The Jane Austen Marriage Manual

by Kim Izzo

  Still, it was early and I had to eat. I was determined to give Vlad another try. There was a language barrier, after all. Maybe he didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

  “Do you have children?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “I’ve never wanted them.”

  He flinched. “Women should have babies,” he practically growled.

  I recoiled. “Why should women have babies?” I asked defensively.

  “Babies are God’s way of letting women age gracefully,” he said self-righteously. “When women age and lose their looks, babies give them another reason to live other than attracting men. How sexy you are is less important when you have children to occupy your time.”

  I stared at him, not believing what I was hearing. But he wasn’t finished.

  “Women who don’t have children, by the time they hit forty-five, they lose their role in life, they aren’t the pretty young things men want, and they aren’t the nurturing creatures children need. They are nothing. Invisible,” he continued with a chug of cabernet. “But of course, that’s your choice nowadays. Do you like hot tub?”

  That was the extent of our conversation; how was I to respond to any of it? The remainder of the meal was eaten in silence except for the occasional sexual innuendo, provided by him, of course. When dinner was over I attempted to say good night in the lobby but he insisted we stop in at Kings Club, an all-night dance club in Badrutt’s Palace.

  He marched into the club and found us two barstools facing the dance floor, depositing me there while he went to get drinks.

  To say that Kings Club was not my scene would be an understatement. The dance floor throbbed as an undulating mass of youth flailed and bounced to remixed versions of eighties pop songs. All the pretty young things had cascaded down from The Grill and were bumping and grinding with each other, the men who brought them, or some combination of the two. I have always avoided nightclubs; they were too loud, too smoky, and had too many barely clothed drunks falling all over the place. In a word: tacky. I hated tacky. Kings Club, despite its posh setting, was no exception; it took the term “Eurotrash” to new heights.

  “Enjoying the view?” It was a voice I’d been hearing in my fantasies for over a month now, only the extended techno mix of “Like a Virgin” wasn’t part of the fantasy.

  I turned and spoke above the music, “Scott, it’s so nice to see you again!”

  “What are you doing, sitting here alone?” he asked and smiled at me as if we were old friends.

  “I have a date,” I admitted, wishing I were alone.

  “He’s a fool to let a beautiful woman sit by herself,” he said, his eyes scanning the dance floor as he spoke. He does think I’m beautiful! I couldn’t help smiling. Sitting there with him next to me felt natural, comfortable, like we were already a couple. Why couldn’t he be my date?

  “Have you seen Tatiana?”

  Oh yes, that’s why. I gazed up at him. I had tried so hard to put him out of my mind today, but seeing him again, so close, and for the first time alone, okay, alone with a hundred half-naked twenty-year-olds gyrating on the dance floor a foot away, made me realize how much I wanted to get to know him better. He didn’t think I spoke too much. He was a man of conviction and passion. Again, the image of me clinging to his waist as we drove across Malaysia on a motorcycle came flooding back. We were meant to be. And he called me beautiful. I was right to spend every last dime coming to Switzerland.

  “Sorry, who?” I said, pretending that I didn’t know who he was talking about.

  He grinned. “Tatiana, my girlfriend.”

  I shook my head innocently and tried to imagine how “She is probably having sex with the bartender” would translate into mime. But I didn’t get the chance to act it out because Tatiana bounded over, her breasts pouring out of a leopard print minidress like two flesh-colored Jell-O molds dumped on a platter.

  “Yes?” I said tartly.

  She nodded and smirked.

  “You like that dress.”

  “I do,” I replied, leaning on the edge of my barstool, desperate to wipe the smirk off her face.

  “You wear it a lot.”

  Scott cleared his throat.

  “I want to dance!” Tatiana whined and tugged at his arm.

  “You go ahead.” He smiled indulgently. She pouted mildly, then shimmied off into the darkness. I caught the occasional glimpse of animal print beneath the strobe lights as she flitted about.

