All Summer Long: A Novel Part 6

That was the end of that. Anne Fritz and Lola had barely said a word, but wasn't Anne's a.s.signment to observe?

Olivia and Nick settled themselves in the very back row where they had sat on prior trips and were relieved not to be in the middle of the brewing fray. There would be plenty of time to make polite chitchat over the next few days. And with any luck an opportunity would arise to casually mention that she had some open time for new projects.

Nick wasn't even particularly frantic about sanitizing his seat-belt buckle, the recliner b.u.t.ton, or the burled walnut tray with its gold fittings.

"You have to think that they totally disinfect this plane, don't you?"

"Absolutely."

Nick wasn't even particularly fearful of the flight because it was a known fact that Bob was meticulous about the care and maintenance of his plane. And helicopters. And boats. And well, everything he owned. At least that's what he told himself. Again.

"You okay?" Olivia said.

"I'm absolutely fine," Nick said quietly to Olivia. "Actually, this has all the earmarks of a perfect getaway. But I must say, I'm surprised he doesn't use a hovercraft to get from Tortola to Necker. There has to be less risk."

"Instead of a helicopter?" Olivia said, and Nick nodded. "It's only a thirty-five-minute hop. I'll hold your hand."

"I'm fine. To be honest, I swallowed half a Xanax about an hour ago."

"Well, anxiety is what they're for, sweetheart."

"I brought some bottles for us to taste," Mich.e.l.le announced. She pa.s.sed a large canvas tote bag to Bob, who pa.s.sed it to the steward. "Four reds and four whites."

"That was awfully nice of you, Mich.e.l.le," Bob said. "Thank you."

"Always thinking of you, darling," Mich.e.l.le said and-G.o.d save the queen-she smiled.

Olivia caught Anne Fritz's eye, and they looked at each other, wondering if Mich.e.l.le was now or had ever been on the receiving end of Bob's affection. Or was she on the launch pad? One never knew when considering Bob and his personal history. And Mich.e.l.le's face was inscrutable.

When the plane reached forty-one thousand feet and after a light meal of various cheeses and charcuterie with fruit, warmed baguettes, and generous pours of wine, they all began to nod off. Bob said there would be a feast for them on the island, so there was no reason to eat very much on the flight. Maritza had a blanket pulled up over her shoulders and Gladdie rested in Bob's arms, fast asleep. As Olivia made her way to the powder room, she had the surprising thought that Gladdie did look angelic, sleeping there on her father's chest, seemingly without a care in the world. She remembered reading somewhere how it was a good thing to give birth to a stubborn child, that such children became leaders, not followers. That was probably true. Maybe she would ask Anne, Maritza's psychiatrist. This would give her something to talk to her about. And she looked at Daniel and Kitty, sleeping soundly with earbuds in their ears, and correctly a.s.sumed that Bob had not made small talk with them thus far and probably would not at all.

Olivia resettled herself in her seat, climbing over Nick, who was sleeping as well. As she refastened her seat belt, she thought about how nice it was to see him so relaxed on an airplane, even if it did require medication. n.o.body's perfect, she thought, and looked around her, reflecting on the others on the trip and what their relationships were to one another. Some of them seemed to belong together, but other couplings struck her as unsuitable or odd.

Mich.e.l.le was at least eight if not ten years older than Buddy. Mich.e.l.le didn't look anywhere near fifty. Olivia had to imagine she was Botoxed and Restylaned within an inch of her life. After all, Buddy was a dermatologist. In fact Olivia thought it would be a miracle if they got through this trip without Buddy's offering her some kind of a shot. Usually after a big meal with a lot of wine, he got to the point of inspecting her face and everyone else's too. Then the offers would follow: he could enhance their appearances, just smooth that stubborn jagged crater between their eyebrows-at no charge, of course. Olivia thought it was the height of all crust to bring along whatever he brought along as though they were going to a Tupperware party. Somehow it took the shine off the moment. For her, anyway.

She reclined her seat to the sleeping position, hoping to get comfortable enough to catch a power nap. Anne and Lola? Well, they were a strange pair, separated by more than a decade too, more like mother and daughter than lovers, but she didn't know them and decided to reserve judgment. After all, wasn't Nick much older than she was?

