"Let's talk tomorrow!" Maritza said with all the brightness she could muster.

Later, when Olivia and Nick were sharing a lump crabmeat c.o.c.ktail over martinis at Del Frisco's, Olivia told Nick about Maritza's predicament.

"She was completely undone. I'll tell you, she really loves the old son of a gun," she said. "Are you going to eat that olive?"

Nick speared the olive with his toothpick and fed it to her. "If you live long enough, you'll see everything. At least that's what my old man always said. Necker Island, huh?"

"Yep."

"G.o.d, I love/hate going on vacation with them," Nick said.

"Oh, suffer. It's necessary for business and besides, I'll make it worth your while," Olivia said.

CHAPTER 3.

Necker Island

It was overcast, drizzling, and actually quite chilly for the end of May. The forecast was not promising for the holiday weekend in the New York area.

"Let's have a moment of silence for all those poor people who spent their last dime to rent a summer house in the Hamptons," Olivia said, grateful they were not among them.

"Boy, I'll say! What does a four-bedroom go for these days?"

"Well, if it has a pool, probably forty thousand or more. That's not even for a house on the water. Rents can still be really obscene."

"And oceanfront?"

"Don't even think about it, baby boy."

They had checked and rechecked the weather for the Virgin Islands, and it was supposed to be perfect-a balmy eighty degrees in the water and on land. Feeling generous, Nick made the chivalrous decision to show some enthusiasm for the trip itself and to be a team player for Olivia's sake. It was the right thing for him to do. He would always balk and complain before they went on one of these trips. Then he would come around. When they finally got to wherever they were going, Nick had a fine time.

"I've looked at Necker Island online, and I must say it does look like paradise itself. It really does."

"I love you for doing this," she said, silently hoping that this trip would somehow produce new business.

"Oh, it's fine really. I mean, you've endured some painfully dry faculty dinners. I owe you."

"Yes, that is true enough, but how terrible could it be to have an entire island to ourselves?"

"Well, speaking as an academic with an interest in anthropology, I will find it interesting to see if the natives go native!"

"I think there will be plenty of shenanigans. We have a possible nanny-gate on the horizon."

"Oh, dear. If it's not the butler, it's the nanny," Nick said.

When Olivia and Nick finally cleared the usual horrific traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel and arrived at the Teterboro Airport, they were met by Maritza, who was pacing the front door area with nervous excitement. Maritza hurried to give them a big hug.

"Hey! Y'all are here! How're y'all doing?" Muah! Muah! "I'm so happy y'all made it! Bob's tied up in a meeting, but he'll be here directly. Nick? Do you remember Buddy? And Mich.e.l.le?" She pointed in their direction. "Can I help you with that, Nick?"

"No, I've got it. Thanks."

Olivia noticed Nick's scowl.

He whispered to Olivia, "Do I appear to be infirm in any way?"

"No, sweetheart," she whispered back.

Part of the group was a.s.sembled in the plush waiting area. Bob Vasile's best childhood friend, Buddy Bemis, and his willowy wife, Mich.e.l.le, were there with Ellen the nanny and Gladdie. Buddy popped up from the deep leather sofa like a man catapulted, which struck Olivia as funny.

"Hey! How are you, Olivia? Nice to see you again, Nick."

"Yes, yes," Nick said, "and you too!"

Mich.e.l.le looked up from where she sat, curled up like a cat, and gave an anemic roll-of-the-fingers wave to Olivia and Nick. Then she dropped her eyes, returning to flipping the glossy pages of the June issue of Wine Spectator. That gesture said it all: if ennui had been a disease, she would've been dead years ago. Mich.e.l.le's claim to fame was that she produced wine for Bob's restaurants in her family's many vineyards in Burgundy and Saint-Tropez. And Bob owned a small percentage of one of them. Olivia was suspicious that she imbibed slightly too much for the overall good of her health. Nevertheless, Mich.e.l.le was a woman of her own means to the point that Buddy didn't really have to practice medicine, but how much golf could a man play?

"Mich.e.l.le?" Nick said and returned a small, unacknowledged wave of equal value to Mich.e.l.le. He then turned away and discreetly squirted his hands with a pocket-size hand sanitizer.

Olivia shook hands with Buddy, nodded to Mich.e.l.le, and remembered Mich.e.l.le's world-weary att.i.tude was one reason Nick did not care to travel with Bob's friends. But Buddy wasn't a total disaster. He was a successful dermatologist, and at least he was reasonably gregarious. How Mich.e.l.le spent her spare time was anybody's guess. Mostly she appeared to be marinating in a mood.

"Got a very low ceiling out there," Buddy said. "I hope we can get out!"

"Yes, the weather's not ideal," Nick replied.

They all turned at once to look through the large windows, but their focus was shattered by a juvenile screech.

"It's mine!" Gladdie exclaimed loudly. "Gimme it!"

