The Debutante Divorcee Read Free Page A

feel like is fucking each other like mad, like you’re supposed to want to.”
    “Hey, Lauren,” came a girlish voice from behind us.
    Tinsley Bellangere, ex-wife of the mislaid Jamie, appeared at the archway to the sunken drawing room. She was outrageously pretty, like a milk-fed farm girl with class. She was twenty-eight years old, had flat blonde hair to her elbow, a few perfectly located post-laser freckles, and sky-blue eyes. Her skin was evenly tanned, and she was wearing a fitted yellow satin cocktail dress with a slashed skirt that streamed beautifully about her legs in the breeze. She wasn’t dressed for the beach; she was dressed for a benefit.
    Lauren made the introductions and then said,“Sylvie just got married.” She patted the seat beside her. “You always look so pretty, Tinsley.”
    “You look better,” said Tinsley as she flopped down, all legs and satin and hair. Then she looked at me and said, “You want to hear my secret of a happy marriage? Agree with your husband on everything. Then do whatever you like. It worked really well for Jamie and me. We separated very amicably.”
    With that Tinsley stood up and made her way over to the drinks tray in the corner. “I’ll be having a neat tequila. Anyone else?”
    “Love one,” I said. Maybe being drunk in the afternoon would improve my non-honeymoon.
    “Everyone thinks I’m crazy when I drink these in the tea area at The Carlyle at noon,” said Tinsley, handing one each to Lauren and me. Then she tossed her blonde mane back and downed her shot in one.
    “Let’s go for a swim,” said Lauren. “I’m baking.”
    “I can’t. I’m too tired,” said Tinsley with a wink. She stretched out on a huge white mattress piled with giant cushions on the floor. “I’m going to lie here and watch you exhaust yourselves while I eat cactus ice cream or something.”
    “I’ll come,” I said, following Lauren into the water.
    Maybe a swim would help dissipate my grim disappointment, I thought, as I splashed into the pool. The water was blood-heat hot, the kind of hotel-pool temperature that girls love and men abhor.
    “Twenty loops round the house!” commanded Lauren, splashing off.
    “Twenty?” I shouted after her, surprised.
    “Absolutely. You’ve got to have goals in life. Personally I am a very goal-oriented person,” said Lauren, between strokes.
    I caught up with her, and we swam leisurely side by side. Lauren barely drew breath as she paddled and continued chatting.
    “I mean even after my divorce and everything, which, by the way, is freely available for the entire world to read in great detail on Google, I said, me being me and goals being goals, I’ve got to set myself a post-divorce goal. You know, a serious purpose in life. Something to aim for.”
    As we swam around the moat, I peeked into the guest rooms that opened out onto it. They were whitewashed, and mosquito nets were draped over immaculately made-up beds. Some of the rooms had bright yellow flowers climbing around the windows, or antique Mexican icons on the walls. I started to feel a little cheerier—who wouldn’t?
    “So, Lauren,” I said, perking up, “what is your goal?”
    “To date like I’m in college again. No relationships, no falling in love. I just want to have fun, and not think beyond that.”
    Her reply had an unwavering certainty about it.Lauren stopped paddling and turned around to face me. Standing in the aqua water, she looked both amused and determined, as she said, “So, my specific goal, and I am very clear about this, because it’s insanely straightforward, is that I must make out with five men between Labor Day and Memorial Day. Five ultra-diverse, top-quality, commitment-free make outs. And I shall celebrate each one in an appropriate manner. With a jewel. Or a piece of art, or a fur coat. I’ve already put this heavenly Revillon sable on hold in Paris, as a matter of fact. One kiss and it’s mine.”
    With that Lauren dived under the