J'adore New York (16 page)

T
hose who think that getting away to the Hamptons for the weekend is a relaxing experience must be totally off their
bergère.
Traffic on Highway 27 crawls at a snail’s pace and keeps you wondering whether you will ever get anywhere. I stare out the window—we’re surrounded by bumper-to-bumper large luxury SUVs and convertibles. Luckily, the time flies as Jeffrey holds my hand during the drive up, shares stories about his years spent in California, and teases me about the French.

“The traffic is worse than in Paris. But at least we don’t have to deal with the Parisians!”

“Ha! If your cars weren’t so huge and didn’t take up half the highway, we would’ve arrived hours ago.”

“I feel like driving over some of these bozos! Maybe we’ll get our own plane after the IPO.”

“Not too fast,
monsieur,
we’re not there yet.” This reminds me that I should check my BlackBerry; I pull it out of my handbag and quickly peruse the fifty or so messages already filling up my inbox. There’s one from Pierre at Dior congratulating me for the memo I drafted on copyright laws: this puts a huge smile on my face. The next one is from Bonnie, who is strongly recommending that I stop “wasting my time” on frivolous intellectual property matters for French clients: this one’s a real downer.

I’m about to turn my BlackBerry off to prevent a major mood swing when Jeffrey interjects. “I know I said no shop-talk, but since you’re checking your messages, how’s our prospectus coming along?”

“I spoke to the regulators yesterday and the approval process is moving forward nicely.”

“Thanks for putting in the extra hours, I really appreciate it. Keep up the good work and we’ll be celebrating big-time when it’s over.”

During the rest of the drive, he plays with my hair and kisses my hand, and I quickly forget about the office. This is pure bliss.

We arrive in Bridgehampton around ten o’clock and pull into a long, narrow driveway. The house is a large shingled Cape Cod–style home with a five-car garage and has a parking area filled with Porsches and other expensive convertibles I can’t
even name. I can hear a loud thump of dance music coming from the backyard.

“Hey, Jeff, welcome.”

A tall, hefty man greets us in his dripping swim trunks. He gives Jeffrey a high-five. “Hello, Catherine. I’m Charlie. Please make yourselves comfortable. I have some champagne on ice and a warm hot tub waiting for you guys in the backyard. You can take the larger room upstairs. All the others are taken.”

We make our way upstairs to drop off our bags. This isn’t a room—we have a whole wing to ourselves. I am awestruck by the sheer opulence and size of everything. Forget inviting fifty of your closest friends, you could host a ball in here.

As soon as we put down our bags, Jeffrey kisses me on the forehead and pulls out his swim trunks enthusiastically.

“Come on, gorgeous, hop into your bathing suit, let’s hit the hot tub.”

I reach into my bag for my new bikini and find a copy of the
Kama Sutra
hidden at the bottom. As I open the cover, a note from Rikash spills out:

Here’s to adding a little Indian spice to your weekend. Put it to good use. Just remember that the Sanskrit word for the male organ, the lingam, means
“Wand of Light.”
Need I say more?

Big hug.

Rikash

Still giggling, I come out of the washroom a few minutes later wearing my new bathing suit. Looking at Jeffrey’s face, I’m glad (for the thousandth time) that I listened to Rikash. We walk hand in hand to the backyard where a group of people are frolicking in the pool and in the hot tub.

“Come have some champagne,” a man with a tan that would make George Hamilton jealous calls out from the hot tub. “Charlie bought some Dom Perignon.”

“You’ve gotta get in here, the water’s delicious,” a blonde woman with very large breasts and not much to cover them shouts. “I’m Rebecca, nice to meet you.”

“Catherine, lovely to meet you.”

“Catherine, how did you meet our Jeffrey?”

“Um, we met through a colleague of mine—I’m a lawyer,” I answer, wiggling my way out of telling her he’s a client.

“Isn’t that sweet.”

“So, Rebecca, what do you do?” I ask.

“I’m in the beauty business. I run a spa downtown.”

“Are you guys coming with us to the polo match tomorrow afternoon? We’re going there after the beach,” George Hamilton asks, smoking a cigarillo.

“That sounds great. Doesn’t it, Catherine?”

