Read the Overnight Socialite Online
Authors: Bridie Clark
the Overnight Socialite (19 page)
"Why'd you break up?"
"What? Oh, I don't know--the usual reasons."
"No, really. I don't get it. She's mythologically beautiful. And you guys totally add up, like Ken and Barbie Rockefeller."
"Long story," he murmured, barely moving his lips. He seemed irked by her comment. "This isn't the time or place."
She tilted her head. "You know, that's what you always say when I ask you a personal question."
"Only when you ask it in the middle of a wedding ceremony, and we're surrounded by crowds of people."
As the San Francisco Philharmonic--flown in at the insistence of the Bakers, who were major patrons--began to play Pachelbel's Canon to signify the entrance of the bride, the enormous double doors of the church opened and the congregation rose. Tamsin began her walk toward the altar. Lucy noticed that she was wearing a simple strand of pearls and matching earrings, but the pearls were huge, as if the oysters had been taking steroids. Her poofy Oscar de la Renta gown, constructed out of what Lucy estimated to be at least fifty yards of heavy silk, swept both edges of the aisle, leaving little room for her father. He practically had to bend sideways at the waist to take her arm.
"Too much dress for her," Lucy whispered to Eloise after the bride was a safe distance past them. Then she caught herself. "I mean, don't get me wrong, she looks absolutely beautiful--"
"She does. She really does. But wouldn't that diaphanous Angel Sanchez gown that Libet wore to New Yorkers for Children--in white, I mean--have been perfect?"
"
Just
what I was thinking."
Just
what I was thinking."
The bridegroom and his best man, both in morning suits, emerged into the chancel as Tamsin and her father approached. "Henry looks drunk," Trip observed. True enough, the groom did appear to be swaying back and forth. Max Fairchild, the nearest groomsman, discreetly reached out a hand to steady him.
As Tamsin and Henry whipped through their vows and exchanged platinum rings, Lucy tried to ignore Cornelia's death glare from the row of otherwise beaming bridesmaids. But she couldn't help noticing that Max Fairchild, whose hand propped up the inebriated groom during the entire ceremony, barely took his eyes off her either.
"You poor thing. Must be so hard seeing Wyatt here with another girl!" Leslie Reynolds, plumpest of the bridesmaids, elbowed for mirror space next to Cornelia in the chintz-rampant ladies' room of the B&T, where the reception was taking place. Leslie and Cornelia had been roommates during their sophomore year at Groton--the same year that everybody became aware of Leslie's crush on their algebra teacher, penchant for day-of-the-week granny panties, and smattering of back hair.
"Why would it be hard?" Cornelia answered smoothly. Leslie, along with some of the other bridesmaids, clearly relished her discomfort, and she refused to fuel their schadenfreude. "Wyatt and I are taking a break. He's seeing other people and so am I. We needed our freedom before making a lifelong commitment." One of the other girls gave her a pitying smile.
Haters,
she thought
. Don't think you'll be invited to the wedding, bitches.
Haters,
she thought
. Don't think you'll be invited to the wedding, bitches.
"So who's your date tonight?" Leslie reapplied her lipstick and then blotted it on a piece of tissue.
"Haven't decided yet," Cornelia said.
Leslie didn't seem impressed. "I would absolutely die if I saw Jackson with another girl. Especially one who looks like that Lucy." Jackson was her boyfriend, a towheaded dope.
"You think she's cute?" Cornelia gave a dismissive snort, running a hand through her golden curls. "Wyatt's being patient with me. We're secure in what we have. We don't need to cling desperately to each other." The other bridesmaids kept their faces blank to show they weren't buying it.
"Photo time!" Tamsin's sister poked her head into the ladies' room. The girls grabbed their lavender clutches, and after a final hopeless tug at their ill-fitting dresses, flurried out.
"Les, wait a minute," Cornelia said, still taking in her own reflection. She faced her frenemy with wide eyes. "I have to congratulate you. What are you, now--three months? Four?"
Leslie's mouth opened in protest. Then her hand flew to her belly. "What are you talking about? I'm not--"
"C'mon, sweetie. I spotted your pouch the second I saw you! Smart play. Now Jackson might agree to marry you, right?" She unleashed her most venomous smile. "Don't worry, I won't breathe a
word
. You know how good I am at keeping a secret."
word
. You know how good I am at keeping a secret."
"We just walked in, Max," said Wyatt slowly. Max had beelined for Lucy no more than thirty seconds after she'd entered the reception on Wyatt's arm. She was flattered, of course, but wished she could have a moment to catch her breath. "Maybe Lucy would like a drink? I know I could use one."
