Sex and Vanity(67)

“Oh, shit, I forgot. Men have to wear collared shirts in the dining room, Cecil,” Lucie said sheepishly.

Cecil stared at Lucie and the attendant incredulously. “But that’s absurd. This is a very dressy outfit, especially for an al fresco luncheon.”

“Sorry, it’s the dress code, sir. Your top doesn’t have a collar.”

“This isn’t a top. It’s a V-neck Henley designed by one of the greatest and most elusive Belgian designers, a man who hasn’t been photographed in thirty years. It’s made of the finest cashmere harvested from baby Zalaa Jinst white goats that roam free on the Mongolian steppes,fn2 and it’s hand-knotted in Lake Como by old Italian women with arthritis and varicose veins in a beautiful atelier within spitting distance of George and Amal Clooney’s villa.”

“And it doesn’t have a collar,” the attendant said simply.

“This is ridiculous! I’ve been to dinners at royal palaces more casually attired than this! I am looking into your dining room right now and I can clearly see little boys in shorts and flip-flops.”

“Wearing collared shirts,” the attendant repeated.

“Do you mean to tell me that the little boy in that shirt with the creepy snowman is more appropriately dressed than me?”

“That’s not a snowman, that’s Olaf from Frozen,” the attendant corrected.

“I don’t care if it’s Olafur Eliasson, it looks putrid.”

“Cecil, please, let’s not argue …,” Lucie began.

Cecil ignored her and continued on his rant. “How much do you make working here? I bet you my outfit costs at least ten times more than your monthly salary. I’m wearing about twenty thousand dollars’ worth of clothing right as I stand! If you want to include my Nautilus, it’s a hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth. You’re telling me that’s not appropriate enough for this godforsaken club?”

Lucie’s face reddened in embarrassment. She could not believe Cecil just said that to the attendant.

The woman sighed. “Sir, I make fifteen dollars an hour, and I don’t make the rules here. You can go home and change into a collared shirt, or you can buy this polo tee here. If you read the sign at the entrance, I’m not supposed to let you change into this shirt at the club, but tell you what, I’ll look away this time.”

She reached under the glass counter and got out a light blue collared knit polo with the club’s rope-and-anchor insignia sewn at the breast.

“Where’s it made?”

“I have no idea.” The woman checked the label. “Myanmar.”

“Over my cold, dead bod—”

“We’ll take it!” Lucie said quickly. “Charge it to my account.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Cecil said in dismay. “I don’t want to change into a shirt from Myanmar in that sad toilet with the peeling walls and the rotting wood floors!”

“I’ll have you know our rotting wood floors are very coveted, sir. Every week some fancy decorator comes in wanting to buy up all our floors,” the attendant said indignantly.

Lucie pushed him toward the men’s room. “Please just go change, dear, and I’ll see you in the dining room. I’m sure my mother and Freddie are already on desserts by now.”

As Cecil went reluctantly to change, Lucie sprinted into the dining room and found her mother and brother seated on the outdoor terrace overlooking the club’s private marina.

“Where have you been?” Marian asked.

“Sorry, wardrobe malfunction. Whatever you do, don’t say anything about Cecil’s shirt, pleeeease,” Lucie warned as she sank wearily into one of the canvas deck chairs.

Two minutes later, Cecil sauntered onto the terrace in his Dorset Yacht Club polo tee, worn untucked over his cotton trousers.

Freddie couldn’t resist. “Cool polo, brah.”

Cecil, observing Freddie’s faded old Lacoste tennis shirt disdainfully, replied, “Thanks, I rather like it. Don’t you think it shows off my biceps, Lucie?”

“It sure does, Cecil.”

“Cecil, how smart you look!” Marian said, genuinely thinking that he looked handsomer than usual. The shirt was a breath of fresh air after all his fussy designer duds.

“Now, are we all going to do the lobster lunch buffet today?” Lucie said.

“Well, I just got a text from Charlotte. Her plane got in early so she’s coming straight from the Jitney to join us.”

“First the collared shirt nazi, and now the Charlotte has landed,” Cecil muttered under his breath, as everyone else at the table pretended not to hear him.

Minutes later, Charlotte appeared at the table all flustered and laden with shopping bags. Everyone except Cecil got up from the table to give her hugs.

“Marian, I’m so sorry, I took a cab here, and I only have pounds on me. Do you have some cash for me to tip the driver? He’s waiting.”

“Um, let me see …,” Marian said, digging into her purse. “I’m sorry, I only have a few quarters.”

“Does anyone else …?” Charlotte looked around the table.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Sorry, who uses cash anymore?” Freddie said. “Wait a minute, let me see if Frankie has any change.”