I nod.

“We’d love to,” Jeffrey answers enthusiastically.

After thirty minutes of soaking in bubbles—and drinking them—I begin to relax, although my skin is now shrivelled up like a prune. We make our way upstairs and before we enter the room, Jeffrey grabs my arm and kisses me.

“I’m so happy you could come. You’re making my weekend very memorable. Why don’t you open the door?”

I look at him hesitatingly.

I turn the handle and the scent of fresh flowers hits me immediately. As the door swings open, I see bouquets of white calla lilies and peonies are scattered on the dresser and bedside tables. My heart stops and I feel weak in the knees.

Jeffrey turns me around and starts kissing me tenderly on the nape of my neck. His delicate kisses make their way to my shoulders and back, and his hands slowly make their way down to my hips. He lifts me into the air and carries me across the room, where we both fall on the edge of the bed. The salty sea air breezes through the room and I lose all self-restraint. We kiss passionately for what seems like an hour before he caresses my thighs and whispers, “I want you so badly.” A mental warning sign pops up in my mind that I’ve just crossed the line with a firm client, but it disappears as quickly as the strings of my bikini.

They say you know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. It must be true, since I haven’t slept a wink. Exhausted and exhilarated, I can barely believe my luck as I gaze out to the oceanview.

A smiling face and full mane of delicious bedhead turns to face me the next morning.
Quel bonheur!

“I picked up a little something for you.” He hands me a tiny box with the inscription
Chaumet, Paris.

“Jeffrey, what did you do?”

“Come on, open it!” he exclaims, kissing my forehead.

I pop open the small box and suddenly feel a little dizzy. It’s a dainty white-gold heart-shaped pendant.

“It’s gorgeous, but this is way too much.” Despite my protest, he takes it from my hands, places it around my neck, and attaches the clasp.

“Just like you.”

I reach for his tanned forearm and pull him back toward the bed. He falls over me and I slide one hand up his back while the other pulls his white T-shirt over his head. He lifts me from under his warm body and positions me kneeling over his dark chest. As I look into his eyes before we have another passionate round, lightning hits my veins.

Later, I lie on my stomach as he kisses me tenderly and plays with my hair. “Let’s grab breakfast in town, check out the shops, and then go to the beach for a while before heading to the polo match. Sound good?”

Now that’s one full schedule for a Saturday. It rivals my typical day at the office. And I thought people came out here to relax. Yet somehow I mean it when I say:

“It sounds perfect.”

After a quick shower, I go downstairs and walk into a scene that feels like a cross between
The Great Gatsby
and
Animal House.
Tanned women are romping around in their
bikinis, sipping margaritas, while men dressed in tennis whites are heading off for a game. I sneak in a quick peek at my BlackBerry to ensure there are no fires to put out before breakfast: nothing looks urgent. There’s an email from Lisa asking whether I want to meet her and Charles later at the Surf Lodge in Montauk for drinks. I reply that unfortunately my schedule is booked more solidly than if I was working on a takeover bid.

“We’re going to town for breakfast,” Rebecca announces, pulling up her backless (and almost frontless) halter top.

Yes, I can see that you’re definitely going to town.

“Okay, see you there.”

“I’m starving. Let’s hit the road,” Jeffrey announces.

En route to Southampton, I sit in his convertible with the summer breeze flowing through my hair. I breathe in the fresh air and revel in the luxurious feel of this seaside retreat. With my silk scarf delicately tied around my neck, I feel like one of those happy models in the J. Crew catalogues.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

“Hmm?”

“You look deep in thought.”

“I’m just enjoying the scenery. I haven’t been out of the office in a while. And it’s all your fault.” I poke him playfully.

“Yes, it is.” He kisses my hand.

His cell phone rings and his face turns serious as he looks at his call display.

“Yes?” he answers abruptly. “What do you mean the numbers don’t add up?” he yells into his Bluetooth. “I told you the
number of shares outstanding. Can’t you count properly?” He screeches the car to a halt at a fruit stand, slams the door, and starts a one-sided screaming match on the side of the road while annoyed shoppers shake their heads.

