Skinnydipping (39 page)

Mikki nodded shyly. “It’s intense, but it’s thrilling, too,” she said in her quiet voice. She took another bite of turkey. “This food is so delicious, Sybil.”

Sybil nodded approvingly. “Excuse me while I check on the dessert,” she said. She got up and left the table.

That’s when Christine turned her gaze to me, her fork poised just over the peas on her plate. “And what about you? Faith, is it?” she said. I sensed a sudden chilliness in her tone. Her eyes were drilling into me. Had she seen Harris looking at me? Had he said something to her? “This must be quite a step up from selling your little muffins?”

I looked right at her. “Definitely a step up,” I said. “My baking
business has really taught me a lot. I owe my place on this show to those little muffins.”

“That’s so sweet,” she said, dismissively.

I paused.
Don’t say it, Faith.
But I couldn’t help myself. “I hope you don’t plan to step up in that skirt, or we’ll all be able to see
your
muffin,” I added.

Shari almost spit out her drink. Mikki’s eyes went wide. Christine opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She just stared at me. Harris looked like he might burst out laughing.

Of course, this now meant war. I remembered that Polly had told us to act with decorum. But Christine started it. And Sybil was, at least temporarily, out of the room.

“Aren’t you funny,” Christine said.

“That’s what they tell me,” I said, smiling at her.

“The flower business taught me a lot about the world, too,” Shari chimed in, uncomfortable that the attention had shifted off of her. “You know, flowers are what won us this very challenge. We wouldn’t be here in this beautiful house if it weren’t for flowers!”

“What do you do?” Mikki asked Christine. “I think I’ve heard you’re a model? I’ve always wanted to try modeling.”

“Christine is the daughter of my dear friend Pamela Claiborne,” Sybil said, coming back into the room with a tray of mini cream puffs and a silver pot of coffee. “God rest her soul.”

Shari and I stared at each other. Pamela Claiborne! We both knew who Pamela Claiborne was—former founder and CEO of Claiborne Cosmetics, and one of the richest women in the United States, until her death last year. Maybe even richer than Sybil Hunter herself. If her daughter was heir to the Claiborne fortune … I looked at Harris hopelessly. Why would he ever choose someone like me over someone like her? She had an angelic face, perfect skin, glorious hair, and one of those bodies that looked like it had never once dared to put on an unnecessary pound. Plus, millions of dollars. And she adored Harris, that was clear. Besides, he’d been so silent, so compliant through the
whole meal, I was beginning to suspect he was just some mama’s boy who was going to do whatever his mother told him. He could cast me all the longing looks he wanted. I was more interested in action. Was he a man or wasn’t he?

“I model on the side sometimes, just for fun,” she said.

Now that was a kick in the balls, I thought. Just for fun? She occasionally poses in pictures looking flawless and beautiful just for fun?

Suddenly, I couldn’t eat another bite. I downed the rest of my champagne in one gulp, and the server immediately stepped forward to refill my glass. I didn’t look at Harris again for the rest of the meal, pretending instead to be fascinated with Shari’s endless story about her husband’s long list of celebrity clientele and which kind of flower each celebrity preferred.

And why should I feel bad? So what if he was going to marry an heiress? It had nothing to do with me.
There will always be heiresses out there, Faith
, I told myself.
It doesn’t make you any less worthy. It’s more important to work to achieve something, rather than have it handed to you.

As we got up from the table and went into the sitting room, Monica and I both foregoing the coffee for yet another glass of champagne, I began to feel angry, and that felt better than feeling inferior. Who did she think she was? Just because she had money didn’t mean she could control everybody around her.

I looked at Harris, finally, brazenly. He obviously wasn’t enjoying her company. And why should he? Christine was obviously an asshole, even if she looked like an angel. When she sat down, he’d chosen a seat across the room, and then she had the gall to get up and go sit next to him.

