Part 5 (1/2)
”Let's talk tomorrow!” Maritza said with all the brightness she could muster.
Later, when Olivia and Nick were sharing a lump crabmeat c.o.c.ktail over martinis at Del Frisco's, Olivia told Nick about Maritza's predicament.
”She was completely undone. I'll tell you, she really loves the old son of a gun,” she said. ”Are you going to eat that olive?”
Nick speared the olive with his toothpick and fed it to her. ”If you live long enough, you'll see everything. At least that's what my old man always said. Necker Island, huh?”
”Yep.”
”G.o.d, I love/hate going on vacation with them,” Nick said.
”Oh, suffer. It's necessary for business and besides, I'll make it worth your while,” Olivia said.
CHAPTER 3.
Necker Island
It was overcast, drizzling, and actually quite chilly for the end of May. The forecast was not promising for the holiday weekend in the New York area.
”Let's have a moment of silence for all those poor people who spent their last dime to rent a summer house in the Hamptons,” Olivia said, grateful they were not among them.
”Boy, I'll say! What does a four-bedroom go for these days?”
”Well, if it has a pool, probably forty thousand or more. That's not even for a house on the water. Rents can still be really obscene.”
”And oceanfront?”
”Don't even think about it, baby boy.”
They had checked and rechecked the weather for the Virgin Islands, and it was supposed to be perfect-a balmy eighty degrees in the water and on land. Feeling generous, Nick made the chivalrous decision to show some enthusiasm for the trip itself and to be a team player for Olivia's sake. It was the right thing for him to do. He would always balk and complain before they went on one of these trips. Then he would come around. When they finally got to wherever they were going, Nick had a fine time.
”I've looked at Necker Island online, and I must say it does look like paradise itself. It really does.”
”I love you for doing this,” she said, silently hoping that this trip would somehow produce new business.
”Oh, it's fine really. I mean, you've endured some painfully dry faculty dinners. I owe you.”
”Yes, that is true enough, but how terrible could it be to have an entire island to ourselves?”
”Well, speaking as an academic with an interest in anthropology, I will find it interesting to see if the natives go native!”
”I think there will be plenty of shenanigans. We have a possible nanny-gate on the horizon.”
”Oh, dear. If it's not the butler, it's the nanny,” Nick said.
When Olivia and Nick finally cleared the usual horrific traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel and arrived at the Teterboro Airport, they were met by Maritza, who was pacing the front door area with nervous excitement. Maritza hurried to give them a big hug.
”Hey! Y'all are here! How're y'all doing?” Muah! Muah! ”I'm so happy y'all made it! Bob's tied up in a meeting, but he'll be here directly. Nick? Do you remember Buddy? And Mich.e.l.le?” She pointed in their direction. ”Can I help you with that, Nick?”
”No, I've got it. Thanks.”
Olivia noticed Nick's scowl.
He whispered to Olivia, ”Do I appear to be infirm in any way?”
”No, sweetheart,” she whispered back.
Part of the group was a.s.sembled in the plush waiting area. Bob Vasile's best childhood friend, Buddy Bemis, and his willowy wife, Mich.e.l.le, were there with Ellen the nanny and Gladdie. Buddy popped up from the deep leather sofa like a man catapulted, which struck Olivia as funny.
”Hey! How are you, Olivia? Nice to see you again, Nick.”
”Yes, yes,” Nick said, ”and you too!”
Mich.e.l.le looked up from where she sat, curled up like a cat, and gave an anemic roll-of-the-fingers wave to Olivia and Nick. Then she dropped her eyes, returning to flipping the glossy pages of the June issue of Wine Spectator. That gesture said it all: if ennui had been a disease, she would've been dead years ago. Mich.e.l.le's claim to fame was that she produced wine for Bob's restaurants in her family's many vineyards in Burgundy and Saint-Tropez. And Bob owned a small percentage of one of them. Olivia was suspicious that she imbibed slightly too much for the overall good of her health. Nevertheless, Mich.e.l.le was a woman of her own means to the point that Buddy didn't really have to practice medicine, but how much golf could a man play?
”Mich.e.l.le?” Nick said and returned a small, unacknowledged wave of equal value to Mich.e.l.le. He then turned away and discreetly squirted his hands with a pocket-size hand sanitizer.
Olivia shook hands with Buddy, nodded to Mich.e.l.le, and remembered Mich.e.l.le's world-weary att.i.tude was one reason Nick did not care to travel with Bob's friends. But Buddy wasn't a total disaster. He was a successful dermatologist, and at least he was reasonably gregarious. How Mich.e.l.le spent her spare time was anybody's guess. Mostly she appeared to be marinating in a mood.
”Got a very low ceiling out there,” Buddy said. ”I hope we can get out!”
”Yes, the weather's not ideal,” Nick replied.
They all turned at once to look through the large windows, but their focus was shattered by a juvenile screech.
”It's mine!” Gladdie exclaimed loudly. ”Gimme it!”
Gladdie jerked an iPad away from Ellen, who was perched with a beauty queen's posture on the edge of the coffee table. Olivia looked at Nick's face, which read, How many days will we have the pleasure of enduring your G.o.dchild? And when Nick read Olivia's face, it said, My G.o.ddaughter is the poster child for birth control.
”She sure loves that iPad!” Maritza said. ”She's just crazy about all these gizmos! Now, let's share, Gladdie. Share!” Maritza repeated the share command until it seemed as if Gladdie would drive them all to guzzle liquor straight from a bottle. At last Maritza said, ”Why don't you come with me and let's get some popcorn? Doesn't it just smell so good? Smell the b.u.t.ter?”
If we continue to reward bad behavior with food, Little Gladdie is going to have a weight problem someday soon, Olivia thought.
Reluctantly, Gladdie handed the iPad over to Ellen and took her mother's hand, stomping off in the direction of the snacks.
Ellen became instantly engrossed in something on the iPad, Mich.e.l.le was buried in her magazine, so the burden of social interaction was a.s.sumed by Buddy.
”So, help me remember, Nick? Do you play golf?”
”Oh, I putz around, but it's not my pa.s.sion. I like to fish.”
Buddy said, ”Humph. Well, I think fis.h.i.+ng is admirable, but I don't really have the patience it takes. You know, when I was a boy . . .”