by Kim Izzo
“What?” I stopped dead.
“I told him all about you. I mean how else to get him here?”
“Orietta, you shouldn’t have,” I said, horrified. A real Scotsman would see through my act in minutes, I was sure of it. I had to think fast.
“It’s nothing, dear,” she answered and continued to lead the way. I tried to regain my composure and formulate a plan. But as we walked through the house I was distracted by its decor. I had never seen anything quite like Orietta’s mansion. The foyer was pink marble complete with statues of nudes that looked authentic, as in ancient, not cheap copies like you see at garden centers. From there we entered a long hallway that was like a museum gallery with African masks, sculptures, and spears lining both sides of the wall, then we descended a small flight of slate steps and came to a sliding screen door.
“Your home is breathtaking,” I gushed.
“Oh, thank you,” she muttered. “This is the garden. My favorite place in the world.” With that she slid open the door and we stepped into a lush tropical forest of palms, ferns, and all sorts of frothy greenery that framed hundreds of exotic flowers. Tiki torches illuminated the slate pathway that led us through the forest and into a clearing where a giant fire pit roared and what looked like fifty people milled about sipping cocktails.
I suddenly felt very nervous. There was Scott sucking on another cigar and Tatiana gazing at him as if no one else could smoke a cigar like he could. Too bad he didn’t know he was supposed to be falling for me right about now.
Then I saw Colonel MacKay. He was round and short with red hair, a beard, and yes, a blue-and-green tartan kilt. I swallowed. Fortunately, I also noticed Bernardo, the gorgeous, sexy Brazilian stable boy, leaning against a trellis. He smiled at me. I felt my face go red.
“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome my new friend, Lady Katharine Billington Shaw,” Orietta announced solemnly.
I waved to the room and felt idiotic doing so; after all, I wasn’t the queen. But what else should I do? Curtsy? “Just call me Kate,” I said and smiled.
Colonel MacKay took the opportunity to introduce himself to me.
“So you’re the famous Lady Katharine?” he said with a thick burr. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” I said with a sweet smile plastered across my face. I felt my blood pressure rise as Scott and Tatiana joined us. Just what I needed, an audience to witness my act, and what an audience!
“Kate, a pleasure to see you again.” Scott smiled and kissed my cheek, his lips resting longer than a casual greeting should entail. Ding, ding, and more ding. I swallowed. Tatiana and I air-kissed like two boxers touching gloves before a match.
“So nice to see you again. Was your dress ruined?” Tatiana asked with forced grace. Faker. As if she was happy to see me.
“So, what part of Scotland are you from?” MacKay interrupted. Fair question, but one I was loath to answer.
“North,” I said simply. I saw MacKay flinch.
“She has cattle,” Scott interjected. “And peacocks.”
“Peacocks?” MacKay said, looking as if he were about to spit. “Where in the north?”
“Near Loch Broom,” I said, deciding to go as close to the truth as possible. “Great fishing up there.”
“You fish?” MacKay asked dubiously. Orietta appeared with a drink. I gulped it down.
“Doesn’t everyone?” I laughed; everyone laughed with me. “And what do you do?”
“I’m retired,” MacKay answered. “It’s nice of Orietta to invite me, I don’t accept many invitations these days. But I wanted to meet you, Kate.”
“So sweet,” I said uncomfortably. “So, Scott, are you playing tomorrow?”
Before he could answer, MacKay blurted out, “But tell me, Kate, what kind of Scottish name is Shaw?”
I took a deep breath. I could sense Scott, Tatiana, and Orietta fixing their eyes on me. “It’s my mother’s name,” I said. “The estate is from my father’s side.”
“What name did he have?” MacKay insisted.
“Have you no manners?” Scott came to my defense. “Kate needs a refill. What are you drinking?”
I smiled at Scott and he gave me what I thought was a knowing look. “Pinot grigio.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said with a nod.
As though reading my mind, Tatiana took the opportunity to tell me I wasn’t in the least special. “He is always this way. Scott is very classy.”
