Read the Overnight Socialite Online
Authors: Bridie Clark
the Overnight Socialite (7 page)
She leaned her head against the gray pleather seat. It was slimy from a previous passenger, but she didn't care. A dull backache had set in, along with a deep chill. And Lucy Jo felt a little dizzy, too--the way she had when she first moved to New York and the city made no sense at all.
"Nine dollars," said the cabdriver when they'd reached the white stucco walk-up building she called home. She handed him eleven, cringing to see how few dollars she had left in her wallet.
As she reached into her pocket for her keys, Lucy's hand grazed the business card Wyatt Hayes had given her.
I'd have to be out of my mind
, she thought, opening the door.
I'd have to be out of my mind
, she thought, opening the door.
8
Marriage means commitment. Then again, so does insanity.
--Unknown
T
urks and Caicos? Well, doesn't
that
sound awfully romantic!" "It's supposed to be beautiful," said Eloise Carlton into the telephone, not sure how else to respond to her mother's enthusiasm. She peered into her overstuffed closet, rising up on tiptoes to pull a suitcase off the top shelf. "Trip says we're right on the beach--"
urks and Caicos? Well, doesn't
that
sound awfully romantic!" "It's supposed to be beautiful," said Eloise Carlton into the telephone, not sure how else to respond to her mother's enthusiasm. She peered into her overstuffed closet, rising up on tiptoes to pull a suitcase off the top shelf. "Trip says we're right on the beach--"
"So? Do you think this could be
it
?" Ruth Carlton, incurably hopeful, squealed into her daughter's ear.
it
?" Ruth Carlton, incurably hopeful, squealed into her daughter's ear.
Eloise held the phone away. You'd think by now her mother would have clued in that sometimes a fabulous island getaway was just a fabulous island getaway, no rings attached.
"Mom," she said in a warning tone, tossing a violet and indigo Allegra Hicks caftan into her suitcase.
Eloise Carlton had been dating Trip Peters for eight years, since she was twenty-eight, which was two years before he'd shown any hint of hedge-fund prowess. Back then he'd lived in his mother's pied-a-terre, conveniently located close to Dorrian's and Mimma's Pizza. Now Trip owned a six-bedroom townhouse inches from Madison Avenue, complete with wine cellar and indoor movie theater. "Well, you said he planned the whole thing as a surprise. As 'part' of your Christmas present. So your father and I thought, maybe--"
"Now Daddy's speculating on my love life, too?" Eloise blew her bangs, currently Titian red, off her forehead (she dyed her hair a new color every few weeks, during her rare nights at home).
Focus
. Trip had just sprung their pre-Christmas trip on her that afternoon, right in the middle of a chaotic and ill-conceived fashion shoot ("farmyard chic," which essentially meant models dressed in designer overalls and Galliano plaid, riding tractors and wrestling pigs). Now she had less than an hour to pack before heading over to his place and collapsing in an exhausted heap onto his bed. After dozens upon dozens of spontaneous Trip-engineered getaways,Eloise was starting to loathe the sight of her Goyard overnight bag. Sometimes all she wanted was to stay put, to sink into the couch and not move for a week. She loved her cute two-bedroom apartment on tree-lined 73rd Street, the best investment of her life, but she got to enjoy it so little.
Focus
. Trip had just sprung their pre-Christmas trip on her that afternoon, right in the middle of a chaotic and ill-conceived fashion shoot ("farmyard chic," which essentially meant models dressed in designer overalls and Galliano plaid, riding tractors and wrestling pigs). Now she had less than an hour to pack before heading over to his place and collapsing in an exhausted heap onto his bed. After dozens upon dozens of spontaneous Trip-engineered getaways,Eloise was starting to loathe the sight of her Goyard overnight bag. Sometimes all she wanted was to stay put, to sink into the couch and not move for a week. She loved her cute two-bedroom apartment on tree-lined 73rd Street, the best investment of her life, but she got to enjoy it so little.
"Your father and I just want you to be happy," said Ruth.
Pack
, Eloise told herself. The trick to discussing her relationship with Trip with her mother--which lately was the only thing her mother wanted to discuss--was to multitask. SPF 30. Malo cashmere traveling mask and slippers. The turquoise Eres string bikini that Trip had drooled over during their last trip to Mykonos. Her favorite floppy straw hat. Vivier sunglasses.
, Eloise told herself. The trick to discussing her relationship with Trip with her mother--which lately was the only thing her mother wanted to discuss--was to multitask. SPF 30. Malo cashmere traveling mask and slippers. The turquoise Eres string bikini that Trip had drooled over during their last trip to Mykonos. Her favorite floppy straw hat. Vivier sunglasses.
"All your sisters are married," her mother reminded her.
"Lucky them!" chirped Eloise. Passport. Oversize makeup case, even though she rarely wore more than a hint of mascara and lip gloss. More than that weighed down her porcelain complexion. Her Jennifer Aniston look for travel: Miu Miu gold leather sandals, comfy but well-fitted Superfine jeans, and two white tops with barely-there straps. An H&M dress that she could throw on for lunch. Two slubbed-silk sarongs, light as air. Her white Genetic jeans, plus a slinky bronze-colored top she'd scored at a thrift shop and strappy Choos. Next month's
Harper's Bazaar
, not available to the public for another two weeks. These were the perks of being a stylist: free magazines, unbeatable swag.
