"Probably not," Olivia said, but thought, How's never?

"I miss my family something awful. You know? I was thinking to myself that there's nothing really stopping me from taking Gladdie down there for a family visit. My momma's got a weak heart and she's living all by her lonesome with her housekeepers. I worry about her."

"Maritza? If she's living in her own home, she's probably stronger than you know."

"Maybe, but not a day goes by that I don't worry about her."

"Well then, go pay her a visit! If she was my mother, I'd go see her."

"You know what? You're right! Maybe I'll go after Memorial Day! But it's just such a royal pain in the derriere because we can't land the jet in Cartaret. So I have to fly to Jackson, get a car, and drive to Momma's. And I can't bring Ellen, so it's just me and Gladdie, and let me tell you, y'all know I love your G.o.ddaughter with all my heart and soul, but Lord, she can be so rambunctious!"

This would be the understatement of the day, Olivia thought.

"And why can't you bring Ellen to help you?"

"Are you serious? If I go down there with a nanny? By Monday, everybody at the processing plant and Wally World would be running their mouths about it! They'd turn the chickens loose on me and I'd get pecked to death!"

"Good grief," Olivia said and pushed the image of thousands of rabid chickens from her mind.

Cartaret, Mississippi-population under six thousand-held the distinction of being home to the second-largest chicken-processing plant in the world. And a Walmart, which was its saving grace. Of course there was a coffee shop, where Maritza had learned to cook, which by the twists and turns of G.o.d's grace led to her position on Bob's yacht and then into his bed.

"Olivia? Y'all got a Co-Cola? I'm 'bout as parched as I can be!"

"You know I do! I keep them just for you!" Olivia held up one finger, meaning she'd pour her a gla.s.s of c.o.ke and be right back.

"Oh, gosh! Thanks, Olivia. I'll just make myself at home."

Olivia slipped away to the wet bar in her butler's pantry, leaving Maritza to drape herself across a chaise covered in ice-blue silk twill, which served as the perfect backdrop for the kaleidoscope of her flamboyant tunic.

Olivia snapped the metal cap from the cold bottle and poured it over tiny square ice cubes in a Baccarat tumbler. She put the gla.s.s and the bottle on a starched c.o.c.ktail napkin resting on a small hotel silver tray. It wasn't a question of style so much as she didn't want the icy chill of the gla.s.s to loosen the skin on her ivory s.h.a.green end table, and she found coasters to be . . . well, to be honest, never as aesthetically pleasing as linen and silver. She returned to the living room and placed the tray carefully on the table next to Maritza.

"Oh, my! Dahlin'! Thank you! You make me feel so glamorous with all this hullabaloo for a little ol' c.o.ke!"

"It's my pleasure. So tell me, what's new?"

"Well, that's the reason I dropped in, you see. I have the most amazing news, so I wanted to tell you in person!" Maritza picked up her gla.s.s and drained it, refilling it with the remainder of the bottle.

"Wonderful! Let's hear!"

"Memorial Day? Y'all are still free, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course! You asked us to save the weekend."

"Well, so . . . drum roll, please! Bob is going to fly all of us to the Caribbean, and he's rented Necker Island! Can you believe it?"

"Great heavens! Really? The whole island?"

Necker Island was seventy-four acres of pure hedonistic fantasy located in the British Virgin Islands and just one of many dramatic properties owned by Richard Branson. Olivia was stunned.

"Yes! And hang on to your hat-it comes with a private submarine! We can take it out to look at the fish, and then we don't have to snorkel!" Maritza got up, did a little shimmy, and then sat down again. She was very excited. "G.o.d, I hate snorkeling! I just hate to put my face in the water, don't you? Having our own submarine will just make everything so much easier. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, of course," Olivia said, forcing a tight smile. "Can I get you another c.o.ke?"

"Golly, that would be so nice!"

Olivia returned to the butler's pantry with the empty bottle and gla.s.s and thought, With my claustrophobia? h.e.l.l would freeze before anyone would convince Olivia Ritchie to climb into a personal submarine. Then she was struck by the bizarre fact that Maritza thought saving her hair and makeup (cost: maybe three hundred) with access to your very own personal submarine (cost: one zillion) was a mere charming convenience when just five years ago she was wearing short shorts and a tight T-shirt, slinging hash below deck for the crew on Bob's yacht.

It dawned on Maritza that her description of the submarine might have sounded obnoxiously ent.i.tled, so she followed Olivia and stood leaning against the doorframe and began recounting her day.

"So the very minute he told me, I called Maia K. at Bergdorf's and we spent the whole morning tracking down every caftan in creation. I bought really retro sungla.s.ses like Jane Wyman wore in A Magnificent Obsession? Remember her?"

"Of course!"

"And we found these fabulous giant-sized hats for day, which I need because my hair will fry like all get-out. The last thing I need is straw instead of hair. And I bought a pile of fabulous chiffon caftans and open-toed mules for night."

