The Debutante Divorcee Read Free Page B

water. When she resurfaced, the drops on her face twinkling in the sun, I asked, “God, do you think you can find five make outs?”
    The fact is, Lauren is beautiful and sexy but she was thirty-one years old—antique by New York standards. After the age of thirty-three or thirty-four, the Manhattan male abandons his peers altogether, seeking out girls in their early to mid-twenties at the absolutely most ancient. The really sad ones give up on the New York girl altogether and exclusively date nineteen-year-old models from South Beach. Anyway, my point is that literally no one I knew over the age of thirty was getting to make out with one man over the space of six months, let alone five.
    “I’m setting myself a realistic target. But I have heard,” replied Lauren, gliding her fingers rather aimlessly in a circle in the water, “from other divorcées, some of whom are my friends, that it may not be overly optimistic to expect in excess of five. Oh! Wait! My other big ambition is to connect my own surround sound. Louis used to do all of that. I’m absolutely convinced I can do it on my own, however long it takes. Now, what’s your goal?”
    That was one thing I was very clear about.
    “I want to be like the Eternity couple,” I laughed.
    Secretly, I’d always hoped that matrimony would be like the Eternity ad: a very gorgeous you, a hot him, and oodles of vanilla-colored cashmere sweaters. If possible my whole marriage would take place on a beach in East Hampton, preferably in a flattering black-and-white palette.
    “If only I had had such noble aims, maybe my marriage would have lasted,” shrieked Lauren. She hooted with laughter. “I gave up the Eternity dream at age eight. You are so cute. But I’ve got a tip for you.”
    “What?” I asked.
    “Your goal should be keeping your husband away from the Husband Huntresses.”
    I frowned at her, confused.
    “You know,” explained Lauren. “Those wicked girls who only pursue husbands. You only become aware of them once you’re married.”
    “Stop it.” I giggled.
    “Be warned.”
    Our swim had now come full circle, and we wereback in front of the sunken drawing room. Tinsley beckoned to us to come in.
    “Mojitos await,” she yelled.
    “Well, that was only one lap, but let’s go hang with her or she’ll start hyperventilating,” said Lauren, climbing the shallow steps up to the drawing room. She grabbed a towel from a neat pile on a wicker table and handed one to me.
    “God, that swim was lovely,” I said, drying myself off. I took one of the mojitos and sipped it. It was so refreshing.
    “Isn’t the pool genius?” said Lauren.
    She curled up in her towel onto the couch opposite Tinsley, and I sat in a rocking chair painted a hot Latin blue. I noticed that the back of the chair was inlaid with exquisite mother-of-pearl.
    “What do you do, Tinsley?” I asked. Tinsley seemed like such a character, I wanted to get to know her.
    “Nothing,” she said brightly.
    “Don’t you want a job?” I asked.
    At this Tinsley shook with laughter. Then she said, dead serious, “I can’t work, because I can’t dress for day. I can only dress for evening. So obviously office life doesn’t work for me. I can only dress either for the gym or for a party.”
    She stood up and twirled around in her cocktail frock.
    “I mean, look at me. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, and this is the most low-key I can go. The only careerI could do is be an anchor on MTV, but I don’t really aspire to that. It’s so old. I mean, whereforart Serena Altschul now? The other thing that’s really in the way of my career is my mom. I have to be available for two-hour conversations every day to discuss family problems, then I have to be available to go to Palm Beach at a moment’s notice. I tried to have a job once working for Charlie Rose, but I was hardly ever there, and on the few unfortunate occasions that I was, I was making personal calls the whole time. ”
    I