He pressed the button on the wire of his headset and said to all ears, “Would you look at that sand? It’s as white as the driven snow!”
Everyone nodded, and very soon they were touching down on the helipad. They climbed out, were greeted by a staff member from the resort, who led them to a waiting golf cart that would deliver them up to the Great House to meet Bob and Maritza.
“I rode in a helicopter,” Nick said, visibly relieved and smiling widely as they bumped along the path. “And I didn’t die.”
“Are you afraid to fly?” Lola asked.
“It’s been a subject of concern,” Nick said.
Olivia kissed his cheek and said, “And I am so grateful that you didn’t die! But you have to say, sweetheart, it was an exhilarating ride, wasn’t it?”
“A lot of people have phobias,” Lola said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the crazies I hear about from Anne. People are out of their minds.”
“Hello? HIPAA laws?” Olivia said.
Lola rolled her eyes as though the law did not apply to her or to Anne.
“I’m not phobic,” Nick said, and exhaled with a whoosh. “It was exhilarating! In fact, exhilarating is the perfect term for the experience.”
Nick said that and then thought, Here I am again, just an old Geechee boy talking about flying in private planes and helicopters. Wow, this is some fast life I’m living.
At the Great House, which was a Balinese-bamboo-and-teak extravaganza, they found Bob on the terrace with Dorothy and Sam Kreyer, discussing their golf opportunities.
“I think the two best courses are Mahogany Run and Carambola,” Sam was saying. “The fellow at Guest Services said he’d be happy . . .”
Bob looked up to see Olivia and Nick arriving, with Lola not far behind.
“That sounds fine. Maybe tomorrow,” Bob said to Sam, and then turned his attention to Olivia and Nick. “Here you are! Welcome! Welcome!” He extended his arm to draw their attention to the water and then all across the horizon. “Isn’t this something? It’s like going to Bali without the jet lag! Let’s have a glass of champagne!” The waiter standing by poured two stems of Veuve Clicquot for Olivia and Nick. “Say hello to Sam and Dorothy. You remember Olivia and Nick, right?”
“How nice to see you again,” Dorothy said, and offered her skeletal hand to Olivia for a limp shake.
Olivia gave Dorothy’s bony hand a perfunctory squeeze of similar import and said, “Thank you. How lovely to see you too!”
Olivia did not think it was lovely to see Dorothy. Actually, seeing Dorothy was enough to give you nightmares. Her complexion was geisha pale, and she wore dark vampire-red lipstick. She was so thin it was disturbing to see her in a swimsuit, and when she was dressed, she swaddled herself in fashions so bizarre that she looked like Jane Jetson met Lady Gaga in a dark place. More dark than Jane or Gaga. But the real reason she didn’t think seeing her was lovely was that the first time they were together Dorothy made the statement that she had never used a decorator because they were bloodsucking, unnecessary annoyances posing as style makers. Of course, as soon as Dorothy realized her faux pas, apologies were offered.
“I can’t believe my words! I am so terribly sorry!” Dorothy had said.
No, she wasn’t.
“It’s okay,” Olivia said, not wanting to make a scene at the time. Olivia held her hand up to dismiss her.
“If I’d known . . .” Dorothy went on.
There was no chance whatsoever that Dorothy the fashionista, who owned a high-concept clothing boutique in the Meatpacking District, had not known Olivia was an interior designer unless she lived under a rock. Anyone who ever read a magazine in New York either knew or knew of Olivia Ritchie. So since the day Dorothy sank the gaff between Olivia’s eyes, Dorothy and Olivia had had zero love between them. In Dorothy’s mind there was room for only one style maker. Dorothy herself. Just to plant the thought firmly so there’s no confusing Dorothy with anyone else? Dorothy was the biggest duplicitous bitch in the Milky Way. Her marriage to Sweet Sam was a mystery to all. Nick suspected there was an issue of endowment on both sides, but that was nearly impossible to confirm unless you were his physician or her investment advisor.
Olivia shifted her attention to Bob.
“Bob! This place is gorgeous! How did you ever find it?”
The waiter handed her a glass of champagne, and she nodded her thanks.
