“A year. At full salary. I’ll start looking for another job in nine months. In the meantime, I’m going to travel.”
“So far she’s only made it to the Pool Club, though,” Suzette said.
“Hey, guys. If it weren’t for you, I’d be in Rio right now.” Portia giggled.
“Oh, please.” Suzette rolled her eyes. “The South of France.”
“Saint-Tropez is totally boring in June,” Portia said dismissively.
“How about Switzerland?” Pandy asked.
Suzette stared at Pandy. “Who goes to Switzerland in the summer?”
“I do,” Pandy replied, rubbing suntan lotion on her arms. “Or I want to, anyway. I went there once in July. For a wedding. We stayed in one of those castle hotels. And the beds—triple down pillows and comforters. Like sleeping on a cloud. And the mountains! I kept thinking I was in The Sound of Music. There was this piano player, and I started singing Burt Bacharach songs. Johnny Depp was there, and supposedly he was so horrified by my singing that he left.”
“The room?” Portia asked.
“The hotel,” Pandy said. “Supposedly he checked out that evening.”
“What about your house in the country? Why don’t you go there?” Suzette asked.
“That place?” Portia said with a grimace.
“Come on, Portia,” Suzette said. “It’s Pandy’s family house. She grew up there.”
“I don’t mean to insult anyone’s family, but that place is creepy. No cell service, no Wi-Fi, not even cable. And nothing to do. And all those spooky portraits of your ancestors…”
“Portia. Please,” Suzette said sharply. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “In any case, I had a great time there. We dressed up in old clothes and played charades. And croquet. Remember?”
“Old-lady games.” Portia sneered.
“What’s the name of the town again?” Suzette asked in a polite tone intended to silence Portia.
“Wallis,” Pandy said. “But it’s not really a town. It’s a hamlet.”
“And isn’t it someplace historic, like your family seat?” Suzette asked encouragingly.
“Hello? Her last name is Wallis, and she comes from Wallis. What do you think?” Portia yawned, bored with the discussion.
“I’ve got a family seat,” Suzette cackled. “It’s called my big fat juicy ass.”
“Another bottle of champagne, ladies?” A harried young man in a white shirt and crisp khakis lifted the bottle and poured the last few drops into Pandy’s glass.
“Thank you,” Pandy said with excessive gratitude. She finished the glass and got up to change into her new bathing suit.
* * *
When she returned, Suzette and Portia were tearing through the pile of magazines. “Here,” Portia said, handing Pandy the magazine Connected. SondraBeth Schnowzer was on the cover, dressed in sharp white jeans and towering platform shoes, her hand held up to her face as if to block the paparazzi.
“Trash. All trash,” Portia added. She held up another magazine and shook it for emphasis. “I have to say, I do love reading my trash in an actual magazine, though, because then I can throw it out after I’ve read it. I can literally throw the trash into the trash, and that makes me feel good.”
“Maybe you should get a job with the city. Picking up trash,” Pandy murmured.
“What is up with this poor woman?” Suzette demanded, snatching up the tabloid with SondraBeth on the cover. “Why does everyone call her romantic poison? She’s gorgeous. Why can’t she find a man?”
“Doug Stone, remember?” Portia said. “I read that he dumped her right before the wedding. And when you’ve been rejected by one of the biggest movie stars in the world, there’s nowhere to go but down.” She chortled and turned to Pandy. “Didn’t you date Doug Stone once?”
Pandy flushed. “Not really.”