A Brilliant Ride (3 page)

“Psyche, you mean psycho. Earth to Phyllis…Teddy has gone over to the
Dark Side
! Keep up for God’s sake.” Jackie contorted her face and put her glass down with a thud. A splash of wine hit the crisp white tablecloth, and I noted how some stains, even small ones, have the capacity to keep growing…seeping in deeply - very hard to clean up.

“Maybe marriage counseling…Sam and I...”

“Oh Pen, give me a break,” Jackie groaned. “Honey, you need to take the rose colored glasses off. Wake up and smell the perfume…”

“Excuse me?” I shifted in my seat, feeling incredibly
self-conscious.

“Jackie, you really need to calm down. Your aura is so
murky
,” Phyllis pulled her pashmina around her shoulders. “It’s going to take you days to balance and cleanse. You really should look into some relaxation tapes.” She flipped her hair casually.

Reaching boiling point, Jackie shot her a look that could kill and mumbled something about vegans. “Look,” she blew out hard. “It’s just…you’re sooooooo damn sweet, Pen. I wish you weren’t so naïve, for crying out loud.” The vein in her forehead popped out and she massaged it with her slender fingers. “Oh
, Pen, I’m sorry. It’s that cradle robber, Ted. He has me in a state of emergency.” Her electric green eyes flashed like neon lightning bolts. “I’m unraveling.”

“Well, hire the P.I. and get some facts before you go septic,” I mumbled, avoiding her glare.

“Yes, of course. Pen is absolutely right,” sang Phyllis. “That’s exactly what you should do.” I watched with amusement as Phyllis picked up her monogrammed R.R.B.T. damask napkin and carefully polished her 14kt gold peace sign pendant. “My family has everyone followed,” she said, admiring the pendant’s shine.

“Huh?”

“Oh yes. It’s standard practice. They’ve got people following people following people. You can never be too safe.”

“Er, that’s
encouraging
,” I mumbled, distracted by the loud buzz of conversation from nearby tables. The Regal was hopping. Glasses clinked, diamonds sparkled, and laughter could be heard bouncing off the chintz covered walls. If only these walls could talk, I thought, and smiled to myself. After all, Chatsdale, and the Regal in particular, is the stomping ground for a unique circle of elite upper crusts…escapades are plentiful. If the outside world were privy to some of the shenanigans going down in this insulated haven, lives would be ruined. Fortunately, faux pas are kept under wrap. You see, the crème de la crème are a clannish group, and what happens in their hoity toity circle, stays in their hoity toity circle. Every measure is taken to insure an impeccable reputation.

Of course, this is a privileged level of protection. You can’t buy your way in or bribe your way in.
You’re born into it. Outsiders - or worse yet,
nouveau riche
- are simply not tolerated in this highbrow arena. One can marry in, but that offers a much lower level of protection, a sort of limited Membership, if you will. Money is no guarantee in. Only a very select few are guaranteed admittance into this world of the pampered and privileged. There are two criteria: noted blood line and a certain level of education. For instance, your trust fund could be skint and your heat turned off, but if your family has a good name and you graduated from a good school, you’re in like Flynn. I know this, because I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and Capwell blood running through my veins. Something Mother never lets me forget.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad group to belong to. There are perks. For instance, there is a certain level of entertainment, and things like addiction, adultery, fraud (and a host of other indiscretions) are overlooked. You see, there’s a strict oath of secrecy within this exclusive society.

But the walls…the walls of the Regal could tell many a tale…like when the governor’s wife, Jocelyn Peabody, was caught smoking a joint in the Ladies Lounge with the towel boy. And the time Janey Carmody was seen entering the dining room with her skirt inside out, after her
meeting
with the pool director. Alas, these forbidden tales remain hidden from the public, locked inside the walls of the Regal and the many other swishy clubs frequented by my social circle.

“Finally,” Jackie
tutted loudly.

The waiter was back.