“That’s my job, Olivia! You know I like to keep life interesting.” Bob had genuine affection for Olivia. She knew his life story so well, he almost had to be nice to her.
“Well, you surely do that, my friend. Cheers! Where did Maritza go off to?”
“She’s checking out our rooms,” Bob said and pointed to the top level of the Great House. “Forgive me, but I took the penthouse for us. Cheers!”
“As you bloody well should,” Nick said. “Cheers!”
Bob chuckled, picked up a note pad, and said, “And I told the desk to take your things to the Bali Hi cottage, which I think you’ll like. Lola, you and Anne are in Bali Lo.”
“And we’re in . . . ?” Dorothy said.
“Bali Beach,” Bob said. “Next door to Olivia and Nick. Anyway, this nice young man will show you where to go, and there’s a site map in your room. What do you say we meet back here at seven? We can have a cocktail and then dinner?”
“That sounds like a plan,” Sam said.
Seven o’clock arrived and everyone gathered on the deck of the Great House, eager to begin the evening, have an adult beverage, and soak up the breathtaking panoramic views as the sun began to sink into the horizon. They had dropped their urban dress and put on clothes more suited to a chic evening in the Garden of Eden. All the men sported short-sleeve shirts and Bermuda shorts except Nick, who believed it didn’t matter when or where you went on the planet, a gentleman wore long pants to dinner.
The women wore sundresses or slacks with breezy tops and flat sandals. But Dorothy’s getup was—well, what was it? It was box-shaped dull gray linen that defied description. Was it pants? Was it a skirt? Was it supposed to protrude like that at all those odd angles? Why did it have so many slits and holes? Maybe it was best described as something architectural that represented a post-terrorist attack. The only jewelry she wore was a wide bangle bracelet of hammered silver. And her flat silver sandals had many tiny straps that loosely climbed up her bony legs.
Olivia guessed that her bracelet was probably handmade in some remote village in Mexico by a cottage industry of children or women. It didn’t look like the work of Native Americans. And it didn’t have the polished look like the work of Elsa Peretti or David Yurman either. Still, the only comment she made to Nick as they saw Dorothy approach the deck was “What the hell is that?”
“Caviar?” A waiter offered Olivia and Nick a tray of warm miniature blini with a very generous dollop of caviar topped with a tiny dab of crème fraîche.
“Osetra?” Olivia asked, taking one.
“Yes, ma’am,” the waiter said. “And here is the beluga.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Nick took one and winked at Olivia. Olivia surmised correctly that Nick was not miserable and breathed a sigh of relief.
Next, Maritza appeared with Gladdie and Ellen. Ellen was wearing a gossamer white T-shirt and skintight white jeans. Gladdie had on a baby-blue smocked sundress with a big bow holding up her hair. But Maritza, whose intention was to impress Bob, was a dazzle of brilliant colors in a silk caftan that billowed at one moment and clung at another. It was hot pink and printed with deep blue, red, and yellow tropical birds in palm trees. The plunging V neck, which accentuated her obvious assets, was trimmed with tiny clear jets that would sparkle in the candlelight after dark, as would her oversize earrings and clattering bracelets.
“Maritza! You look spectacular!” Nick said, and gave her a kiss on the back of her hand.
Nodding, Olivia smiled at Maritza, hoping this would give her confidence.
“Oh, p
lease,” Dorothy said, giving Maritza’s outfit a lot of hairy eyeball. “Make it stop.”
“Dorothy!” Sam said.
Dorothy simply shrugged her shoulders, moved to the edge of the deck away from everyone, and crawled into her own head for a few moments. She thought, Okay, so that sounded a little rude. So what?
Olivia knew that Dorothy thought Maritza was a crass hick. She remembered a drunken remark from their last trip, when she’d heard Dorothy say, “Who works in a chicken-processing plant and a greasy diner? Please! All she did was screw her way into Bob’s wallet.”
Olivia watched as Dorothy saw Sam coming toward her. Dorothy smiled and began walking toward him. Olivia moved in slightly toward the bar, hoping to hear what they said.
