Skinnydipping

by Bethenny Frankel

  “Calm down,” I said, noticing that Linda had the hammer. I don’t think I would have given that large angry woman a hammer. “Ours will be better. They don’t know what they’re doing.” For the first time, I stepped back and glanced over to the other side of the huge room, at the other team’s table. It was decorated in aquatic colors—greens, blues, and bronzes—with an ugly centerpiece of wicker cornucopia forms filled with gourds. It was schizophrenic. I was dead tired and jittery and running on fumes, but seeing their hideous table made me feel a lot better. When the clock struck two, it was time to head back to the Loft.

  “Would it be horrible if we took a bottle of champagne with us?” Monica asked.

  “Not in my opinion,” I said. “I think we deserve it.”

  chapter twenty-five

  The champagne fountain was spectacular—four levels of gleaming silver bowls in graduated sizes, with a vase at the top for flowers and a clear center column glowing soft pink, lit from within. The champagne flowed down over the bowls, bubbly and festive. We all stepped back and surveyed our creation.

  The other team stared, and I could tell they were intimidated. They started arguing with one another. “They’re going down,” I whispered to Shari.

  “I know,” she said. “And our room looks amazing.”

  It really did. “We got our shit together for this one,” I said.

  “Do you think it’s too Christmas-y?” Monica asked.

  “No way,” I said. “It’s Sybil Hunter. She starts getting ready for Christmas in August.”

  Monica eyed the remaining bottles of champagne. “Can we open another one of those?”

  I looked at Shari and shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” I said.

  “It’s eight in the morning,” Shari said.

  “So?” I said. “I bet Monica has champagne for breakfast all the time.”

  Monica sprinted into the storeroom and came out with five tumblers. The sound of the champagne popping gave her a second wind. Suddenly, she was jolly and rosy cheeked again, and talking at top speed as she downed a glass and then quickly refilled it. “I just know we’re going to win,” she said. “There’s no way that other team with their silly fish table is even in the running against our beautiful, elegant table.”

  “It’s spectacular,” Shari said, sipping her champagne and compulsively rearranging rosebuds and evergreen boughs. “Oh my God, I’m so tired, this is going to go straight to my head.” She held up her glass. “How many calories do you think this is?”

  “I think they cheated,” I heard Queen Nadine say to the camera on the other side of the room, mid-OTF. “There is no way they could get all of that for two thousand dollars. If they are using unfair influences, then they should be disqualified.”

  Shari snorted. “Look who’s talking about unfair influences,” she said, rolling her eyes. “From what I’ve heard, Mrs. Earl-of-Snob-shire hand-jobbed her way right into the family, and her husband’s so-called fortune doesn’t even exist anymore.”

  I thought of the note Nadine had slipped me about Hugh Pritzker. “I believe it,” I said.

  Monica clapped her hands over her mouth. “I knew her hoity-toity act was a big fake.” She stood up and started dancing around, a champagne glass sloshing precariously in one hand. “I’m Miss Superior. I’m better than you because my husband is the King of England, and I’m from Queens!” she said in a sing-songy voice. Then she burst into a fit of giggling. It was like hanging out in the loony bin, drinking with this girl.

  “I think Monica is sleep deprived,” I said in her defense.

  “Plus she’s had three glasses of champagne to our one,” Shari said.

  “I think we’re all sleep deprived,” Mikki said, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Christophe rubbed her back, protectively. I wondered if they were sleeping together yet. Not that they would have had the opportunity in this pseudomilitary compound, but we could all see it was imminent.

  “Here’s to us, the winning team!” I said, optimistically, even though I was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Our table was the best. No question. But what other secret factors would influence the decision? I knew we should win, but obviously, that didn’t mean we would win.

  “Five minutes!” As we all ran around making last minute changes, Shari ordering everyone around, Christophe meekly obeying, Mikki starting to get annoyed at Shari, we could hear the other team biting one another’s heads off. “You idiot!” Andy screamed. I couldn’t tell who it was directed at, but at this point, it could have been anyone.