"Thanks, man!" said Max with an earnest grin. "I'll take a Ketel One and soda, if you're heading that way."
Judging by his expression, thought Lucy, that wasn't what Wyatt had in mind. They were interrupted by Binkie Howe, Dottie's friend, who gave Wyatt an affectionate kiss. "I must say, you make the most beautiful couple," she said, addressing Lucy and Wyatt. "It's good to see you happy, Wyatt."
"But they're not a couple!" Max interjected. He seemed oddly authoritative on the matter, thought Lucy. "They're just old friends. Grew up together. The kind of chemistry you'd have with your--how'd you put it, Wyatt?--your sister."
"That's right," said Wyatt.
"Will you all please excuse me for a moment?" Lucy withdrew, then wove her way through the rush of lavender bustles before swinging open the door of the ladies' room. She saw Cornelia chatting with one of the bridesmaids and immediately panicked. Pretending not to recognize her would make matters worse, so Lucy waved her glass of Veuve Clicquot. "Hey, Cornelia!" she said, heading quickly for a stall.
When Cornelia gave no immediate response, the other bridesmaid, a horsey girl with wheat-colored hair, stuck out her hand. "I'm Leslie." Lucy had to approach them more closely in order to shake it. "Leslie Reynolds. I don't think we've met."
"Lucia Ellis . . . Lucy."
Cornelia still hadn't peeled her eyes away from the mirror to acknowledge Lucy's presence, which--even by Dayville standards--showed a complete lack of manners. "Hello, Cornelia." Lucy took the lead. "We met at Dottie Hayes's dinner party."
"Did we? I'm terrible with names. And faces. And there were so many new ones that night." Cornelia said
new
as if she really meant
grossly disfigured
. "I adore Dottie, but she'll invite almost anyone she meets into her home."
new
as if she really meant
grossly disfigured
. "I adore Dottie, but she'll invite almost anyone she meets into her home."
Lucy actually had to gasp at the blunt-object force of the insult. She had the sinking feeling that Cornelia saw right through the ruse that seemed to be fooling everyone else. There was something in Cornelia's condescending tone that thrust her right back to carrying a tray at Nola Sinclair's show. But then Lucy happened to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The mirror--an unexpected ally. It took her a moment to recognize the elegant, poised young lady staring back at her.
I'm really not the same girl I was just weeks ago, am I? And I don't need to take this crap from anyone.
Fighting the urge to kick Cornelia right in her lavender bustle, Lucy smiled at her instead. "I understand," she said. "You must meet so many new people, going out as much as you do, night after night after night."
Fighting the urge to kick Cornelia right in her lavender bustle, Lucy smiled at her instead. "I understand," she said. "You must meet so many new people, going out as much as you do, night after night after night."
"
Me?
What makes you think I go out a lot?" Cornelia looked deeply annoyed.
Me?
What makes you think I go out a lot?" Cornelia looked deeply annoyed.
Bull's-eye
. Wyatt had taught her that if there was one thing a socialite couldn't abide, it was being called social. "Well, your photo is in the paper just about every day. It's like you're running for office!" She laughed, making the jab passive-aggressive. Leslie laughed, too, but nervously. She edged toward the door.
. Wyatt had taught her that if there was one thing a socialite couldn't abide, it was being called social. "Well, your photo is in the paper just about every day. It's like you're running for office!" She laughed, making the jab passive-aggressive. Leslie laughed, too, but nervously. She edged toward the door.
"You're too funny," Cornelia said. "Actually, I'm quite the home-body. I love nothing more than a quiet dinner at home with friends."
"Well, then, the Waverly Inn must be your very own dining room!"
Leslie, looking like an accidental spectator at a dogfight, gave a mini-wave before heading out the door. "Good to meet you, Lucy."
"You, too. See you out there."
Cornelia had finally turned to face her. "So how do you know Tamsin?"
"Through Wyatt. Actually, I'd never met her before tonight, so it was generous of her and Henry to include me. How do you know her?"
"We grew up together in Northeast Harbor."
Lucy smiled. "I love the Hamptons."
"Northeast Harbor's not in the Hamptons. Try Maine. I'm surprised you didn't know that, given that the Hayes family has been going for generations. Didn't you and Wyatt grow up together?"
Lucy's stomach tightened, but she knew Cornelia was the type of social predator who could smell fear. "Our families are close, but we didn't exactly grow up together. I mean, he's much older. Closer to your age than mine."
That was for the cab.
That was for the cab.
"I should go," said Cornelia, lips pursed. "Tamsin expects us to have our pictures taken in these gag-inducing dresses."
