Four Blondes

“Oh yeah? Well, what is it? Because I’m getting pretty sick and tired of your attitude.”

Oh God. Why do these arguments always go nowhere? Why can’t I make myself heard?

“You’re seeing Lil’Bit Parsons again, aren’t you?” I say triumphantly.

That stops him dead. “Wha . . .?” he says, but he looks away quickly, and I know I’ve got him. “Give me a break,” he says lamely.

“You are seeing her. I know everything. She’s in Europe, vacationing with her kids. She was in Saint Tropez.”

“So?”

“So you snuck out and met her,” I say, even though I have no actual knowledge of this incident and can’t even recall when it might have happened.

“Stop this,” he says.

“You saw her. You’re guilty.”

“I am not going to discuss this, Cecelia.”

“You’re not going to discuss it because I’m right. You saw her again. Why don’t you just admit it?”

“I said, I’m not going to discuss this.”

“Well remember this, buddy,” I say. “The last time you didn’t want to discuss it, it was in . . . all . . . the . . . NEWSPAPERS,” I scream. So loudly that I feel like my head is going to explode.

Hubert looks at me (sadly, I think), then jumps into the water. I turn and pass Paul and the cook, who have the fucking temerity to give me their wimpy half smiles as if nothing at all has occurred. I wonder how I can bear living like this, and I go up on the deck and thank God Dianna is there. I sit down and put my head in my hands.

“There are photographers on the dock,” she says.

“There’s going to be a great photo of Hubert shoving you,” she says.

“Definitely cover of Star magazine,” she says.

“I can’t take this,” I say.

“She’s never going to give up, you know?” Dianna says. “She’s a movie star. And movie stars can’t stand to be rejected. She can’t believe he chose you over her. She’ll be tracking him down until the day he dies, baby. And even then she’ll be elbowing you out of the way at the funeral. Just like Paula Yates.” She yawns and rolls over, spilling the bottle of nail polish on the deck.

One of the things you learn about being married is that you don’t have to continue every fight to the death. You can take a little break. Pretend that nothing has happened. I’ve found this works with Hubert, who, I’m beginning to realize, gets confused easily. Which is probably why he ended up dating Lil’Bit Parsons in the first place. She completely manipulated him.

And so, when he returns to the boat, water streaming off his dive skin (which shows off all the muscles in his body, including his washboard stomach), Dianna and I are laughing and drinking champagne as if nothing in the world is wrong. I pour him a glass of champagne, and he is relieved, thinking that maybe the fight is over.

But it isn’t.

I pick up the fight again when Hubert and I are in the taxi, making our way to Sir Ernie and Princess Ursula’s villa in the hills of Porto Ercole.

“Why did you break up with her?” I ask innocently. Hubert is holding my hand, staring out the window at the grape arbors, and he turns and says, “Who?” but there’s a tiny edge in his voice, as if he knows what’s coming next.

“You know,” I say. “Lil’Bit.”

“Oh,” he says. “You know. I met you.”

This answer is, of course, not satisfying, or at least not satisfying enough, so I say, “Didn’t Lil’Bit stay with Princess Ursula

every September?”

“I don’t remember,” he says. “They’re good friends. They’ve known each other since Lil’Bit was in high school in Switzerland.”

“High school in Switzerland. What a lovely expression,” I say nastily. And he says, “What’s wrong with it?” And I say, in order not to divert us from the main topic, “Did you go with her? To Porto Ercole? Every September with your aunt?”