Wish I could say the same for you, I thought bitterly.
“Are we ready to eat now?” Anthony del Bianco snapped to the gathering.
“We’re still waiting for Fawn,” Orietta answered impatiently. “She’s always at least thirty minutes late.”
“Oh no, I’m not!” Fawn shouted breathlessly as she loped into the clearing. “That’s how rumors get started!”
“Where’s William?” Anthony asked.
Fawn scowled, looked over her shoulder, and shrugged. “I must have forgotten him at home.” She giggled and grabbed a cocktail from the waiter’s tray.
Anthony shook his head and muttered to another man standing nearby, who looked familiar to me but I couldn’t place him.
Fawn grabbed me excitedly. “I Googled you and I have read your work,” she said loudly.
The rest of the party went silent. MacKay perked up.
“Your work?” Scott asked, handing me my wine. “Are you a novelist?”
“Better!” Fawn shrieked. “Kate wrote the best article I’ve ever read on the history of face powder!”
I felt the room let out a collective gasp.
It was true. I had written an article about a makeup trend that used pale face powder to reinvent the look of eighteenth-century European aristocracy.
“Since I discovered you’re not just Katharine but Lady Katharine, I read it under a whole new light,” Fawn gushed. “All of you should know that we have a fashion celebrity with us tonight.”
There were polite murmurs but thankfully no one asked anything further.
“Dinner is served,” Anthony said flatly.
As we moved toward a table glowing with lanterns Fawn grabbed my arm, leaned in, and whispered. “Lovely dress, by the way. So classic. Look, I’ve been thinking,” she said softly. “You’d be perfect for Scott. He needs a creative woman, someone who understands how the world works. We just have to get him away from Tatiana and closer to you.”
“I’m sick of getting divorced,” Fawn said with mock exasperation. “For once, can’t one of my husbands just die? A widow is so much more sympathetic, so much easier to remarry.”
Dinner was over and we were lying side by side on lounge chairs by Orietta’s pool. We were very drunk. Fawn had told me that her third husband was about to leave her for a younger woman. I had been horrified but she had waved me off. “It’s what men do,” she scoffed. “I’ll be fine. I’ll have plenty of money to get by until I find husband number four.”
I doubted she was as sanguine as she acted but didn’t want to push, either; after all, we’d only just met. Besides I had other things on my mind. Colonel MacKay had kept his distance but I had a feeling I hadn’t heard the last from him. And even more unnerving, Scott and Tatiana were off in a dark corner snuggled up together on a lounge. He had been completely charming throughout dinner, regaling the group with stories of sailing and how he’d ridden a motorcycle across Malaysia to raise money for a children’s charity. He even built a school while he was there. Not by himself, of course, but he did real labor. He was first class all the way and I don’t just mean money. He cared about the world. I’d always imagined that one day in between maternity leave contracts, I would do similar work. Travel to Africa or Asia and get my hands dirty building hospitals or something of value. Make a difference. I never did any of these things because I was always too busy; it was always “after the next contract is over.” But if I was married to Scott we could do them together. I could imagine riding behind him on his motorbike, building
schools and drilling wells …
Then there was Bernardo. He kept looking over, trying to catch my eye. He had tried to make conversation over dinner but Fawn had chased him away each time. She was certainly in my corner when it came to my landing Scott. To her, Bernardo was a side dish, not the main course. And so the evening passed pleasantly, if not with any real progress. I was perfectly content, fantasizing on my future life with Scott when, inevitably, Colonel MacKay was at my side.
“We didn’t get to finish our chat,” he bellowed, his voice so loud even Scott and Tatiana sat up to listen.
“Hadn’t we?” I asked innocently.
“I’ve been thinking hard,” he continued. “And I can’t for the life of me remember any estates of note in Loch Broom. What did you say it was called?”
“I didn’t,” I said dryly. “I like to keep my life private.”
He rolled his eyes. “What kind of rot is that?” He was obviously as drunk as I was. “If Shaw’s not the name, then what is it?”
