervo. It’s called Lily Bristol, you should come to the opening.”

  “That explains it. Ricky loves everything American.” Marjorie nodded. “He always asks Christoff to show American movies, and Ralph Lauren is his favorite designer. And he adores New York. He visited last summer, and all he talked about was Bloomingdale’s and Barneys.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Lily asked. “The department stores in New York are famous.”

  “Perhaps if you’re American. But in Europe, the great fashion centers are Paris and Milan.” She shrugged. “I should go, I’m late for a game of shuffleboard.”

  Lily rubbed her lips and wondered why Ricky hadn’t told her he had been to New York. But they’d just met, and there were plenty of things she hadn’t mentioned: she was afraid of snakes and adored Jane Austen and was always losing things.

  What did it matter anyway? She was only seeing Ricky because she didn’t want to explore the Emerald Coast alone. They hadn’t been on a proper date or even kissed.

  “Is something wrong?” Ricky approached her. He handed her a glass and rested his elbows on the railing.

  “I must have had too much sun.” Lily sipped the drink and tasted oranges and berries. “I’ll drink this and I’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t have you fainting.” He took her hand. “Come with me, there’s something I wanted to show you anyway.”

  Ricky led her down a staircase with inlaid mosaic tile steps and a gold railing. The hallway had portholes made of tinted glass and rich paneled walls. He opened double brass doors, and they entered a room with a pink-and-white marble floor and gold-flecked walls.

  Lily looked around and gasped. It was like standing in the middle of some fabulous museum. There were glass cabinets filled with ancient pottery and priceless jewelry. She saw a statue of a girl wearing a gold dress and holding a snake made of sapphires.

  “Christoff is a serious collector of ancient artifacts.” Ricky opened a case and took out a terra-cotta bottle. “This was a terra-cotta baby bottle discovered in a Messapian tomb; it’s twenty-four hundred years old.” He put it back and waved his hands over the glass. “There are oil lamps used in Ancient Greece and dolphin-shaped brooches worn by fashionable women in Crete. Last year, he bid on the oldest musical instrument ever discovered. It was found in a cave in Slovenia and is sixty thousand years old. He keeps it in a safe and only brings it out on special occasions.”

  “I can understand why,” Lily said. There were cabinets of black and red painted bowls, and marble busts and bright silver coins. It was like visiting a fantastic exhibit at the Met, but she could touch whatever she liked. “How exciting to be able to surround yourself with such treasures.”

  “This is my favorite room on the yacht.” He stood beside her. “But today it holds an even greater treasure.”

  “Where?” Lily scanned the space. There was a limestone bust of a bull from 3000 BC and a painting in a gold frame from the Byzantine Empire.

  “Right here.” He leaned forward and kissed her. His lips tasted of berries and some kind of delicious liqueur.

  “I don’t know if I can compete with a two-thousand-year-old Minoan flute,” she said and kissed him back. “But I’m very happy to be here.”

  * * *

  Lily and Ricky strolled along the dock, and Lily thought it had been a spectacular afternoon. The yacht cruised to La Maddalena Archipelago, and they explored the green inlets. The water was like a photo in a magazine where the colors had been enhanced so you couldn’t believe it was real. And the flowers! Cliffs were covered with bougainvillea, and fields were dotted with poppies, and it was like Central Park during a flower show.

  Then they clambered back on the yacht and ate scampi with watermelon marinade and platters of suckling pig in sweet-and-sour sauce. There were berries and cream for dessert.

  By late afternoon, the hills were a muted purple. Her shoulders were bronze from the sun, and
she was filled with an incredible lightness. For the first time since Oliver had left, she felt happy.

  “You’re a strong swimmer. Some of the men were upset.” Ricky grinned. “Europeans don’t like to be beaten by a woman.”

  “When I was a child, we spent three weeks every summer in Lake Tahoe,” Lily explained. “All we did was swim and sail.”

  “So we have something else in common,” Ricky mused.

  “Something else?” Lily wondered whether he was going to tell her he had visited New York.

  “We both own businesses and are not afraid to work hard,” he said. “The women you meet on Christoff’s yacht only think about whether they should eat another bite of cheesecake or if a sapphire necklace looks good with their tan.”

