get a massage, get your nails done, talk a little. How painful could it be?"
Eloise slumped in her seat, knowing she was acting like a petulant seven-year-old. Ever since their trip to Turks and Caicos earlier that month--which was just as beautiful as Trip had promised--she'd been in an inexplicably sour mood. "If it means that much to you, I'll spend the day with her. But that's it, okay?"
The opening notes of "Rich Girl" bleated from Cornelia's BlackBerry, interrupting her stroll down Worth Avenue. Daphne Convers: Office.
"Are you sitting down?" Daphne burbled. "Because big news! Dafinco just called, and guess whom they want to develop a fragrance with?"
"Who's Dafinco?" asked Cornelia, peering into the display window of Cartier. She needed more gold jewelry. A few bangles, or something. She pushed through the heavy red door, and the woman behind the counter immediately perked up. Cornelia loved being recognized.
"Only the biggest makeup and perfume distributor in the entire country, doll!" Daphne was saying. "And they want you to launch their next perfume, Cornelia. You! We're talking major seven figures--"
Cornelia stopped in her tracks. That was big news. "So, like, would my name and face be on all the ads?" Cornelia held up a finger at the frothing saleslady.
"Everything and anything, doll. We'll walk through the whole thing. Can you be in New York next week for meetings?"
"I'm in St. Barts through Tuesday. Any day after that is fine."
"We'll make it work! You're the star. This is the beginning of big things for you, sweetie," Daphne said. "They're already putting together a couple of prototypes for you to smell. They think 'Socialite' should combine lilies of the valley, jasmine, and citrus with under notes of cedarwood. Classic, timeless, clean--"
"I don't know," Cornelia said. She motioned to see an eighteen-karat Love bracelet embedded with diamonds, and the woman whipped it out of the display case with remarkable alacrity. "I'd prefer something with a bit more mystery. More sex appeal. Lots of ooomph."
As Daphne sycophantically agreed, Cornelia could feel her back muscles begin to unclench. Pushing her oversize sunglasses to the top of her head, she handed the saleslady her credit card and felt content for the first time since the Townhouse party.
She had a perfume deal. And if she sent Wyatt one of her garters scented with "Cornelia," he would be man-putty in her hands.
13
Wyatt's Book Notes:
Betta fish flare out their gill covers--opercula, the scientific term--in order to appear more imposing to their peers and impressive to potential female mates. Park Avenue princesses act curiously like male Betta fish; they spend hours and hundreds each week having their hair voluminously blown out. They wedge their feet into four-inch stilettos. All this, it would seem, is intended make them imposing to their peers and impressive to potential mates. I encouraged L. to wear her hair as full as possible and to avoid flats, so that she would flaunt an intimidating presence to her fellow socialites. I intended that she perceive these women not as friends but as rivals.
P erfume?" asked Dottie Hayes, one eyebrow raised.
"She's quite the go-getter," said Binkie Howe.
While the parties continued to churn fifteen hundred miles north, many of Manhattan's social set had migrated down for the high-profile charity benefits of Palm Beach's season. Binkie's veranda, shaded against the midday sun by a grand banyan tree, was crowded with the Flagler Museum's planning committee, an assortment of women ages twenty-five through seventy-five who, regardless of age, dressed remarkably the same.
Cornelia Rockman was the sole deviant from the unspoken dress code, wearing a body-hugging dress whose square inches were overwhelmed by the length of her coltlike thighs. She held court among the junior committee members.
"Go-getter," Dottie repeated, eyeing her warily. "That's one word for it, I suppose."
Binkie
Eloise slumped in her seat, knowing she was acting like a petulant seven-year-old. Ever since their trip to Turks and Caicos earlier that month--which was just as beautiful as Trip had promised--she'd been in an inexplicably sour mood. "If it means that much to you, I'll spend the day with her. But that's it, okay?"
The opening notes of "Rich Girl" bleated from Cornelia's BlackBerry, interrupting her stroll down Worth Avenue. Daphne Convers: Office.
"Are you sitting down?" Daphne burbled. "Because big news! Dafinco just called, and guess whom they want to develop a fragrance with?"
"Who's Dafinco?" asked Cornelia, peering into the display window of Cartier. She needed more gold jewelry. A few bangles, or something. She pushed through the heavy red door, and the woman behind the counter immediately perked up. Cornelia loved being recognized.
"Only the biggest makeup and perfume distributor in the entire country, doll!" Daphne was saying. "And they want you to launch their next perfume, Cornelia. You! We're talking major seven figures--"
Cornelia stopped in her tracks. That was big news. "So, like, would my name and face be on all the ads?" Cornelia held up a finger at the frothing saleslady.
"Everything and anything, doll. We'll walk through the whole thing. Can you be in New York next week for meetings?"
"I'm in St. Barts through Tuesday. Any day after that is fine."
"We'll make it work! You're the star. This is the beginning of big things for you, sweetie," Daphne said. "They're already putting together a couple of prototypes for you to smell. They think 'Socialite' should combine lilies of the valley, jasmine, and citrus with under notes of cedarwood. Classic, timeless, clean--"
"I don't know," Cornelia said. She motioned to see an eighteen-karat Love bracelet embedded with diamonds, and the woman whipped it out of the display case with remarkable alacrity. "I'd prefer something with a bit more mystery. More sex appeal. Lots of ooomph."
As Daphne sycophantically agreed, Cornelia could feel her back muscles begin to unclench. Pushing her oversize sunglasses to the top of her head, she handed the saleslady her credit card and felt content for the first time since the Townhouse party.
She had a perfume deal. And if she sent Wyatt one of her garters scented with "Cornelia," he would be man-putty in her hands.
13
Wyatt's Book Notes:
Betta fish flare out their gill covers--opercula, the scientific term--in order to appear more imposing to their peers and impressive to potential female mates. Park Avenue princesses act curiously like male Betta fish; they spend hours and hundreds each week having their hair voluminously blown out. They wedge their feet into four-inch stilettos. All this, it would seem, is intended make them imposing to their peers and impressive to potential mates. I encouraged L. to wear her hair as full as possible and to avoid flats, so that she would flaunt an intimidating presence to her fellow socialites. I intended that she perceive these women not as friends but as rivals.
P erfume?" asked Dottie Hayes, one eyebrow raised.
"She's quite the go-getter," said Binkie Howe.
While the parties continued to churn fifteen hundred miles north, many of Manhattan's social set had migrated down for the high-profile charity benefits of Palm Beach's season. Binkie's veranda, shaded against the midday sun by a grand banyan tree, was crowded with the Flagler Museum's planning committee, an assortment of women ages twenty-five through seventy-five who, regardless of age, dressed remarkably the same.
Cornelia Rockman was the sole deviant from the unspoken dress code, wearing a body-hugging dress whose square inches were overwhelmed by the length of her coltlike thighs. She held court among the junior committee members.
"Go-getter," Dottie repeated, eyeing her warily. "That's one word for it, I suppose."
Binkie
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