By now everyone was watching and listening. I sensed Orietta’s horror as she raced to my side.
“None of your business,” I said bluntly, hoping he’d go away. But he stood there, not moving an inch of his heft from my side. Fawn put her hand on my arm.
“Go away, MacKay,” she slurred. “We aren’t buying any.”
“Lady Kate,” he sputtered. “Lady Kate of Loch Broom? That’s shite!”
The patio was deathly silent. I had to do something before MacKay called my bluff any further. I didn’t know much about Scotsmen, but I had seen Braveheart; they had a violent history and they had short tempers.
“Orietta,” I began and stood up. It was my only chance. “I’m so sorry but I have to leave.”
“Lady Kate, no!” she cried out.
“It’s this man,” I stammered. MacKay rolled back and forth on his heels, his stubby legs and fat knees all pink from hours in the Florida sunshine. “I didn’t want to say anything but I have no choice. The MacKays are the sworn enemy of my family.”
There was a huge gasp from Orietta and a louder one from MacKay. His eyes widened in shock, but I continued. “Colonel Mac-Kay’s ancestors murdered members of my family on the battlefield, burned down our house, and stole our cattle.” I pretended to stifle tears and quickly scanned the faces of those within earshot. Miraculously, despite my pouring on the melodrama and pushing every stereotype I could think of, everyone appeared to believe me. So I went for it. “For two hundred years my family has despised the MacKay clan. We can’t be in the same city, never mind the same room as them.”
“What are you saying?” MacKay yelped in horror, but the other guests had turned on him as though he had attacked me. “Bugger that! Do you know how many MacKay families there are? I doubt we’re the same ones who killed your family.”
“Where are you from?” I asked pointedly, not knowing a thing about the map of Scotland.
“The Highlands, near Wick,” he said sternly.
“That’s them,” I gasped. “You’re one of those MacKays.”
The others gasped with me.
“I tried to be civil,” I said, my voice shaking.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” he snapped but it was too late.
“Sorry, Colonel, you must leave at once.” Orietta had her arm on his and was leading him away. “My goodness, what a discovery. Poor child!”
“Poor child!” he exclaimed in disbelief.
“Good night, Colonel,” Orietta said and left her husband to finish leading him out of the house. She rushed back to my side.
“I’m so sorry, can you ever forgive me?” she asked. I dabbed my eyes with a cocktail napkin.
“You couldn’t have known,” I said.
“What a scary encounter,” Fawn said. “Thank God you told us. You have to be honest about the past or else it can bite you in the ass.”
“So true,” I nodded and wondered just when my past might take an entire mouthful out of mine. By then the party had resumed but my heart was still racing as I gulped champagne, trying to recover from my close call.
Not that it mattered how well I’d handled things with MacKay. For the rest of the evening Scott barely noticed me, preferring Tatiana’s company. As I lay there, eyes shut to avoid the happy couple, I heard someone occupy the lounge next to mine. I opened my eyes only to be met with the protruding lips of the duck man from the VIP lounge, aka Businessman Number Three.
“Hello there,” he said and proceeded to use a toothpick with a vigor normally reserved for spearing fish.
I sat up and blinked a few times. But it was no use. The duck man was still there. I turned to Fawn for defense but she had vanished.
“I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,” I said with a half smile.
“My name is Timothy Binkford, but special friends call me Binky,” he oozed, toothpick stuck in a back molar. “And I’d like you to start calling me Binky right about now.”
“I’m Kate,” I said politely, and wondered if he’d made up his nickname to appear suave in a retro 1950s way, sort of like Bogie, but had missed the mark.
“I know who you are, my lady,” he said and winked. I didn’t like the way he said “my lady,” but chose to ignore it. “I’m glad you got rid of that nasty colonel. He was very rude to you. The nerve of him! When he must have known what his family had done.”
