"Besides, there's always the possibility same people don't know they are all show and no substance," he said. "Illusion and reality, huh? Your topic. right?"
"Right," I said nervously. He was always reminding me about my supposed purpose for being there. "Oh. I see the Carriage sisters." I groaned.
"We'll try to steer clear of them, although that might be difficult on a yacht. Where is Hope?" he asked, stretching his neck to look between and above people.
"You don't see her?"
"Not yet. You know." he said, "I've heard of people throwing these parties and not showing up until nearly the end of the evening:'
"Why"
"Some hate them but do them because if they don't, they'll lose their place on the totem pole."
"Is position, rank in society, so important?"
"I think that's what makes everyone here fear death so much more. There's a good chance it's not important in the afterlife," he said with a grin.
"Thatcher! I thought you weren't coming," we heard someone cry above the din. A tall, dark-haired woman with a svelte figure wearing a red silk column gown with an attached chiffon scarf stepped forward through the crowd and held out her hand, the fingers of which were so full of diamond rings I thought she would have trouble opening them. Her eyes were a beautiful jade color, but that looked to be the only natural thing left untouched on her cosmetically altered face with skin tucked tightly under her ears, nose surgically shaved, lips puffed with collagen. Only the small gathering of wrinkles at the base of her throat gave away her true age.
"Hope, how could I not?" he replied.
She laughed and leaned forward to give him a double air kiss, one next to each cheek.
"I'd like you to meet Isabel Amou," he said. She is visiting from South Carolina."
"Oh, yes," she said, giving me her hand. "I've already heard all about you."
The Carriage sisters?" Thatcher asked.
"Better than the CIA," Hope said. "Call me this week. I have something I need done with my property in Puerto Rico." she told him. "Please," she said to me. "enjoy. I have two of Tania Morgan's kinetic works of party art starboard behind the dessert bar. It seemed appropriate,," she added with a laugh, "For some reason, my male guests appreciate the work more. Oh, there's Donald," she cried, and moved away.
"What is she talking about, kinetic works of party art?" I asked.
Thatcher raised his eves and led me through the crowd toward the dessert bar, where we could see a thick gathering of people. When we came around. I saw two nude women completely coated with what looked like liquid silver, seated back to back, legs crossed, arms at their sides. Neither moved a muscle. Their eyelids must have been glued open. They looked like statues, human bookends. From what we heard around us, it seemed every ten minutes, they rose and switched sides, and that was what made them kinetic art.
"It's like the changing of the guard at
Buckingham Palace," a tall, thin gentleman with balding gray hair said. He had lips that looked as if they were made of rubber, "You don't want to miss it."
"I think we'd rather get something to eat." Thatcher quipped, and directed me toward the buffet.
We had just sat at a table when two older couples approached us.
"Don't get up," the shorter of the two men said as Thatcher began to rise. "Thatcher, you remember Mitch Rosewater and his wife. Brownie, don't you?"
"Yes, yes, of course," Thatcher said, rising nevertheless to shake the taller man's hand and greet his wife. "We met at the Pullmans' party, right?"
"Yes. Rather sedate party compared to this, what?" he said. He was obviously English.
'Td like you all to meet Isabel Amou, just visiting from South Carolina." Thatcher said. The line was already so connected to my name I thought I'd have to include it whenever I signed anything, "Isabel, may I present Tom and Melinda Dancer. Tom is, you should pardon the expression, also an attorney," Thatcher said with a wide grin.
"Merely a paper pusher compared to Thatcher here," Tom Dancer said, extending his hand to me. His wife was studying me so hard I thought I had some of the pate on the end of my nose.
"You're actually staying with Asher and Bunny Eaton at Joya del Mar, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes," I said "What happened? Did it get into the newspapers or something?"
Everyone laughed.