“Shall we play a game of Scrabble?” Sybil proposed. “I’ll fetch the board.” She got up to leave again, giving Christine another shot at me.

“You know,” Christine said, settling into a velvet-upholstered love seat, “Harris and I saw the most interesting movie the other day.”

“Christine …” Harris said, his voice a warning.

She ignored him. “It was this cheesy B-movie with these girls who meet their boyfriends at an old house and they all play truth or dare.”

I froze. My mind shot back to L.A., to that movie I’d played a part in, just before leaving town. I couldn’t believe they’d actually made it. I’d almost forgotten all about it, or at least put it out of my mind. Christine went on. “It has the most pathetic plot. The girls just sit around taking their shirts off and kissing each other. It is so bad. We laughed through the whole movie, didn’t we, honey?” she said, putting her hand on Harris’s knee.

No. No no no no no! People were seeing it? That stupid movie, where I’d been topless, and worried about the implications for about thirty seconds? This woman had seen it?
Harris had seen it, too?
Shit shit shit. If Sybil had seen it, I was literally going to drop dead right there in her sitting room.

I stood up. I wanted to leave the room, but I realized I had nowhere to go. I was a slave to the cameras and to the producers. A camera zeroed in on my face, and I knew this was one of those moments that was sure to be on the television show. How could they resist a moment like this? I sat back down.

But wait a minute. How had she found it?
Had she Googled me?
Why would she do that? Harris must have said something to her. I was dying to know what he said that would have inspired her to go to the trouble of Internet stalking me, finding out about that movie, and actually renting it and watching it.

“What’s she talking about?” Shari whispered to me. I had to say something.
Say something, Faith. Say something. Blow it off. Make it funny. Prove to her it doesn’t matter!

“One of those topless girls looked an awful lot like you. But much younger,” she said, driving it home.

Ouch.

I swallowed and tossed my hair back. “Actually, it wasn’t a B-movie, it was a double-D movie,” I said. “I bet you’d love to be in one of those, but …” I shook my head, looking apologetically at her small breasts.

That’s it, Faith. Don’t complain, don’t explain. Own it.

Christine reddened.

“What’s this now?” Shari said. She hated not knowing what was going on.

“She’s talking about a movie I was in back in L.A.,” I said to Shari. “I consider it part of my journey. Everything I’ve done in the past has brought me here, and here I am, having this amazing experience. Who knows, I might not be here today if I hadn’t kissed that girl and taken my shirt off all those years ago.” I smiled sweetly.

Harris grinned. He obviously found it amusing. “I’ve certainly done some things I regret,” he said. “I suppose we all do. I think it’s pretty interesting that you had that experience.”

“Well, I can’t imagine doing something like that,” Christine said. “I think it’s a sign of poor breeding.”

“What’s it a sign of, if you initiate a conversation about topless actresses at a dinner party?” I asked politely.

“I… I just thought I’d mention it since it was relevant to one of the guests,” she said.

I leaned in toward Christine. “You think you can outbitch me, bitch?” I whispered. “Well, think again. While you were riding horses and getting manicures with your boarding school friends, I was betting trifectas at Aqueduct Racetrack. I wouldn’t play with knives if I were you. You might get hurt.”

Monica gasped. Harris laughed out loud.

Just then, Sybil entered the room. “Who’s up for a game?” She began to lay out the board and letter trays.

“I think I’ll excuse myself from the Scrabble game,” said Christine, standing up. “I’ve got an appointment. Harry, walk me to the door.”

“I think you know where it is,” Harris said. She looked at him with disgust, then turned and left in a huff. Sybil cast her son a dirty look, but didn’t say anything. Harris and I looked at each other, and there was some kind of change—some mutual understanding.

After the token game of Scrabble was over—I got the impression
it had been more for the sake of the cameras, to show everyone how civilized Sybil’s parties were—Sybil (who won) stood up. “Well, this has been very nice,” she said. “Thank you for joining my family Thanksgiving. But you need to get back to the city because I’ll be seeing you in three hours to give you your next challenge.”