  “The yacht!” Lily gasped. “I left my straw hat on board, and now it’s gone.”

  “We can go back and find it,” Ricky offered.

  “I don’t remember where I put it. It could be anywhere,” she said worriedly. “You must think I’m hopeless. You gave me a gift, and I lost it.”

  “You’re not hopeless at all.” He touched her cheek. “You’re very unusual.”

  “You think I’m unusual?” She looked up.

  “In a good way,” he answered. “You’re successful, but there’s something fresh and original about you. And you like to enjoy yourself but you’re not sure how.”

  “When you’re married, you put the other person first,” Lily began. “The advice books say that’s wrong, but that’s how marriage works. Then you get divorced and you can’t remember what flavor of coffee you like or whether you prefer to eat at a restaurant or stay home. It’s easier when Louisa is around, of course. Then I don’t have time to do anything except fix peanut butter sandwiches and make her brush her teeth. But when I’m by myself, it’s more difficult.”

  “I can help you,” Ricky suggested. He stood so close she could smell his aftershave.

  “Help me?”

  “Help you enjoy yourself. We’ll start by going to dinner tonight at the Yacht Club. It’s the most famous restaurant in Porto Cervo, and it’s packed with film stars and Arab sheiks.”

  “But it’s almost evening, and we just ate lunch.” She laughed.

  “No one on the Emerald Coast eats dinner before nine PM.” He shrugged. “You have plenty of time to get an appetite.”

  Lily felt a warmth spread through her chest. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  He kissed her and tasted of almonds and honey. She kissed him back and her lips throbbed with pleasure.

  “I have to go.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s nine AM in New York, and I promised to call Louisa before she goes to camp.”

  “Lily,” he called after her.

  “Yes?” She turned around.

  “I had a wonderful time,” he said and smiled. “I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

  * * *

  Lily entered her hotel suite and set her purse on the side table. The drapes were open, and the harbor was tinted glass.

  She stepped onto the balcony and pictured the yacht with its gleaming staterooms, and the kiss on the dock.

  Music drifted up from the piazzetta, and she remembered Ricky saying she was unusual. She took out her phone to call Louisa and gasped. She knew why she suddenly felt unsettled. The last person who’d said she was unusual had been Oliver, and she had married him.

  Chapter Eight

  OLIVER STROLLED ALONG THE piazzetta and admired the okra-colored buildings and lacquered window boxes. Men and women kissed each other on the cheek, and a Bentley idled on the pavement, and it resembled a secret club that would never accept him as a member.

  Ever since yesterday, when he’d decided he was going to try harder with Angela, the sun had seemed brighter and even his poached eggs had tasted better. He felt like when he made a New Year’s resolution to go to the gym. Even while he was taking the subway to 24-Hour Fitness, the anticipation of working out made him feel healthy.

  The concierge suggested he take Angela to dinner at the Yacht Club, and Oliver balked at the prices. Could you really charge one hundred euros for a plate of crustaceans that had clung to the bottom of a boat? But every night, the Yacht Club overflowed with models and actors. Angela would be impressed by the Baccarat crystal and front-row view of the yachts.

  Now he entered a boutique and thought he would buy her a pair of sandals or a quilted evening bag. He glanced at the price tag on a crocheted top and gulped. It was hot pink and looked like something Louisa could have made in art class.

  He hadn’t even known Angela liked designer clothes until she’d entered the hotel suite with shopping bags from Gucci and Prada. Angela insisted they were “investment pieces.” When would she be so close to the center of high fashion again?

  And he was pleased that wedding florists in New York earned more than he imagined. He wouldn’t feel guilty if Angela Uber-ed home from his apartment or paid for Sunday brunch at Tartine’s in the West Village.

  “Can I help you find something?” a female voice asked.

  Oliver looked up and frowned. Once a saleswoman engaged you, you were trapped. They had a way of making you feel like you were avoiding the IRS if you said you were only looking and tried to slip out the door.

  “I was looking for a present,” he said uncertainly.

  “Is it for your wife?” the woman asked. She wore a gold tunic, and her blond hair was pulled into a chignon.

  “No,” Oliver said and felt suddenly proud. “It’s for my girlfriend.”

