you sure Lisa’s good?” I ask.
Emma’s already huge green eyes widen and she gives me this look like, “Oh my God, sometimes you are just so blonde!”
“Bug,” she says. “La Chien is the only salon Vera Wang uses for her babies!”
Emma has called me Bug from the first day we met. She said she couldn’t stand the name Porsche, even if it is really pronounced like Portia. “It’s so nouveau riche,” she’d said. “At least be original. Be a red VW convertible with a black leather interior. It’s so you—all dark on the inside and flashy on the outside. That’s what I’m going to call you, Lady Bug.” Only it got shortened to Bug and soon all the girls we hung out with were calling me Bug.
Emma brings me back to reality by taking my arm and pulling me out the salon door. I look back at Marlena and see she is already licking Lisa’s fingers; my little ferret, alone for the first time in the big wide world without her mommy!
I am so beside myself that I let Emma drag me away. I drink the first two Cosmos without even realizing what I’m doing and that’s saying something because Bemelmans’ Cosmos are just so completely memorable. The third round arrives and I realize an absolutely sweet man at the bar is smiling at me.
“Oh, dear God,” Emma breathes. “I can’t believe it. Why now? Damn!” Then, as if she hadn’t said any of that, she says, “Bug, don’t you know who that is?”
I’m telling you, all I can see is his black Jack Spade man-bag. I can spot one of those even without my glasses, so if the details of his overall appearance are a little fuzzy, well excuse me. He looks tall, dark and rich. What more do I need to know?
“I have no idea who he is,” I tell Emma. “But he fits the profile for ‘You Can Smile At Me Anytime.’”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s Aldo Huffman,” she says, sounding not a little bit impatient.
I squint in his direction and wish I’d put in my contacts, but really, Emma was in such a hurry that I just ran to the limo without putting them in.
“Aldo Huffman? He like, grew up into that? He looks so…European. Oh. My. God! He was, like, such a little swine when we debuted! You know he was the kid voted most likely to grow up and face a federal grand jury for embezzling from his own company!” I narrow my eyes into slits and try to make out the details, but it really doesn’t matter because he is on his way over to our table.
Five minutes after Aldo joins us, I send a car to pick up my ferret and take her home. Mother love is one thing, but lust is essential to a woman’s survival, you know? We have a lovely dinner at La Petit Ennui and decide to hit the Canal Room where Aldo says he’s meeting a friend. He smiles at Emma and winks, so I figure it’s a fix-up.
When Aldo’s friend joins us, I have to pinch myself because the man is exquisite. Dark black hair, ultra-Latino, dressed in Armani, with bedroom eyes that make me forget handsome Aldo entirely. Tomorrow the New York Reporter will have our faces plastered all over it with “Who’s Porsche’s New Boy Toy?” captions running below them. Am I lucky or what?
Emma and I hit the ladies’ room to freshen up, and I tell her that I think I’m falling in love.
“Don’t,” she says and the trouble starts.
Something in her voice sends a chill straight through my alcohol-numbed body, sobering me instantly. I mean, don’t get me wrong; Emma and I are not fools. We both know I’m not the least bit serious about falling in love. Falling in love, when you’re saddled with more money than God, only happens after a thorough investigation of assets, skeletons and criminal backgrounds. So, for Emma to take The Tone with me, well, there has to be something seriously wrong.
“Oh, I see, you want him.”
“Don’t be silly, Bug! It’s not that. Besides, you’re more his type. He likes leggy blondes with big blue eyes, not short, little redheads.”
I’m confused. “What then, is he married?”
Emma smiles. “I doubt it.” Her face gets that look again though, and she turns away to inspect her lipstick in the mirror. “I know him, not well, but our paths cross now and then and well, I just don’t think he’s trustworthy, that’s all.”
I shrug and join her at the mirror. “Oh, well, if that’s all…”
Emma won’t let it go. “No, Bug, I don’t think that’s all. God, you and your weakness for the bad boys! I’m serious, Buggie, I don’t like him.”
I tuck my lipstick back into my beaded Gucci evening bag and turn to stare gravely at my friend.
“Do you want to leave?”
Emma is really getting wiggy on me now. “No, no, not at all! Let’s stay. Let’s dance. But let’s not play favorites, all right? We’ll just keep it a group thing, shall we?”
Well, she is my best friend but she is also a very skillful manipulator—this I remember from boarding school. She’s not the only one with tricks up her sleeve. I decide right then and there that Emma’s not giving me the entire story, so it’s up to me to figure it all out on my own.
We walk back out into the club and find Aldo and his friend already have the best table in the house, right by the dance floor. An ice bucket has materialized by our table. A bottle of Cristal champagne is being opened by a waitress and four champagne flutes sit in the center of the tiny wooden circle.
At least I know the drinks aren’t drugged. I slip into the vacant seat next to Aldo’s friend and smile as a photographer snaps my picture from the edge of the dance floor. The bouncers rush up to remove him but I wave them away. I’m enjoying this evening too much to waste negative energy on the press.
“Ray, this is Porsche,” Aldo says over the noise of the music.
Ray takes my hand, looks deep into my eyes and I feel every nerve ending in my body wanting him. Emma kicks me and I yelp, drop his hand like a hot rock and glower at her. When Aldo introduces Ray to Emma, she smiles knowingly, rises and pulls him up out of his seat and out onto the dance floor.
The scheming bitch! This was her plan all along. She throws me off balance and then runs off with the prize. I remember the way her face changed as she warned me about him. Emma has never been able to lie to me. She doesn’t like Ray and yet, there she is, dancing with him.
Aldo slides over, taking Emma’s seat, and begins talking about his recent trip to Greece. I listen to him, but the attraction I felt for him is gone. I am distracted, watching Emma and Ray, wondering what in the hell is going on?
When they come back to the table, Aldo stays in Emma’s seat and so she takes his and begins laughing and flirting with Ray. I try to kick her and miss. She is too far away. I glare at her when the men are not looking. She ignores me. Many people come up and talk to us, more for Aldo than anyone, but still, I know people here, too, so for a while I bide my time and pretend to be fascinated by the acquaintances who drop by to chat.
At last, I see an opportunity. I pretend to reach for a napkin in the center of the table, let my arm “accidentally” knock against Ray’s almost-full champagne glass and then gasp as it tips over, falling to spill icy liquid into his lap. He jumps up, I lean forward as if to help, and with one smooth movement, slip his billfold out of his suit coat pocket and slide it down my thigh and into the inside pocket of my faux chinchilla shrug.
I am so-o-o apologetic! The waitresses come running. Emma shoots me the evil eye and Aldo misses most of the moment because he is temporarily distracted by the arrival of a new bevy of women at the door.
Ray is the only member of our party who is not flustered. He is polite, and affects a very unconcerned manner, but for one brief slice of a second his eyes meet mine and look straight through to my soul. It is a bone-chilling search of my intent—at least, this is how it feels—and for a moment I am worried that he somehow knows what I’m up to, but then, how could he? I force myself to sit still for a