Lies and Weddings(97)

JACKIE ZIVENCHY ?? ?EVENTS DIRECTOR


My clients are like a basket of fruit. Some are nice as peaches, some are rotten bananas, some are sour lemons, and some are acquired tastes, like durians. Arabella’s a total durian. Some people love her, some people hate her, and if you touch her the wrong way she might prick you with her spikes and draw blood. She’s not nasty per se, she’s never once raised her voice at me, and she’s always grateful for the work I do. The peculiar thing about her is that whenever she’s entertaining at Greshamsbury Hall, she likes to pretend that she’s done everything herself. Not that she arranged each centerpiece or basted the pheasants with her own hands—everyone knows she has an army of staff—but she wants to be perceived as the creative genius behind everything. So my assistant Kirsten and I were in the scullery, putting the finishing touches on all the swag bags, when I get a warning on my headset. CM heading toward you. “CM” stands for “Countess Monster,” and that meant that Kirsten and I had to immediately be out of sight. Arabella never likes to see me on the event days, I suppose so that she won’t have to confront the reality that it was my idea to have one long table lit by hundreds of lamps with different-colored vintage lampshades, inspired by Rune Guneriussen’s site-specific installations, or it was my idea that every course served tonight should be an aphrodisiac. I mean, she really wants this Martha gal to seal the deal with Rufus, doesn’t she? Arabella likes to pretend I don’t exist so she can fully soak up all the compliments that come her way from all her guests—that she’s such a visionary, that she throws the most original parties, that she’s the reincarnation of Mona von Bismarck, yada. Anyway, we get the signal to hide, but there’s absolutely nowhere to hide in the scullery, so guess what? Kirsten and I end up jumping into the huge metal garbage cans in the corner. So here we are hiding like Oscar the Grouch, imagining how he must have put up with life in a garbage can,[*1] when I overhear two people enter the room talking. Turns out it’s not Arabella, it’s Martha Dung and Rufus, and this is what I overheard:

“So it turns out my mother has literally run Eden out of the village, and there are rumors going around that Eden may or may not be pregnant, and that she may or may not have attacked my mum and ruined her Gabriela Hearst peasant blouse with cappuccino. Eden’s not responding to my texts, but I’ve managed to find out where she is after texting with Freddy Farman-Farmihian.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in Los Angeles, and I have this feeling she really needs me right now.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You are the one who needs her. You’ve been acting like a lost puppy from the moment we arrived.”

“I have, haven’t I?”

“Take my plane, I’ll text my pilot right now.”

“But the ball…I can’t leave you alone at the ball tonight…”

“I’m a grown woman, Rufus. Believe it or not, I can handle your ball.”





LADY BEATRICE GRESHAM ?? ?MODEL AND ENTREPRENEUR


I was just back from London and on my way up to Mummy’s rooms to show her my chignon festooned with hundreds of white butterflies—a reinterpretation of Elizabeth Taylor’s updo for the Ca’ Rezzonico ball—when I heard Mummy screeching, “What do you mean the viscount has left? Left for where? Left for how long?” I paused, wondering whether I should turn around, when Hemsworth came running out saying, “Call a doctor, your mother says she’s having a heart attack.” Since Dr. Tong was out of the country and Mummy would have refused to see him anyway, Dr. Fillgrave was summoned from Barchester. As I suspected, she was not having a heart attack, but her blood pressure was rather elevated and the doctor decided a sedative was the best course of treatment and administered it before anyone could stop him. But then poor Mummy missed her own ball! When she came to the next day, she was inconsolable, but Martha Dung did something magnificent—she had Maggie prepare chicken soup in a double boiler for Mummy, took it up on a tray herself, and announced that she had such a good time at the ball and she was so impressed with meeting all of Mummy’s distinguished friends, like Captain Ross Poldark, that she was going to let out Boxall Park next door and throw a return ball in honor of Mummy. Floods of tears from Mummy, who kept sighing gratefully, “Now, this is daughter-in-law material! She even knows how to bou tong for me!”[*2] “How did you know how to fix Mummy?” I asked Martha. “You forget, I also have a Chinese mother,” Martha said with a wink.




Skip Notes

*1 Everyone knows that Oscar the Grouch didn’t actually live in the silver garbage pail visible on Sesame Street. The pail is purely an entrance to a sprawling subterranean complex that tunnels far beneath the boxes, garbage, and various ephemera. Over the decades, we’ve been given glimpses of his cushy abode, and if memory serves, there was even an episode where Oscar was sitting in his Jacuzzi wearing a shower cap.



*2 Cantonese for “boil soup,” the phrase refers to the ritual of preparing a healing medicinal brew (usually for one’s elders who one hopes will remember them fondly in their will).





VIII


The Screening Room

CLOUDLINE, BEL AIR ? THE NEXT DAY