“No. But he will. He always does.”
“He said he has something to discuss with you.”
“I’m sure our paths will cross before dinner. Do you think he’s outdone Stella with this party?”
“I think he’s outspent Stella.”
Caroline waves her hand in the air. “All the price of doing business. Speaking of the price of doing business, the twins brought the Sultan of Brunei.”
“The actual sultan? Not one of his sons?”
“The actual sultan. He’s been celebrating his fiftieth birthday with parties all over the world this year. Artem and Anton got wind of it and threw him a massive shindig last night at Arpège.”
“Did you know about it?” Matthew asks accusingly.
“If I had, I would have shown up. I just found out. Apparently they’re selling him one of those balloon dog sculptures that Jeff has been making for the entryway to one of his palaces.”
Matthew scoffs. “Those are a joke. Koons is a joke.”
“Anton told me the sultan is going to pay thirty million for the gold one.”
“Dammit. Well, that will make Father happy. The twins are getting better and better at this.”
She leans in to whisper in his ear, but I can hear her anyway.“They’re too good. And they’re dangerous. Find out more.” She raises her voice back to a conversational tone. “Have you seen Mother?”
“She’s here?”
“She is. And in rare form. You need to see her new face; it’s at least fifteen years younger than the old one.” The siblings laugh together and I’m not sure if I should join in with their wicked fun. It turns out I don’t have to because two elfin red-haired children hurl themselves at Caroline’s full skirt.
“Mama, may I have a sugarplum?”
“A what?”
“The sugarplum fairies are giving out real sugarplums to all the children, but we didn’t get one.”
Caroline laughs at her two girls. “Maybe you didn’t deserve one, did you think of that?”
They both shake their heads with vigor. “We’ve done everything you asked. I kissed Grandfather on his cheek even though he smells terrible.” She crinkles her nose. “Cigars and old-man smell.”
“Well, you do deserve some sugarplums.” Caroline’s frosty exterior melts in the presence of her children as she leads them away to the fairies.
“Her kids are adorable,” I say.
“Do you want them?” Matthew replies.
“Those two?”
“I meant children. Do you want your own?” He asks it innocently enough. Even though I know I’m still young, my answer to that question has always been confusing for me. Not only am I terrified of passing on my mother’s mental incapacities to a child, but I worry my own creative spark will die out if I give myself over to mothering. But that’s all too much to share with Matthew, and besides, no man wants to hear it.
“Of course I do. Now, show me upstairs. And what is this new acquisition your father has been talking about?”
“I think he was referring to Chris Ofili’s Virgin Mary made of elephant dung. Everyone is talking about him right now. Courtney Love is very into him. But Father could also mean a Cecily Brown. Have you seen her paintings? Caroline was eager to acquire one. Father wasn’t keen on it, but he trusts her instincts.”
“Only once in person. They’re incredible.” Brown is whispered about in the small avant-garde circles that Pascal frequents. A graduate of Slade in London, she’s always mentioned in art mag lists of ones to watch. My heart swells in an irrational way when I learn about the success of another young woman artist. Jealousy and competition, at least among women, has always seemed absurd to me despite the art world feeling so insular and competitive. Her pieces may seem abstract, but Cecily’s fleshy, swirling strokes call to mind the old masters and she’s reclaimed the female nude in a gorgeous feminist way. I like Caroline more for her taste.
“All right, shall we start in the west wing or the east wing? We should hurry if we don’t want to miss the sugarplums.” Matthew does a strange little jig.
In response I pull him into one of the rooms and kiss him hard on the lips. Tonight I need him focused on one thing—the possibility of us sleeping together for the very first time. His heartbeat quickens against my breasts. His hands are firmly on my ass, right in the spot his father recently vacated. But this time the pressure feels good and I let myself enjoy it. Lucie told me to let myself go in these moments, to allow my body to respond to the pleasure if it wants to.
