Sex and Vanity

“I give it a B minus,” Cecil declared. “Tuscany looked amazing, and the actors were pretty enough, but the costumes were god-awful—whoever the costume designer was should be fired. It’s a wedding with nothing but crazy rich Indians and all the jewelry looked so fake!”

Lucie nodded, giggling nervously, and Cecil continued his rant. “Indians are known for having the most fabulous jewels in the world! What a missed opportunity! But with the dance numbers and the terrible acting, it’s bound to be a camp classic. The plot was too ridiculous for words.”

Freddie nodded in agreement. “The whole drone subplot with the wedding videographers trying to blackmail the couple? That was so ridiculous. But what was even more ridiculous was that sex scene—they’re like two virgins, and when they finally get it on in the tower, the first thing he does is drop to his knees and eat her out? Sorry, that would never happen in real life—dudes always need to get off first. So unbelievable! What did you think, George?”

“Yeah, it was pretty unbelievable,” George said.

XI

Outlook Avenue

EAST HAMPTON

I feel the earth move under my feet,

I feel the sky tumbling down, a’tumbling down…

Lucie, Freddie, and Cecil returned to the house to find three ladies with an array of Korean facial masks plastered on their faces, singing and dancing around the living room as Carole King’s Tapestry blasted on the old McIntosh turntable. Cecil took one look at Charlotte and Marian shimmying on the sofa in bathrobes and wordlessly turned around, heading straight up to Lucie’s bedroom.

“Well, I see you kids are having quite the party without our permission! Mama, isn’t it past your bedtime? And what’s this here?” Freddie said in a mock angry tone, holding up an empty bottle of the 2016 Mazis-Chambertin Grand Cru.

“It’s very good wine. I googled it and it’s 859 dollars a bottle. And we’ve finished three bottles so far!” Rosemary giggled like a schoolgirl from the wing chair, where she sat with her restorative donkey-milk facial mask* on, soaking her feet in a wooden tub filled with a hot dark brown liquid that smelled like Robitussin. A Korean masseuse in a pale pink smock stood behind Rosemary, kneading her shoulders forcefully with her sharp, bony elbows.

“Oww, oww, yes, right there!” Rosemary moaned.

Marian stopped dancing and grinned through her cracked twenty-four-karat gold foil hydrating mask. “Oh my God, we’re having the best slumber party spa night! Are you still hungry, Freddie? What did you have for dinner? There’s so much leftover Korean barbecue, you should have some.”

“Is there any kimchi?” Freddie asked.

“Of course.”

“Is it spicy? You know I can’t eat Korean barbecue unless there’s good kimchi to go with it.”

“The kimchi is so spicy it will burn a hole in your pants, Freddie. There’s some leftover mandoo as well. I think Mary’s gone to bed already, but you can just stick some of the barbecue in the microwave for forty-five seconds and it will taste like it’s fresh off the broiler.”

“Forget about it.” Freddie plopped down on the sofa.

“Lazy boy! Here, come with me, I’ll do it for you,” Marian said, shuffling toward the kitchen with Freddie in tow.

Lucie felt a huge sense of relief as she saw them go. Now the only one left to get rid of was Rosemary. She needed to steel herself to confront Charlotte privately. She felt like her mind was spinning out of control with…what? Shame? Desire? Contempt? She wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but she knew one thing—it was all Charlotte’s fault. She never would have inhaled George’s face outside the theater tonight if Charlotte hadn’t blabbed to Olivia about what happened at Villa Jovis, if Olivia hadn’t betrayed them all by showcasing the whole affair in her movie.

“How was the film?” Charlotte asked, as she took a careful nibble of chocolate truffle, not wanting to open her mouth too wide for fear of cracking her snail-slime-and-bee-venom mask.

“Funny you should ask, Charlotte. It turns out the movie was directed by your dear friend Olivia Lavistock,” Lucie said.

“OH-livia! That English girl who only wore black all week long in Capri?” Rosemary asked in surprise.

“The very one,” Lucie said mock cheerily.

“Really, they showed Olivia’s film? I wish I’d known, I would have come. Last thing I heard she was still editing it,” Charlotte mumbled through her mask, placing her feet into one of the wooden buckets as another attendant poured more of the mysterious hot brown liquid in.

Lucie was incensed. “You knew Olivia was making a film?”

“Of course. She’s been slaving away at it for the past two years,” Charlotte said.

“The film was shot two years ago?”

“Possibly more. Apparently the cinematographer was this Indian fellow who was an absolute nightmare to work with. He stole some of the footage and kept it hostage for a while.”