Cherry Lady.
It looked like my bartender was coming to play.
Chapter Twelve
Jameson
The party began during Hollywood hour.
That golden sheen drenched everywhere and everyone, bathing everyone with its Midas touch. Superficially precious. Sofas and hammocks had been scattered across Safir’s gardens, pagodas added as if they were mere ornaments, champagne stands and stalls where chefs served everything from sushi to paella. White deckchairs were placed strategically, should someone need to fall, and fairy lights and festoons already danced in the light Mediterranean breeze.
I’d worn the blue dress, realising I’d lost weight since I’d last had it on. Luckily Lala was decent with a needle, and she added a few tucks to make it look fitted again. She cursed while doing it, saying things about how I could eat what I wanted, unlike her, and I didn’t want to tell her that the reason for the weight loss was more to do with a married man than not eating.
She didn’t care that Gunnar had been married. He hadn’t broken my heart, and it hadn’t made the media – not that it would’ve been an issue in Lala’s eyes, or even our mother’s.
“That mask goes perfectly with that dress.” My sister fiddled with the peacock feathers that she’d arranged from the mask into my hair. Mika had added teal and silver streaks through my blonde, which he’d promised would easily wash out. The effect was a disguise that made me look regal, like some peacock princess.
Lala looked ethereal. Her hair was spun into tight curls, her dress Grecian, her mask gold and gemmed, reminding me of a Greek tragedy. Today we looked identical. I had coloured contacts in, making my eyes peacock blue. She’d done the same, mainly for shits and giggles more than anything to do with the outfit.
“It’s all a happy coincidence.”
“There’s no such thing as coincidence, Jay Jay. Just things that are happening because they should.” She smoothed a strand of hair away from my face. “Monty’s gutted you’re not going out with him.”
“I’m sure he’ll get over it.” I believed he already had with some beautiful model who’d come over to stay in his villa.
“Probably. He’s not used to being discarded.” Lala blended something near my eye, her finger tender. “You ever wonder what the hell we’re doing here?”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting all existential on me.”
She laughed. “No. Not really. But we’re here on this island. Money’s never been a problem apart from it attracting people who are only interested in it. We’re soaking in sunshine and champagne, surrounded by some of the most famous people in the world, and having a party from which we never have to clean up.”
“You sure about that, La? That we never have to clean up?”
She froze. “There’s always someone we pay to do that. Cleaners, publicists. Therapists. We just carry on.”
“What if we don’t want to?”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes widened as she spoke, her brows raising.
“What if I’ve had enough of this lifestyle where we’re like gods who never have to justify their actions? Whatever we do is accepted and mimicked, even if what we do isn’t right.” I scanned her face, checking her make-up, which was perfect as usual.
Lala didn’t say anything at first, her expression saddening. “Does it matter? Shouldn’t this be about you and not how you’re perceived? You’re going to live in New York and have a career in which you’re going to have to work your arse off. But for now, this summer, can’t you just enjoy what we have? Live a little more than normal and just accept it? That would make me happy. One more summer, Jay Jay.”
“I wish I was you.”
She shook her head. “I only make it look easy. If I die tomorrow, Jay, I want to have enjoyed every fucking second, taken every opportunity and had every fucking orgasm possibly, because I doubt they give them out in heaven.”
“Who said you were going there?”
Her laugh was the sound of bells. “When you look at what’s here, don’t you think we’re already in some sort of hell? There’s that saying that hell is empty because all the devils are here – this weekend, fuck, Jay. The drink, the drugs, the sex: we can pretend it’s sugar coated with glamour and class, but that’s only a coating. We’re the same underneath as what we watch on reality TV or what’s happening in suburbia. We just pretend that because we’ve got money, we’re different somehow.”
I had no response. I knew Lala wasn’t just a pretty influencer. She thought, she had an opinion, she took pride in how she lived her life. We just hadn’t been together often enough to talk about it.
“So what’s tonight? This evening?” I wanted to know.
“A chance to do everything you want to without having to think about the consequences. No one’s going to know for certain which sister you are. For tonight, be both of us.” She turned me round so we both faced the mirror.
The same height, both fair, both probably too slender. With our masks on, it was impossible to tell who was who, and most people would’ve looked at my dress with its peacock feathers, the material moulding to skin, but leaving not that much to the imagination, and guess that it was Lala. Her Grecian outfit was far more me, until she turned around and all of her back was exposed.
