·CHAPTER FOURTEEN·

Samantha

Samantha thought Judy Tremont’s apartment was basically overdone. For whatever Judy had spent on decorators, architects, and contractors, which Samantha assumed could underwrite a season at the Met, Samantha begrudged the idea that Judy had been taken. To Samantha’s well-trained eye, there was an apparent overabundance of everything, or, more simply, what her mother called “too much of a muchness.” Even in the vestibule, there were brocade window treatments upon brocade window treatments and French Empire chaise longues with matching cashmere throws. Samantha thought to herself, If Robespierre saw this, he’d start another revolution.

“I must say, they have a lot of very good art,” Charlie whispered to Samantha as they climbed the steps to the main living room. The walls were plastered with Degas, Pissarro, and, Charlie suspected, an early Picasso.

When Charlie and Samantha got to the top of the stairs, Judy rushed over to greet them.

“Hello. How are you?” She kissed Samantha on both cheeks. Judy was wearing Yves Saint Laurent red harem pants with a red velvet and gold-embroidered sleeveless vest. A Cartier diamond and a ruby cuff bracelet sparkled on her wrist.

“We’re so happy to be here.” Samantha took her hand. “I love what you’re wearing.”

“Oh, I’m so glad. That means so much coming from you.” Judy’s jewelry and her giddiness gave her an almost incandescent glow.

“I’m a sucker for anything Ottoman Empire,” Samantha smiled.

“This is so great. That’s actually what we’re doing tonight.”

“The Ottoman Empire?” Charlie asked.

“Well, I wanted to do something fun and fusion but I’m just so tired of everyone bringing in that chef from Nobu. And all that endless sashimi. I don’t care how you slice it, it’s still raw fish.”

“Yes, indeed.” Charlie had no idea how Judy had sailed so swiftly from Japan to the straits of the Bosphorus.

“So I decided, What the heck! Go for Turkusion!” She pronounced each syllable with pride.

“Beg your pardon?” Charlie was honestly not following.

“A little Turkish. A little English. A hint of Asian. Plus my own chef is topping it off with a good old-fashioned American dessert.”

“Best part of the meal.” Charlie decided to get Judy off the transworld menu. “This is a terrific apartment.”

“Actually, we’ve hired Pippa Rose to simplify it. It’s getting a little heavy for me. Plus, I told Albert it’s unpatriotic now to sleep with the French these days.” Judy laughed at her own racy joke.

“Well, we’re delighted to be here,” Charlie added. “Such a treat on a dreary winter night. Where’s Albert?”

“You know Albert. He’s reading the kids to sleep. I think it’s Silas Marner tonight. That’s Charlotte’s favorite.” Judy took both their arms. “You know some of the people here. There’s Adrienne and Paul Rodman, Frankie Weissman, and your friend Jil Taillou. And that’s our dear friend Dr. Arnie Berkowitz, and of course Clarice Santorini. Barry’s coming a little later. And so is Charlie Rose.”

“Sounds like a terrific group.” Charlie was hoping she’d stop chattering so he could get himself a drink. “Okay kiddo, let’s plunge in.” Charlie gave Samantha his signal for getting on with the proceeding and steered his wife toward the bar.