Sex and Vanity

Rosemary gave them an exasperated look before turning to her son. “Why won’t they take our rooms? George, nei tung keoi dei gong la. Keoi dei wui teng nei ge.”*2

Up till this point, George had sat as silent as the Sphinx, but now he looked straight at Charlotte and Lucie and spoke up in a soft drawl that was vaguely reminiscent of an Australian surfer. “There’s nothing to say. Of course you must take our rooms. We insist.”

“Well, let me insist that we won’t!” Charlotte scoffed.

George turned to his mother as if he hadn’t even heard Charlotte. “Let’s just speak to the manager and he’ll handle it.”

“Yes, yes! Ettore can get housekeeping to pack up all our bags and move everything!” Rosemary said excitedly.

This was too much for Charlotte. She stood up from the table and said, “You’re very kind, but we really cannot trouble you like this. Have a nice day. Lucie, come.”

*1 Pretentious Italian for “olive oil” and “balsamic vinegar,” which, by the way, only Americans use to dip their bread in. Italians would never be caught dead doing anything like that, preferring to eat their bread plain.

*2 Cantonese for “You go talk to them. They will listen to you.”

III

Poolside at the Bertolucci

CAPRI, ITALY

Charlotte and Lucie left the dining room and found a table under the loggia by the pool. As they sat down, Lucie looked at her cousin and started to giggle. She couldn’t help it—she always seemed to giggle whenever she felt uncomfortable.

Charlotte shook her head in annoyance. “Jesus! What a crazy lady! What was her deal? Was she trying to impress us with her parade of oceanfront properties? Does she think we are some sort of charity cases that are going to bow down in gratitude just to spend a night in her ‘deluxe suite’?”

“I think she was just doing the ‘Chinese auntie’ thing.”

“Well, she’s not your auntie, and she’s certainly not mine.”

“That’s not what I meant. She’s just being a bit of a showoff but trying to be generous at the same time. I’ve met a bunch of Mom’s relatives who are just like that. You should see these ladies fighting over the bill at lunch. It’s like watching an opera.”

“What do you mean? They don’t want to pay their fair share?”

“No, Charlotte, they’re all fighting to pick up the whole check! They screech at each other, play tug-of-war over the bill, or try to bribe the waiter not to let anyone else pay. Apparently it’s considered good manners to make a big show of it,” Lucie tried to explain.

“I’ll never understand that sort of behavior. To me, this woman crossed a line. And what do you make of that son of hers?”

“I’m not sure. He barely spoke,” Lucie said with restraint. The truth was she had an instant aversion to really attractive guys, ever since her eighth-grade boyfriend, Ryan

Frick—who looked like a young Jared Leto—two-timed her with Maggie Hoover, a Spence girl who was known to everyone in their generation because she could put her entire fist in her mouth.

“Well, I thought he seemed like an arrogant snot! Who is he to insist that we take their rooms? My God, this hotel is turning out to be a nightmare. First they give us the wrong rooms, and then we have to deal with these sort of people. I should have listened to Giles, my travel editor, and just shelled out the money for the Punta Tragara. This would never have happened there. Penny wise, pound foolish, as they say. Shall I call them up and see if they have any ocean-view rooms available? I don’t care what we have to pay anymore. I’ll call up Diane at the family office and sell some bonds if I have to.”

Just as Lucie was about to answer, she saw someone familiar in the distance. “Look at that man coming down those steps. Isn’t that Auden Beebe?”

Charlotte peered at the tall man in his forties with a perfectly groomed beard and shoulder-length blond hair walking through the archway of the lobby out onto the terrace. “It sure is! Auden! Auden!”

Auden Beebe (City and Country / Saint Ann’s / Amherst*) turned and approached them. “Hullo,” he said warmly, although it was clear that he recognized the ladies without quite being able to place them. As a celebrated yoga master, life coach, motivational speaker, and self-help author (his bestseller, The Preppie Guru, had been on the New York Times bestseller list for the past two years), he was accustomed to meeting thousands of people who felt that they knew him intimately.

“Auden, it’s Charlotte Barclay and Lucie Churchill. We were at your workshop at Canyon Ranch last spring? In Lenox?” Charlotte said effusively.

“Yes, of course, the cousins!” Auden said, breaking into a wide smile. “What brings you to Capri?”

“We’re here for a wedding,” Lucie answered.

“Ah. Let me guess…Dolfi De Vecchi’s?”

“Yes!” Lucie and Charlotte said in unison.