  “I’m way too old for this place,” I said, much more loudly than I had intended.

  “Me, too,” Scott agreed.

  Finally, a connection! Though I wasn’t so sure that bonding over the aging process was going to win me any points. Still, I wanted to make the most of my few stolen moments with Scott before Tatiana whirled back.

  “I prefer a glass of wine, a fireplace, and good conversation,” I said with a sigh.

  “I’m with you.” He nodded.

  Okay, he’s with me. But only until his young girlfriend returned all hot and bothered from her dance. Perhaps it was the wine I’d had at dinner, or the setting, but a sudden audaciousness came over me.

  “So, what do you and Tatiana talk about?” I asked boldly, then realized as I said it that I really wanted to know.

  Scott didn’t shrink from the question. He simply smiled knowingly as if I wasn’t the first person to ask. “What do we have in common?” he asked.

  I knew I was being rude, so I cut him off. “It’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”

  “It’s okay,” he said with a serious expression. “It’s a good question. She is nearly forty years younger than me. So there’s that.”

  “There’s what?” I pushed forward fearlessly. “I mean, there’s the obvious: she’s gorgeous.”

  “Thank you,” he said as though I were complimenting him. “I won’t lie to you, Kate, young, firm skin is attractive. But that’s not the whole of it. Tatiana has a naïveté that’s very sweet but she also possesses a boundless energy and enthusiasm for new things. She’s not bitter or jaded. And through her eyes I get to experience life all over again.” I absorbed this information and hated that on some level I understood where he was coming from. It was so easy to become jaded and bitter with life’s disappointments and it would be appealing to be with someone who saw the world through fresh eyes. But life as a series of firsts, of explorations, and possessing a faith that the universe would unfold as it should was the exclusive domain of youth. It was an intoxicating trait.

  “Maybe if I’d had children, particularly a daughter, I would have received the sort of reverence from her I so obviously crave,” Scott continued. “The admiration of a young girl keeps a man young. I suppose at a certain age all men feel we’ve earned the right to be respected and esteemed for our accomplishments, even if our accomplishments are as uninspiring as merely accumulating wealth and property rather than saving the planet or ending poverty or curing disease.”

  “But with your money you can fund all of those things,” I countered, not wanting Scott to beat himself up. “That motorcycle trip through Malaysia, you built a school!”

  “Of course, you’re right,” he smiled halfheartedly. “I suppose what I’m saying is the trouble with money is that it’s never enough. So here I am. Look who I’m talking to! You know how it is, Kate.”

  I swallowed. “A bit,” I muttered under my breath.

  Our conversation was cut short when Vlad returned without drinks and looked at Scott suspiciously. Scott, being a gentleman, held out his hand and introduced himself. Vlad gave in and shook his hand.

  “I want to leave now,” Vlad said abruptly, turning his back to Scott.

  “Me, too,” I agreed as I watched Tatiana slink across the crowded dance floor toward us, mopping her brow. I couldn’t bear to watch her wrap her limbs around Scott one more time.

  “Good night, Scott.” I smiled.

  “Good night,” he said giving the Russian the once-over.

  Vlad insi
sted on escorting me to my room, only I didn’t go to my room, I went to Fawn’s suite. It was obvious that he wanted to have sex with me but that wasn’t going to happen, with or without my “chaperone.” When we got to the door I lifted my hand up to shake his at the precise moment he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me in for a kiss. I quickly turned my head so his lips struck my cheek. He bounced off me like a racquetball in play, clearly shocked and, judging by his expression, unhappy with my maneuver.

  “Good night, Vlad. Thank you so much for dinner.” I smiled warmly and smoothed my hair.

  He was dumbfounded and clearly unaccustomed to women turning him down. It made me giggle.

  “Good night,” he said icily before marching away in a huff.

  Once inside the suite I burst out laughing. Fawn switched off the television and raced over eagerly.

