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"Of course!" Jacqui agreed, squeezing Eliza's hand excitedly, still gazing at the ring. "It's huge!"
Eliza shrugged, her mouth slowly turning into a smile. She looked at her two friends' beaming faces. She wished she could explain about the ring's true meaning, but she wanted everyone to be excited for tonight. Compared to an engagement ring, explaining that it was only a promise ring just didn't sound as, well, promising. Why ruin the moment?
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IT'S THE SAME OLD HAMPTONS, BUT AN ALL-NEW MARA. . . .
MARA COULDN'T HELP BUT SUPPRESS A SMILE AS SHE
circulated about Eliza's boutique, watching the sleek blond socialites wage silent wars against each other in their efforts to secure a bikini or silk pareo. Mara gasped as the handbag tug-of-war unfolding in front of her suddenly escalated into violence. A towering figure in a multicolored Missoni caftan with billowing sleeves wrenched the prized white straw-and-leather tote away from her rival's grasp. The loser of the battle, an overly tanned woman in a transparent Gucci sarong, promptly flew backward onto the shoe display.
Needless to say, Eliza's store opening was a tremendous success.
It was all-bets-off shopping mayhem as the affluent customers--who were used to getting exactly what they wanted-- found they had to fight tooth and manicured nail for the precious and dwindling selection of must-have pieces. Salesgirls rushed to keep up with the customers' demands, and the line to
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the furiously ringing registers snaked through the store, nearly reaching the sidewalk.
Mara's job was to walk slowly around the store--to "swan," as Eliza had instructed--showing off the evening gown and answering questions about it, while Jacqui did the same on the other side. The two of them had completed several laps of the place already, and the party was in full swing. An army of eater-waiters in white pants and white T-shirts emblazoned with the pink eliza thompson logo brought out a tempting array of dishes, bartenders were pouring pink champagne into crystal flutes, and the store was filled with the buzz of partygoers happily drinking, eating, and shopping.
It wasn't as flashy or insane as the Sydney Minx opening last summer, where Eliza herself had arrived in a helicopter and walked the runway. But that was a good thing, since Sydney Minx was kaput and in the boutique's former place was another yoga studio. Hopefully Eliza's label wouldn't suffer a similar fate.
Mara reached for a shrimp puff and chewed on it slowly, surveying the room with an experienced reporter's eye, taking care not to get oil on her white silk dress. She spotted Garrett Reynolds, her former flame, holding a woman's purse under his arm as his girlfriend, a pouty condiment heiress famous for her public tantrums, disappeared into the dressing room underneath a huge pile of clothing.
"Look what the cat dragged in." Garrett smirked when he saw Mara and strolled over toward her.
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"Hi, yourself." Mara smiled politely, steeling herself for one of Garrett's digs. "What are you doing here? Don't you summer in South Africa these days?" she asked with a hint of derision, referring to his comment last summer about how the Hamptons scene was as "over and out" as a Clay Aiken record.
"Got shot in the ass while on safari," Garrett growled. "I thought it best to stay in safer waters."
Mara tried not to laugh and failed. "I'm sorry." She chuckled.
"Go ahead, have your fun," Garrett allowed with a debonair wave of the hand. "It's not every day you get mistaken for a white rhino. Thankfully, the settlement was enough to buy me my own place out here," h
e added, craning his neck and preening at his reflection in the mirror. "It's south of the highway, with a view of the ocean. I'm renovating--you should come visit when it's done."
Building his own place? Was his family's totally ostentatious, five-hundred-million-square-foot castle not enough? "Sure, when it's done." Mara nodded, forcing a smile. She knew the visit would never happen.
It was just like Garrett to suffer a humiliation but come out even richer from it, Mara thought as she walked away. Two women already loaded down with shopping bags stopped and asked where to find the dress she was wearing, and after pointing them in the right direction, Mara decided she had to do a little shopping of her own. She grabbed one of the white string bikinis from the racks before they were all gone and bumped into another familiar face.
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"Sexy, aren't they?" Mitzi Goober appeared beside her, her one-year-old daughter strapped to her chest in a Gucci baby carrier. The uberpublicist dragged her daughter to every event, no matter how late or how inappropriate. Little Soleil had been to everything, including a party for the launch of a new line of vibrators. Knowing Mitzi, she probably thought it was never too early to get her daughter started socializing with the creme de la creme.
"They're cut Brazilian style," Mara explained, knowing Eliza had patterned the swimsuits after the tiny tangas Jacqui was so fond of.
Mitzi clucked approvingly. "Brazil is hot again. I'll make sure I mention that to Vogue."
"You're Eliza's publicist?" Mara asked, momentarily shocked, although she shouldn't have been. Eliza never let anything like notoriety get in the way of hiring "the best," and vituperative personality aside, Mitzi got the job done. The place was teeming with dozens of reporters getting drunk and fat off the free booze and eats.
Mitzi nodded, craning over Mara's shoulder to see if there was anyone more important she should be talking to. Now that Mara was no longer a reporter for Hamptons or on staff for Metropolitan Circus, the fact that Mitzi had said hello to her at all was a big concession to courtesy.
Thankfully, Mara was rescued from Mitzi's indifference by Lucky Yap, the friendly paparazzo who had been Mara's mentor in the past.
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