There was no question in anyone's mind that Maritza and Bob were a G.o.d-awful match. But Maritza was determined to please Bob, and he enjoyed the worship even if it turned out to be true that she no longer exclusively held his heart. But who would ever hold the heart of a man like Bob? If a man's not happy with one billion dollars, why would he be happy with one woman? Bob, rare bird that he was, would never tolerate a cage.

Soon the plane began a nearly imperceptible descent, the complete opposite of a commercial jet. There were no hot-dog bankings to the left or right, no ear-popping drops in alt.i.tude, and no announcements. Just a quiet landing as though the plane had kitten feet and was coming in on a goose-down duvet.

A customs officer boarded the plane and collected their pa.s.sports. He left and returned a few minutes later.

"Have a nice stay," he said, and handed all the pa.s.sports to Bob.

"Tough security here," Bob said, laughing, but only when he was certain the customs officer was out of earshot. After all, he thought, there was no point in getting security people excited.

"Nice landing," they all said to the pilots. "Thanks for a great trip!"

The helicopter's pa.s.senger seats were three across, and there were headsets available so that they could talk to each other if they wanted to. Bob, Maritza, Ellen, and Gladdie were the first group to take off.

"I'll hold my princess," Bob said, referring to Gladdie, but he seemed to be smiling at Ellen. It was impossible for Olivia to tell exactly where his eyes were because of the darkness of the lens of his sungla.s.ses. "See you folks with a bottle of cold champagne in just a few minutes!"

Little Gladdie was pretending to be asleep, hanging over Bob's shoulder like a thirty-pound sack of potatoes and making snoring noises. Olivia thought, There is simply no end to this little girl's charms.

The second helicopter's rotors began to turn and Buddy, Mich.e.l.le, and Daniel's girlfriend, Kitty, climbed on board. When the first helicopter returned, Nick and Olivia boarded for the short hop with Lola, and Daniel would bring up the rear with Anne Fritz and one of the pilots. Odd that Kitty didn't travel with Daniel, and Olivia tucked that piece of info away. Maybe it was to promote camaraderie.

Nick seemed calm enough, Olivia thought, although he kept a tight grip on her hand and inhaled less frequently than she thought was normal. The water below them was sparkling and turquoise. As Necker Island, surrounded by coral reefs, came into view, Nick began to get excited.

He pressed the b.u.t.ton on the wire of his headset and said to all ears, "Would you look at that sand? It's as white as the driven snow!"

Everyone nodded, and very soon they were touching down on the helipad. They climbed out, were greeted by a staff member from the resort, who led them to a waiting golf cart that would deliver them up to the Great House to meet Bob and Maritza.

"I rode in a helicopter," Nick said, visibly relieved and smiling widely as they b.u.mped along the path. "And I didn't die."

"Are you afraid to fly?" Lola asked.

"It's been a subject of concern," Nick said.

Olivia kissed his cheek and said, "And I am so grateful that you didn't die! But you have to say, sweetheart, it was an exhilarating ride, wasn't it?"

"A lot of people have phobias," Lola said. "You wouldn't believe some of the crazies I hear about from Anne. People are out of their minds."

"h.e.l.lo? HIPAA laws?" Olivia said.

Lola rolled her eyes as though the law did not apply to her or to Anne.

"I'm not phobic," Nick said, and exhaled with a whoosh. "It was exhilarating! In fact, exhilarating is the perfect term for the experience."

Nick said that and then thought, Here I am again, just an old Geechee boy talking about flying in private planes and helicopters. Wow, this is some fast life I'm living.

At the Great House, which was a Balinese-bamboo-and-teak extravaganza, they found Bob on the terrace with Dorothy and Sam Kreyer, discussing their golf opportunities.

"I think the two best courses are Mahogany Run and Carambola," Sam was saying. "The fellow at Guest Services said he'd be happy . . ."

Bob looked up to see Olivia and Nick arriving, with Lola not far behind.

