“Okay . . . I’m sorry,” said Oscar, slinking back to his croissant.
“And if you feel that way, why are you here?”
Oscar shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I should spend some time with . . . people instead of my computer.”
“Well, give them a chance,” said Julia, getting up to look out the window onto the crashing waves. “People may take longer to penetrate than a hard drive, but they’re usually worth it.”
Oscar stared at her blankly, tongue-tied.
“I’m going to go take a walk,” said Julia, now feeling bad for him.
“Good idea. Mind if I join you?”
“Why not?” said Julia. “I’ll go get my coat.”
While Julia and Oscar ambled along the sandy beach in silence with the cold wind slapping their faces, Polly was nestled under her duvet dreaming about Brad Pitt. Just as she was about to lean in and lick Brad’s adorable nose, something woke her with a start. She opened her eyes and looked around the room.
“Henny?”
There was no answer. Polly sat up and looked at her watch. Where the hell was Henny? It was like seven-thirty. He was usually so hungover, hardly the type to jump out of bed and start his day early.
Polly threw on her robe and walked through her dressing room to the bathroom.
“Henny?”
Still no answer. She opened the door to her bedroom and looked both ways. The coast was clear. She didn’t want to run into anyone before she’d put on her face.
Polly crept along the sisal-carpeted hall toward the small office that looked out on the backyard. The door was ajar and she peeped in. Henny was hunkered down at the walnut desk, peering at his laptop, his face inches from the screen.
“Hen?”
Henny started and slammed down the cover of the laptop. “You scared me!”
“What are you doing?” demanded Polly.
“I’m doing work. Jesus, Polly, don’t come sneaking up on me.”
“You’re doing work on a weekend?”
“I have stuff to do. Could you please leave me alone?”
“Fine,” said Polly, her tone suggesting it was anything but.
Since when did Henny do work? He usually just hung out at the Racquet Club and played chess. Polly didn’t know he even knew how to use a computer, he was so retro. But then she remembered that he had been talking to Oscar about the Internet last night, asking him about eBay. Maybe he was researching something to get Polly for her upcoming birthday.
“So what did they name the kid?”
“Thaddeus.”
“So ethnic.”
“Yeah, but they have some foreign ancestor who was like Greek and was a prince or something, so they want to make the connection. Even though it was like four hundred years ago.”
“That’s just odd.”
Hope, Lell, Polly, and Julia had gone to East Hampton for the afternoon to check out Ralph Lauren and pick out some cute ribbed cashmeres to go with the rest of their country outfits. Well, really the rest of Lell and Polly’s outfits. Neither Hope nor Julia could drop seven hundred for a casual sweater.
“Did you know that Jaden, Caden, and Aidan are the most popular boys’ names in the U.S.?” asked Julia.
“No way. I don’t know anyone who named their kids any of those names,” said Polly.
“It’s true.”
“And isn’t Brianna one of the most popular?” asked Hope.
“Yup,” said Julia. She’d just read the list in People magazine.
“No way! I never even heard of that name,” said Polly. “It’s made up.”
“No, it’s true,” nodded Lell. “It’s reaaaaally popular. If there’s a hurricane in some random state, with, like, trailers flying around and stuff, chances are a Brianna was hit.”
“Hello, ladies,” said a smooth male voice behind them.
All of the girls turned. It was John Cavanaugh.
“Hello, John,” said Polly, giving him an air kiss. “What are you up to?”
“Just walking around, seeing what stores have survived the winter. Every time I come here, a new store has come and an old store has gone.”
“It’s so sad. The malling of America,” said Lell solemnly.
“If Granddaddy was alive he’d have a coronary,” added Polly, with a hand to her heart. “These used to be such sweet little towns and now they’re total tourist traps sans personalities. It’s disgusting.”
“Remember the days when you could drive into town in the summer and find a parking space?” recalled Lell with sadness.