Taking a better look at him, I noted he was quite handsome with dancing blue eyes and shiny dark hair that sprung up in soft curls. He had a sharp chin, high cheekbones, and his skin had a lovely glow. He maneuvered around our table like a cat and threw our dishes down like a card dealer. Before I could blink, he was at my elbow.

“It’s a brilliant day. Don’t you agree, madam?” It was more of a song than a statement. “It’s great to be alive.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly.

“Er, yes; just lovely.” I gave a little crooked smile.

“There’s something in the air.” He grinned broadly.

“Yes, it’s called heartbreak,” Jackie sniffled.

“Madam?”

“That’ll be all.” She waved her hand.

“The world is a garden ready to sprout the seeds of your imagination,” he chirped. “Simply place your desires into the cosmos and watch them grow to fruition.”

“Huh?”

“Yes madam. Now, should you require anything further
- anything at all - just beckon. I will heed the call faster than the flip of wren’s wing.”

“Er…yes, well. I think we’re good.” Jackie creased her brow.

“That was
interesting
…”

“There’s something about that guy,” Jackie mumbled, her eyes taking him in.

I made a note to speak with the manager.

Meanwhile, Claudia was becoming increasingly excited, and her eyes took on a strange glow. “If you want my advice…leave the bastard…but only after you
gut him
.” Claudia was certainly relishing the thought of Ted being cored like an apple. “Take him to the cleaners,” she wailed and stuck her fork into her seared tuna with unnecessary force.

“Shhh, Claudia, lower your voice,” Phyllis whispered, fingering her large peace sign.

“Hang ‘em by his…!”

“Claudia! You’re creating a scene...”

“Take the pig for all he’s worth.” She thirstily gulped her Pinot Grigio and licked her glossy lips. I wondered, for a moment, if Claudia was adding steroids to her vitamin tonic. “Make him pay through the nose,” she growled.

She then did something odd. Placing her wrist to her nose, she inhaled her signature scent and then closed her eyes for a moment in what appeared to be a semi-meditative state. Evidently, she does this to clear her mind. I’ve seen Claudia do this many times, and each time it amazes me. I’v
e tried it myself, but obviously my scent doesn’t hold the same power.

“Ah, yes, Aroma Therapy,” said Phyllis. “It’s very empowering.”

Jackie appeared dumbstruck by the whole routine and sat up stiffly, her head cocked to one side.

“It’s simple, you just have to make this work to your advantage,” Claudia chirped, after coming around from her perfume-induced calm. “Don’t be a fool, J
ackie. Work on a plan of attack.”

“Sounds violent,” said Phyllis reaching for her prayer beads.

“Oh come on, remember Rose Adams? Well, I heard from Patricia Kent that she made out like a
bandit
after her divorce settlement.”

“Yes, she got the house in Nantucket,” confirmed Phyllis.

“There’s more…Bitsy Brent told me that Taffy Rollins told her that Rose is having an affair with her riding instructor…”

“No”

“Yes”

“How tawdry”

“How smelly…”

“Okay, so maybe that isn’t your bag, all those horses and hay.”

We all sneered.

“Forget ab
out that; just don’t fall apart. Instead, think about what you can get out of it. Let’s face it, Jackie, Ted’s no prize. You’ve been telling us that for ages.”

“Heeeeeeloooooo…
”

“What is that awful sound?” Phyllis covered her ears.

It was Selena Clinton, making her way to our table. She was dressed in a tight white jumpsuit - too tight and too low cut. The kind you see on Skating with the Stars.

“Uh oh…here she comes…” Claudia’s face fell.

“Heeeelooo,” sang Selena. “Hola Penloooopy.”

“It’s Pen,” I corrected.

“Si...and the rest of you geerls…you are okay? Si?” She smiled broadly, throwing her chest out in front of her.

“Oh God, it’s that ghastly
hoochie mama
.” Jackie buried her face in her hands. “Get rid of her, quick. I don’t have the strength today.”

“Jackie, play nice,” Phyllis cautioned and leaned over to air kiss Selena.

