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"There's my girl!" Lucky gushed when he saw her. "You look deeevine!" he enthused, taking a few shots of Mara for old times' sake.
Lucky was dressed in the latest Hampton obsession--orange robes and shawls modeled after the ones worn by the Dalai Lama. His, Holiness was making a pilgrimage to the Hamptons that summer, and his devoted followers showed their dedication by donning colorful togas similar to those worn by his Tibetan monks over their Lilly Pulitzer capris. Wooden prayer beads had even replaced wooden Marni necklaces as the season's hottest accessory.
"Thanks, Lucky. And you look very . . . orange!" Mara said, once again at a loss for words at the sight of Lucky's outrageous outfit. "Like a sunset!"
"It's tangerine, my dear, tangerine," Lucky corrected. "Feel this," he ordered, taking Mara's hand and placing it on the shawl. "It's made from Mongolian antelope hair. Softer than a baby's butt!"
Mara was just about to ask Lucky if his shawl was an illegal shahtoosh--she suspected that it was--when the portly photographer bolted to the front door. "Oh, oh, oh! Gotta dash-- there's Chauncey Raven stepping out of the limo! I hope she's wearing underwear this time; I can't sell hoochie shots to People magazine!" And with that he dashed off to snap the pop-star-turned-single-mother, whose every exit from a vehicle was akin to a gynecological exam.
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Mara watched him leave with a fond eye. No one ever changed in the Hamptons. It was the same old moneyed crowd, the same old taut and tanned faces--even if some of the face-lifts were new. She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. The party was fabulous and all, but her feet were starting to swell from the high-heeled sandals Eliza has picked out to match the dress. If only she could sit down. Or better yet, lie down. There was a comfortable bed with her name on it not too far away. Surely Eliza didn't expect her to model the gown all evening? If she bade her goodbyes now, she could still catch a late-night rerun of Ugly Betty.
She found Eliza in a brightly lit corner of the store, flushed and happy, surrounded by clients and the fashion press. She wore a slim white satin tuxedo with nothing underneath, showing off her deep Flying Point beach tan. Mara made eye contact and Eliza broke away from the group with an apologetic bow to say hello to her friend.
"What's up? Having fun?" Eliza asked, straightening a stack of T-shirts on a table next to Mara, ever the mindful hostess.
"For sure, but I'm pooped," Mara said. "My feet are killing me. Will you be very angry if I bail?"
"You're leaving?" Eliza hugged the T-shirts to her chest and then laid them down flat. "So early?"
"I'm sorry," Mara said, feeling a little guilty. She wanted to be there for Eliza, but she'd been standing in the same stilettos for almost two hours now, and she was tired. It had been a long day,
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and she was ready for it to be over. "But see, the dress is already sold out," she said, motioning to the empty rack. "You're a hit! You don't need me."
"Flattery will get you everywhere." Eliza smiled. "But you're really going?"
"Yeah." Mara sighed. "I haven't been to a party like this in ages, and I'd forgotten how exhausting they are. If another socialite asks me where I get waxed, I'm going to hurl. You know David's idea of a good time is a New Yorker lecture." Mara shook her head in a "what are you gonna do" gesture, shrugging.
Eliza put the shirts back down on the table with a slap. She knew Mara was just trying to be funny, but she felt a twinge of irritation nonetheless. Ever since Mara had started dating The Amazing David (which was what Eliza had begun to call him in her head, since Mara was prone to gush about him), there had been a lot of little comments like that. Mara, who'd once been so intimidated by snooty velvet-rope events when she was a Hamptons newbie, sometimes sounded like she now thought she was "above" the trivial social scene.
"Okay, go home." Eliza nodded briskly, trying not to show how hurt she was. It was the opening of her first boutique, and Eliza had hoped that once the party wound down and all the celebrities and journalists left, she and Jeremy and her two best friends could celebrate privately--she'd even set aside a tray of caviar and a bottle of champagne for just that purpose. But if Mara wanted to leave, who was she to stop her?
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Mara gave Eliza a kiss on the cheek. She held up the bikini. "And I'll totally pay you for this when I get paid next week, okay?" She waved goodbye to Jacqui across the room and made her way toward the clipboard squad guarding the entrance. After a night of run-ins with her Hamptons past, she was relieved to be finally leaving. The second she got in the door at the Finnemores', she was going to take off her shoes and massage her aching feet.
There was a huge crowd of people still waiting to get inside the party, but she saw a familiar dark honey blond head walk to the front of the velvet ropes, cutting through the mass of hopeful partygoers like a hot knife through butter.
Because Ryan Perry was always on the VIP list.
He caught her eye and her heart stopped at the sight of him. And just like that, Mara completely forgot about her tired, pained feet.
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BRANGELINA'S GOT NOTHING ON JERELIZA
BEFORE ELIZA COULD FEEL TOO UPSET ABOUT MARA
abandoning her, she was pulled away by Mitzi Goober, who was hyperventilating in excitement.
"The 'Tawker' writers here! And she wants you now," Mitzi said, her manicured nails digging into Elizas arm. "Tawker" was a must-read Manhattan-based gossip column that appeared daily in one of the major papers.
"Wait! Can I go say hi to my boyfriend first?" Eliza asked, seeing Jeremy enter the store, looking handsome as ever in a nice linen suit. He had been at the store earlier to help but had left to change out of his overalls. He waved to Eliza and started to make his way toward her.
"No time for boyfriends!" Mitzi ordered, pushing Eliza toward
