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"I know. I suck," Eliza lamented.
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"Yeah," Mara said, noticing that Eliza's eyes were starting to mist a little bit. Now that was something she'd never seen before. "I'm sorry too."
"For what?"
"Nothing, I just don't want you to cry."
Eliza giggled, and ran her finger underneath her lower eyelashes to wipe away any makeup. "So, can I borrow the money? Promise I'll pay you back."
"Oh, alright. I'm charging interest!" Mara joked.
Eliza hugged Mara impulsively. Eliza bought the sweater and they walked back to Anna's booth, where Jacqui was handing out doughnuts. "Here you go, Chloe," she said, giving Zoe a chocolate-sprinkled one.
"Chloe?" Anna asked, looking up sharply from writing up a bill of sale for a particularly ugly poncho.
Eliza elbowed Jacqui. "Zoe."
"Zoe ... Zoe," Jacqui sang, getting red from her slipup.
"Zoe's been wanting us to call her by different names lately. This week she's Chloe. Last week it was Julie. Right, Zo?" Mara asked.
Zoe nodded, rapturously eating her doughnut. She was only six, but she could be bribed.
When Anna turned her back, Jacqui apologized.
"Meu deus! I'm so, so sorry. I totally lost my head. I don't know what I was thinking," she said, looking completely wretched. "I don't want to get us in trouble."
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"It's okay. It could have happened to any of us," Eliza said. "Yeah, don't worry about it."
They spent the rest of the afternoon stalking a supermodel whom the three of them were obsessed with. As they piled the kids back in the car, Mara and Eliza were just thinking how the day didn't turn out to be such a washout after all, when Jacqui ran up.
Her eyes were shining and she was obviously very excited about something.
"I'll catch you guys later! I just saw a friend of mine who invited me to this great party at Sting's house!" she said. "Ciao!"
Mara rolled her eyes. "What is it with that girl?" she asked Eliza. Mara had had enough of Jacqui. She was getting paid just as much as the rest of them--for doing less than a third of the work. William pulled on a lock of Mara's hair and then ran away. God, another pair of hands sure would be useful to wrestle that little boy sometimes.
Eliza felt extremely annoyed, too, but not about Jacqui ditching them. Hello, a party she didn't know about? The reality of social ostracism was starting to set in.
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jacqui is not a chick gone crazy
Rupert Thorne smiled a catlike smile at his quarry. He had never forgotten the girl to whom he'd given a ride from the airport that day. Spotting her again at the Super Saturday benefit his wife always dragged him to was indeed a pleasant surprise.
He mentioned Sting was in town--a private concert--and would she care to join him?
They had started the evening by having dinner at The Palm, where Rupert ordered a seven-hundred-dollar bottle of Chateau Latour. "I'm celebrating something," he'd explained to Jacqui. Afterward he had taken her to the bar at the elite Maidstone Club, which was legendary for its stringent exclusionary practices concerning its eighty-acre golf course. Bill Clinton hadn't been deemed worthy enough to tee up during his 1999 visit. Rupert had broken several rules concerning women, foreigners, and Catholics just to impress Jacqui.
The Hummer drove toward an enormous estate overlooking the sea. It was the hundred-thousand-square-foot mansion owned by a
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former investment banker-cum-techno-DJ (not Sting--Jacqui had misunderstood) who liked to throw wild, twenty-four-hour Vegas- style parties on the grounds, complete with showgirls giving lap dances. The house was frequently rented out for movie shoots, music videos, and twelve-hundred-person bashes like this one.
