"I agree with that."

"Well, darling? What do you think?" she said to Nick as they crawled into bed later on. "I still can't believe he overruled and then threatened Maritza in front of everyone like that. Ellen not only ought to be fired, she ought to be publicly caned!"

"We're not in Singapore, but I agree with you. She should be replaced. Should we close the mosquito netting? I think there's a bug in the room."

"Yes, please. Close it. G.o.d, was dinner stiff or what?"

"Even the caviar seemed rank," Nick said.

"And the champagne seemed flat."

They had been served saffron-flavored fish stew over steamed rice in beautiful individual tureens. Dessert was some kind of raspberry confection. They could've been eating drywall. No one really tasted the food or remarked on it. Ellen and Gladdie were absent from the table, which was a relief to everyone. For once, Dorothy was properly subdued, probably snickering to herself over Maritza's being demoralized by Bob, but even she offered a toast of thanksgiving for Gladdie's safe return. Everyone had joined in with a here, here, but it didn't do much to pick up Maritza's mood. In the minds of the women at least, what really mattered besides finding Gladdie was that Bob had openly chosen Ellen over his wife.

CHAPTER 5.

Yellow Submarine

There was a knock on Olivia and Nick's door at six-thirty the next morning. She opened one eye and looked at the bedside clock and thought, Wow, it's too early for room service, isn't it? Nick seemed to be sleeping soundly, and even if he was playing possum, he didn't stir. She pulled back the mosquito netting, slipped out to the sitting area, and called out softly so as not to disturb her maybe/maybe not sleeping husband. "Coming!"

She opened the door and there stood Maritza, wearing sungla.s.ses and a white cotton caftan and holding a carafe filled with some kind of fruit juice.

"Morning. I need to talk to you. Well, I need to talk to somebody, and I'm scared to death that stinker Lola will stab me to death if I reach out to Anne. Golly! She is so possessive! Can I come in?"

"Of course! Nick's still sleeping, so . . ."

"No, I'm not. I'm awake," he called out from the bedroom. "I'm getting into the shower."

"Sorry, Nick," Maritza called back to him. "Good morning."

"Morning," he called back.

Olivia winced, knowing Nick wasn't happy. Maritza did have an unfortunate knack for dropping in at inopportune moments. And this was really a business trip for Olivia, not a vacation, so Olivia could not object. In her heart, Olivia knew that Maritza had no clue that she was overstepping the professional boundaries.

Olivia went to the bar area and took two gla.s.ses from the tray. "Here. Let me take that."

Maritza handed her the container and Olivia wondered what Maritza was doing with a carafe of juice in the first place when the staff-to-guest ratio was easily ten or more to one. Nonetheless, she said nothing about it, because what would that prove? She filled two gla.s.ses and gave one to Maritza.

They touched sides of the gla.s.ses, as though it was a toast to something, and took a long drink.

"So, what's going on?" Olivia said, taking a further sip. "Everything okay?"

"How could it be? I haven't slept all night."

"Last night was pretty unnerving for everyone," Olivia said. "The main thing is that Gladdie was found unscathed. Come, let's sit outside."

They each settled into an armchair on the terrace and drew in a deep breath of the morning air.

"Of course, but after that, all I can think about is how Bob threatened me. Olivia, my husband threatened me in front of everyone! He acted like a beast! That's no way to treat somebody you're supposed to love!"

"I think that in the heat of a moment people say things they don't really mean," Olivia said. "Don't you? I know I've done it."

"Bob doesn't love me anymore, Olivia. It's as plain as the nose on my face."

Olivia was quiet for a few moments, considering what Maritza said.

"That's not true. I completely disagree. Has Bob been undergoing any kind of unusual stress lately?" Olivia put her gla.s.s down on the side table.

"Are you kidding? It's the only kind he has! He's opening restaurants in Napa and Sonoma and one in La Jolla. He's on the phone and emailing around the clock."

"The poor man," Olivia said, wondering why she didn't have the job to design their interiors. But she hadn't done commercial s.p.a.ces in aeons. Maybe that would have to change.

Maritza removed her sungla.s.ses to reveal red, swollen eyes. "Honey, poor is the only thing he isn't. I don't understand him anymore. Tell me what to do, Olivia. You've known Bob since forever. I have to do something, Olivia. Or I'm going to lose him. Or maybe I already have lost him."

Olivia got up, grabbed a bar towel, and soaked it in the ice bucket, which was magically always filled. "You haven't lost him, Maritza. Let me tell you a story about Bob that most people don't know. It might help you understand why he is so driven." She twisted the wet towel over the bar sink, folded it, and handed it to Maritza. "It will also help you to forgive him."

"Thanks. I'm all ears," Maritza said, leaning back into the cushions of the chair and covering her eyes with the cold, damp cloth.

"I'm telling you this in the strictest confidence, Maritza. You cannot tell him I told you, okay?"

"Deal! I swear on my daddy's grave!"

"Okay. When Bob was a child, his family was very poor."

"I know all about that," Maritza said. "They immigrated to the United States after World War II."

"Right. But I mean dirt poor. They came to Boston with the clothes on their back and a few hundred dollars. Sometimes they ate onions for a week. Because his mother didn't speak the language, she was reduced to cleaning houses to put food on the table. This was a dignified woman who was a math teacher. His father, who was a pretty talented commissioned muralist, suddenly had to put up plaster walls in the homes of rich people. Then his father fell off a scaffolding, broke his back, and couldn't work for almost a year. They nearly starved except for the generosity of their neighbors. But Bob was just a kid and he didn't have any sense of the reality of their poverty. All he knew was that Christmas was coming and he wanted Santa to bring him a bicycle. All his friends had bikes and he wanted one so he could fly through the streets with the other boys."