  When Sybil Hunter came into the room at noon, the other team was still moving things around on their table. Sybil was flanked by her dog, Alice, and Ian, with Harris lagging behind, looking nervous. I got shaky suddenly. I’d almost forgotten about him, but there was no denying his presence now. Sybil stood back, crossed her arms, and looked at Andy’s table for a long time. Nobody spoke. Andy looked like he might vibrate right through the floor. Katie looked disgusted, her arms crossed defiantly. Finally, Sybil cleared her throat.

  Andy jumped in. “We decided on a… a harvest theme,” he said. Sybil raised her eyebrows. “As you can see, we created an impressive and dramatic centerpiece out of gourds and cornucopias and … and… fish.” He looked humiliated. “We chose the burnt-orange-and-gold china, and over here on this sideboard, we built a crystal tower to display desserts.” A stack of empty platters wobbled on the rickety sideboard, next to an old lamp. Andy stepped nervously in front of them, probably hoping Sybil wouldn’t notice the bad craftsmanship. As if. He held up the menu cards. “The dessert buffet items are listed right here.”

  She looked down her nose at him. “Hmm,” Sybil said. “I see. And tell me, what did each person do?”

  “Well,” Andy stuttered, talking too fast, “Katie, Sadie, and Nadine created the centerpiece.”

  “I wanted to do a fish theme,” Katie chimed in, “but some people on the team weren’t in the mood to get along.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Sybil.

  “I mean, some people wanted to do a stereotypical cornucopia that doesn’t match the fish theme at all,” she said, glaring at Sadie, who was apparently obsessed with all things vegetable.

  “This is a Thanksgiving theme,” Sadie said, pulling nervously on her long braid. “I wanted the centerpiece to reflect the abundant harvest with a display of organic vegetables and local flowers, and I didn’t see where stupid gold fishscale fabric and fake seaweed fit into that theme at all.”

  “It sounds like you had some disagreements,” Sybil said.

  “I tried to get everyone to see the other’s point of view,” said Nadine, haughtily, her faux English accent on full display. “But I found our team to be sorely lacking in basic manners.”

  “That’s a laugh,” said Linda, towering above her teammates, her Chicago voice booming. She stood almost as tall as Sybil herself. “Talk about everybody behind their backs and then lecture us on etiquette. That’s a good one. Nadine didn’t do any of the manual labor. I was painting and building and sanding and staining, and she just stood around and criticized us. She really dragged our team down.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Nadine, standing up very straight as if she were trying to match Linda’s height. “I arranged everything in this room, including the centerpiece.”

  “I arranged the centerpiece!” said Katie.

  “I was responsible for that centerpiece, neither of you did anything,” said Sadie.

  “I don’t know if I would claim credit for that centerpiece,” said Alice, from behind Sybil.

  “What did you do in this challenge, Nadine?” Sybil asked.

  “Not only did I arrange everything tastefully but I was able to borrow this beautiful antique stained-glass lamp,” she said.

  “Hmm,” Sybil said. “We don’t believe in replicas here at Sybil Hunter Enterprises.”

  Nadine blushed and didn’t respond.
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  “And Linda, what was your part?”

  “I helped Andy build the sideboard, and I made the chair cushions.” Sybil picked one up and looked at it. It was blue and green with gold thread. I couldn’t quite imagine Linda at a sewing machine.

  “Hmm,” Sybil said again. Alice looked like she wanted to say something, but pursed her lips and remained silent.

  “Jodi Sue?”

  Jodi Sue looked down. “I … helped with the centerpiece, too,” she said.

  “It took four people to make that centerpiece?” Sybil said.

  “Jodi Sue also planned the menu,” said Andy. “Because she’s a chef.” He said it with disdain.

  “And what about this menu?” said Sybil. “This isn’t a holiday dinner menu. I only see desserts.”

  “I… didn’t quite understand the assignment,” Jodi Sue said.

  Sybil shook her head. “It’s all in the Rulebook,” she said. “How would you all say Andy did as a team leader?”

