Sex and Vanity(34)
… hearing Isabel shouting, “No, guys, leave her alone! Don’t touch my little angel! Lucie has immunity tonight!”
At some point, she remembered stumbling below deck, vomiting red velvet into the pristine white toilet with a sleek automatic lid that kept trying to decapitate her, and curling up in a big circular bed with an immense white fur throw thinking how warm and cuddly it was but how sad that it had to be made of so many cute dead animals, and all of a sudden she was back in the chapel again, where a choir of Italian boys dressed in white robes stood in front of her singing Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream It’s Over” a cappella, and as she sat there listening to their angelic voices, she looked up at the fresco on the ceiling again, staring skyward at Jesus, and suddenly his bare pink torso transformed into the golden-brown perfection of George’s chest, and there she was too, floating above the clouds next to George in his blindingly white Speedo, as he turned to her saying, “you have a freedom within, Lucie, you have a freedom without.”
Lucie found herself saying, “I’m ready!”
Stretching out his arms Christ-like, George grabbed her hand, and together they plunged headlong out of the heavens and into the deep, unknown depths of the sea.
Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Villa Lysis
Capri, Italy
“I’m surprised you’re even alive,” Charlotte remarked when Lucie appeared at the hotel’s poolside café just as she and Olivia were finishing lunch. “How hungover are you?”
“Actually, I feel fine,” Lucie said, downplaying it by a mile.
Olivia peered at Lucie’s bloodshot eyes and chuckled.
“This is completely unlike you, Lucie! Disappearing like that without telling us and partying all night on a yacht? I had to find out where you were from Mordecai, of all people, and you know what loose lips that man has,” Charlotte chided as she took the last bite of her parmigiana di melanzane.
“Charlotte, there’s nothing scandalous for him to say. It was Issie’s bachelorette party. It was my duty to attend.”
“Well, clearly her duty did not involve thinking of your wellbeing. You are so much younger than her other friends, and I wasn’t born yesterday—I’m sure you all did not spend the night on board a super yacht playing Cards Against Humanity,” Charlotte quipped.
Olivia leaned in toward Lucie. “I heard a rumor that there were mountains of pure Colombian cocaine and Isabel’s friends hired male strippers dressed as ninjas?”
“Ninjas? There were no drugs, just fashion, and the ‘male strippers’ turned out to be Dolfi and his crew,” Lucie said, trying to sound blasé but quietly alarmed that she couldn’t recall anything about the evening past a certain point. Her roommate at Brown would come back to the room on weekends after getting completely trashed, claiming to not remember a thing, but Lucie never believed it was possible. Now she believed.
“What do you mean ‘fashion’?” Charlotte probed suspiciously.
“There were all these fun couture designer costumes waiting for us on the yacht, and we each picked an outfit. I wore a vintage bustier that had been designed for Madonna’s ‘Blond Ambition’ tour, and we all sang karaoke and ate cupcakes,” Lucie explained.
Charlotte gave her a dubious look. “Thankfully you appear to have all your limbs, or I would not know what to say to your mother! Now, Olivia and I are off to the hair salon. You clearly forgot about your one p.m. appointment.”
“Oh, shoot!” Lucie sighed, rolling her eyes.
“Well, get some food into your system and take a hot bath. You don’t have all day, you know. We have to leave for the wedding by four o’clock at the latest, and it’s already almost one thirty. God knows how long our appointments will take with these Italian stylists! If you are dressed and ready by the time we get back, I might just help you with your updo,” Charlotte said in a gentler tone as she got up from the table.
Olivia leaned over and patted her on the shoulder. “Tomato juice with a raw egg, Lucie. It will fix you right up. I’ll order you one on our way out.”
Lucie slumped into her chair and put her sunglasses on, feeling the first twinges of a headache. Several squealing German kids sprinted through the garden and did cannonballs into the pool, the sound of their splashes causing her to have a flashback to the night before. She was in the pool on the yacht … the smaller one on the top deck … and were someone’s toes getting sucked? It wasn’t hers … thank God not hers. And then suddenly she recalled seeing George last night. He was definitely on the yacht. Was he the one in the donkey costume? Yes, it was him. The hair on the nape of his neck was a little wet from being in that furry mask for so long, and she knew that because her fingers were caressing his head as they were dancing, right before she had to rush into the bathroom to throw up. Yes, that’s what happened. How mortifying. Did he see her throw up? Did she say something idiotic to him that she might regret for the rest of her life?
It was a question she was still pondering three hours later when she arrived at the gates of Villa Lysis for the event that everyone had been anticipating and speculating endlessly about—the wedding ceremony! From the lovely beach club lunch and divine dinner held in an ancient grotto to the exclusive Villa Lachowski excursion and the grand banquet in a fourteenth-century monastery, each event had been more spectacular than the last. How on earth was Isabel going to top all that?