Lell and Polly stopped and stared at the sky with glassy eyes, remembering the good old days when they had their summer towns to themselves and the locals. They paused as if taking a moment of silence, while Hope smiled at John, who grinned back. Julia observed their exchange with curiosity.
“So are you just out for the weekend?” asked John.
“Yes, we’re all staying at Polly’s in Southampton,” said Hope.
“You should come by, John,” said Polly.
“I’d love to, but I have to run back to the city tonight.”
Hope didn’t know why, but she felt disappointed.
“You work too hard,” admonished Polly.
“What can you do?”
“Where’s Natasha?” asked Lell.
“Oh, well, we broke up,” said John, looking at Hope.
“You’re terrible, John. You are such a womanizer!” said Polly.
“That’s not true.”
“You have a different babe on your arm at every event.”
“I’m just looking for the right one.”
“Well, this is Julia Pearce. She’s single,” said Polly, pushing Julia to the forefront.
“Polly,” said Julia, embarrassed.
“Nice to meet you,” said John.
“Isn’t she gorgeous? She’s like a sister to us.”
“She is gorgeous,” said John, nodding.
“Okay, now I feel literally like a piece of meat,” said Julia, feigning jokiness to cover her embarrassment. “Um, shouldn’t we be heading back?”
“Yes, it’s time to get ready for dinner. So much to do,” sighed Polly.
“Are you cooking?” asked John, amused.
“Hardly. But it does take an effort organizing the menu. I mean, try explaining the difference between green beans and haricots verts to someone who barely speaks English. Such a hassle.”
John laughed and waved goodbye to the girls, who wandered off down the street.
“Julia, you shouldn’t have done that,” reprimanded Polly.
“What?”
“John Cavanaugh is a true catch. You shouldn’t have dismissed him like that. He’d be very good for you.” Something about the way Polly said this made Julia bristle. As if what she really wanted to say was, You’d be lucky to get him.
“Sorry, Poll. I just like to be a little more subtle.”
“Well sometimes you can’t afford to be subtle,” said Polly, again in a scolding tone that rubbed Julia the wrong way.
“Give her a break,” interjected Hope vociferously. “You were practically whoring her out.”
Polly turned and stared at Hope, surprised at her outburst. “I’m just trying to help Julia,” said Polly. She turned and gave Lell an eye roll and then clicked on the keys of her car to unlock the alarm.
As they packed into the car, all four of their minds turned to men. Lell was excited that she’d see Alastair when she got back. He was so much more entertaining then show-offy Will. Julia, despite herself, was excited to see Will. He just commanded attention, and she couldn’t look away. Hope was disappointed that John couldn’t come for dinner. She told herself that it was for Charlie’s sake, of course. She really wanted him to offer Charlie a job so they could finally get the classic eight in the Seventies or Eighties. But was that really the reason? Or was it that John was the only guy in the six years she’d been with Charlie who made her feel like she was still a catc
h herself? Polly was most looking forward to seeing Charlie. She didn’t know why, but there was something proper and gentle about him, unlike her idiotic husband.
All four sat in silence for the twenty-minute ride back to Southampton, their secret desires burning through them, keeping them warm despite the chilled air.
Unfortunately, everything was turned upside down when they got back to the house. Hope’s nanny had called to say the kids were sick, so Hope and Charlie had to rush back to the city. Alastair had mysteriously left the house early, claiming an important engagement in the city but leaving no message for Lell. Furious, Lell insisted that she and Will return to the city, seeing no reason to hang out any longer at Polly and Henny’s drafty old house. That left Julia with Polly, Henny, and taciturn Oscar to suffer through a rather boring and overcooked dinner. Julia was thrilled to head back to the city early the next morning, eager to dish with Douglas on all of the scandals that had arisen.
chapter 22
“I honestly might keel over,” said Douglas, sitting down to brace himself. “He kissed you and said, ‘I thought you were my wife’?”
“What a load,” said Lewis. “He clearly wanted to sample your goods. So then what happened.”
“Nothing. We had this weird eye contact all weekend and then—”
“What?” the men shouted in unison.
