Part 4 (1/2)
”Probably not,” Olivia said, but thought, How's never?
”I miss my family something awful. You know? I was thinking to myself that there's nothing really stopping me from taking Gladdie down there for a family visit. My momma's got a weak heart and she's living all by her lonesome with her housekeepers. I worry about her.”
”Maritza? If she's living in her own home, she's probably stronger than you know.”
”Maybe, but not a day goes by that I don't worry about her.”
”Well then, go pay her a visit! If she was my mother, I'd go see her.”
”You know what? You're right! Maybe I'll go after Memorial Day! But it's just such a royal pain in the derriere because we can't land the jet in Cartaret. So I have to fly to Jackson, get a car, and drive to Momma's. And I can't bring Ellen, so it's just me and Gladdie, and let me tell you, y'all know I love your G.o.ddaughter with all my heart and soul, but Lord, she can be so rambunctious!”
This would be the understatement of the day, Olivia thought.
”And why can't you bring Ellen to help you?”
”Are you serious? If I go down there with a nanny? By Monday, everybody at the processing plant and Wally World would be running their mouths about it! They'd turn the chickens loose on me and I'd get pecked to death!”
”Good grief,” Olivia said and pushed the image of thousands of rabid chickens from her mind.
Cartaret, Mississippi-population under six thousand-held the distinction of being home to the second-largest chicken-processing plant in the world. And a Walmart, which was its saving grace. Of course there was a coffee shop, where Maritza had learned to cook, which by the twists and turns of G.o.d's grace led to her position on Bob's yacht and then into his bed.
”Olivia? Y'all got a Co-Cola? I'm 'bout as parched as I can be!”
”You know I do! I keep them just for you!” Olivia held up one finger, meaning she'd pour her a gla.s.s of c.o.ke and be right back.
”Oh, gos.h.!.+ Thanks, Olivia. I'll just make myself at home.”
Olivia slipped away to the wet bar in her butler's pantry, leaving Maritza to drape herself across a chaise covered in ice-blue silk twill, which served as the perfect backdrop for the kaleidoscope of her flamboyant tunic.
Olivia snapped the metal cap from the cold bottle and poured it over tiny square ice cubes in a Baccarat tumbler. She put the gla.s.s and the bottle on a starched c.o.c.ktail napkin resting on a small hotel silver tray. It wasn't a question of style so much as she didn't want the icy chill of the gla.s.s to loosen the skin on her ivory s.h.a.green end table, and she found coasters to be . . . well, to be honest, never as aesthetically pleasing as linen and silver. She returned to the living room and placed the tray carefully on the table next to Maritza.
”Oh, my! Dahlin'! Thank you! You make me feel so glamorous with all this hullabaloo for a little ol' c.o.ke!”
”It's my pleasure. So tell me, what's new?”
”Well, that's the reason I dropped in, you see. I have the most amazing news, so I wanted to tell you in person!” Maritza picked up her gla.s.s and drained it, refilling it with the remainder of the bottle.
”Wonderful! Let's hear!”
”Memorial Day? Y'all are still free, aren't you?”
”Yes, of course! You asked us to save the weekend.”
”Well, so . . . drum roll, please! Bob is going to fly all of us to the Caribbean, and he's rented Necker Island! Can you believe it?”
”Great heavens! Really? The whole island?”
Necker Island was seventy-four acres of pure hedonistic fantasy located in the British Virgin Islands and just one of many dramatic properties owned by Richard Branson. Olivia was stunned.
”Yes! And hang on to your hat-it comes with a private submarine! We can take it out to look at the fish, and then we don't have to snorkel!” Maritza got up, did a little s.h.i.+mmy, and then sat down again. She was very excited. ”G.o.d, I hate snorkeling! I just hate to put my face in the water, don't you? Having our own submarine will just make everything so much easier. Don't you think so?”
”Yes, of course,” Olivia said, forcing a tight smile. ”Can I get you another c.o.ke?”
”Golly, that would be so nice!”