"Well, Lord love a duck. He was just a kid."

Olivia did not know what Lord love a duck meant or if it had anything to do with anything. Most likely? It was merely an unfamiliar southernism. Olivia continued.

"Exactly. His parents couldn't come up with the money for a new bike, but they found someone who was willing to sell a used one."

"It was probably stolen," Maritza said.

"Who knows? Maybe. Anyway, they got this bicycle, painted it black, and put a bell on the handlebars. On Christmas morning, it appeared by their tiny little tree with a red bow on it."

"So was he thrilled?"

"Yes and no. It was obvious to Bob that it was used. I imagine the paint job might not have been so great and I'm sure Bob was very astute, even as a youngster. But he knew it wasn't from Santa. Sadly, it was the moment he realized there was no Santa Claus, and he felt guilty over what his parents must have sacrificed to be able to give him even this poor, used bicycle. In any case, he had his bicycle."

"So did he cry or something?"

"Bob? Bob cry? Never! Well, never, according to him. He toughened up, hugged his parents, and quickly carried the bike down five flights of stairs to the street. His parents were right behind him, frightened for his safety, begging him to be careful."

"I'm sure!"

"Well, you see, Bob had never been on a bike before, except for riding on the handlebars or a crossbar with one of his friends. But he had such pa.s.sion for the bicycle that in his mind, he had already traveled every street and alley in the entire city of Boston. He completely understood the concept of directing the bicycle by turning the handlebars, and he knew to rotate the pedals to propel it forward. Never was there a boy more mentally prepared to take on the challenges of a bicycle than young Bob Vasile."

"Well? What happened?"

"He got on the thing and took off like he'd been riding bikes his entire life!"

"Amazing!"

"But he had never given a thought about how to stop."

"Oh, no."

"Exactly. He plowed into a pile of garbage cans, went flying, and had to get ten st.i.tches in his head."

Maritza sat up and removed the wet cloth, refolded it, and said, "Good luck finding a doctor on Christmas morning."

"I'm sure. I don't know the details on that part of the story, except that his father beat the stuffing out of him; you'd have to ask Bob."

"His father spanked him on Christmas?"

"Oh, I think his father disciplined him frequently. But soon he was back on his bike with all the other boys and zipping all over the streets of Boston."

Maritza covered an eye with the cold cloth, applying some pressure to relieve the swelling, and looked up at Olivia with the other. "And why is this story going to make me forgive Bob?"

"Because all the other boys knew how to jump their bikes over this particular creek and Bob did not. But rather than be called a sissy or something worse, like getting beaten up, Bob gave it a try. Well, the creek was wider than he thought, and the water was colder and deeper. He lost his bike and nearly drowned in the process of trying to find it."

"How terrible! Didn't the boys help him?"

"No. They left him. So Bob had to go home, freezing and soaking wet in the middle of March, and confess what happened to his parents."

"And his daddy was mad?"

"Furious! I'm pretty sure he got a whipping that day too. I know his father called him some pretty terrible names for years, like stunade, which I think means idiot. Anyway, after his mother dried him off and got him into clean clothes, he and his father went back to the creek with a rake they borrowed from someone to try and fish the bicycle out."

"What happened?"

"They pulled out six bicycles!"

"Oh! How wonderful!" Maritza laughed.

"Yep. So, Bob and his father fixed them all up and sold them."

"No wonder Bob is like he is. The entrepreneur."

"Yes. Even then. He learned all about disappointment, tenacity, and ingenuity at a very young age. And that you shouldn't ever have to depend on anyone."

"And not to get caught doing something stupid."

"Exactly."

"How did you hear this story?"

"Well, when Nick and I were dating and Bob was single we used to have dinner now and then. One night he drank three martinis and told us all these wild colorful stories about growing up on the other side of the tracks. If he knew that I told you this story, you'd have to find another decorator."

"Why?"

"I guess because he doesn't want anyone to know how humble his beginnings were. We were sworn to secrecy."

"Pride. Pride is a sin."

"Personally? I think it's so interesting how we are all shaped by our childhoods. Listen, Bob can be completely charming, and you know it."

"When he wants to be."

"Maritza, men like Bob just want to feel like big shots. They want to win every game and take home the biggest fish. They want you to think they're truly awesome and they are, but they want your complete adoration. What Bob has accomplished in his life all on his own is absolutely incredible. But deep inside him there's still that little boy who found out the truth about Santa on Christmas Day, who had to be fed by neighbors because he was too small and skinny, whose father whipped him with a belt when he felt like it, and who lost his beloved bike in a creek."

"So he's permanently screwed up?"

Sometimes Olivia wondered about the actual size and functioning capabilities of Maritza's brain.

"No, sweetheart. He's permanently insecure and cannot bear the thought of other people having power over him, and he's terrified of failure. He would not make a good loser in any situation. And this includes losing you and Gladdie. Poverty can be mortifying, you know."

"So what are you telling me, Olivia?" Maritza put the cold cloth on the side table.

"Bob loves you and he loves Gladdie. But on some days and in certain situations, it might seem like he loves himself a bit more, especially when his insecurities jump into the forefront of his mind without warning. It's how alpha men are, Maritza. They can't help it. They see the world only through their own eyes. And men are always going to do just what they want to do. But in my heart I really believe Bob loves you."

"So I should just sit back and smile and pretend he's not s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the nanny?"

"No. You should remain focused on your relationship with him, not his with her."

"Can you say that again?"

"Treat him like a king, Maritza. Treat him like a king. And to the extent you can, pretend Ellen doesn't exist."

"And what should I do about Dorothy?"

"Oh, dear. What to do about Dorothy? Well, first, she's really Sam's problem. Isn't she? And other than that, I guess I'd try to see the humor in it. Bob's not interested in her."