"Sounds very dramatic! I love it!"

"Yeah. I figured I'd be a glamour puss and see if I can't jump-start Bob's, you know, love machine?" She giggled and turned red in the face.

Olivia thought, Oh, boy. This is a lot more than I want to know. She turned to Maritza with another lockjawed smile and a full gla.s.s of c.o.ke, and they returned to the living room together.

"You know, when I was a kid, we used to get us these little bottles of c.o.ke and pour a nickel bag of salted peanuts in them and shake it up. They'd bubble up and overflow and then we'd drink it, making a mess, choking on the nuts."

"Why in the world would you do that?"

"You know what? I don't know! 'Cuz kids are stupid, I guess. And back home there wasn't much going on. I guess shaking up a c.o.ke with a pack of peanuts was a big deal."

"Well, kids are silly, which BTW, I think is a good thing. So tell me some more about the trip! I'm so excited!"

"We're gonna have such a great time! I just know it! So if y'all can leave on Thursday . . ."

"We can."

"Great! Then we'll fly out of Teterboro. Bob's bringing Le Bateau de l'Amour down in case we don't like the island."

Le Bateau de l'Amour was Bob Vasile's yacht, which was roughly the size of a football field. It had eight staterooms with en suite marble bathrooms, two fireplaces, two living rooms, indoor and outdoor dining rooms, an elevator, two hot tubs, a gym, and just about every gorgeous detail that existed for yacht fittings, including a media room, a wine cellar, and a salon. The owners' suite and the library were recently featured in Yachting Magazine. His crew of thirty moved it around the world, never touching an American dock so as to avoid paying personal property taxes. It was purchased with the a.s.sets of his proverbial fatted calf-a chain of fifty or so steak houses and his vineyards in Napa and a partnership in Burgundy. The vineyards supplied and refurbished the wine cellars and lists of the restaurants. His businesses were a dovetailing money-maker, to say the least. Recently, Bob bought a vitamin company because after decades of a debauched existence, he now wanted to live forever. And he became vegan, just to see if he could. Being vegan didn't last long.

"I can't imagine we wouldn't like Necker Island, can you?"

"Of course not, but you know my Bob! When he wants to leave, we leave! If he doesn't like something, we get rid of it! So I can promise you on my daddy's grave if Bob doesn't like Necker, we'll be getting on the boat."

Olivia just shook her head. This was a lot to absorb.

"So I shouldn't completely unpack until we know how he's feeling?"

"Honey? Unpack? Don't wreck your nails! There's someone to do that for us!"

"Oh," Olivia said. She was unsure of how to respond. She was always slightly embarra.s.sed that someone was going to unpack her clothes. "You're bringing Gladdie, I hope?"

Gladdie was Maritza's precocious four-year-old daughter, who was conceived as soon as the ink was dry on Bob's divorce papers. Or maybe before, but who was counting? Nick referred to little Gladdie as Maritza's job security. Bob absolutely adored little Gladdie.

"Of course! But how about this? She told me over breakfast that she doesn't want to share her stateroom with Ellen. She wants me to sleep with her and for Ellen to stay with Bob! How crazy is that?"

"Kids," Olivia said, smelling trouble. "Who else is coming?"

Ellen was the nanny. Olivia had known Bob for aeons, having decorated and redecorated different properties for his numerous wives and girlfriends. He definitely, definitely liked the ladies. Before Nick came along, when Bob was almost in between wives again, Bob had put the moves on her too. Olivia had a.s.sured him that even as cute as he could be, she'd prefer a friendship and a professional relationship because it could last a lifetime. He had laughed and said that she was right, his lovers did seem to have a short shelf life, and a great friendship was born that still endured.

"You're just like the sister I never had, Olivia," Bob said to her then.

"Oh, Bob! You're going to make me weep with happiness!" Olivia said, pretending to be emotional for about one second, which he knew was a joke.

"You're a shrewd one, Olivia Ritchie," he said.

"Yep, but I'm one hundred percent on your team," she said. "Forever."

"It's okay if I love you a little, isn't it?"

"Yes, but only a little."

And it seemed the ladies kept getting younger, as though a younger woman could keep him from getting older. Oh, Bob, Bob, Bob, Olivia thought.

Maritza continued, "Well, Bob's golf pro and his wife and his friend Buddy the dermatologist and his wife and my shrink Annie and her partner . . ."

"Your shrink? I thought I was your shrink!"

"That's funny! Listen, you know Bob and I have been going through a rough patch since Gladdie was born, and I just want her to see what goes on."

A four-year-long rough patch? "Of course she should come! That's a really brilliant idea, Maritza."

Maritza's face changed, becoming sad, and it suddenly seemed she might burst into tears.

"To be totally honest, Olivia? I'm at the end of my rope. I just feel like everyone hates me."

"Oh, come on, now. You know that's not true."