“You have to play nice with the others,” Sam said, gently chiding Dorothy.
You tell her, Sam, Olivia thought.
“You know, sweetheart, making nice isn’t my best asset,” she said. “But for you? I’ll try.”
“He’s my boss, Dorothy, and she’s our hostess,” he said.
“And the thought of them having sex is completely repulsive,” Dorothy replied.
“Who thinks about that?” Sam said, innocent of the notion that Dorothy might think about it a lot.
“There simply is no justice in this world,” Dorothy said. “Do you think I might have another glass of champagne?”
“Fine, but you know, everyone heard what you said about Maritza,” Sam said.
“Oh, dear. Well now, that is the deepest regret of my life,” she said. Her left eyebrow arched.
“Is everything all right?” Olivia asked.
“Oh, please,” Dorothy said, rolling back on her heels a little.
Olivia suddenly realized that Dorothy was well lubricated, probably having engaged in some high-octane prehydration prior to the cocktail hour. Olivia and Nick’s room had a fully stocked bar, and she assumed that this was true of all of the others as well.
“Oh, please what?” Olivia said, ready to tell Dorothy what she thought of her.
“It’s too complicated to explain to you. If you really knew me, you’d probably agree with me,” Dorothy said, and looked around to see Sam caught up in a conversation with Buddy. “Jesus God, he can’t even bring me a glass of champagne?” She brushed her hair away from her face. “Let me ask you something, Olivia. Do you ever feel marginalized? Like you’re living on the fringe when you ought to be in the center of things?”
Even if Olivia did feel like that, Dorothy was the last woman on the planet she’d tell.
“You mean like life is passing you by?”
“Yeah, I think I squandered my flowers,” Dorothy said. “You know, wrong garden?”
Olivia had a rough idea of what she meant.
“Who’s to say?” Olivia said, one of her stock replies she used when responding to the query of a drunk or someone with whom she had no intention of engaging in conversation.
“You’re right! Lemme ask you something else.”
“Sure!” Olivia couldn’t wait for the next nugget, and Dorothy was beginning to slur her words.
“Ya think Bob’s dicking the nanny?”
Olivia looked at Dorothy and thought, My God, even if I did know, does she really think I’d tell her?
“I haven’t the slightest idea, but I think a lot of women would like to trade places with Maritza.” Like you, you ugly transparent whore, she thought.
“Well, you probably could’ve had him too, Olivia, if you didn’t go around acting like high-ranking clergy.”
“My friends call me the bishop,” Olivia said, and thought, Holy hell, she’s as drunk as a coot!
“Well, we’ll see where his train finally stops, won’t we? We’ll see.”
Bob returned with a flute of champagne and Dorothy took her husband’s arm, more to steady herself than for any other reason.
They rejoined the group, Dorothy carefully avoiding eye contact with Maritza.
Olivia watched Dorothy closely. What did she have against Maritza to be so rude to her? Well, now she knew. Dorothy thought that Maritza wasn’t worthy of being the wife of a billionaire. Bob’s money could take her to every board position in Manhattan she might want. And, under whatever delusion she was suffering from, Dorothy thought she could give Bob some class. Maybe on Halloween, Olivia thought.
Now, Bob might not have all the starch of a waspy Boston Brahmin, and he wasn’t a Harvard man bound for a career in international diplomacy, but he didn’t need it. And he might not have exemplified the religious virtues of his forefathers. But after Nick, Bob Vasile was the most honest, unpretentious, and least screwed-up man Olivia had ever known—with the exception of his weakness for women. And sometimes Olivia recognized a measure of pretension in Nick’s language, but she thought he mostly spoke the way he did to amuse her and others and to make his students pay attention. Nick’s pretentious language made Bob roar with laughter.
But Maritza was right. Dorothy didn’t like her. And it appeared that Michelle Bemis had no interest in being good company for Maritza or for anyone else. Anne Fritz was keeping to herself and Lola for the moment. Daniel and Kitty were nowhere to be found. This could become a disastrous holiday if things continued as they were.
“So! We’re having a beach party tonight!” Bob announced. “Look down there!”
The caviar circulated again and Olivia thought, I could eat my own weight in this stuff.