  “What would suit her?” she asked.

  Oliver pictured Angela’s coppery hair and curvy hips and felt a thrill of excitement. “She looks good in anything.”

  “Certain colors flatter different complexions,” she prodded. “Do you have a photo?”

  Oliver took out his iPhone and marveled at technology. When he was dating Lily, he often bought a blouse or skirt she never ended up wearing. Now all he had to do was hand the salesgirl his phone, and she would make the decisions for him.

  “Is that your girlfriend?” She raised her eyebrow.

  “Well, yes.” Oliver wondered if by accident she had clicked to the photo of the middle-aged female chef he’d interviewed for his latest review.

  She gave Oliver back the phone. “She’s stunning. She would look breathtaking in a vintage Romeo Gigli dress.”

  Oliver never heard of Romeo Gigli, but he was confident he was out of his price range. In his experience as a food critic, the more obscure items—the Le Pin bordeaux from Saint-Émilion in France, the lobster the chef discovered on holiday in Scotland—cost more than anything else on the menu.

  “It depends on the price,” he hesitated. The dress had an orange bodice and wide tulle skirt, and looked like an overgrown tulip. “I was hoping to spend under one hundred euros.”

  The saleswoman put the dress back on the rack. “Perhaps you should try somewhere else.”

  “All the tourists in Porto Cervo wear Versace and Fendi,” he sighed. “I can’t buy her something from a local seamstress who works at a sewing machine in her living room.”

  “What do you want the gift to say?” she asked.

  “To say?” Oliver repeated.

  “A silk scarf says ‘It’s nice to spend the weekend together,’ while a cocktail dress says ‘I’m serious about you.’” She paused. “We do have a selection of La Perla underwear. The nude camisole is popular.”

  Oliver flushed and looked away. Then he glanced at the photo of Angela on his phone, and his heart surged.

  “I want it to say ‘I can’t live without you,’” he said and puffed out his chest. “I don’t care about the cost. Give me the best you’ve got.”

  * * *

  Oliver clutched his parcel and strolled though the piazzetta. Once he acknowledged that Angela was his girlfriend, even his step was lighter.

  He passed an outdoor café and decided to have an aperitif. The tables were filled with men and women with European accen
ts. They flicked cigarette lighters and drank golden liqueurs, and it was so decadent, Oliver was almost dizzy.

  He ordered peach sorbet and iced coffee with amaretto. The sun sparkled on the silverware, and the air was as sweet as honey. It felt so good to buy Angela something special; why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?

  He sipped his drink and remembered when he and Lily had first gone to New York. They had both wanted to please each other so much; they were like children adding syrup to scoops of ice cream.

  * * *

  Oliver stirred sugar into hot coffee and thought there was no point in ordering iced coffee in Manhattan in August. By the time it appeared, the ice cubes melted and you were left with murky water. He pushed the cup away and decided if he had any more caffeine he’d have a stroke. Then he’d end up in the hospital, and the whole trip would be wasted.

  He and Lily had left Louisa with Lily’s parents and come to New York to find an apartment. But the places they saw had cramped rooms and fire escapes advertised as balconies. The last one had had ants in the kitchen and a hole in the bedroom ceiling.

  “What did you think of the apartment on West Eighteenth Street?” he asked Lily. “The second bedroom had a window, and the building’s supervisor said he would install air-conditioning.”

  “The window looked over the garbage cans, and if we pay an additional one hundred dollars a month, he’ll put a wall unit in the living room.” Lily leaned against the diner’s booth. “But Louisa’s room will still be a furnace, and we can’t afford the rent now.”

  Oliver’s salary at the New York Times was respectable, but apartments in New York were obscenely expensive. If they took out a loan to open a Lily Bristol, they would hardly have anything left for necessities.

  “The real estate agent said young couples are moving to Brooklyn,” he suggested. “The sidewalks have trees that aren’t protected by barbwire, and there’s a thriving arts scene.”

  “If I open a store in Manhattan, I’ll spend all my time on the subway.” Lily put down her spoon. “It was so simple in San Francisco. I could walk to the store, and the babysitter brought Louisa to visit in the afternoons. I don’t know what to do, it all seems hopeless.”