"That sounds fine. Maybe tomorrow," Bob said to Sam, and then turned his attention to Olivia and Nick. "Here you are! Welcome! Welcome!" He extended his arm to draw their attention to the water and then all across the horizon. "Isn't this something? It's like going to Bali without the jet lag! Let's have a gla.s.s of champagne!" The waiter standing by poured two stems of Veuve Clicquot for Olivia and Nick. "Say h.e.l.lo to Sam and Dorothy. You remember Olivia and Nick, right?"

"How nice to see you again," Dorothy said, and offered her skeletal hand to Olivia for a limp shake.

Olivia gave Dorothy's bony hand a perfunctory squeeze of similar import and said, "Thank you. How lovely to see you too!"

Olivia did not think it was lovely to see Dorothy. Actually, seeing Dorothy was enough to give you nightmares. Her complexion was geisha pale, and she wore dark vampire-red lipstick. She was so thin it was disturbing to see her in a swimsuit, and when she was dressed, she swaddled herself in fashions so bizarre that she looked like Jane Jetson met Lady Gaga in a dark place. More dark than Jane or Gaga. But the real reason she didn't think seeing her was lovely was that the first time they were together Dorothy made the statement that she had never used a decorator because they were bloodsucking, unnecessary annoyances posing as style makers. Of course, as soon as Dorothy realized her faux pas, apologies were offered.

"I can't believe my words! I am so terribly sorry!" Dorothy had said.

No, she wasn't.

"It's okay," Olivia said, not wanting to make a scene at the time. Olivia held her hand up to dismiss her.

"If I'd known . . ." Dorothy went on.

There was no chance whatsoever that Dorothy the fashionista, who owned a high-concept clothing boutique in the Meatpacking District, had not known Olivia was an interior designer unless she lived under a rock. Anyone who ever read a magazine in New York either knew or knew of Olivia Ritchie. So since the day Dorothy sank the gaff between Olivia's eyes, Dorothy and Olivia had had zero love between them. In Dorothy's mind there was room for only one style maker. Dorothy herself. Just to plant the thought firmly so there's no confusing Dorothy with anyone else? Dorothy was the biggest duplicitous b.i.t.c.h in the Milky Way. Her marriage to Sweet Sam was a mystery to all. Nick suspected there was an issue of endowment on both sides, but that was nearly impossible to confirm unless you were his physician or her investment advisor.

Olivia shifted her attention to Bob.

"Bob! This place is gorgeous! How did you ever find it?"

The waiter handed her a gla.s.s of champagne, and she nodded her thanks.

"That's my job, Olivia! You know I like to keep life interesting." Bob had genuine affection for Olivia. She knew his life story so well, he almost had to be nice to her.

"Well, you surely do that, my friend. Cheers! Where did Maritza go off to?"

"She's checking out our rooms," Bob said and pointed to the top level of the Great House. "Forgive me, but I took the penthouse for us. Cheers!"

"As you b.l.o.o.d.y well should," Nick said. "Cheers!"

Bob chuckled, picked up a note pad, and said, "And I told the desk to take your things to the Bali Hi cottage, which I think you'll like. Lola, you and Anne are in Bali Lo."

"And we're in . . . ?" Dorothy said.

"Bali Beach," Bob said. "Next door to Olivia and Nick. Anyway, this nice young man will show you where to go, and there's a site map in your room. What do you say we meet back here at seven? We can have a c.o.c.ktail and then dinner?"

"That sounds like a plan," Sam said.

Seven o'clock arrived and everyone gathered on the deck of the Great House, eager to begin the evening, have an adult beverage, and soak up the breathtaking panoramic views as the sun began to sink into the horizon. They had dropped their urban dress and put on clothes more suited to a chic evening in the Garden of Eden. All the men sported short-sleeve shirts and Bermuda shorts except Nick, who believed it didn't matter when or where you went on the planet, a gentleman wore long pants to dinner.

The women wore sundresses or slacks with breezy tops and flat sandals. But Dorothy's getup was-well, what was it? It was box-shaped dull gray linen that defied description. Was it pants? Was it a skirt? Was it supposed to protrude like that at all those odd angles? Why did it have so many slits and holes? Maybe it was best described as something architectural that represented a post-terrorist attack. The only jewelry she wore was a wide bangle bracelet of hammered silver. And her flat silver sandals had many tiny straps that loosely climbed up her bony legs.

