Jason had a fixed, determined scowl as he attempted to steer the speedboat through the large black waves. Lana was silent, and she didn’t look happy. I wondered if they’d had a fight. Kate was sitting next to her, also looking morose, chain-smoking, staring at the waves.
I was the only one in jolly spirits. I’d had a couple of martinis by then and was looking forward to dinner immensely. Rather than travel in miserable silence, I turned to Leo, who was sitting next to me. I had to shout to be heard over the wind.
“So, Leo. What’s all this I hear about you wanting to be an actor?”
Leo threw me a startled look. “Who told you that?”
“Your mother, of course. I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“You’re not?” Leo looked suspicious. “How come?”
“Well, you know the old saying.” I winked at him. “‘The apple never rots far from the tree.’”
I laughed, but Leo frowned.
“Is that a joke? I don’t get it.”
He gave me a suspicious look, then turned to look at the glowing island in the distance.
“We’re almost there,” I said. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Beautiful is the word. Arriving at Mykonos at night is an enchanting, almost hallucinatory experience. As you approach, the island sparkles with shimmering white lights, illuminating the white-domed buildings that rise and fall along the curves of the hills.
Yialos means “waterfront.” Appropriately enough, the restaurant was along the harbor wall. We disembarked at the private jetty. I was relieved to be out of the lurching boat and on dry land. We made our way up the stone steps to the restaurant.
It was a picturesque spot: the tables were along the water’s edge, with white linen tablecloths, and illuminated by lanterns hanging from the branches of olive trees. We could hear the tide slapping at the stone seawall.
As soon as Babis saw us, he hurried over. He snapped his fingers at his flock of waiters, all of them in gloves and bow ties and gleaming white jackets. At the other tables, people turned and stared. I felt Leo squirm by my side; even after a lifetime of it, he still disliked the attention—who could blame him?—and tonight there was a lot of it.
Yialos was an overpriced and pretentious restaurant, catering to an extremely wealthy, sophisticated clientele. Even so, Lana’s unexpected appearance from the water, like the birth of a modern-day Aphrodite, rendered everyone agog. Everyone stopped and stared.
Lana was luminous that night—diamonds glittering in her hair, in her ears, and around her neck. She was wearing a white dress, a simple but expensive gown, perfectly fitted to her figure, which reflected the light and made her glow like some kind of beautiful apparition.
You had to marvel at the spectacle, really. Then, to cap it all, a little kid, about seven or eight years old, tottered up to her. He had been sent over by his parents. The boy timidly held up his napkin and asked Lana for her autograph.
Lana smiled and graciously complied—signing her name on his napkin with Babis’s pen. Then she bent down and kissed the boy’s cheek. He went bright red. The entire restaurant burst into delighted, spontaneous applause.
All the while, Kate was standing next to me. I could sense her mounting irritation. Anger was radiating from her like body heat.
That’s something you should know about Kate—she had quite a temper. This was well-known among her colleagues in the theater—all of whom had at some point borne the brunt of one of her rages. Once provoked, her fury was fearsome, white-hot and incendiary—until it burned itself out. Whereupon she would be stricken with remorse, and desperate to repair what damage she had done—which, sadly, wasn’t always possible.
And now, I sensed Kate getting madder by the second. Her temper was getting the better of her, I could tell. When she caught my eye, she looked positively murderous.
Then she said, loudly, in a stage whisper, audible to most of the restaurant, “Does no one want my autograph? Fine. Fuck off, then.”
Babis looked horrified and quickly decided she was joking. He laughed long and hard. He guided us to our table, cooing and fawning all over Lana—bowing so low, he was in danger of toppling over.
At the table, Kate made a show of pulling out her own chair and sitting down—before a waiter could assist her.
“No, thanks, mate,” Kate said to the waiter. “I don’t need any help. No special treatment for me. I’m not a movie star. Just a normal person.”
Lana also refused assistance being seated. She smiled. “I’m a person too, Kate.”