“Yes, he should have known better,” I agreed and examined him more closely as he lay with his head resting on his arms. He was no Scott Madewell, that was for certain. But he was rich. I had overheard him discussing his tech company with Anthony. Maybe he was nice? I bet Jennifer’s finance friends wouldn’t hesitate for a New York minute to bed and wed him despite his lack of physical charm. No one said that marrying well was easy. I’d see photos of beautiful wives and gnomish but rich husbands at parties and swishy events and wonder how the women did it, how they fell for men who weren’t obviously attractive. Were the men just so smart, witty, and successful it made up for the lack of sex appeal? That must be it. Power is an aphrodisiac, or so the saying goes. Maybe I had to prove once and for all that I could sleep with a man with a fat wallet, even if he was unattractive. Yet another modern dilemma that Austen never had to contend with! Perhaps Binky was outlandishly smart and witty. I would speak with him longer and let his intellect lure me into seeing him in another light.
Then something happened that changed everything. He touched me. I looked down and there it was, his hand on my thigh, his giant sausage fingers squeezing my flesh. I gulped.
“I like you,” he said and suddenly kissed me hard on the mouth. His duck lips were so soft and flabby I felt as though a rubber chicken had slapped me. But it was now or never. I had to know if I could be one of those other women. Closing my eyes, I leaned forward for a real kiss. Binky wasted no time. I felt his chubby arm encircle my neck and pull me in tight, his lips flapped over mine and his tongue flicked inside my mouth. Within seconds his hand was fondling my breast. But the sensation of Binky’s greasy palms touching my Chanel dress was too much to take. I pushed him away and we sat staring at each other. He was panting. I wiped his drool from my face.
“You’re a hot one,” he breathed.
I watched his chest heave and knew what had to happen next. It was time to go to bed.
19.
The Full Brazilian
Varnish and gilding hide many stains.
—Mansfield Park
There are no words to describe what sex with a twenty-five-year-old Brazilian stable boy is like. It’s as good as it sounds, better even. I woke up beside Bernardo. Naked. I wish I didn’t remember how it happened but that would be a lie.
I had intended to go home with Binky to prove that I could sleep with a man I wasn’t physically attracted to just because he was rich. But I never found out because I decided that in order to sleep with Binky, what I needed was one final glass of pink champagne. So there I was at the tiki torch-lit bar in Orietta’s gard
en having just poured a glass, fully prepared to chug it in one gulp, when Bernardo appeared at my side.
“You should never drink champagne alone,” he said and leaned over me to grab a clean flute, his bicep brushing my breasts as he did so. “You are a beautiful woman, Lady Katie.”
I laughed at his accidental near-rhyme, which offended him.
“You are making fun of my accent?” he asked, perplexed that any woman would do such a thing.
“God no!” I squealed. “I was giggling at being called ‘Lady Katie.’ ”
“That’s not right?”
“It is when you say it,” I flirted blatantly. As I gazed into the beautiful eyes of the stable boy I felt the hair on my neck stand up. I turned and saw Binky swaying on his little duck legs, his eyes red from drink, his forehead beaded with sweat, and knew then and there that I couldn’t leave with him.
“Are you ready, Kate?” Binky blurted out and grabbed the bar with one hand to steady himself.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Bernardo. But I needn’t have worried. Bernardo leaned into my neck and whispered.
“Are you with him?”
“Please get me out of this,” I whispered back helplessly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
“Lady Katie is not well,” Bernardo said to Binky. “I’m taking her back to her hotel.”
“I thought she was coming with me,” Binky argued hopelessly. “I can drive her.”
“You’ve had too much to drink, sir,” Bernardo said politely. He was obviously accustomed to dealing with the massive egos of the very rich. “You should stay here. I will see she gets home.”
Bernardo grabbed my hand and, giving Binky a reassuring pat on the shoulder, led me away. Sure, Bernardo wasn’t rich but it proved one thing. I may be homeless, broke, and unemployed, but I wasn’t desperate. I still wanted the whole package—and so far that meant one man: Scott Madewell. But until I could wrestle him away from Tatiana, Bernardo was a nice distraction.