Part 2 (1/2)
Lauren's never been anywhere she can tell you about, she often says when she returns from one of her frequent disappearances. Then you read somewhere or other that she's been at Mr. Revlon or whoever's place in Barbuda and he's been asking her what companies he should buy or what she thinks about hedge funds or distressed companies in Russia. Later you hear that while she was down there some rock star was staying with Mr. Revlon too. But the fact was, he was totally bored by Mr. Revlon and was only there for Lauren, who barely spoke to him and told him she'd never heard his music, which made him crazy for her.
”Marci, I think maybe we were at Brown together,” I said.
Marci looked at me curiously for a moment and then said, ”Sylvie...Wentworth?”
”Yes,” I told her, ”Well, it's Sylvie Mortimer, now I'm married to Hunter.”
”Congratulations,” said Milton. ”You make a cute couple.”
”I hear you're absolutely best friends with Lauren,” said Marci. Suddenly she looked troubled as she added, ”Well, actually she says you're her second best best friend. I'm her best best friend. Officially.”
”Darling, I'm Lauren's best friend,” declared Milton dramatically.
”Well, I only just met Lauren, in Careyes,” I said, sensing an atmosphere. ”I barely know her.”
”I know. Lauren told me all about you. She says you're the most wonderful influence on her,” said Marci, slightly grudgingly.
Suddenly Marci seemed nervous. She scanned the room, tugging awkwardly at her tweed skirt.
”I'm so unoriginal, aren't I? The only thing I could be was Bridget Jones Two because I'm so enormous. And don't tell me I'm thin because I know I look like a museum. But at least my husband looks like Mark Darcy-well, Mark Darcy with red hair. Ha ha ha!”
”Darling, I've just spotted an old acquaintance over there,” said Hunter, ”I'm just going to pop over and say h.e.l.lo, all right?”
”Sure, sweetie,” I said, as Hunter headed over toward a group in the far corner.
Milton patted the sofa next to him, and Marci and I sat down.
”How's married life?” asked Milton.
”It's so nice-” I started, but Marci interrupted me.
”Being married has got to be the draggiest drag of all time,” she groaned. ”My self-esteem will never get over it. I love and adore Christopher and everything, but marriage is totally hideous. The only girls I know getting any s.e.x are divorced.”
I must have looked surprised, because the next minute Milton was nodding his head and saying, ”Absolutely true.”
”Milton, is it true that Axel Vervoordt escorted the parquet in the corridor from Holland? Personally?” said Marci. ”I heard Lauren's converted the wine cellar into a fur vault. Apparently it's colder than Alaska down there. Or is that just a rumor?”
”I couldn't possibly divulge my clients' secrets,” said Milton, suddenly sphinx-like.
There was an awkward pause and Marci went bright pink. ”I didn't mean to pry-”
”Now, what's happened to that fabulous husband of yours?” he interrupted, looking at me and changing the subject.
”He's-”
I looked around. I couldn't see Hunter anywhere. Then I spotted him standing over by the piano. He had his back to me and was chatting to two girls dressed as white-faced Harajuku twins. One of them was very plain, the other noticeably beautiful, with such extraordinary cheekbones it was hard not to stare. The ordinary one soon moved off, and I could see Hunter still chatting to the cheekbones. The girl's face was framed by a gleaming wig of straight j.a.panese hair. She was wearing a white s.h.i.+rt, a black tie, and a mini-kilt. Her legs were of the insanely long, rangy variety indigenous to summertime Sardinia. On her feet were extremely high platform shoes and knee-high white socks. She looked weirdly chic actually, especially with Lauren's all-white room as a backdrop.
”There he is,” I said, pointing Hunter out. ”Let's go over and get him.”
We all got up. But the second Marci laid eyes on the Hara-juku girl, she stopped and stared.
”Un-be-liev-able!” uttered Marci. She sounded incensed. ”He's with Sophie D'Arlan. Look at her! Touching his arm like that,” she whispered as we all crossed the room toward them. ”She's an outrageous flirt. I don't like to gossip, at all, you know, I think it's evil, but apparently Sophie is always having an affair with several people she shouldn't be. You'd better watch out for her.”
”Marci, we got married four weeks ago. I don't think she'll go after a newlywed,” I said, unconcerned.
”Don't think the fact that you're married is going to stop Sophie. She only dates husbands.”
”Stop scaring Sylvie,” retorted Milton, hobbling behind us on his high heels. ”I'll see you later. I've just spotted the real David Bowie.”
With that, Milton wobbled off toward the garden. Meanwhile, when Marci and I reached Hunter, Marci hugged and kissed Sophie in a friendly way, despite what she had been saying a few seconds before.
”Sophie, do you know Sylvie?” said Marci, turning toward me.
”I don't think I do. Hi. I'm Sophi-a D'Arlan,” she said, extending her hand. She spoke with a trace of a rather exotic French accent. ”Marci, quit calling me 'Sophie.'”
”Sylvie's married to Hunter,” added Marci, exaggerating the word married in an unnecessary way, I thought.
At this news, Sophia seemed to visibly pale, despite her powder-white face. She put her hand out toward the piano, as though to steady herself.
”You got...married? Hunter?” said Sophia, looking at him accusingly.
”They're wearing matching wedding rings, Sophie,” said Marci pointedly. ”But I guess it's too dark for you to notice, Sophie.”
”It's Sophi-a,” she said. Then, with a loud sigh of disappointment, she added, ”Anyway, congratulations, Sylvie. I've known your gorgeous new husband, G.o.d...forever, since high school. We were like that,” she said, crossing her index and forefinger together. Then, glancing at Hunter, she added, ”Hunter...I can't believe you didn't tell me you were taking yourself off the market. Who knew?! Married.”
She seemed to stare at Hunter for a little too long, eventually turning to me and saying, ”Hunter is being so nice. He's helping me with something I'm working on. So sweet.”
”He is sweet, isn't he?” I said, smiling at Hunter. I felt him loop his arm around my waist and squeeze me affectionately.
”Yes, he's a very attentive husband,” said Marci, quite obviously directing this at Sophia.
”Hey, girls, enough of that,” said Hunter, looking embarra.s.sed.
”Would you be sweet, Sylvie, and just let me steal Hunter for another five minutes, to discuss my project?” said Sophia.
Without waiting for an answer, she steered Hunter off toward the fireplace. Marci looked after them, her expression sulky.
”I'm probably being paranoid,” she huffed.
”Talking of husbands, Marci, where's yours?” I said in an effort to change the subject.
”I don't know,” said Marci. She didn't appear to be at all disturbed by this revelation.
”Marci, what do you mean you don't know?” I laughed.
”I forget.”