The Lion's Den(62)

“What a small world,” I say. “We met briefly at the party. It’s nice to see you. How is Gianni?”

“He’s well. I was just with him at his home in Sardinia,” Leo replies. “He is there for the month, with his children and his girlfriend.”

“Have you said hello to Summer yet?” I ask with a big smile. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you.”

I should keep my mouth shut. But I’m on my second glass of champagne, and I’m sick of being treated like the help. I want to see her squirm. Anyway, it’s a party of twenty people; it’s not like they’re going to be able to avoid each other all evening.

As if on cue, Summer turns to see all of us staring at her, a flicker of recognition playing across her face as she notices Leo. She releases John’s arm and slips away, striding toward us with a smile plastered on her face.

“Hiiiii,” she says as she approaches.

Leo bends to give her kisses on her flushed cheeks. “You remember Leo,” Wendy says.

“Of course,” Summer intones without dropping her smile. “How are you?”

“I’m well. Just saw our mutual friend in Sardinia.”

“Ooohhh.” She watches him carefully. “That’s nice. I’m here with my boyfriend, John.”

“Yes, Wendy said,” Leo returns. “I know John. He is a lucky man to have you beautiful girls with him.”

Summer relaxes a little. “Yeah, I brought my friends to celebrate my birthday. I guess Marlena and I have birthdays a day apart.”

“Happy birthday.” Leo smiles.

“Thanks.”

“It’s crazy,” I say to Summer. “I mean, you told us that everyone who’s anyone is on the Riviera in August, but I didn’t think I would know so many people. Leo—”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her eyes slide past me toward John, who is still engrossed in conversation with Charles.

I shouldn’t poke the bear, I know. But I simply can’t help it. “And I ran into Dylan at the restaurant earlier,” I continue, watching for her reaction. “Did you know he and John work together?”

I think I see her smile falter, but maybe I’m imagining it.

“How strange.” She glances over her shoulder at John. “I better get back. Good to see you,” she says to Leo, and heads for John like a homing pigeon.

Once the sun has set, the stocky steward rings a bell and invites us all down to the main deck for dinner. Wendy hasn’t left Leo’s side. I’m glad she’s warmed to the idea of finding someone better than Mr. Pussycat, but a little surprised that she would be so obvious about her interest in Leo in front of Summer after what happened between them. Wendy is generally an incredibly loyal friend, but I guess Leo is an even better catch.

As we head down to dinner, I watch Summer’s eyes travel to Leo’s hand on Wendy’s bare lower back while Leo explains to John that he and Summer met through mutual friends. No specifics or insinuations, no ego boosters to spoil any story Summer might spin for John. A gentleman used to covering his tracks.

I wonder if Summer is having second thoughts about her commitment to John, considering whether she could have done better. But she’s made her bed.

The table is lined with white roses, set with silver and crystal that reflect and splinter the flickering candlelight. A quartet plays what I can only describe as Mediterranean jazz as the sky loses its color, and we exchange our champagne glasses for wineglasses. I locate my place card, thrilled to find I’m seated at the opposite end of the table from Brittani and Rhonda, next to Michael.

Marlena is in the midst of an impassioned discussion with one of the men as she makes her way down to her seat at the table. “No, I am happy to pay the taxes,” she’s saying. “If we humans cannot take care of one another, then we are all doomed, because there is no one else.”

“But you’re paying more.” The man’s accent is American, his watch worth more than my car. “If it were a flat tax, you would still be paying your share, and it would still be more because you earn more, but you wouldn’t be penalized for earning more.”

“Oh! You poor man, penalized for earning more.” She dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand. “I am a lucky woman. There are many artists better than me who are not so lucky. Now the people like my paintings. They think I am a good artist. I have them fooled. Tomorrow, who knows, they don’t like my paintings. I am out of favor.”

“You’re too modest,” the bejeweled wife of the man chimes in. “Your paintings are brilliant.”

Again, the dismissive wave of her hand. “It is all in the eye of the beholder. The mistake is to believe we deserve the things we have.”

“You deserve it all, Marlena,” says the man lightly.

“Do I like this boat? Of course I like this boat,” Marlena continues. “I love this boat, but I do not deserve this boat. I do not need this boat. I was happy before I had this boat.”

“That’s because you’d never had the boat,” the man says.

Everyone laughs.

“Mother, for the last time, please don’t give away the boat,” Michael implores.

“Okay, we keep the boat.” She smiles. “For now.”

“A toast.” Charles raises his glass from the head of the table. Everyone quiets down and raises their glass. “To my beautiful wife on her…”