I followed suit, but Selena grabbed me out of my chair and pulled me into a dramatic embrace. Holding me tightly, she pressed my head into her ample breast, and I was overcome by her strong perfume. Lucky for me, Phyllis pressed a bottle of eye drops into my hand. I was glad to get it. I tried to focus on Selena through the visual blur and managed a big smile.

“Er, yes, hello Selena; it’s nice to see you,” I said, squinting tightly.

Selena is the wife of one of the Regal’s prominent members, Jake Clinton.

It’s a s
ordid tale.

Jake Clinton and his first wife, Margo-Anne, found Selena in Puerto Vallarta while vacationing and brought her back to work for them as their new housekeeper. Apparently, Selena did more than tidy up at the Clinton Estate. After two months of h
er changing sheets, the Clinton’s marriage was
kaput.
Jake, completely besotted with the accommodating Latina bombshell, ran off with Selena in the middle of the night, which had tongues waggling for a good two weeks, and moved her into a 23-room mansion he purchased for her on the lake. Poor Margo-Anne was never the same after Jake ran off with Selena. Too embarrassed to face the community, she stays locked up on her massive estate with her porcelain doll collection, a perpetually filled shaker, and her new housekeeper…a muscular German woman named Greta.

To say that Selena doesn’t fit in at the super selective, impossible to get into, Regal Rock is a gross understatement, but I’ve always gotten a kick out of her. It’s very entertaining to watch her at the Club Dances as she rumbas and cha cha’s around the ballroom in her flowery halter dresses, gyrating wildly to Phil Marcone and his Orchestra.

“Si gyrls, I will be see’n you all at the Anul Holloweeney Dance, no?”

“No!” screamed Jackie in a shrill voice.

“Ay, okay,” she smiled broadly showing off her new gleaming caps, a birthday present from Jake.

While Selena’s neon smile was indeed distracting, even my squinting, watery eyes couldn’t help but notice what was tucked neatly under her arm.

My face dropped seven stories when I saw it…

THE TIGER

I broke out in a cold sweat, my eyes blinking uncontrollably.

“
My Tiger
…” I gurgled, tightening my fist in agony.

Claudia laughed and mouthed a little “roar” in my direction.

Mental note to me: Scratch the Tiger.

“Ay, Chicas,
I catch you later, then.” Selena held the Tiger close. “Hasta luego…kiss, kiss,” she sang and did a spin before heading off.

“Honestly, I’ve had about enough of that taco belle,” Jackie hissed.

“Is that a wig?” Phyllis asked, screwing up her face.

“It’s a nest,” Jackie sneered.

“A hornet’s nest,” Claudia sputtered.

We all turned t
o watch Selena Clinton teeter out of the dining room on her sky-high stilettos, her hips swinging back and forth like a wrecking ball. After she was gone, you could hear the stifled hoots of the vicious felines at nearby tables.

“Was she wearing men’s cologne?” I heard one woman ask.

I wasn’t sure.

“Ackkkkkk,” Phyllis frantically waved her napkin in a lame attempt to rid t
he air of Selena’s heady scent, and Jackie put her head down and started to wail…again.

“This day is getting worse by the minute. What the hell am I going to do about Ted? I’ve
given him my all.”

That was debatable.

“Imagine Teddy cheating on me.” A look of complete indignation raced across her face. “I could have anyone,” she cried out in pain. “Remember, last year, that dishy flutist? Remember? He was Trevor’s friend…from Westport…he adored me.”

Who could forget…he was half her age. That reminds me, I wonder if Trevor will be coming home for the holidays.

Trevor is Claudia’s alarmingly handsome, incredibly spoiled, sexy and he knows it, 20 year old son. He’s away at college on a lacrosse scholarship and rarely comes home. Except last spring, when he surprised Claudia and Paul by showing up after spring break with a French girl he met while honing his blackjack skills (addiction) in Monte Carlo.

What a disaster. The two gleefully announced they were quitting school to open a scented oil business and promptly moved into Claudia’s guest cottage. Within a day, business was booming, and to Claudia’s horror, Trevor posted flyers all over town advertising the concoction as a new European Sensual Aid: Virgin Ah’ love Oil or…
the Big O
.