About fifty yards from where they stood on the deck and not far from the water’s edge, there were rugs spread on the sand. Lights were strung between the trees and something fragrant was cooking in a fire pit tended by two men. There was a long, low table set with lanterns and flowers and enormous conch shells resting on white linen. Fat square cushions were placed by the table for seating. It looked like a Polynesian luau on Fantasy Island.
“Where’s Don Ho when you need him?” Dorothy asked, and she alone laughed at her joke.
“You mean Ricardo Montalbán?” Olivia asked.
“Whoever!” Dorothy said.
“Shall we?” Maritza said.
Ellen rolled her eyes and mumbled, “She says it like she’s the queen of England issuing a royal decree. La-di-da.”
Gladdie started to giggle. “Hey, Momma! Ellen said you’re the queen of England! La-di-da!”
Gladdie broke away from Ellen’s hands and began to skip down the sand toward the party, calling out la-di-da with every skip.
Maritza’s face turned bloodred, and she stopped Ellen, grabbing her arm.
“Don’t you like your job?” Maritza said.
Then Ellen’s face turned bloodred.
Olivia and Nick, who were right next to her, pretended not to have heard but their ears were perked. Sam was ahead of them with Bob, Buddy, and Michelle, all of them out of earshot, but Dorothy was near them and was sporting a tight grin.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ellen said. “I was just trying to make Gladdie laugh.” Embarrassed, she hurried ahead to Gladdie, who was by then way down the beach past the party area, in a flat-out sprint running hell-bent for leather toward her half brother, Daniel, and Kitty.
“Oh. Okay.” Maritza said, and turned to Olivia. “You saw that, right? Where’s Anne?”
“She’s behind us with Lola. Yes, I heard it. That kind of humor isn’t funny. It’s undermining,” Olivia said.
“Young people can be very careless with their words,” Nick said. “I’d give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“This time,” Olivia said.
“If y’all think I should, then I will. But she makes me so mad.”
“Darling?” Olivia said. “Why don’t we simply enjoy this beautiful night? You preside over the evening like the queen and treat Bob like your king and let’s see what happens.”
“He has gone to a lot of effort to give all of us a wonderful holiday,” Nick said as though he was Maritza’s father.
Maritza’s face lit up with the possibilities of a well-execute
d dose of revenge.
Over a dinner of roasted seafood and tomatoes, onions, and other vegetables, Maritza offered a toast to Bob.
“Here’s to my wonderful, gorgeous, brilliant husband who arranged this amazing holiday for us! I love and adore you, Bob. There’s not another man in this whole wide world like you! You are my king!”
“Now, that’s how a wife should treat a husband!” Sam said. “Here, here!”
Dorothy’s eyes were rolled somewhere up in her skull at Sam’s remark, and Ellen pretended to gag, but just a slight gag. Gladdie was starting to whine.
“Let’s get you to bed, Gladdie,” Ellen said. “Bob? Do you want to help me tuck her in?”
If Bob and Ellen tucking Gladdie in was a regular habit at the Vasile home, no one knew except the Vasiles and Ellen, but it seemed highly unorthodox to Olivia.
“No, but I’ll be along soon,” Bob said, dismissing Ellen. He turned back to Maritza. “So, I’m a king, am I?”
“Yes siree, Bob!” Maritza said, and everyone laughed.
Everyone, that is, except Dorothy and Michelle.
Chapter 4
Eden and Beyond
The last thing the men did that night was agree to a golf outing the next day. The plan was to go island hopping, playing nine holes here and another nine holes there, and to have a lunch of freshly caught grilled fish somewhere. Sam said he knew a place, a rustic backwater joint with sticky floors and no plumbing. It probably violated every health-code regulation under the sun, but the fish they’d eat would’ve been swimming only hours ago. Maybe even caught to order. Needless to say, the conch chowder was impossible to duplicate. The guys were unanimous—they wanted a macho food adventure just like that one.
“Infectious diseases be damned!” Bob said. “We’re not afraid!”
“Hell no!” Buddy chimed in.
“We could never take the girls there!” Sam said.