Surprised to see this new side of him, I can’t help but stare. Is this what he’s
really
like? This is a side of him I haven’t seen. So far, he’s seemed so collected and in control. After pacing for more than fifteen minutes, he comes back to the car. His face is flushed and he looks perturbed.

“I can’t believe these goddamn bankers, they’re so incompetent. We’re paying them a fortune in fees. I have to do everything for this fucking deal!”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, it’s an accounting issue.”

“Okay, let me know if there is.”

“I’m afraid we need to head back to New York first thing tomorrow morning. I’m sorry, Catherine.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m also involved in this transaction, remember?”

He stares out his side window for a moment and sighs before responding.

“Listen, I’m really sorry I lost my temper like that. I’m feeling a bit fried these days.”

“I understand. You’re under a lot of stress. But don’t feel like you need to carry the entire load by yourself.”

He looks at me tenderly. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

We park in front of Sant Ambroeus on Southampton’s main street.

“They serve the best espresso in town, just for you,
madame.”

“Perfect!”

While we wait to be seated, Jeffrey chats up the maître d’ in broken Italian and I recognize a familiar voice behind me. I turn and find myself face to face with Leanne, one of Lisa’s three musketeers.

“Hi, Catherine, looks like you finally made it out here.”

“Yes, I guess so. Leanne, this is Jeffrey.”

She stares at our interlaced fingers and I recognize the same look of envy that she had when our waiter offered me chocolates at Daniel. She clearly wishes she were in my shoes, and, standing tall in my Tropeziennes sandals, I can’t say that I blame her.

“Nice to meet you.” She looks at Jeffrey, intrigued. “I think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Hi, Leanne, nice to meet you. Aren’t I a lucky man?”

The maître d’ gestures for us to follow him to the back of the room. I wave goodbye to Leanne as we take our seats,
tête-à-tête.
He plays with my fingers while gazing into my eyes and right at this moment I’m feeling quite good about my decision to accept his invitation.

After a delicious brunch and a bit of browsing in the shops, we head back to Charlie’s house to change for the polo match. Since my whirlwind shopping excursion with Rikash hasn’t equipped me with anything specifically horse country-ish, I
put on my new outfit and top it off with a white cloche hat that I picked up at a vintage shop in Saint Germain.

We arrive at the polo grounds and it’s a sea of champagne, caviar, and oyster stands all set up under a large white tent. A glitzy fashion show is underway, with models competing with the horses for the attention of the attendees. The tent is full of the
jeunesse dorée
of Manhattan.

We take a stroll on the grounds and I notice that Amanda, one of the mistresses of the universe, is standing in one corner of the tent, so I walk over to say hello. Jeffrey follows.

“Jeffrey! So nice to see you again,” she exclaims, ignoring me.

“Hi, Amanda, have you met Catherine?”

“We have. Hi, Catherine. Nice hat, it’s so…
different
.”

“The two of you know each other?” Jeffrey asks dumbfounded. “What a small world this is. Amanda participated in one of our early rounds of financing.”

“Is that right?” I reply unenthusiastically. I provided her with a recent round myself; I paid for her dinner at Daniel. “That’s great.”

“Are you two here together?”

“Yes we are.” He answers proudly and gives me a peck on the cheek.

“Really?” She looks shocked. “I heard you guys are going public. Congratulations,” she says, giving him sweet eyes.

“Yes, we’re almost there. Catherine is working hard to keep the IPO on schedule.”

Okay, it’s now out in the open that I’m seeing a client. Come on, Catherine, you need to get over it!

“Good for you,” she adds condescendingly.

“We’re both a bit tired and looking forward to finishing off this deal.”

“God, I know what you mean.” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “I’m working so hard right now, you have no idea. Before I forget, I ran into Tina last week at the gym. She looks really great.”

“Who’s Tina?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Amanda with not a small amount of glee in her voice. “Jeffrey’s ex-wife.”

An ex-wife? I suddenly feel a sharp pain in the pit of my stomach, but I try to maintain my composure. How could he not tell me he had been married? What else is he hiding from me?

Jeffrey stares at me with a look of panic and sees from my reaction that I’m not thrilled with the discovery. He pulls me away after we say goodbye and as soon as we set foot in his car, I let her rip.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”