“Ha.” Anouk snorts. “Thank you, but no.”
“Butyes. You’re aging so gracefully,” Brooke adds. It’s an odd thing to say. “I was so excited when I heard you were coming today. I’ve always loved your work. God, I remember when you did that fragrance campaign in the nineties, Dea di Varenna. I ran out and bought me some!”
My heart skips at the mention of the name, uncertain where the conversation may turn.
“We had that photo on the wall in our sorority house, and every guy who came through asked about it,” Minnie adds. “Eventually we had to take it down. That was your big break, right?”
Anouk takes a moment, sips her iced tea. “In a way. I suppose.”
My eyes are on the shoreline before us. The random strangers walking by. I cannot bear to look at Anouk. Not when I know precisely how that campaign came to be. What she went through to get it.
Our conversation is interrupted when a couple of servers appear to clear our bowls of gazpacho and replace them with large platters of whole roasted branzino and grilled asparagus.
“Gracias,Lupe, Esmeralda.” Minnie smiles before turning her attention to Hayden. “Not a gluten in sight.”
While we feast on lunch, the discussion shifts to Hollywood gossip. The end of Ben and Jen: “He is a tall, brooding, sexy, talented mess. And she is the sweetest thing. Godspeed to them both.” The odd coupling of Leonardo and Rihanna: “Didnotsee that coming.” And summer vacation plans: “Everyone’s doing Dubrovnik now.”
At some point, a poised Asian woman in a double-breasted white jacket appears on the terrace. Minnie introduces her as her chef, Nim, who was born in Thailand, raised in the Bay Area, and studied at Le Cordon Bleu. We toast and sing her praises. And then just as quietly, Nim slips back into the wings.
“We’re sailing from Split to Dubrovnik. We’ve never done theAdriatic, and we thought it would be a nice change. I mean, we used to love Amalfi, but it’s just gotten so crowded,” Minnie declares, stabbing at an asparagus spear. “We’re going in August after the kids are done with camp in Maine. It’s going to be god-awful hot. And then Scott’s meeting up with a couple of college buddies in Ibiza. To see some DJ or whatever. And I’ll take the kids up to my mom’s in Sun Valley for the last ten days. I swear, summer gets shorter every year.”
“We’re going on safari. Danté wants the boys to experience Africa.”
“I adore Africa,” Minnie says. “Adore.”
“Oh my God, they will love it!” Brooke gushes. “We did Tanzania two years ago and it was life-changing. Where are y’all going?”
“South Africa.” Tracee smiles. “Our agent’s handling all the details.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad y’all are working with someone. Or I’d give you Kara’s number. Because trying to do it all yourself is just… oof.” Brooke circles both hands in the air, as if she doesn’t have the words to express such complexity.
I have never been on a safari, let alone planned one, so I refrain from comment. But I find it amusing that we have once again returned to the elephant in the room.
“Have you and Frederick solidified your plans yet?” Minnie says, turning to Anouk, on her left.
“Pffft.” Anouk makes the French noise for exasperated. “Frederick is so last-minute. I’m lucky if I have forty-eight hours to pack a bag. Plus, I have to visit schools back east with Sacha.”
“Come meet us in Croatia!” she exclaims, squeezing Anouk’s forearm.
“Did you guys make it to Coachella this year?” Kennedy asks, donning a pair of Céline sunglasses.
“God, no. I think I’m officially too old for Coachella.” Minnie rolls her eyes.
“Hannah says Evan’s daughters are huge Drake fans, so he had them take the plane. She was not happy about it. Says those girls are so spoiled, and she knows Evan’s ex put them up to it. But you know,stepmom, so she can only say so much.” Kennedy swills from her wineglass.
“That’s gross,” Minnie says. “I mean, it’s a three-hour drive, send them in an Uber or something, for God’s sake.”
“That’s what I said. I told Jason and he was gobsmacked. All these people just taking their jets everywhere, completely unaware of their carbon footprint.”
The table is silent for a second. Awkwardly so.
“I mean,” Kennedy continues, “we fly private, too, but at least we’reawareof it.”
Jane locks eyes with me and I turn my attention away from her to keep from laughing, and that is when I see it. Minnie’s hand, with its massive canary diamond, still resting on Anouk’s arm, and her manicured pinky, ever so imperceptibly moving back and forth over Anouk’s latte skin.
Time seems to slow down while I attempt to make sense of what I am seeing. The voices around me gradually muted by the roar of the ocean. A seagull squawking above. Christofle scraping across Ginori 1735 Oriente Italiano china. The pop of yet another champagne cork. Someone laughing. Elements zooming in and fading out as if in rack focus.
I realize then that I am still staring at Minnie’s hand, and I wonder if anyone has caught on to it.
