19. Rich People —They’re Nothing Like YouMe
RICH PEOPLE —THEY’RE NOTHING LIKE YOU OR ME
PRESENT
Ifeel incredibly stupid in my black full-body rash guard, but a bathing suit is out of the question—too many scars I’m not ready for anyone here to see.
Wetsuits that offer the same UV protection are too thick and suffocating for my skin, and given how sensitive my largest organ has become over the years, a full-body rash guard seemed like the only reasonable option.
That said, knowing I’ve made the rational choice, that I’m less likely to trigger a flare-up being completely covered, is cold comfort when I see what the other women are wearing.
Vi is modeling a dark-blue plunging halter one-piece that should be indecent but somehow comes off as sexy but classy, with cleavage that’s displayed in a way that’s a master class in the tease.
Khloe is sporting a black-and-gold one-piece that has a decidedly Grecian flair.
And the other women, none of whom I recognize, are showing off an ample amount of smooth and tanned skin arrayed in fishnet, mesh, and cutouts.
With my goggles and SPF 60 mineral-based sunscreen, I look down the dock and wonder whether it’s too late to run away.
Seeing me frozen, Brody waves and disembarks, leaving an annoyed looking Vi standing next to her twin.
“You hanging in there?”
I try to force out a laugh. I squeeze another layer of sunscreen into my hand, in part because it gives me something to do.
“Yeah.” I search about for a safe topic, watching as Khloe intercepts Lucas, who had also been headed toward me. “Vi’s hair looks different.”
“They wanted the twins to be distinguishable for the last shoot. Apparently, when you get lighter streaks, they’re called babylights.”
I nod.
Rich people.
They’re nothing like you and me.
“You’ll know several of the people here. Wendell, Qi, a couple of other guys from Tech you probably tutored through ACM 95.”
“The professor liked me.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Abu-Burdick hated everyone. Even Lucas struggled.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Fine. Even Lucas didn’t get that perfect A. But you did. Come lord it over the other guys who all owe you one.” Brody holds out a large hand, palm up. “Besides, you’ll get me in trouble with the bride if you don’t come soon. She thinks I’m ignoring our more important guests.”
I don’t miss his slight emphasis, the clear disagreement he and Vi must be having about the relative hierarchy of their guest list. “Donors are important.”
The expression on Brody’s face is too fleeting for me to pinpoint, but his voice is almost wistful when he tells me, “Then stop making me miss my photo op.”
I put my hand in his, reminding myself I’m here to support Brody, nothing more. “I’ll remember to smile.”
“Honey,” Vi calls out, in a way that makes it clear this isn’t an I love you, honey but a Get your ass over here, honey. “The instructors need to check in with you.”
Brody saunters down the dock, one hand half guiding me as if he’s worried I’m going to bolt.
Which is fair.
My immediate inclination is that I’d love to run away.
It takes less than a minute before Lucas comes over. He’s wearing a lightweight snorkel waterproof hoodie and some kind of fitted swim shorts that accentuate the musculature he’s gained in the years we’ve been apart.
He catches me staring and raises his eyebrows. “My eyes are up here.”
“Sorry, you’re just really grown-up.” I look toward the ocean, at the gleaming white yacht that’s been chartered for us.
“I’m not a hundred and thirty-five pounds anymore?”
I glance over again but don’t allow my gaze to linger this time. “That, but also how comfortable you are now in designer clothes and with . . . all of this.”
Lucas crosses his arms, the wind ruffling his hair slightly. “Like flying, this will never be comfortable. Or enjoyable.” He gestures to everyone in front of us. “This is . . . the pomp that comes with my changed circumstances.”
“Clever.” But I get what Lucas is saying.
Brody shouts to gather everyone’s attention. “It’s time for the learning part of today’s festivities.”
Lucas offers me a hand, but before I can decide whether I want to reach for it, Khloe is there, already determinedly looping her arm through Lucas’s, tugging him along.
As before, Lucas lets her, neither protesting nor looking back.
Though I can tell I’m not going to be the type of person who ever willingly signs up for snorkeling again (much less Extreme Snorkeling!
, which turns out to be both the activity name and the company logo, and which seems thoroughly invested in impressing us with how different!
and more! their version of snorkeling is), I actually enjoy much of my time underwater.
Several of the women are realizing (or perhaps they always knew and just didn’t care) that their suits are more clothes to be admired in than clothes that can survive underwater.
Most of them stay clustered together on the yacht, sipping fanciful drinks the bartender and waiters provide while they half chat, half giggle.
I find myself drifting to the side, where there are plentiful fish who ignore me, the sea turtle equivalent of Sisyphus, in that he/she/they drifts farther away whenever I get even the tiniest bit closer, and also something I think is a monk seal, though I’ll have to look it up later to be sure.
We’ve apparently booked this portion of the beach for three hours, so trying to pace myself, I exit the water near a patch of beach that’s as far away from the main group as possible.
I’m several steps in when I notice the middle-aged woman who is also there, curling up with an oversized towel, looking as though she hasn’t even tried going into the water.
She’s wearing a flowy, loose brown maxi dress.
Unlike the other women, who are wearing a variety of layered, but tasteful, jewelry (i.e.
, body chains I’ve never understood the mechanics of), this woman is wearing a large golden pendant that looks almost like an old-school doubloon.