Harper's Bazaar
, not available to the public for another two weeks. These were the perks of being a stylist: free magazines, unbeatable swag.
"And your friends, sweetie. How many times have you been a bridesmaid?"
"Um . . . fourteen, I think?" Eloise refused to sound anything but delighted by this fact.
"You've hosted four baby showers in the past year alone," Ruth continued. "I hate to say it, sweetie, but it can be a bit harder to get pregnant at thirty-six--"
Eloise's neck tightened. She rubbed it with one hand, tossing a bottle of Bulgari perfume into her suitcase with the other. Not that she felt any need to correct her mother, but she'd actually thrown six baby showers that year. Eloise could fill an Olympic pool with all the pink and blue buttercream icing she'd ordered from Magnolia. She loved doing it, was always quick to offer--but sometimes those little baby things made her heart ache.
"And don't tell me you don't care about getting married, I will not buy it." Ruth Carlton could no longer keep the frustration out of her voice.
"I certainly don't care as much as you do," Eloise said quietly. "Trip and I aren't like you and Daddy."
Not being like her parents had been a selling point when she was thirty. She and Trip had lived for their benders at Marquee, their impulsive trips to Morocco or Ibiza or Tokyo or wherever Trip decided they had to fly next. They were constantly surrounded by friends--crowded into overflowing banquette tables, ordering one more bottle of Cristal just to keep the night going. Their nights ended at 4 AM and their mornings began with greasy egg-and-cheese sandwiches from the corner deli. They loved their life together. They always seemed to be on the same wavelength, best friends who happened to have great chemistry and identical taste in Turkish takeout. What could be better?
"Believe me, I
know
you're not like us," Ruth clucked. "I would've kicked Daddy out on his--"
know
you're not like us," Ruth clucked. "I would've kicked Daddy out on his--"
"Mom, stop!" Eloise interrupted. "All I'm saying is that just because Trip planned a vacation doesn't mean he's going to propose."
"You never know," her mother insisted.
Jewelry!
From her case Eloise pulled out a delicate gold necklace from Cartier and the pair of freshwater pearl earrings Trip had given her for her birthday last year.
From her case Eloise pulled out a delicate gold necklace from Cartier and the pair of freshwater pearl earrings Trip had given her for her birthday last year.
"Can't you just ask him what he's thinking?" Ruth asked for the millionth time. "Just ask him when he sees himself getting married. Not an ultimatum, just a question."
"I've been busy, Mom," Eloise answered, evading the question. "Work's been nonstop. Last week I had a shoot in Palm Springs and Telluride. I had a shoot today. The week after next I'm in Rome for Italian
Vogue
. I'm not sitting around obsessing about this."
Vogue
. I'm not sitting around obsessing about this."
"I'm not
suggesting
that you
obsess
about it. All I'm saying is that it shouldn't be this difficult. If he cared about your feelings, he wouldn't drag things out like this."
suggesting
that you
obsess
about it. All I'm saying is that it shouldn't be this difficult. If he cared about your feelings, he wouldn't drag things out like this."
Eloise and Trip had met on a humid July evening in the backyard of a Bridgehampton house some mutual friends were renting. Trip was working the barbecue, but he dropped his tongs and zeroed in on Eloise the moment she arrived. Later, when one of their pals griped about his charred burger, Trip grinned sheepishly. "Blame whoever brought
her
," he'd said, pointing his chin at Eloise. He wasn't the best-looking guy in the world, or even in that Bridgehampton backyard. He was four inches shorter than she was when she wasn't wearing heels; Eloise always had a pretty good view of the balding crown of his head. But there was just something about him. Or something about them that she couldn't imagine finding with anyone else. They'd gone home together that summer night and hadn't been apart since.
her
," he'd said, pointing his chin at Eloise. He wasn't the best-looking guy in the world, or even in that Bridgehampton backyard. He was four inches shorter than she was when she wasn't wearing heels; Eloise always had a pretty good view of the balding crown of his head. But there was just something about him. Or something about them that she couldn't imagine finding with anyone else. They'd gone home together that summer night and hadn't been apart since.
"I've got to hang up, Mom," Eloise said briskly, glancing at her watch.
"So is Wyatt still dating your girlfriend?" Ruth asked. She prided herself on staying current on the latest couplings, and thanks to a new rash of socialite-focused blogs, she could track everything from Duxbury.
"I wouldn't call Cornelia a friend. She's just a girl I know socially," said Eloise. "I've gotta go--"
"Well, I hope it works out. My friend Donna thought that if Trip ran out of single friends, settling down might strike him as the natural next step--"
"Mother!" Eloise had reached her limit. "Enough, okay? I'm going to be late."
"Fine, sweetie. Have a wonderful time on your trip. Call us if anything interesting happens," Ruth said in a singsongy voice.