  They all began to argue about what Andy should or shouldn’t have done. “I painted the whole goddamn thing and built everything, I practically did the whole challenge myself,” Andy yelled over the din. “When obviously I should have been the one planning the menu.”

  “Just because you work in a restaurant doesn’t mean you’re more of a chef than I am,” said Jodi Sue.

  “Andy, do you think your team should win this challenge?” Sybil asked.

  “I definitely do,” he said. He began a long list of reasons why he thought their table was the best, but I wasn’t listening. I was trying not to look at Harris, who stood back from his mother and wasn’t even looking at the table. He was looking at me. Finally, I stole a glance, and our eyes met. His were questioning. I could feel the heat rising in my face. I shook my head. Focus, Faith. Don’t get distracted.

  Sybil finally came over to our table. Her face brightened when she got a closer look. “Ahh,” she said. This gave us all hope.

  “Welcome to our Thanksgiving table,” Shari said. “Our theme was Authentic Holidays.”

  Sybil nodded. “Tell me about what you’ve done here,” she said.

  “The centerpiece is made from fresh greens, pinecones we painted ourselves, these beautiful white votive candles, and of course, fresh roses,” Shari said. “We wanted something lavish, a centerpiece that extends to become almost a table runner. We painted these silver charger plates and added the snowflake details,” she said.

  Sybil picked one up. “Is this balsa wood?” she said.

  “It is,” said Shari.

  “You wouldn’t know it from looking,” she said. “Very nice.”

  “I painted the snowflakes and did the calligraphy!” Monica burst out. “I think it’s the prettiest part!”

  “But Shari, you aren’t the team leader,” Sybil said, looking at Shari, as if even she’d forgotten until now who was supposed to be in charge. “Didn’t you choose Christophe to be your team leader?”

  Shari looked embarrassed. “Well, yes, that’s true,” she admitted.

  “I am the team leader, but I know talent when I see it and I delegated tasks to Shari that I knew she would be best at, including our table demonstration,” Christophe said, surprising everyone.

  “I see,” said Sybil. “That is definitely the sign of a competent leader.”

  Shari gave Christophe a grateful look. I couldn’t help being a little annoyed. When Shari took over the team, it was the sign of a competent leader? When I took over the team, I’d almost been axed for it, and Chaz was the casualty.

  Sybil walked around the table, looking at all the placecards. Then she smiled. “I see you included the members of your team at the table. Very … optimistic,” she said. I couldn’t help looking at Harris with pride. He smiled at me and I quickly looked away.

  “We’re going to take some photographs and make some notes, and then Alice, Ian, Harry, and I are going back to the conference room to have a discussion. When we have made our decision, we’ll call you in.”

  We all stepped back to let the photographers shoot the tables. Then Sybil, Alice, Ian, and Harris left the room. I refused to watch him leave. If he gave me a backward glance on his way out, I didn’t see it.

  For nearly an hour, we sat, in chairs or on the floor, waiting to be called into the Decision Room, arguing about who had screwed up, who had done the most work, who had slacked off. I sat by Andy for a while. “This sucks,” he said. “I picked the worst people.”

  “But you were a strong leader,” I said. “At least, from what I could tell.”

  “I am so sick of Sadie and her farmer crap. She’s a complete idiot. The worst part is, she actually thinks she knows what she’s doing. At least Jodi Sue stays out of the way. She knows she’s an idiot.”

  I didn’t want to put down any of my team members, although it was tempting to crack a joke about Monica mainlining the champagne, or how Mikki and Christophe should get a room. “Shari’s a contender,” I said. “She pretty much took over Christophe’s job.”

  “Christophe is an easy target,” Andy said. “I’d like to keep him around for a while because he’s easy to beat. And you’re right—Shari won’t be as easy.”

  I thought about that. What if it came down to Shari and me? We were friends. But I couldn’t even think about how that might go. I was so tired, I could hardly see straight, but I was also so full of nervous energy that I could hardly sit still.

  Katie couldn’t either. She began to pace, and finally came over to stand near me. I had to say something. “Hey, why do you hate me so much?” I said.