"They wouldn't be so bad without that bustle. When you get home, just snip off--"
"You think I'm wearing this again? When I get home, I'm going to have this dress incinerated." Cornelia grabbed her purse. "Have fun tonight, Lily."
"Lucy," she said. But Cornelia had already sailed out of the bathroom.
Wyatt forced himself to stay at the table, watching Lucy work the crowd from a distance. You could see at a glance that there was something different about her, he thought, something that marked her apart from the other women in the room. As she drifted effortlessly from one conversation to the next, he fought off the urge to guard her, to stand by her side and make sure nobody else latched on too tight.
"I'm going to lose this bet, aren't I?" Trip sat down next to Wyatt, drink in hand.
"Looks that way."
"Eloise thinks she's a great girl." He paused. "That what you think, too?"
Wyatt knew what his friend was asking. "I think you're going to lose this bet."
"Dance with me," Cornelia purred, pulling Wyatt toward the dance floor crowded with cheek-to-cheek couples. Lucy Ellis was nowhere to be found. The Starlight Orchestra was playing the first notes of "It Had to Be You." Cornelia had changed out of her bridesmaid dress into a slinky Halston; after her run-in with Lucy, she'd dispatched her driver to fetch it from home. This wasn't the time to play with one arm tied behind her back. Now she felt sexy again--and she didn't care whether Tamsin was pouting about her perfidy to the other girls. As far as she was concerned, Wyatt Hayes IV was the main attraction tonight. Tamsin might as well have eloped with her vodka-sponge of a husband.
"This is our song," she told Wyatt over her shoulder, finding an empty spot.
"We don't have a song, Cornelia."
"We don't? We should. What about 'I Want You Back'?" She laughed softly, pressing her body into his as they moved deeper into the crowd.
"Subtlety has never been your strong suit." Wyatt straightened his arms to create some distance.
"Subtlety is overrated. How about 'Endless Love'?" She pulled him right back.
"That'd be inaccurate," Wyatt said evenly, "considering that our relationship
did
end."
did
end."
"
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir
?" She breathed the words into his ear in a perfect French accent. Wyatt let out a small sigh.
I'm getting to him
, Cornelia thought with satisfaction. He had that unmistakable, thirsty look in his eyes, as much as he tried to fight it. Cornelia loved that look. From her cousin Selden to the college history professor to the string of men she'd dated in New York--some married, some not--that look always made her feel powerful. Seductive. Like her mother's daughter. Wyatt was the anthropologist, but it was Cornelia who understood how helpless the male of the species could become when attractive females signaled their desire. As Wyatt lowered his lips to her ear, Cornelia felt a delicious shiver pass through her. Victory was imminent.
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir
?" She breathed the words into his ear in a perfect French accent. Wyatt let out a small sigh.
I'm getting to him
, Cornelia thought with satisfaction. He had that unmistakable, thirsty look in his eyes, as much as he tried to fight it. Cornelia loved that look. From her cousin Selden to the college history professor to the string of men she'd dated in New York--some married, some not--that look always made her feel powerful. Seductive. Like her mother's daughter. Wyatt was the anthropologist, but it was Cornelia who understood how helpless the male of the species could become when attractive females signaled their desire. As Wyatt lowered his lips to her ear, Cornelia felt a delicious shiver pass through her. Victory was imminent.
"Cornelia, it's not going to happen," he whispered. She reared back, and saw that the look had vanished.
"You don't mean that." She kept moving her body in time to the music, but inside she felt slightly panicked. It was hard to feel seductive in the face of cold rejection. How would her mother take control of the situation?
"I do," he said, more firmly this time. "And it'd be a good idea for you to accept that. You have your choice of men--"
"Is this about that girl you brought? Your childhood buddy? There's something sketchy there, Wyatt, I can't put my finger on it--"
"Cornelia, lower your voice." Wyatt tried to edge her off the dance floor. She dug in her stilettos so the two of them spun right where they were.
"If you're even
thinking
about choosing that nobody with child-bearing hips over me--"
thinking
about choosing that nobody with child-bearing hips over me--"
"This has nothing to do with Lucy," Wyatt said between gritted teeth.
Cornelia, her glance roving over his shoulder, noticed a scene that made her very happy. "I hope not, because she's practically sucking face with Max Fairchild by the bar." She grabbed Wyatt's chin and turned him around--just in time to see Lucy and Max down shots and then burst into a spasm of hysterical laughter that practically drowned out the trumpet solo. Cornelia felt Wyatt's bicep tense.
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