security.
The problem was that, as time passed, both began to envision a life without the other. Their patience for each other frayed and grew thin. Looking back, Christina could mark certain turning points in their relationship.
One such turning point was the annual benefit for the Southampton Foundlings Home. The event had grown over the years from a sleepy potluck dinner to a high-powered corporate event that was the social highlight of the Hamptons’ season.
Invitation lists were prepared months in advance, labored over by PR staff scurrying across fields and through humid tents on the day of the event, barking orders into cell phones with all the concentration and precision of launching the D-day invasion itself.
Only A-listers were invited, and there was no more coveted seat at the gala than to be at one of the Cardiff family tables.
Christina made a point of buying all the papers in the days that followed, scouring social pages for photos of herself in the outfit she always purchased especially for the occasion.
She had not been rewarded with a beauty shot this year in Dan’s Paper.
She and Jason had made a grand entrance in his new BMW coupe. They had drunk way more than they’d eaten, with Jason spending most of his time at the bar chatting up the waitresses.
Leaving Christina to fend for herself in a sea of Cardiffs.
She made up for it by drinking more than she could handle, and table-hopping as soon as the main course was finished. She spotted a man at a nearby table whom she knew her husband disliked. So she made a beeline for him.
His wife, who had always been bitchy to Christina, had gone off to powder her nose.
Christina made herself at home in his wife’s chair, ignoring the dirty looks being sent her way from her in-laws, and waved off the man’s offer of a fresh drink. She drained his wife’s glass instead.
Just two days earlier, she had read a series of sent e-mail messages in Jason’s BlackBerry trumpeting the fact that he was getting the best head of his life from a girl named Lisa.
Christina threw back her head now and roared at something Jason’s former business associate was saying.
His wife reappeared, freshly powdered, and stood glaring.
The man rose and reintroduced them.
Christina, none too steady, pumped the wife’s hand. She managed to spill a glass of wine onto the woman’s silk dress while she was at it. “I’m so sorry,” Christina slurred, grabbing a linen napkin and taking aim at the wife’s dress.
The woman backed away, directly into the path of a banquet waiter bearing a tray loaded with dirty dishes.
The tray landed with a loud crash.
Christina’s chair tumbled over after it, adding to the mayhem.
The man’s wife hissed and grabbed her husband for support.
Christina shrieked in surprise.
A hush fell over the tent, followed by a ripple of whispers and murmurs.
And more glares from Camp Cardiff.
“My God,” Christina exclaimed, giggling. In her addled state, the incident was hilarious. She hiccuped loudly. “My God,” she said again, breathless with laughter.
The man she had been flirting with was on his knees now, sweeping bits of broken china from the floor at his wife’s feet.
Several waiters rushed over to help.
“Christina.” Jason appeared, solicitous now. He grabbed Christina by her elbow. “Come back to our table. Coffee is being served.”
Christina resisted. “Jason,” she said in a voice loud enough to be heard all around the tent, “you’ve decided to join me. Won’t your friends at the bar miss you?” She was just drunk enough to push the envelope, despite the warning light in Jason’s eyes. “Um, your new girlfriends?” She caught a glimpse over Jason’s shoulder of her in-laws picking over their dessert plates, desperate to pretend this wasn’t happening.
“Come back and sit down,” Jason ordered in a tight voice. “Let’s let the staff do their job and clean up.” He tried to steer her by the elbow back to
The problem was that, as time passed, both began to envision a life without the other. Their patience for each other frayed and grew thin. Looking back, Christina could mark certain turning points in their relationship.
One such turning point was the annual benefit for the Southampton Foundlings Home. The event had grown over the years from a sleepy potluck dinner to a high-powered corporate event that was the social highlight of the Hamptons’ season.
Invitation lists were prepared months in advance, labored over by PR staff scurrying across fields and through humid tents on the day of the event, barking orders into cell phones with all the concentration and precision of launching the D-day invasion itself.
Only A-listers were invited, and there was no more coveted seat at the gala than to be at one of the Cardiff family tables.
Christina made a point of buying all the papers in the days that followed, scouring social pages for photos of herself in the outfit she always purchased especially for the occasion.
She had not been rewarded with a beauty shot this year in Dan’s Paper.
She and Jason had made a grand entrance in his new BMW coupe. They had drunk way more than they’d eaten, with Jason spending most of his time at the bar chatting up the waitresses.
Leaving Christina to fend for herself in a sea of Cardiffs.
She made up for it by drinking more than she could handle, and table-hopping as soon as the main course was finished. She spotted a man at a nearby table whom she knew her husband disliked. So she made a beeline for him.
His wife, who had always been bitchy to Christina, had gone off to powder her nose.
Christina made herself at home in his wife’s chair, ignoring the dirty looks being sent her way from her in-laws, and waved off the man’s offer of a fresh drink. She drained his wife’s glass instead.
Just two days earlier, she had read a series of sent e-mail messages in Jason’s BlackBerry trumpeting the fact that he was getting the best head of his life from a girl named Lisa.
Christina threw back her head now and roared at something Jason’s former business associate was saying.
His wife reappeared, freshly powdered, and stood glaring.
The man rose and reintroduced them.
Christina, none too steady, pumped the wife’s hand. She managed to spill a glass of wine onto the woman’s silk dress while she was at it. “I’m so sorry,” Christina slurred, grabbing a linen napkin and taking aim at the wife’s dress.
The woman backed away, directly into the path of a banquet waiter bearing a tray loaded with dirty dishes.
The tray landed with a loud crash.
Christina’s chair tumbled over after it, adding to the mayhem.
The man’s wife hissed and grabbed her husband for support.
Christina shrieked in surprise.
A hush fell over the tent, followed by a ripple of whispers and murmurs.
And more glares from Camp Cardiff.
“My God,” Christina exclaimed, giggling. In her addled state, the incident was hilarious. She hiccuped loudly. “My God,” she said again, breathless with laughter.
The man she had been flirting with was on his knees now, sweeping bits of broken china from the floor at his wife’s feet.
Several waiters rushed over to help.
“Christina.” Jason appeared, solicitous now. He grabbed Christina by her elbow. “Come back to our table. Coffee is being served.”
Christina resisted. “Jason,” she said in a voice loud enough to be heard all around the tent, “you’ve decided to join me. Won’t your friends at the bar miss you?” She was just drunk enough to push the envelope, despite the warning light in Jason’s eyes. “Um, your new girlfriends?” She caught a glimpse over Jason’s shoulder of her in-laws picking over their dessert plates, desperate to pretend this wasn’t happening.
“Come back and sit down,” Jason ordered in a tight voice. “Let’s let the staff do their job and clean up.” He tried to steer her by the elbow back to
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