"Well," Maritza said as one bulbous tear rolled over her bottom eyelid and down her cheek. "You'll see. Pay attention and you'll see. Even half of the crew on the boat is hostile to me, like I'm the first woman on the planet to break rank and marry the boss. And his son hates me because he thinks I'm spending his inheritance, and his friends don't like me. Oh, G.o.d. I just have all this anxiety in my heart and I just feel like everyone is judging me! And they are!" She sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. But the tears began to fall despite her best efforts to hold them back. She sighed deeply. "Oh, look at me! I'm sorry! I'm such a mess!"

Olivia felt terrible for her. "No, you're not a mess! You're fine! And I'm sure that whatever you're worrying about is probably exaggerated for some other reason. We all get upset sometime."

"No, I just barged in here and I'm so sorry to boohoo like this. But, Olivia, I just can't take it anymore." She took a deep breath and sighed in ragged puffs, struggling to regain her composure. Finally she put her head in her hands and sobbed like a child.

Olivia reached into the drawer of the end table and pulled out a few tissues (kept there because of her dislike of tissue boxes), handing them to her. Then she put her arm around Maritza's shoulders and gave her a squeeze, hoping to comfort her. She spoke to her tenderly as she would have spoken to a daughter if she'd had one.

"Oh, my dear! Please don't fret for one tiny second over dropping by! You didn't barge in, Maritza. You couldn't. My door is always open to you! We're friends. Good friends! You can come to me any time of the day or night, and I mean that!"

The poor girl, Olivia thought. She has zero confidence and probably for good reason. What in the world was Bob up to now? As she thought this, she knew the answer. There were men-not many, but more than a few-who lost interest in women after they had given birth. It was like someone flipped the libido switch in their heads (and elsewhere), and the mothers of their children were d.a.m.ned into eternal s.e.xual exile without so much as an a cappella rendition of "Thanks for the Memory."

Maritza blew her nose loudly and carefully blotted her eyes, which had mink eyelash extensions applied so densely that they resembled tiny dollhouse awnings. Eyelash extensions were among many current trends in the world that were not on Olivia's must-have list.

"Everyone hates me, Olivia," Maritza said. "They do. You'll see."

"Well, I sure don't. And neither does Nick," Olivia said, and thought, This poor girl is miserable. She felt very sad for her.

Maritza smiled at Olivia then and said, "Oh, dahlin', you are so gracious. It's like you're almost southern!"

Coming from Maritza, this was high praise. And considering the source, Olivia took it as such.

"If I have any southern in me, I must get it from Nick," she said, smiling because Maritza was smiling again.

"Aren't southern men just irresistible? Your Nick is so dahlin', isn't he?"

"I sure think he is," Olivia said and looked at her wrist.w.a.tch.

Maritza stood to gather her things and leave. "Well, I've probably overstayed my welcome, but I just have to tell you this one other itty-bitty thing."

Olivia stood, relieved that the visit was coming to an end.

"No such thing!" she said and thought, Mother Machree, please bring this to a close! "Tell me."

"Well, my daddy used to always say that the Lord will provide, and honey, he sure did provide me with the best friend I could ever want on the day I met you."

"Oh, Maritza! You are so sweet!" Olivia said, and hugged her again, feeling even worse for her.

"No, I'm serious! You're the one who saves my sanity. I know you have my back."

"You may depend on it," Olivia said, walking her to the door.

"We have opera tonight," Maritza said. "We're seeing Rigoletto for the fifth time. Taking clients out. I'll just be sitting there thinking about shoes."

It did not escape Olivia's notice that Maritza was playing with a gla.s.s...o...b..from the entrance-hall table, tossing it from hand to hand. The small but lovely piece was hand blown by the craftsmen of Steuben in the eighties. It rested on a small convex base. Maritza had the poor habit of fiddling with the property of others.

"You're too funny. But truly, how much Verdi can a girl bear?"

"Truly!" Maritza said and replaced the orb on the table.

Then Maritza smiled again, revealing her very sweet nature, which was without guile of any kind. Olivia realized then that despite the widely held opinion that Maritza was a gold-digging wh.o.r.e from nowhere, she truly loved Bob, unlike his previous wives. It was nice that Bob had billions, but he had a big fat problem in the fidelity department, and this poor young woman was struggling to hold her marriage together like any other wife. Well, almost like any other wife. But she was a straight-up nice southern girl, too conventional to accept Bob's infidelities and too kind to understand his jaded friends. Olivia picked up the orb and its base.

"Here," she said. "I want you to have this."

"Oh! No! I couldn't!"

"Yes. Take it. I want you to put it somewhere in your apartment where you can see it. When you're feeling low, pick it up. Think of it as, I don't know, like I'm there with you. Okay?"

Maritza took it and dropped it into her oversize tote bag.

"Thanks, Olivia. I'll treasure it."

It seemed for a moment that she might start to cry all over again. Olivia was spared any further drama by the ping of the elevator arrival, and she moved quickly to hold the door for Maritza.