  “Well?”

  “Put it this way. I’m terrible at gold digging,” I said. “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “Have sex with men you didn’t find attractive,” I said in a flurry. “Because I’m clearly not up to the job.”

  Fawn shook her head. “I never said I did that. You have to like the man,” she said softly. “There’s the old saying, Mingle with the rich and marry for love. I never married a man I didn’t find interesting or sweet. Marrying for money is like marrying for honesty. It’s just a trait on your wish list. It can’t be the only one, as you’ve discovered on your own, but it’s in the top three. Heck, even those Austen girls got more out of them aristocrats than money. Mr. Darcy for sure was hot in bed!”

  We burst out laughing. But Fawn had a point. And I had the distinct impression that Scott would also be hot in bed. And I liked him.

  I imagined long conversations about the problems of the world and how we’d help. It was much easier to imagine marrying a wealthy man if you also enjoyed his company. If love was as important as money, as Fawn said it was, then Scott was it.

  “Let’s order hot chocolate!” Fawn suggested, knocking me from my thoughts. She listened rapturously as I told her about the disaster date and bumping into Scott and Tatiana and of my heart-to-heart with him.

  “I have to find a way to get Scott away from her,” I said in frustration. “I know in my heart that she doesn’t deserve him. But she’s practically glued to him.”

  “We’ll get rid of her,” Fawn said confidently, then added, “I think you need to arrange another date with Vlad.”

  I balked. “No way, not on your life,” I said firmly.

  “Don’t toss the baby out with the bathwater,” Fawn said calmly. “I have a plan.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted any part of a plan that involved more time with Vlad the pervert but agreed to listen.

  “Arrange to meet Vlad at the Polo Bar tomorrow night; if he wants to have sex with you he’ll show up. I will invite Scott, who will of course bring Tatiana,” explained Fawn, but I stopped her from going further with a wave of my hand.

  “I can’t face Tatiana anymore,” I said, but Fawn was not deterred.

  “We will all have drinks together and let nature take its course,” she said with finality.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, bemused.

  “Vlad is a very rich man, possibly richer than Scott,” she explained as if the plan were obvious. “He is, as you pointed out, much younger and to some eyes, much sexier. Tatiana is young and beautiful; deep down, she may prefer someone closer to her age. Both are from former Soviet bloc countries, so we can assume they have lots in common.”

  “And?” I asked, still not getting it.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Vlad will want Tatiana and Tatiana will easily cross over from Scott to Vlad. It’s a slam-dunk.”

  I let her plan sink in. She was onto something. If all Tatiana was after was money and she could have money and a sexy younger man, why wouldn’t she want Vlad? And what man could resist a twenty-one-year-old sexpot like Tatiana?

  “You might be brilliant,” I admitted with a sly grin.

  Fawn leapt up and went to the minibar and popped open a small bottle of Veuve.

  “We’re celebrating,” she said and poured out the champagne. “Here’s to the happy couple, Vlad and Tatiana.”

  “To Vlad and Tatiana,” I repeated and took a long sip of champagne.

  By the next morning it was all set. Vlad didn’t even hesitate when I called and invited him to have drinks with some friends. Fawn extended the invite to Scott, insisting he bring his charming girlfriend along. The plan was unfolding nicely until the subject of what I should wear came up.

  “You can’t keep wearing your Chanel,” Fawn pointed out.

  I remembered Tatiana’s derisive comment about my dress. “I do need something new,” I admitted.

  “I could lend you the money,” she offered kindly.

  I shook my head. “Never lend a friend money,” I said. “Besides, I don’t need money for a dress.”

  I decided it was time to demonstrate to Fawn firsthand the clout a fashion magazine had, particularly during a recession. We marched into the hotel boutique and I proceeded to pull any dress that was suitable off the racks.

  “The first thing that businesses do in a recession is cut advertising budgets,” I explained. “But stores still want to promote their stuff. Getting editorial coverage is worth way more because editors like me endorse the products, readers listen to editors. So I can get almost anything I want without paying for it.”

