Sex and Vanity

“Please don’t confuse elitism with brilliant, self-made billionaires, baby. My friends have every right to be snobbish, but they aren’t. Like my father, who grew up without a proper pair of shoes in Terlingua, Texas, and worked his ass off till he dropped dead of a cerebral hemorrhage at sixty. People like Harry treated my dad with nothing but contempt, even when he could finally afford to wear John Lobbs.”

Lucie groaned, not wishing to drag herself deeper into arguing over this. “Cecil, you know I arranged for the Ortiz sisters to rent the place from Harry. I went to all that trouble helping two extremely high-maintenance parties negotiate their terms. The Ortiz sisters even wanted the water quality tested in the pipes, because apparently they can only bathe in water that’s a certain pH. I did it all without complaint, but now you’ve sabotaged my plans completely over some absurd vendetta you have against Harry. And to make matters worse, I know these Zaos, and the Ortiz sisters know them, whi

ch makes things doubly embarrassing.”

“Oh, the Zaos were part of that wacko Capri crowd?”

“Yes. They’re related to Isabel.”

“I might have guessed. Those rich Asians all seem to be related, don’t they?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were cooking up this scheme? I’m going to be your wife, Cecil. Why didn’t you at least warn me?”

Cecil went quiet for a moment as the enormity of his screwup finally began sinking in. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ruin the joke for you.”

Lucie exhaled deeply, trying to control her anger. “I really don’t understand you sometimes, Cecil. I feel very betrayed.”

“I thought you’d be happy!” Cecil sputtered.

“Yeah, real happy,” Lucie said, hanging up.

V

The Preppie Guru Lounge

AMAGANSETT, LONG ISLAND

The new Preppie Guru Lounge just outside Amagansett boasted a circular yoga room with floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded spectacular views of the serene wetlands leading down to Napeague Bay. The Saturday morning Master Level Puppy Yoga class that Auden led was the most popular one by far, with a two-year waiting list, as his groupies flocked from all over the world to sun salutate their carb-deprived bodies at the feet of their impossibly photogenic guru.

Lucie had been a devotee of Auden’s classes for several years now, since he had opened his first pop-up class in East Hampton four summers ago. She was used to the rigors he imposed and the way he would coax her into pushing her body further than she ever imagined, but today’s class was kicking her ass. He was putting them through the most merciless poses, and it didn’t help that it was a particularly humid morning, causing the sweat to drip off Lucie like a broken water sprinkler, and that the class was also welcoming a rowdy new batch of shelter puppies who obviously didn’t get the memo about keeping things Zen.

As Ajeet Kaur and Trevor Hall’s “Akaal” played softly in the background, Lucie struggled to hold her pungu mayurasana—one-arm wounded peacock pose—while a French bulldog puppy tried to nuzzle into her sweaty armpit. And when she began transitioning from wounded peacock into sirsa padasana—head-to-foot backbend—a corgi-Chihuahua mix started playing tug-of-war with her tank top. Get off me, you little shit! I mean, focus, breathe, om gam ganapataye namaha, Lucie chanted silently. On several occasions, as she stretched into a new pose, she noticed in her peripheral vision some hippie dude behind her who seemed to be executing each pose effortlessly. How was he tuning out these vicious beasts?

Everyone sighed in relief when Auden finally allowed them to relax into shavasana, as his voice transformed from taskmaster into his trademark laconic drawl. “And now, just ground into the earth. Feel Mother Earth’s gentle embrace. Let your body melt into the soft grass, into the nurturing rich soil, grounding deeper into the earth, deeper and deeper, sending roots into the core, connecting to the giant magical tree at the center of the universe. Feel your breath flow in through the soles of your feet all the way to your crown chakra, flooding oxygen into every cell in your body, every strand of DNA, and as you exhale, think of your breath sending precious life force back through the roots into the tree, the tree of life, Mother Gaia, the tree that connects us all. Innnnn and ouuuut, innnnn and ouuuut. Feel the life force flowing through your body, carrying you home; feel your third eye pulsating…”