"Thanks. But don't wait by the phone," Eloise answered, trying to sound lighthearted. After she hung up, she flopped backward onto her bed. She'd barely had time to breathe all week. A few days at the beach with her honey was just what she needed. Why was she being such a stick in the mud? It really was so thoughtful of Trip to plan it, to surprise her--
Why not?
Eloise thought suddenly, springing up and heading toward the closet with purpose. She pulled out the wispy Alberta Ferretti dress she'd been saving for a special occasion, along with her fabulous white lizard Choos.
Eloise thought suddenly, springing up and heading toward the closet with purpose. She pulled out the wispy Alberta Ferretti dress she'd been saving for a special occasion, along with her fabulous white lizard Choos.
After all, a girl shouldn't be caught unprepared for a wedding proposal she's totally not expecting.
9
Oh, honey, no. When we first heard about the now infamous cater-waiter incident at Nola Sinclair's show, we cursed the fact that we weren't fab enough to see it in person. But then one reader took pity, and oh-so-generously sent us this photo. Not enough to make a positive ID, but hey, we'll take it.
11:56 PM
The Cherry NyQuil wasn't working.
Lucy Jo pointed her flashlight at an Idaho-shaped stain on her bedroom ceiling. Even that cheapo wine in a box her mother guzzled, which smelled like it could fuel a car, was out of her budget at the moment. When she'd found an old bottle of cold medicine at the back of her bathroom cabinet, it'd struck her as the luckiest thing to have happened in the two weeks since Nola's show. But it wasn't working. Despite having slugged down the better part of a bottle, she still could operate heavy machinery without exercising extra caution.
The 11:56 dragged its feet clicking to 11:57 on her '70s-era alarm clock. All the thoughts that had been bruising and bullying her all day refused to fade to black. Normally Lucy Jo loved to be alone--it gave her time to sketch--but tonight she just felt stuck with herself.
Thanks to an overdue electricity bill, she didn't have basic cable as a distraction--or light, for that matter, besides the jumbo flashlight she'd borrowed from the overgrown frat boys across the hall. Even before her public debacle at Nola's show, Lucy Jo had been living on the financial edge, waiting for her big, salary-raising break, juggling bills so she could pay the rent on her overpriced and pitiful studio, which she'd chosen because she wanted to live in the center of things.
Her cell phone rang--it was the one bill she'd paid since Nola's--and she lunged across the futon for it, idiotically hoping it was a potential employer. Calling at midnight.
"Will you accept a collect call from Rita Ellis?" asked the operator.
Lucy Jo inwardly groaned. Her mother. "Of course," she said. "Hi, Rita. How are you?"
There was a pause at the other end of the line. "I won't lie to you," said her mother, her voice gruff. "Been better. I had to take Faye Dunaway in for surgery the other day."
Here comes the windup
, thought Lucy Jo. Faye was one of Rita's six beloved cats, all of whom had been named after her mother's obsession: movie stars. "I knew something was wrong when she wouldn't touch her Iams," Rita went on. "That's not like Faye."
Here comes the windup
, thought Lucy Jo. Faye was one of Rita's six beloved cats, all of whom had been named after her mother's obsession: movie stars. "I knew something was wrong when she wouldn't touch her Iams," Rita went on. "That's not like Faye."
One time, just one time, she could call to see how I'm doing, or to wish me a happy birthday.
"Just be glad you're living the good life in New York City, Lucy Jo, and not trying to earn an honest living in Dayville."
"Trust me, Rita," Lucy Jo said, holding the NyQuil bottle upside down for the last drops. She'd never been able to convince Rita that her income didn't go far in New York. "I'm not living the good life."
"Well, it beats inhaling nail glue, day in and day out."
Lucy Jo felt an involuntary pang of guilt. Each month, she sent her mother as much money as she could--and each month, she wished it could be more. Although Rita's employment as a manicurist had always been sporadic at best, she'd managed to keep a roof over their heads during Lucy Jo's childhood. So what if she'd already used the excuse of Faye's surgery twice before. Maybe the cat really
had
been under the knife more times than its namesake.
had
been under the knife more times than its namesake.
"And then this surgery comes up, out of the blue--well, I had to use all the money I'd saved for my prototype."
"Your prototype?"
"I told you about my celeb-inspired acrylic nails! My nail art, baby! I've got a set with Brangelina and their kids, one with the cast of
Dallas
. I'll send you a handful"--she giggled at her bad pun--"as soon as they're ready. Then we'll be in business."
Dallas
. I'll send you a handful"--she giggled at her bad pun--"as soon as they're ready. Then we'll be in business."
"
We?
" The prospect of eating out of restaurant Dumpsters was more appealing than going into business with her mother. "How much do you need?" She wanted to help, of course, but felt a bit queasy at the prospect of emptying out her meager savings account.
We?
" The prospect of eating out of restaurant Dumpsters was more appealing than going into business with her mother. "How much do you need?" She wanted to help, of course, but felt a bit queasy at the prospect of emptying out her meager savings account.
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