“I saw Lell Pelham making out with Alastair Keach.”
“The hotelier?”
“Yeah. Weird, right?”
“Holy fucking shit!” said Douglas, practically giddy with shock. “Get out!”
“I swear.”
“You know . . .” Douglas trailed off. “I did hear that she used to do him. For like years.”
“I know. But this whole vibe seemed . . . strange to me. At first it was like this big fun weekend bash and then I just felt guilty and gross by the end.”
“Well, we’re glad you’re back,” said Lewis, giving her a squeeze.
“I am, too,” replied Julia while she unpacked. “At the end, I was starting to max out on Polly and Henny Mecox. Something about that guy rubs me the wrong way. And then there was that guy Oscar, who was practically mute. I think he hates me.”
“Wait, is this Oscar Curtis, the entrepreneur?” asked Lewis.
“I think so.”
“There was a huge article on him in the Wall Street Journal. He is major, you know.”
“I know. But totally awky.”
“But hot,” said Lewis. “I saw his picture in Fortune, too. He’s adorable.”
“I guess . . .” Julia trailed off. Oscar was definitely cute but so . . . lacking in confidence. So insecure. Will, on the other hand, was a rakish Valmont-type who unseamed her with a glance. Just thinking of him now made her so weak she wanted to lie down. With him. She was in a caught stew and needed a lifeline ladle out.
As she got on the subway with Douglas, he sensed the tension boiling behind her blue eyes.
“C’mon. It’s me. You know I’m not gonna judge your ass,” Doug coaxed. “Talk. Did you fuck him?”
“No. I swear. I would tell you.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Douglas! Yes, I would. Plus I would never sleep with a married guy. Ever. That is just so not me.”
“But his wife is cheating! It’s a sham marriage.”
“I know. That’s the only thing that’s letting me justify thinking about him all the time.”
Henny was perfecting his bow tie in the mirror when Polly appeared behind him in the reflection.
“Hello? I said seven! It’s now seven-twelve, come on!”
Henny rolled his eyes but obediently turned on his John Lobb heels to follow his wife down to the car. Chaffeurs Unlimited had sent the usual driver, Ricardo, who was downstairs waiting in the Mecoxes’ navy blue Mercedes. Henny always sat in the front with the driver since his wife’s black tie gowns took up the space of a whole person. After sliding in and making sure her silk Valentino ball skirt wasn’t getting smushed on the backseat, Polly opened her Estée Lauder makeup stash in the armrest and began powdering her T zone.
“I’m so thrilled Hope and Charlie could join us,” Polly said aloud, not that anyone was really listening. “I think the Burgundy Society could be a good match with them. Charlie really seems to know wine.”
In front of the Waldorf Astoria, an armada of limos lined Park Avenue. Polly was annoyed she had to walk from the corner of Forty-ninth Street as the shiny car drop-off zone was now three automobiles thick.
She walked in ahead of Henny and saw the giant banner for the BSNY: Burgundy Society of New York, a hundred-year-old oenophile bastion.
After selecting her calligraphied table card, Polly burst into the ballroom, which was swarming with immaculately dressed couples and lined with tables, each place set with a staggering twelve wineglasses. After every three tables there was a microphone stand, where guests, after reflecting on the small pool of red wine that had been swishing inside their mouths, could make a comment if moved to do so by the overwhelming flavors on their maxed-out taste buds.
Across the room Polly spotted Hope with her arm through Charlie’s and happily headed over.
“Hello, you two!” she said while air-kissing and scoping Hope’s outfit. Hmm. The same Kors she wore to the Fight Against Dysentery ball last year. “Table eight?”
Hope nodded. “I’m starving.”
“It’s not about food tonight, my dear,” said Henny, looking around. “It’s all about the vino.”
