Lauren Weisberger - Chasing Harry Winston

Leigh’s eyes bulged. “Are you kidding? Spill, girl! We need to hear-”

“Of course!” Adriana smiled. “But first I’m just going to have a quick swim.” She climbed out of her lounge chair like a cat unfolding from an afternoon nap and strolled toward the pool. That’ll teach them to not take me seriously . She tested the water with her toes, then dove in, barely breaking the water with her streamlined body, and immediately began a strong yet graceful forward crawl. Although she was not a big fan of oceans (the salt water was so drying to the hair, never mind all those unpleasant stinging creatures), Adriana swam like a fish. Her mother, terrified of having young Adriana toddle into the estate’s pool, had insisted she learn to swim before she could walk. This was accomplished quite efficiently in a single afternoon. Mrs. de Souza carried a squirming nine-month-old Adriana into five feet of water, pulled off the girl’s water wings, and watched as the child sank. Hearing this story for the first time in her early teens, Adriana was horrified. “You just watched as I drowned?” she asked her mother.

“Please, it wasn’t quite so dramatic-you were only under a moment or two. Then you figured it out and paddled your little head to the surface. A bit of water up the nose is hardly a trauma, now, is it?” Not a Dr. Phil-approved method but effective nonetheless.

She swam ten lengths of the pool and gratefully accepted a rolled beach towel from a muscled attendant, offering him a broad smile as reward. Adriana returned, and Emmy folded over the page she was reading and tossed the book aside.

“Adriana de Souza, how have you not told us this already? We’ve been in Aruba now for-”

“Bonaire!” Leigh and Adriana said simultaneously.

Emmy waved her arms in a silencing gesture. “Whatever. We’ve been in Bonaire for two full days already and you’re just getting around to mentioning this now? What kind of friend does that?”

“It’s not serious,” she said, relishing her friends’ expressions-she just adored withholding information until it would have the maximum effect-“but I think he has potential.”

“Potential? The magazines call him an intellectual George Clooney. Handsome, accomplished, straight, unmarried-”

“Divorced,” Emmy added.

Leigh swatted the air. “A mistake in his early twenties that lasted thirty-six months and produced no kids. As far as divorced men go, he barely even qualifies.”

Adriana whistled. “Well, well, it seems like you’re both rather informed. Does this mean you approve?”

They nodded vigorously.

“So tell us all about him,” Emmy breathed, probably relieved that the focus had shifted away from her.

Adriana lifted her dripping-wet torso slightly off the chair to straighten the cushion, but it was enough to cause an audible groan from a nearby sunbather. “Well, let’s see. No need to give you the biographical information-you girls clearly know that!-but, um, he really is a darling. I met him two weeks ago on the set of The City Dweller .”

Leigh flipped over and unhooked her bikini top across the back. “What were you doing there?”

“Gilles brought me. I was going to meet Angelina and Maddox, but instead I met Toby.” Adriana proceeded to relay her conversation with Toby word for word, adding a few sentences (for color) but omitting none. When finished, she wrapped her lips seductively around her striped straw and took a long pull on her margarita. She couldn’t be positive, but she thought the group of cute guys across the pool was staring at her.

“So do you think he’ll call?” Emmy asked with what appeared to be genuine concern.

A little annoyed that her friend had even considered the idea that he wouldn’t call, no less verbalized it, she snapped, “Of course he’ll call. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Oooh, sounds like someone’s a little sensitive…” Leigh practically sang.

“What? Are you referring to Yani? I’m so over that.” Adriana stretched her legs out and pointed her toes.

“Was there a development with Yani?” Emmy asked eagerly. “Why am I always the last to know everything?”

Adriana sighed. “I have no idea why we’re harping on this. I gave him my number after class last week and told him to call me.”

“And?”

“He gave it back.” Adriana tried to sound supremely bored, but her friends knew her too well: It had been haunting her, making her even more certain that the time to find a husband was upon her. Yani’s rejection-something she was sure would never have happened a couple of years ago-confirmed her window was closing.

“Did he say why?”

“No, just that he was sorry, but he wouldn’t be able to use the number.”

“I’m sure it was just because he-”

“Please,” Adriana said with a casual wave and a deliberate smile. “I am so not interested. Yani the yoga instructor isn’t exactly one of the most revered Hollywood directors on earth, now, is he?”

“Hi,” Emmy said, sitting up and grinning hugely in the direction of Adriana’s right shoulder.

“What?” Adriana was momentarily confused until she turned around to see a man standing behind her. A rather attractive man, if she did say so. Why, yes, those Hawaiian-print board shorts sat below his hip bones, encircling an impressively toned abdomen. His sun-streaked hair was wet, and Adriana noticed his strong hands as he pushed it off his face. He could use a shave and he wasn’t as tall as she usually liked, but overall he was rather delectable. And he was smiling. At Emmy.

“Hey there,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” An Australian! They were her absolute favorites. Her very first kiss had been with an Australian boy, age eleven, sent to São Paulo for the summer to stay with Adriana’s next-door neighbors, and since then she’d been with enough of his countrymen to consider herself an honorary citizen.

“Of course not,” Adriana purred, instinctively pushing her shoulders back and her chest forward.

“Well, uh, we-my mates, over there?” He pointed to the table across the pool where three guys sat, trying not to look. “We were wondering if you’d like to join us for dinner tonight?” Adriana stared at him in disbelief. It was confirmed: He was talking directly to Emmy. Unbelievable! Could this delicious little treat actually prefer Emmy to her?

“It’s just that we’re here for one of my mates’ stag parties and, well, we’ve been here for three days already and are getting really tired of talking to each other. It’d, uh, be great if you girls would come with us tonight. Nothing crazy, I promise, just a cool little beachside place with good drinks and good music. Our treat. What do you say?”

By now, even Emmy had figured out that the Australian was addressing her, and Adriana, despite being shocked by the whole situation, was impressed by how quickly Emmy recovered. “Why, that’s so nice of you!” she said in her best imitation of a Southern belle. “We’d love to.”

The Australian, appearing pleased, trotted off to the bar in search of a pen. The moment he left, Adriana made a deliberate decision to kick it into high gear. She tried to suppress this ever-increasing panic that men no longer found her attractive and swallowed her critical thoughts of the Aussie-who was, upon further observation, quite short…not to mention that dirty-looking stubble; wasn’t she too old for guys who didn’t bother to take care of themselves?-and instead concentrated on smiling as broadly as she could manage. Leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered to her friends. “Emmy, darling, that boy has your name written all over him. Paris was Amateur Hour. You, my friend, are with the expert now. Consider yourself warned…” And while Emmy blushed and Leigh gave an approving wink, Adriana focused on keeping the tears at bay.