Gladdie jerked an iPad away from Ellen, who was perched with a beauty queen's posture on the edge of the coffee table. Olivia looked at Nick's face, which read, How many days will we have the pleasure of enduring your G.o.dchild? And when Nick read Olivia's face, it said, My G.o.ddaughter is the poster child for birth control.

"She sure loves that iPad!" Maritza said. "She's just crazy about all these gizmos! Now, let's share, Gladdie. Share!" Maritza repeated the share command until it seemed as if Gladdie would drive them all to guzzle liquor straight from a bottle. At last Maritza said, "Why don't you come with me and let's get some popcorn? Doesn't it just smell so good? Smell the b.u.t.ter?"

If we continue to reward bad behavior with food, Little Gladdie is going to have a weight problem someday soon, Olivia thought.

Reluctantly, Gladdie handed the iPad over to Ellen and took her mother's hand, stomping off in the direction of the snacks.

Ellen became instantly engrossed in something on the iPad, Mich.e.l.le was buried in her magazine, so the burden of social interaction was a.s.sumed by Buddy.

"So, help me remember, Nick? Do you play golf?"

"Oh, I putz around, but it's not my pa.s.sion. I like to fish."

Buddy said, "Humph. Well, I think fishing is admirable, but I don't really have the patience it takes. You know, when I was a boy . . ."

Buddy began to ramble about childhood summers in Maine and how his father forced him to learn to cast a line and how miserable he was sitting in the sun waiting for a fish that would never bite. Olivia's mind began to wander. She looked around and thought about the other people coming and going there, and about the benefits of their wealth that they seemingly took completely for granted. A family with two very sullen teenage girls moved past her, and she thought, Wow, how much money would it take to make a teenager appear to enjoy traveling with her family? There is no amount, she thought, and while she sometimes regretted not having children, she thanked her lucky stars for sparing her children like them.

Olivia helped herself to a peppermint Life Saver from the large bowl on the reception desk. Teterboro, like most private airports, offered generous amenities for waiting pa.s.sengers, like hot popcorn or freshly baked cookies. Naturally there were hot and cold drinks, and on occasion there might be small sandwiches or candy. Pa.s.sengers were free to avail themselves of any of these in addition to high-definition television viewing, wifi, and piles of current magazines and newspapers to peruse. There was no TSA, no preapproved known traveler line to wait in, no unruly bustle as there was at LaGuardia or Kennedy or Newark. When your group was a.s.sembled, you simply walked out on the tarmac with a crew member and boarded your plane just like you were taking a taxi, except that your vehicle had a price tag upward of fifty million dollars.

The pile of luggage at their feet was growing. Anne Fritz and her partner Lola had arrived and were chatting with Maritza. They had matching olive-green metallic roll-ons. Olivia was surprised to see that Lola was so young, and she wondered for a moment if Nick would be scandalized by their company. And she kind of secretly hoped they would do something provocative. Poor Nick was bobbing his saintly head, listening to Buddy natter on.

Maritza's various stacked suitcases bore the signature of T. Anthony's leather-trimmed red canvas collection, and Olivia guessed that the well-worn Louis Vuitton duffel bag belonged to Ellen. Olivia had the fleeting thought that Ellen probably planned to spend the holiday in a bikini, parading her lithe a.s.sets for Bob's benefit. If she'd had children, Olivia would never have let someone who looked like Ellen even touch her child, much less live in her house. Another mystery. And then there was the Bemises' luggage to consider. Their generic but efficient luggage was two matching black ballistic nylon roll-ons with oversize beige leather ID tags, probably to distinguish their bags from others when they flew commercially. Nick and Olivia's bags were ancient tweed Hartmann pieces that Nick refused to part with because they still worked just fine. The importance of preservation was another quality of Nick's that Olivia admired, but at the same time, she realized that if her clients felt the same way she'd never sell them anything new. Luckily, she was not in the luggage business.

"Okay! Let's load 'em up! Where's Daniel?"

Bob Vasile-the king, the demiG.o.d, the alchemist-had arrived, and with him came with all the swagger and booming machismo that one human body could possibly contain without imploding. His sheer presence raised the temperature of the room.

"Dahlin'!" Maritza called out.

Olivia was still standing by the desk watching as at the sight of Bob, Maritza lit up like a miniature version of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. She hurried to his side. Bob a.s.sessed her from head to toe, grabbed her, and gave her a fast smooch on her cheek. Then Olivia saw his eyes travel to Ellen, who practically purred under his gaze. Olivia felt a sudden and strong urge to give Ellen a good smack right across her insipid face. Fortunately, Bob's eyes did not linger on Ellen but moved around to welcome his other guests.

"Hey, Buddy! You're looking good for an old dog! Hey, Mich.e.l.le! We need to talk about our Chablis production! Olivia! Beautiful as ever! How is my mega-talented almost sister? So glad . . . well, hey, Nick! How are you, my learned friend?"