At that moment, the corgi-Chihuahua decided to bite the heel of the girl next to Lucie, causing her to squeal and let out a loud fart at the same time. A few people burst into giggles, but Lucie bit her lip, feeling embarrassed for the girl, thinking, Oh gosh, what if the people behind thought that it was me who farted? Auden gave the closing blessing as the class finally came to an end, and as Lucie opened her eyes and sat up on her mat, she turned around and glanced at the hippie guy behind her. He was kneeling on the ground, his back to her as he rolled up his yoga mat, and Lucie couldn’t help but notice the taut, muscular perfection of his ass through the thin, shiny fabric of his faded orange workout shorts. Suddenly the guy turned around, their eyes catching at the same moment, and Lucie did a quick inhale. It wasn’t a hippie; it was George. George with long surfer-dude hair. No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.

“Hey,” he said with what appeared to be a little smirk.

“H-hi,” Lucie stammered. He definitely thinks I’m the one who farted.

“George!” Auden yelled from the front of the room as he came bounding over and gave him a big hug. “So great to see you again! I ran into your mother last week at Nick & Toni’s and she told me you’d come to the lounge one day soon. Lucie, how great is this? It’s a Capri reunion!”

“Um, yeah, great,” Lucie replied, trying to collect herself.

“Can I treat you both to a drink at our Ayurvedic juice bar? It would be such fun to catch up,” Auden offered.

“Sure!” George said brightly.

“I, um, have to run. I have a lunch date with my mom,” Lucie said.

“Pity. Well, say hi to your mom for me,” Auden said, as he put his arm around George’s shoulders and steered him toward the door. As they strode off, Lucie could overhear Auden saying, “Your form is insane! You should be teaching my class!”

“Oh yeah? I’ve been practicing yoga ever since you turned me on to it in Capri,” George replied.

Lucie felt a pang of regret. Why hadn’t she joined them? What harm would there be in grabbing a juice with Auden and George after class? After all, it had been five years since they’d seen each other. She debated whether to follow after them but decided it would look a little pathetic to join them now. Besides, she really did need to get home to her mom. As she walked past the wall of mirrors outside the yoga room, she caught sight of herself and cringed. Her new dove-gray yoga pants were drenched with sweat stains all the way from her crotch to halfway down her thighs. Oh, how perfect. I just stood in front of George looking like I farted and peed my pants.

Driving home along Old Montauk Highway with the top down on her MINI Cooper, Lucie felt more relaxed as the ocean sparkled in the bright sun and the breeze enveloped her like a cool blanket. The fresh air cleared her mind, and she could finally think rationally again now that she was out of her post-yoga fog. She knew she would run into George sooner or later, but she had always imagined it would be at an opportune moment—courtside at the Dorset Yacht Club tennis matches, for instance, or at the Watermill Center’s Summer Benefit party—when she would be dressed to kill. Bumping into him like this had been a complete surprise. She was caught off guard; that’s the only reason she reacted like a tween with backstage passes at a BTS concert. If she hadn’t just been tortured by Auden for seventy-five minutes straight, if she hadn’t looked like she had just peed herself in these damn useless yoga pants that she was about to throw in the garbage, she would not have been so nervous. There was no reason in the world to be nervous. George was just some kid she had met one summer a long time ago. They had known each other for only a week, and they were both victims of Capri, yes, victims swept up by all that beauty and history and achingly romantic, Instagrammable moments of Issie’s wedding. Yeah, that entire hedonistic occasion was designed to seduce. She was so much older and wiser now. She was a Brown graduate, she had made Artcom’s “Thirty Under Thirty” list of the art world’s leading young professionals, and, for Chrissakes, she was engaged to Cecil Pike. Who was George Zao compared with him? Who cares if even after sweaty puppy yoga he still looked like the ultimate thirst trap while she looked like a wet hamster? George Zao was nothing to her.