We all groaned and sighed, exhausted. We really had to do more tonight, after all this? I knew this whole dinner party was supposed to be our reward, but it had felt more like work—and a few more hours where my eyes couldn’t be closed.

“And Faith?” Sybil said.

“Yes?” I cringed.

“I expect a certain level of sophistication in my employees.”

Crap. Had she overheard some of our volley of insults? Had Christine blown it for me?

“Of course, Sybil,” I said. Surely Christine had told her about my movie career, such as it was, but I refrained from trying to justify anything. It happened. I did it. Now I was going to have to live with it. If there were consequences, so be it. But I was damn sure going to make up for it by being better than anybody else in this contest, checkered past or no checkered past.

We all thanked Sybil, then went outside to wait for the limo to take us back into the city. Sybil came out the door and got into her Town Car with Ian and Alice. She opened the window and called to Harris. “Are you coming, dear?”

“No,” he said, waving to her. “No, I’m going to hang out here for a few days. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course, honey, that’s fine,” said Sybil. “You’ve done a good job. Thank you for all your help!” She rolled up her window and the car pulled out of the gravel drive and headed down the tree-lined road back to the highway. As soon as she was out of sight, Harris came over.

“Faith.” I turned to look at him, still standing there in the doorway. “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

I glanced at the cameras. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but that
big black thing following you around is actually recording everything you say.”

He smiled. “I’m not sure if
you’re
aware that my mother runs this fucking show, and I can get any tape removed that I want to get removed.”

“My bad Scorsese,” I said, following him into the house, the camera in tow.

“OK. Look, Christine is gone, and I just had to talk to you,” he said, as soon as we were inside the house with the door closed.

“About what?” I said. “Your girlfriend isn’t my business.”

“Come in here,” he said. He took my hand and led me back into the sitting room. “Sit down,” he said, indicating the couch where he had been sitting after dinner. Next to
her.

I sat.

“I’ve been thinking and thinking about why you did what you did, and I finally realized how it all must have looked from your point of view.”

“What do you mean ‘why I did what I did’?” I said.

“Why you walked out on me at that club that night,” he said.

“I walked out? Are you crazy? We had this great time together, and then you left with another woman. I saw you.”

“No, that’s the thing. I didn’t. After I put that girl in a cab, I came back and looked everywhere for you. You were gone. After all that time we spent together, you left. I thought we really had something, and I just couldn’t believe you would disappear like that.”

“Of course I just left, you asshole,” I said. “I turned around, and you were gone. Then I went to the restroom, and I came back and see you all chummy with that blonde bimbo, and then I saw you leaving together. And she wasn’t even your fiancée. So I have to wonder, how many other girls in this city are pining away for you because you made them think you actually connected with them?”

He looked angry. “First of all, I don’t have a fiancée,” he said. “My mother… it’s complicated with my mother. And second, I didn’t leave. You did. I mean, I did, but just for a minute. I was coming right back.
When your friends pulled you away, she came stumbling up to me and started hanging all over me, begging me to take her home. I knew she was drunk, so I went outside with her to get her safely into a cab. But you didn’t wait around for an explanation. You just bolted. So I assumed you were looking for an excuse to run. You seem like a runner to me.”

That was a low blow. If an accurate one. “Well, that’s just great,” I said. “Meanwhile, I saw what I saw.” I knew it sounded irrational. His explanation actually made sense, but I wasn’t sure I could believe him, and I certainly couldn’t let him seduce me right now. “It’s fine,” I said. “You don’t owe me anything. You barely even know me. We spent one evening together. And in case you didn’t notice, I’m pretty busy here, trying to win this damn thing, trying to make sure your mother isn’t unfairly biased against me for whatever stupid reason she might have on any given day, so I can be judged on my actual skills. If you’re just wanting to clear up what happened that night so you can get back to planning your wedding …”