The foursome arrived at their table to find John Cavanaugh seated to Hope’s right. She gulped. That was weird, she didn’t know this guy before and now she was running into him everywhere. She tried to suppress her excitement. Why was she excited? She didn’t have a crush on him, no. She was married. That’s it, she thought, internally snapping her fingers. It’s because this was a perfect opportunity for him to talk to Charlie about the job; Hope was thrilled. She was just looking out for her man, she sighed, relieved. But then John looked at her in a deep way that made her feel like she hadn’t felt in years as he got up to pull out her chair and she realized that she was fooling herself.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee interrupted. “Before we begin, I’d like to introduce you to our esteemed wine panel for this evening. Miss Charity Frothingham of Frothingham’s Auction Gallery, wine division chair. Mr. Lucas di Carolo of Brunspire Imports, Dolly Lecompte of Eats and Wine magazine, and Emelia Sorrell of Wine Connoisseur. Let us begin with the first glass. By now you have all sampled your amuse-bouche of turnip cappuccino garnished with carmelized shallots kissed with white truffle. So take a sip from the first glass, close your eyes, and disappear into the wonderful world of Burgundy.”
Hope looked at Charlie, who smiled, reaching for his glass. They looked around and watched the entire ballroom sip in silence. After what seemed like a full two minutes, one guest broke the silence.
“It’s funny,” he started, as hundreds of heads turned to the mike stand near Table 31. “This seventy-four is gutsy and amusing—so much like an eighty-six, it’s almost unabashedly woodsy and with an oaky thread, so much like our trip to Château Laseurat in that crisp fall, right, Sharon?”
A woman, presumably Sharon, nodded with a wistful smile while wiping a tear from her glistening eye. Ah, memories.
Suddenly, the entire crowd, in unison, shouted, “Long live Burgundy! Burgundy forever!”
Hope was stunned. She looked at Polly, who smiled but seemed fully into it and not at all weirded out by the group chants.
Next, a small intellectual bespectacled man rose to take another mike stand.
“I sampled the year before, the seventy-three, recently, and what is so absolutely hysterical is that just one fall before this vineyard had the audacity to release such a vulgar, fruity wine; it was as if the grapes themselves had little boxing gloves and were punching me in the mouth. Just loathsome and manipulative. But this seventy-four, ahhhhhh! So subtle yet so alive, precocious, da
ncing on the palette in swift, bold steps. A sweet French kiss from Dionysus himself.”
“Long live Burgundy! Burgundy forever!” yelled the crowd in synch.
Gimme a break. Hope was already tuned out of the whole crazy wine thing. She felt like she was in some weirdo Eyes Wide Shut party. Hell, she loved a nice glass of red wine, but these people were freaks.
“It’s kind of cultish, right?” said John, leaning in and reading her mind.
“Yes! I was just thinking how over the top this is. Making out with Bacchus? I mean, I think we can can it with the Greek mythology.”
“I agree,” John agreed.
“What are you doing here anyway?” asked Hope, the wine now going to her head. “I didn’t picture you as the sort of guy who would take this stuff seriously.”
“I don’t. One of my clients is on the Burgundy Society board of trustees so there was no getting around it. This is unusual, but honestly it’s nothing compared to the ATS event two weeks ago.”
“What’s that?” asked Hope, looking into John’s sparkling eyes.
“You know, the New York chapter of the Adventure Travel Society.”
“Oh, yes, with that amazing Gothic mansion on Fifth?”
“That’s it. They have their annual ball here every year. I sat next to this octogenarian who looked like he was about to keel over, but in fact, had just returned from his seventh attempt at Everest.”
“Get out.”
“No. It’s over the top. I’m not kidding, they serve monkey brains and dog spring rolls and all this crap.”
“Shut up!”
“Yup. And do you know how the Board of Governors enters?”
“No—”
“They have these harnesses and start on the roof of the hotel and rappel into the ballroom through those windows.”
“You’re lying,” said Hope.
“Hey, are you talking about the ATS thing?” asked Charlie, overhearing. “I heard about that, they all climb down in their tuxes.”
“It’s out of control,” said John, launching into another anecdote.
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