  She looked away, her arms crossed. But finally she answered. “You know why.”

  “No, I really don’t,” I said.

  Finally she turned in exasperation and looked at me. “You made a fool out of me in front of Peter Jarrell that night at the Hearst Castle. I’d seen you around, but frankly, you didn’t interest me. I thought you were nobody. But then you pulled your strings with Josh Kameron to get me kicked out. I’ve never been kicked out of a party before or since. And it was because of you.”

  “What? They kicked you out? I swear, I didn’t tell them to do that. I just told Peter to … well …” I paused. “I told him to just take care of you.”

  “Well, he did,” she said.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know that happened,” I said.

  “Whatever,” she said, and walked away. Well, at least that explained her attitude. I felt a little guilty—but not so guilty that I was going to lose my focus.

  When Andy started pacing, I knew he was about to blow. Finally, he turned on Katie and Sadie. “You guys are morons, you know. You blew this for us. You destroyed our team unity.”

  “What team unity?” said Sadie. “You people don’t even understand the point of Thanksgiving.”

  “Sure I do,” Andy said. “The point of Thanksgiving is to win. And I can already tell who in this room is oriented toward winning, and who isn’t. And if you’re not in this game to play hard, I say you should just go home.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Sadie said. “Nadine’s the one making everybody paranoid, with her fake two-faced manners, so we all start suspecting one another.”

  “I’m not paranoid,” Andy said. “If you’re paranoid, that’s your problem, and that makes you a drain on all of us.”

  “You’re the drain,” Katie said, playing with a scrap of fish scale fabric. “You’re so hyper, you can’t even calm down long enough to look anybody in the eye.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Andy said to Katie, his voice getting higher pitched. “If it was up to you, we’d cover our Thanksgiving table with dead fish.”

  “Lunatic,” Katie muttered.

  “Long-legged freak,” Andy shot back.

  “Enough, now can’t we all get along? This is unacceptable behavior,” Nadine said. “This isn’t how civilized people behave.”

  “I hardly think we’re civilized at this point,” I threw in.

  S
hari raised her eyebrows at me. “They’re going down,” she whispered.

  Finally, Polly came back in the room. “Sybil will see you now,” she said.

  “Today’s contest showed your creativity, your style, and your ability to work with others,” Sybil said to us as we all sat around the table. “Each table had its strong points and its weak points, but we’ve decided there was a clear winner.”

  She looked at Alice, who nodded. Harris kept his gaze down, obviously not enjoying being a part of the show at all.

  “Tonight, I’d like the other judges to speak,” Sybil said. “Alice, let’s begin with the first team. Tell me your thoughts.”

  “This table was terrible,” Alice said. “I don’t know what else to say. The centerpiece was ugly, the colors were ugly, the fish theme was absurd, the sideboard looked like it was about to topple over, and I wouldn’t dare put any desserts on that dessert stand.”

  “I agree,” said Harris, suddenly volunteering to speak. “I didn’t understand this design at all. It was just bad, and I think it was pretty obvious that the team didn’t get along.”

  “I think the internal conflicts on your team showed glaringly in the final product,” agreed Sybil. “The themes clashed, and so did the team members. I like the idea of a fish theme, but the execution just wasn’t there.”

  “And what about Christophe’s team?” Sybil asked Alice.

  “I thought the color scheme was much more successful. It was very Christmas-y, more a table for Christmas Eve dinner or a holiday party than Thanksgiving perhaps,” she said. “However, it was really beautiful, and I loved the champagne fountain. A very nice touch.”

  “I agree,” said Harris. “Christophe’s team’s table was coherent, and the team worked together. Everyone’s ideas complemented everyone else’s. I’d be proud to have our family Thanksgiving at that table.”

  “Anything else?” Sybil asked her son.

  “Only that Christophe’s table was more beautiful,” he said. He looked directly at me. “Beautiful,” he said again. I blushed furiously and looked down.

  “I agree with all of you,” Sybil said, seeming not to notice to whom her son had directed his comments. “But there is much to consider.” She clasped her hands and put them in front of her on the table.