Her nails are clean-cut but not elaborately manicured.
Basically, she’s the most normal human here.
Because she’s seen me and I don’t want to appear rude, I walk up to her and introduce myself. “Lorelai, one of Brody’s old college friends.”
“Vera Robeson, née Branca. I’m Brody’s widowed, uncool aunt.”
I laugh as I sit on the sand next to her. I don’t have a towel, but it’s warm enough and the sand is hot enough that I’m sure I’ll dry off soon.
“Not interested in snorkeling?”
“I’m not interested in any of the prewedding activities, but Brody’s my favorite nephew, so here I am.
My children, who are much smarter than I am, are flying in just for the ceremony.
” She sighs and rearranges her shawl again, and I notice what looks like a silver wedding band on her right hand.
“I’m on spring break, so I had no excuse. ”
“What do you teach?”
“High school art. Which is basically little pay and even less prestige.” She laughs, pulling on the shawl, which I now see, when I examine it more closely, looks almost hand-painted.
“I also married an art teacher.” She twists the ring on her finger and, seeing my attention, takes it off to show me.
“Is this a quarter?”
“That’s how poor we were, for a little while.
Vernon was just a couple of years older, but you know, public school art teacher.
Basically as poor as employed, college-educated adults can be.
” After I’ve thoroughly examined the ring, I hand it back, and Vera smiles down at it.
“Took him two years to propose. I was so tired of him saying he needed to save up for a proper ring, I told him I’d marry him with a paper ring. ”
“Like Taylor Swift?”
“I assure you, we had the idea before Taylor.” She slides the ring back on her right hand. “I’m left-handed, but those fingers have gotten chubbier. Anyhow, Vernon got the hint, transformed a quarter from the year we met, the year he said his life began.”
“I can’t imagine a more romantic proposal.”
“Neither can I.” Vera smiles.
It takes almost an hour of small talk before I convince Vera to come into the water with me.
“No one wants to see this body in a bathing suit,” she protests.
“I mean no offense, but”—I gesture to Vi and Khloe, who because of some weird twin synergy are standing next to each other, juxtaposing their perfect boobs and tight, high asses—“no one is looking at you. Or me.”
“Lucas Murray’s been looking.”
It takes all my willpower to not-look in Lucas’s direction.
“You know Lucas?”
“Brody has talked about you and Lucas for years, Lorelai. Years. Told me all about the LSAT thing you built him, Lucas saving his butt when they were undergrads. Story after story about his two best friends.”
“No way Brody said the words best friends.”
“I have two grown sons. I’m translating.” Vera places a hand on my arm, and I glance quickly at where I know Lucas was a few minutes ago, when I’d last allowed myself to look.
“No need to check. Thirty years of teaching high school. I know what pining looks like.”
I’m tempted to pursue this line of conversation, but I don’t want to lose track of the main goal. “Quit stalling and come extreme snorkeling with me.”
Vera hesitates for another moment before standing up.
The shawl is, as I guessed, Vera’s own creation.
She explains to me how she splattered it with hot wax that then dried and cracked, allowing dye to flow along the cracks.
The process itself sounds lovely. Vera folds it carefully on the towel before taking my hand.
Lucas comes over while we’re still waist-deep and practicing because even though there are technically instructors, all three of the men who are supposed to be guiding us are clustered around Vi, Khloe, and the other girlfriends and wives.
“You two look as though you’re having fun.”
Lucas and Vera introduce themselves to each other before I get the chance to retort.
“It’s because I’m a fun person.”
“Maddeningly so. Though I thought I was grounded from talking about the past?”
“Talking is fine. Prying questions are forbidden.”
Lucas nods while Vera watches with a small smile on her lips. Fish brush past our legs as if demanding attention.
“The elusive sea turtle is resting near a crevice, if you’d like to swim over.”
I wonder if Lucas noticed me trying to corner it down there earlier, or if he was independently curious about it and sharing. “We’re supposed to leave them be if they’re sleeping.”
“We can be careful, right, Red?”
I can tell that Vera has questions about the nickname, but she holds her tongue even as her eyes sparkle with mirth. The three of us tread slowly to where the sea turtle is.
“It’s larger than I thought it was.”
“You never got close enough to notice its size.” Lucas’s voice is gently admonishing. He taught Leno and Levi how to swim, started teaching my sisters in the apartment pool, and always encouraged me to at least try to relearn.
Vera gives me an arch look that communicates, I told you so.
And I try to communicate back, Noticing isn’t pining.
Though it’s unclear how effective I am.
“This one is likely male—they have the longer claws in front.” He doesn’t bother looking in my direction as he explains. “Looked it up before coming over, figured you’d want to know.”
Because Vera has also, it seems, been reading about marine life, the two take turns telling me about the migratory patterns of green sea turtles, that they’re quite promiscuous, apparently, as females can store sperm from different males for multiple clutches.
By the time the instructors gather us back on board, I’m almost sorry to see our time end. Vera and I chat easily on the ride back, even when Lucas is eventually drawn back into the larger group.
I’m tired—potentially a little sunburnt and overtired, never a good combination for my body—but at least there’s one person besides Brody and Lucas I feel comfortable talking to here, which I take as a win.