Olivia returned to the butler's pantry with the empty bottle and gla.s.s and thought, With my claustrophobia? h.e.l.l would freeze before anyone would convince Olivia Ritchie to climb into a personal submarine. Then she was struck by the bizarre fact that Maritza thought saving her hair and makeup (cost: maybe three hundred) with access to your very own personal submarine (cost: one zillion) was a mere charming convenience when just five years ago she was wearing short shorts and a tight T-s.h.i.+rt, slinging hash below deck for the crew on Bob's yacht.
It dawned on Maritza that her description of the submarine might have sounded obnoxiously ent.i.tled, so she followed Olivia and stood leaning against the doorframe and began recounting her day.
”So the very minute he told me, I called Maia K. at Bergdorf's and we spent the whole morning tracking down every caftan in creation. I bought really retro sungla.s.ses like Jane Wyman wore in A Magnificent Obsession? Remember her?”
”Of course!”
”And we found these fabulous giant-sized hats for day, which I need because my hair will fry like all get-out. The last thing I need is straw instead of hair. And I bought a pile of fabulous chiffon caftans and open-toed mules for night.”
”Sounds very dramatic! I love it!”
”Yeah. I figured I'd be a glamour puss and see if I can't jump-start Bob's, you know, love machine?” She giggled and turned red in the face.
Olivia thought, Oh, boy. This is a lot more than I want to know. She turned to Maritza with another lockjawed smile and a full gla.s.s of c.o.ke, and they returned to the living room together.
”You know, when I was a kid, we used to get us these little bottles of c.o.ke and pour a nickel bag of salted peanuts in them and shake it up. They'd bubble up and overflow and then we'd drink it, making a mess, choking on the nuts.”
”Why in the world would you do that?”
”You know what? I don't know! 'Cuz kids are stupid, I guess. And back home there wasn't much going on. I guess shaking up a c.o.ke with a pack of peanuts was a big deal.”
”Well, kids are silly, which BTW, I think is a good thing. So tell me some more about the trip! I'm so excited!”
”We're gonna have such a great time! I just know it! So if y'all can leave on Thursday . . .”
”We can.”
”Great! Then we'll fly out of Teterboro. Bob's bringing Le Bateau de l'Amour down in case we don't like the island.”
Le Bateau de l'Amour was Bob Vasile's yacht, which was roughly the size of a football field. It had eight staterooms with en suite marble bathrooms, two fireplaces, two living rooms, indoor and outdoor dining rooms, an elevator, two hot tubs, a gym, and just about every gorgeous detail that existed for yacht fittings, including a media room, a wine cellar, and a salon. The owners' suite and the library were recently featured in Yachting Magazine. His crew of thirty moved it around the world, never touching an American dock so as to avoid paying personal property taxes. It was purchased with the a.s.sets of his proverbial fatted calf-a chain of fifty or so steak houses and his vineyards in Napa and a partners.h.i.+p in Burgundy. The vineyards supplied and refurbished the wine cellars and lists of the restaurants. His businesses were a dovetailing money-maker, to say the least. Recently, Bob bought a vitamin company because after decades of a debauched existence, he now wanted to live forever. And he became vegan, just to see if he could. Being vegan didn't last long.
”I can't imagine we wouldn't like Necker Island, can you?”
”Of course not, but you know my Bob! When he wants to leave, we leave! If he doesn't like something, we get rid of it! So I can promise you on my daddy's grave if Bob doesn't like Necker, we'll be getting on the boat.”
Olivia just shook her head. This was a lot to absorb.
”So I shouldn't completely unpack until we know how he's feeling?”
”Honey? Unpack? Don't wreck your nails! There's someone to do that for us!”
”Oh,” Olivia said. She was unsure of how to respond. She was always slightly embarra.s.sed that someone was going to unpack her clothes. ”You're bringing Gladdie, I hope?”
Gladdie was Maritza's precocious four-year-old daughter, who was conceived as soon as the ink was dry on Bob's divorce papers. Or maybe before, but who was counting? Nick referred to little Gladdie as Maritza's job security. Bob absolutely adored little Gladdie.