This might work after all.The flush of hope brought prickles of sweat to Libby’s hairline.
“As you can see,” she said, crossing to the sliding glass doors to let a little fresh air into the room, “the Me Tree is a focal point for the meditative aspect of Me-mas. A place to sit and contemplate your place in the universe.”
Libby sucked in a lungful of rain-scented evening before turning back to her guests. She expected Hildy at least to appear interested, but no one was paying the slightest attention to her rambling. Their startled expressions were trained on the Me Tree, which had spun in the breeze. The side facing Libby was the same rustic evocation of a trunk and branches she’d seen before. Apparently there was something surprising on the back, judging by the reaction it was getting.
What did you do?She tried to catch Jean’s eye, without success. Swallowing a spike of dread, Libby walked slowly to that end of the room to see what they were seeing.
It was a naked woman. Or, to be more precise, a gigantic painting of an undressed lady—with Libby’s face.
The larger-than-life figure wasn’t totally nude, if you wanted to get technical about it. Long hair snaked down to cover her pubes and she was feeling herself up with one hand. That left her other pale round tit hanging out like a fried egg.
It was a good enough copy of that famous painting of the blonde standing on a giant shell that you recognized the reference, but Jean had given her version a hot-pink-and-pistachio palette, like you were seeing it through a druggy haze.
It was outrageous. Unbelievable. And also a really cool piece of art, if you could get past the shock value. In other words, totallyJean. Libby could feel the unholy glee emanating from her best friend.
“Oh my goddess,” Hildy breathed. “That is amazing. It’s like the Birth of Me-mas. Is it a self-portrait?”
“No!” It came out a little too emphatic. “It was a commission,” Libby improvised.
“It’s striking.” Hildy cocked her head to one side, considering the epic nude. “As if you’re saying,Here I am, au naturel, with nothing to hide.A glycolic peel for the soul.” Libby nodded as if that made perfect sense. “Was it a local artist?”
“Yes.” Libby didn’t look at Jean. “Who unfortunately died shortly after painting it.”
Hildy made a noise of sympathy. “Were they in poor health?”
“It was murder.”Some might call it justifiable homicide.Everyone stared at Libby, waiting for the gory details, until Keoki rounded the corner.
“My eyes,” he groaned, nearly dropping the tray he was carrying. He stopped in the doorway, as if he couldn’t bear to get any closer.
“Not to be tasteless, but that makes your portrait even more valuable.” Taking the tray from Keoki’s unresisting hands, Hildy set it on the marble-topped coffee table and started pouring drinks. “Which obviously you would never sell, but still.”
“Aye, she’s a keeper, all right,” Jean chortled into the glass she’d grabbed before anyone else was served.
“I’ve seen the original,” Mr. L informed the room.
Not me,Libby wanted to scream.
“The Botticelli is in the Uffizi Gallery,” he went on. “In Italy. It was almost as lovely as my liebling. Wonderful fountains.” He made a spurting gesture with both hands that felt slightly lewd.
“That’s… sweet,” Hildy said uncertainly.
He edged closer to Libby, arm outstretched as if to wrap itaround her waist, before pulling back with a shudder. “I keep seeing my mother in that dress.”
Hildy looked from Libby to her supposed spouse. “How Freudian of you.”
“Thank you.” Snapping his heels together, Mr. L bowed.
As Libby reached for a drink, a feeling akin to resignation settled over her. So this was how their cursed experiment was going to end. Definitely more of a whimper than a bang. Maybe some high-pitched keening.
“Cheers,” she said to no one in particular, throat burning as she swallowed. “I hope you like your drinks strong.”
“Like you like your men?” Hildy teased, with a significant glance at Keoki.
He and Libby exchanged matching ew-yuck frowns. The insinuation was so far off base, it hadn’t even factored into the long list of “things that will give away the game.”
It wasn’t like Libby could quickly explain how she and Keoki ran wild together as kids because her mom was never around and his grandmother had practically raised her. Or tell Hildy that once you’ve helped someone wash his sheets to keep his older brothers from finding out he wet the bed, you might as well be related by blood. Not to mention the pending arrival of Keoki Jr. None of that belonged to Lillibet.
“Keoki is very talented,” she said instead.