  “Is that what that new word ‘recessionista’ means?” Fawn asked, impressed.

  “Not quite. But I am staying at the hotel for free,” I admitted. “This dress?” I held up a gorgeous black Balenciaga cocktail number that was by far the priciest frock in the shop. “They may not give it to me, but they’ll loan it to me to ‘test drive’ for the article.”

  “Honey, if you’ve got all this, you don’t need to marry for money,” she said and giggled as I signed for the dress.

  “Oh, but I do,” I said seriously. “I’m sick of borrowing my so-called life of luxury. I want to own it. I want to know it’s mine and no one can take it away.”

  “My dear,” Fawn said sadly, “none of us ever get that security, not from marriage, and as this recession proves, not from money.”

  “I will,” I stated firmly, clutching the Balenciaga tightly to my chest.

  24.

  Skip to the Loo

  My good opinion once lost is lost forever.

  —Pride and Prejudice

  The Polo Bar was swarming but with a different crowd than had filled the Grill and the disco the previous night. As Fawn and I followed the maître d’ to the table, I saw that the room had been decked out with Cartier banners trumpeting the start of tomorrow’s snow polo tournament—that’s what was different, this was the polo set. The men wore double-breasted jackets, the women wore tasteful dresses, and Latin polo players mingled about, adding an air of sex to the room. I saw from a distance that Scott and Tatiana had already arrived, but for the first time since I’d met them, she wasn’t draped over his body like a pashmina. She sat across from him, a sullen look on her face, sipping champagne as he focused on his BlackBerry. I was suddenly hopeful. After our talk maybe he realized he didn’t need as much admiration as he thought. But as we drew closer to the table I saw that the Polo Bar also had one thing in it I hadn’t expected.

  “You certainly get around,” spoke the familiar silky accent.

  The Polo Bar had Griff Saunderson.

  Fawn and I stopped.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I said tartly. I thought back to my last conversation with Emma and her words, that Griff was a good sort of man, echoed in my mind. I would try yet again to be friendly.

  “I guess Palm Beach made a polo fan of you, after all, despite your close encounter with manure?” he said with a half smile.

  “I’m here for the skiing,” I answered coolly. He was making friendly a tall order.

  “I wouldn’
t have taken you for a skier,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Why is that?” I asked, dreading his answer.

  Before he could answer, Fawn coughed.

  “Pardon me, Griffith Saunderson, I’d like you to meet Fawn Chamberlain,” I said, trying to contain my irritation. “He prefers to be called ‘Griff.’ ”

  “We met once before,” she cooed and shook hands with him. I noticed she held on to his hand longer than necessary. “You gave me the brochure on that darling manor house.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely,” I agreed. Surely he was capable of normal chatter. “So, are you here alone?”

  “I am.”

  “I wasn’t sure if that girl I saw you with in Florida was your girlfriend,” I asked and immediately wished I hadn’t.

  “Girl?” he looked at me blankly. “What girl?”

  “Some blonde I saw you speaking with at the polo,” I said, flustered. The last thing I wanted was Griff to misunderstand and think I liked him that way.

  “They’re all blond at the polo.” He laughed. “You can spend all your time counting the number of bottle blondes versus natural ones. What about you?”

  “Me?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Ever been a blonde?”

  “Never,” I said defiantly, with an involuntary toss of my head (at least it felt involuntary).

  “Good to hear,” he said firmly. “Brunettes are much more dangerous.”

  “And you like danger?” I asked and realized with a shock that we were flirting. How did that happen?

  “Not at all, I always go for redheads.” He smirked. Maybe we weren’t flirting.

  “As the token blonde in the conversation,” Fawn cut in, “I prefer male-pattern baldness. Not that either of you asked my opinion.”

  “Sorry, Fawn.” I blushed.