“She has been acting rather strange lately, hasn’t she? She used to like me.”
“She still likes you,” Carlton said rather unconvincingly.
“Uh-huh. I’m really buying that.”
“Trust me, the only person she’s mad at right now is my father. She refused to leave Hong Kong, so when he said he was going back to Shanghai on his own, she told him that she would divorce him if he tried to see Rachel. She’s afraid they’ll be seen together in public and some scandal will erupt.”
“Wow. It’s gotten that bad?”
“It’s an empty threat. She’s just caught up in her anger.”
“Why don’t I arrange a dinner for Rachel to secretly meet your father at my house? That’s not a public place.”
“You just like causing trouble, don’t you?”
“Am I the one causing trouble? I’m just being hospitable to your sister. It’s rather ridiculous that she’s been in Shanghai for over a week now and your father still hasn’t seen her. He was the one who invited her in the first place!”
Carlton considered it for a moment. “We could try to arrange something. I’m not sure my father will come, though. He kicks and screams but he always ends up obeying every command of my mother’s.”
“Leave it to me. I’ll call your father and tell him it’s an invitation from my dad. That way he won’t refuse, and he won’t be expecting Rachel to be there.”
“You’re being awfully nice to Rachel and Nick.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? She’s your sister, and I’m enjoying them very much. They are such a different species. Rachel is cool, there’s no bullshit with her. And she’s a total banana,*2 isn’t she? Just look at how she dresses in those no-name brands, her painful lack of jewelry—she’s not like any Chinese girl I’ve ever met. Nick I’m still trying to figure out. Didn’t you say his parents were rich?”
“I think they do okay, but I don’t get the impression they are that rich. The father used to be an engineer, and now he’s a sports fisherman. And Mrs. Young does day-trading, I think.”
“Well, he’s been very well brought up. He has this very particular sort of relaxed charisma, and his manners are impeccable. Have you noticed that whenever we’ve been in an elevator, he always lets all the women exit first?”
“So?”
“That’s the mark of a true gentleman. And I know he didn’t get that from Stowe, since your manners are barbaric!”
“Fuck you! You just like him because you think he looks like that Korean heartthrob you like.”
“How cute—are you jealous? Don’t worry, I have no interest in stealing Nick from your sister. What is he, a university professor?”
“He teaches history.”
Colette giggled. “A history professor and an economics professor. Can you imagine what their children will be like? I don’t know why your mother would ever feel threatened by these people.”
Carlton sighed. Deep down, he knew exactly why his mother was behaving the way she was. It really had nothing to do with Rachel and everything to do with his accident. She had never spoken to him about what he had done, but he knew that the stress of that tragedy had changed his mother irretrievably. She had always been short-tempered, but ever since London, she had become more irrational than he had ever known her to be. If he could just turn back the clock on that night. That fucking night that had ruined his life. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Colette.
Colette could see that the black cloud had descended over Carlton again. It was happening so quickly these days. One minute they would be having the most brilliant time, and then suddenly he would just disappear into a pit of despair. Trying to snap him out of his funk, she unbuttoned the last few buttons of his shirt and began to trace circles around his navel. “I love it when you get all pouty and smoldering on me,” she whispered in his ear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.” Colette positioned her feet on both sides of Carlton’s torso and stood up over him. “Now, do you really think it’s true that President Obama was the last person to sleep in this bed?”
“This place is built like a fortress—all the presidents stay here,” Carlton said flatly.
“I bet Mr. Obama never had this view,” Colette said, sliding off her Kiki de Montparnasse panties in one slow, seductive motion.
Carlton stared up at her. “No, I don’t believe so.”
* * *
*1 Actually, everyone knows that Tommen Baratheon, age seven, is the youngest man to sit on the Iron Throne. (See George R. R. Martin’s A Storm of Swords.)