Sex and Vanity(62)
“I’m sorry if I insulted your beach. My pa taught me how to swim in the ocean too, at Coogee.”
Lucie took a deep breath and ventured to say something that had been on her mind all week. “You know, when you were in my art studio, you said something about a painting that really struck me.”
“The white one?”
“Yes, the white painting. Looking at it afterward gave me a vivid flashback to how my father had died. He had a heart attack at home, right in front of me, and I guess it was something I had completely erased from my memory until the other day.”
George stared deeply into her eyes. “How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“My father died when I was sixteen. He’d been ill a long time, but it was still terrible to see him fading away at the end. It took me years to get over it, not that one really gets over it. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you at that age.”
“I completely blocked it out. I mean, I knew he’d had a heart attack, but until the other day I hadn’t realized I was actually there.”
George pondered her words and then looked her in the face. “Gosh, and then what happened on the piazzetta in Capri. No wonder you had to run …”
Lucie closed her eyes for a moment, saying nothing. They sat quietly like this for a few minutes, and as Lucie looked out at the undulating waves of the ocean, slate gray against the stark blue sky, she casually remarked, “This isn’t quite the view from Casa Malaparte, but I’ve always loved it. It’s where I learned to surf.”
George turned to Lucie in surprise. “Wait a minute, you surf?”
“Of course I do.”
“Really? Why haven’t I ever seen you surfing out here?”
Lucie looked up at George. “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t waste my time. It’s flatter than the duck pond in Central Park. You’d have to be Malibu Barbie to catch waves out here.”
George let out a laugh.
“Speaking of which …,” Lucie said, as she tilted her head toward a statuesque blond girl paddling back to the shore.
The girl emerged from the water as if she were doing her best imitation of a James Bond girl and sauntered up to them with her surfboard just as George got up, planted a quick kiss on her cheek, and handed her his towel.
“Lucie, this is Viv.”
“Hi,” Lucie greeted her in surprise, staring at the intricate dragon tattoo on her arm.
“Hallo,” Viv said in a gravelly Swedish accent.
“How do you know each other?” Lucie inquired.
“Oh, we met a few weeks ago. Viv was doing a shoot for Harper’s Bazaar out at the Point,” George answered.
“Resort-wear bikinis,” Viv added.
“Of course,” Lucie smirked.
“Um … Lucie’s an old friend,” George said to Viv.
“How nice to have old friends,” Viv said to Lucie, before turning to George. “Come home for breakfast?”
“Sure,” George replied, as he nodded goodbye to Lucie, picked up his surfboard, and walked off with the girl.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saint Luke’s Place
Greenwich Village
Overheard in the canal room …
“You, Cecil Pike, are a visionary. This is Venice in the twenty-second century, that’s what this is! If Carlos de Beistegui were alive, he would be foaming at the mouth with jealousy!”
“A canal flowing through a West Village town house! Only you could have imagined this, Cecil! When I saw the gondola floating across your living room out to the garden, I thought for sure I was tripping on mushrooms.”
“Cecil! This is the most fabulous housewarming party I’ve ever been to. Is that Samin Nosrat cooking in the kitchen? OMG, I’m about to fangirl all over her!”
“Comme cette maison est illustre, Cecil. C’est exquis! Le summum du chic! J’emménage immédiatement.”
“Mon dieu, quell compliment venant de vous, chère comtesse. J’en suis profondément honoré!”
“I’ll tell you one thing, I haven’t seen anything this original since the Hilma show at the Guggenheim.”
“Cecil, I hope you’re not planning on raising your kids here. Because I can just picture my future nephew or niece crawling off that mezzanine with no railing and falling headfirst into the canal.”
“Freddie, that’s why I hired the gondoliers to be full-time. They will double as lifeguards.”
“A Yayoi Kusama Infinity Mirror powder room! How in the world did you pull that off, Cecil?”
“Are you Lucie? Cecil told me you’re responsible for curating all the art here. To place the Kehinde Wiley and the Lucian Freud facing each other in the library—genius, pure genius. Here, let’s follow each other on Instagram!”
“Cecil, what will it take for you to let us do a feature on the house?”
“You’re too kind, Martina. But you know how private my family is. We don’t ever let our houses be photographed.”
Overheard in the mezzanine screening room …
“Oh my god, Lucie, guess what? Martina wants to feature the house in Cabana!”
“Really? How cool.”