This went on until the last guest had been greeted and told how glad Bob was to see them. Bob's son Daniel and his girlfriend, Kitty, were the last to arrive.

"He's gay," Nick whispered to Olivia.

Olivia gave him a pinch on his arm. "Hush! No, he's not. He's a hopster."

"Hipster. Brooklyn hipster." Mich.e.l.le said, suppressing a snide laugh, having overheard them. "That's how they all look. Her too."

Daniel was wearing super-tight clothes, and his longish hair and thin beard was unkempt. He had also had no visible means of employment for as long as Olivia had known him. Kitty was a pastry chef, and her body art began with a cupcake parade from her left bicep to her wrist. Her right arm was covered in tattoos of a KitchenAid, mixing spoons, wedding cakes, and an old version of the cookbook The Joy of Cooking. At least she had a job. Their look was beyond Nick's comprehension, although he'd taught many students who looked like that at NYU. After all, Nick had carefully studied the Beat Generation, and they dressed like weirdos too. In his opinion.

Bob gave Daniel a dressing down for being late. It didn't bother Bob in the least that everyone heard him.

"Can't you tell time?" Bob growled.

Daniel didn't flinch.

"Sorry, Dad. Traffic."

"Bulls.h.i.t. Leave earlier," Bob said curtly.

"I thought Sam and Dorothy were coming," Maritza said, looking around as though the couple in question might be hiding behind a potted plant, but the group knew she wanted to lighten the mood.

"They're meeting us there," Bob said. "Sam had a tournament in Miami."

"Oh, okay," Maritza said.

Sam was Bob's golf pro. He and his wife frequently traveled with Bob and Maritza, especially to warm-weather destinations.

"Okay! Here's the deal. We're taking the jet to the Beef Island Airport on Tortola, and then we're going to helicopter over to Necker. Any questions?" There being none, Bob boomed again. "Okay then. Let's get this show on the road!"

Olivia noticed small beads of perspiration as they sprang up on Nick's brow.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, knowing the announcement of helicopters had to have struck terror into her husband's sweet soul.

"Yes! I'm fine. Of course I'm fine." Nick managed a weak smile. "Tell me the truth. Bob doesn't have a death wish. Does he?"

"Seriously? He's about the last person alive with a death wish."

"Okay. Of course."

As though the magical music of the Pied Piper had begun streaming through the terminal, everyone got up and identified their luggage to the porter, who put it on a trolley and wheeled it out to the plane. They showed their ID to the pilot just to rea.s.sure him they did indeed have valid pa.s.sports and continued to where the gleaming white Gulfstream G650 stood, door open, stairs lowered to meet a small red rug on the tarmac. Above the tail number was painted a small Black Angus steer next to a bottle of red wine, Bob's restaurant logo. Once they boarded Bob's plane, they would be swept into a life few even knew how to imagine.

But there were things the group did know, such as not to sit in the first seat on the left facing forward-that was Bob's seat. He would sit there with Maritza in the opposite seat facing him. Who would be asked to take the seats on his left remained to be seen. Ellen and Gladdie? Buddy and Mich.e.l.le? But certainly not Olivia and Nick or Anne and Lola, and most likely not Daniel and Kitty, who were already headed toward the back row.

"Sit by me, Daniel," Bob said surprising everyone.

"Why? Am I in trouble?" he said.

"h.e.l.l, no," Bob said, and slapped Daniel on his back. "I just want to spend some quality time with my son. Is that okay with you? Sorry I barked at you."

"Sure, sure!" Daniel said and took the seat opposite Bob. "It's okay."

"I want to sit with Mommy!" Gladdie cried out. "Mommy! Mommy! Let go of me!"

Kitty the Canvas and Ellen the Inc.u.mbent stood in the center of the aisle, unsure of what to do, and Olivia had the thought that if her G.o.ddaughter was going to screech for the next four hours, she was going to need ma.s.sive earplugs and a lot of Grey Goose. And Gladdie may have been unconsciously trying to knit the immediate family together in seats that matched their rank, but Bob was calling the shots.

"I'll tell you what, Miss Gladdie, girl of my heart," Bob said, "you sit with Ellen for the takeoff and then you can sit in my lap! How's that?"

"That is just about the sweetest thing I have ever heard," Maritza said.

Hearing this, Ellen rolled her eyes upward and emitted an ungracious sigh.

"Kitty? You sit here opposite Daniel so I can get to know you a little better."

Bob was being very congenial.

"What about the rest of us? I mean, I didn't realize we were going to have seat a.s.signments," Ellen said.

Everyone got quiet for a moment, surprised by her tone. Then Buddy spoke up.

"Yeah, this is Delta Airlines. Can I see your boarding pa.s.s? Ha-ha! Funny, right?"

"Sit with us," Mich.e.l.le said.