Olivia guessed that her bracelet was probably handmade in some remote village in Mexico by a cottage industry of children or women. It didn't look like the work of Native Americans. And it didn't have the polished look like the work of Elsa Peretti or David Yurman either. Still, the only comment she made to Nick as they saw Dorothy approach the deck was "What the h.e.l.l is that?"

"Caviar?" A waiter offered Olivia and Nick a tray of warm miniature blini with a very generous dollop of caviar topped with a tiny dab of crme frache.

"Osetra?" Olivia asked, taking one.

"Yes, ma'am," the waiter said. "And here is the beluga."

"Thank you," she said.

Nick took one and winked at Olivia. Olivia surmised correctly that Nick was not miserable and breathed a sigh of relief.

Next, Maritza appeared with Gladdie and Ellen. Ellen was wearing a gossamer white T-shirt and skintight white jeans. Gladdie had on a baby-blue smocked sundress with a big bow holding up her hair. But Maritza, whose intention was to impress Bob, was a dazzle of brilliant colors in a silk caftan that billowed at one moment and clung at another. It was hot pink and printed with deep blue, red, and yellow tropical birds in palm trees. The plunging V neck, which accentuated her obvious a.s.sets, was trimmed with tiny clear jets that would sparkle in the candlelight after dark, as would her oversize earrings and clattering bracelets.

"Maritza! You look spectacular!" Nick said, and gave her a kiss on the back of her hand.

Nodding, Olivia smiled at Maritza, hoping this would give her confidence.

"Oh, please," Dorothy said, giving Maritza's outfit a lot of hairy eyeball. "Make it stop."

"Dorothy!" Sam said.

Dorothy simply shrugged her shoulders, moved to the edge of the deck away from everyone, and crawled into her own head for a few moments. She thought, Okay, so that sounded a little rude. So what?

Olivia knew that Dorothy thought Maritza was a cra.s.s hick. She remembered a drunken remark from their last trip, when she'd heard Dorothy say, "Who works in a chicken-processing plant and a greasy diner? Please! All she did was screw her way into Bob's wallet."

Olivia watched as Dorothy saw Sam coming toward her. Dorothy smiled and began walking toward him. Olivia moved in slightly toward the bar, hoping to hear what they said.

"You have to play nice with the others," Sam said, gently chiding Dorothy.

You tell her, Sam, Olivia thought.

"You know, sweetheart, making nice isn't my best a.s.set," she said. "But for you? I'll try."

"He's my boss, Dorothy, and she's our hostess," he said.

"And the thought of them having s.e.x is completely repulsive," Dorothy replied.

"Who thinks about that?" Sam said, innocent of the notion that Dorothy might think about it a lot.

"There simply is no justice in this world," Dorothy said. "Do you think I might have another gla.s.s of champagne?"

"Fine, but you know, everyone heard what you said about Maritza," Sam said.

"Oh, dear. Well now, that is the deepest regret of my life," she said. Her left eyebrow arched.

"Is everything all right?" Olivia asked.

"Oh, please," Dorothy said, rolling back on her heels a little.

Olivia suddenly realized that Dorothy was well lubricated, probably having engaged in some high-octane prehydration prior to the c.o.c.ktail hour. Olivia and Nick's room had a fully stocked bar, and she a.s.sumed that this was true of all of the others as well.

"Oh, please what?" Olivia said, ready to tell Dorothy what she thought of her.

"It's too complicated to explain to you. If you really knew me, you'd probably agree with me," Dorothy said, and looked around to see Sam caught up in a conversation with Buddy. "Jesus G.o.d, he can't even bring me a gla.s.s of champagne?" She brushed her hair away from her face. "Let me ask you something, Olivia. Do you ever feel marginalized? Like you're living on the fringe when you ought to be in the center of things?"

Even if Olivia did feel like that, Dorothy was the last woman on the planet she'd tell.

"You mean like life is pa.s.sing you by?"

"Yeah, I think I squandered my flowers," Dorothy said. "You know, wrong garden?"

Olivia had a rough idea of what she meant.

"Who's to say?" Olivia said, one of her stock replies she used when responding to the query of a drunk or someone with whom she had no intention of engaging in conversation.

"You're right! Lemme ask you something else."