LITMIR.BIZ

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Over here!’ Elisa called, a champagne glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She was planted in the middle of Cipriani’s outdoor tables, leaning seductively against one of the Italians’ chairs, her branch-like limbs looking as though they might snap at any moment. ‘Everyone else is inside. So glad you could come!’

      ‘Jesus Christ, she’s skinny,’ Penelope muttered under her breath as we walked toward the tables.

      ‘Hi,’ I said and leaned in to kiss Elisa hello. I turned to introduce her to Penelope but noticed that Elisa was still waiting there, her face thrust forward and filled, eyes closed. She had expected the traditional Euro double kiss, and I’d given up halfway through. I’d recently read a convincing piece in Cosmo decrying the double kiss as a stupid affectation and decided to make a stand: there would be no more double kisses for me. I left her hanging but said, ‘Thanks for inviting me. I absolutely love it here!’

      She recovered quickly. ‘Ohmigod, me, too. They have the best salads of anywhere. Hi, I’m Elisa,’ she said, offering a hand to Penelope.

      ‘I’m so sorry, that was so rude of me.’ I flushed, realizing I must have sounded ridiculous to Penelope. ‘Penelope, this is Elisa. She’s been showing me around all week long. And, Elisa, this is Penelope, my best friend.’

      ‘Wow, fab ring,’ Elisa said, grabbing Penelope’s left hand instead of her right and softly fingering the massive stone. ‘That carat-glare is, like, blinding!’ Penelope was, in fact, sporting her ‘wearable’ three-carat rock, and I wondered what Elisa would think of her second ring.

      ‘Thanks,’ Penelope said, clearly pleased. ‘I just got engaged last—’ But before she could finish, Davide grabbed Elisa from behind and wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, careful not to hug too hard and break her. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear and she threw her head back with laughter.

      ‘Davide, honey, behave! You know Bette. Davide, this is Bette’s friend, Penelope.’

      We all air-kissed on both cheeks (my no double-kiss rule hadn’t lasted twenty seconds), but Davide didn’t manage to remove his eyes from Elisa for a single second. ‘Our table. It is ready,’ he announced gruffly in Italian-accented English, patting Elisa’s bony ass and leaning his pretty face toward her neck again. ‘Come in when you are finito.’ Something about Davide’s accent still didn’t sound quite right. It seemed to meander from French to Italian and back to French again.

      ‘I’m finished,’ she sang merrily, tossing her cigarette underneath a table. ‘Let’s go in, okay?’

      We had a table for six tucked in the back corner. Elisa immediately informed me that marginally cool people obsess about getting a table in the front of the restaurant, but the truly cool request tables in the back. Skye, Davide, and Leo comprised the rest of the group that had worked on the Candace Bushnell book party the night before, and I was relieved to see that Elisa and Davide were the only couple. They were all sipping drinks and arguing about something, looking relaxed in the way that only the truly confident ever can. And naturally, no one was wearing black. Skye and Elisa were wearing almost identical short dresses, one in a bright coral color with gorgeous silver heels and the other in a perfect aquamarine with matching metallic sandals that tied halfway up her calves. No matter that it was mid-October and relatively cold at night. Even the guys looked like they’d been prepped at Armani before dinner. Davide was still wearing his charcoal gray suit from work. Although it was significantly snugger than most American men would wear, it looked fabulous on his tall, built frame. Leo was the perfect combination of hip and casual in a pair of distressed Paper Denim jeans, a tight vintage T-shirt that said VIETNAM: WE WERE WINNING WHEN I LEFT, and the new orange Pumas for guys. I went to claim the last remaining seat next to Leo, but he hoisted himself effortlessly to his feet without so much as a break in his sentence, kissed both my cheeks, and pulled the chair out for me, and then one for Penelope, who was obviously trying as hard as I was to act like this was a usual night out for us. When we’d settled in, Leo handed us menus and motioned for the waiter to take our drink orders, although he still hadn’t so much as paused in the conversation.

      I racked my brain trying to think of some remotely cool drink, but after years of only drinking with my uncle, it was impossible. Absolut was popular these days, wasn’t it?

      ‘Um, I’ll have an Absolut and grapefruit juice, please,’ I mumbled when the waiter looked to me first.

      ‘Really?’ Elisa asked, looking at me, wide-eyed. ‘I don’t even think they serve Absolut here. Why don’t we get a few bottles of wine for the table to start?’

      ‘Oh, sure. That would be great.’ Strike one.

      ‘Don’t feel too bad – I was going to order a beer,’ Penelope leaned over and whispered. I laughed like it was the most amusing thing I’d ever heard.

      Davide spoke to the waiter in fourth-grade Italian, supplementing with hand gestures and at one point kissing his fingertips as though the mere thought of his order was too delicious to resist. Elisa and Skye just gazed at him in adoration. He switched to his faux-accented English for the rest of us monolingual idiots. ‘I have ordered three bottles of this Chianti to start, if this is acceptable. In the meantime, everyone prefer sparkling or flat?’

      Elisa turned to me and announced, ‘Davide is from Sicily.’

      ‘Oh, really? How interesting,’ I said. ‘Are his parents still there?’

      ‘No, no, he’s been here since he was four, but he still has such affection for his birthplace.’

      Votes were tallied for the bottled water preference – I wisely resisted saying that I’d be fine with plain old tap water – and Davide ordered three of each. By my calculations, we’d already spent just under $300 and hadn’t so much as ordered an appetizer yet.

      ‘Great call on the wine, Davide,’ Skye announced while punching her manicured nails into her cell phone’s keypad. Texting, I guessed. ‘I can vouch for it personally. We’ve summered in Tuscany for years and it’s the only one I’ll touch.’ She turned her full attention to her phone, which was ringing, and tucked it back into her bag after looking with distaste at the caller ID display.

      I busied myself examining the menu, wondering if every employee of Kelly & Company was in possession of an enormous trust fund. I couldn’t very well contribute much about the subtleties of Chianti. My parents’ idea of ‘summering’ was driving from Poughkeepsie to Cayuga Lake in Ithaca, where they’d hold a vegan barbecue on the porch with locals and drink their licorice tea. Nothing like blowing your first week’s pay on a single meal you didn’t want to have in the first place.

      ‘So how tough was last night?’ Davide asked. ‘I mean, what are the chances that not a single A-list celebrity showed up?’

      ‘Some of the Sex and the City cast were there,’ Leo pointed out thoughtfully.

      ‘Um, excuse me, I don’t think Chris Noth and John Corbett count as A-list!’ Skye said. ‘Did you see Sarah Jessica Parker? No! Besides, SATC’ – she used the abbreviation here – ‘is so over. The whole thing was a nightmare.’

      The group had been commissioned by Warner Books to throw the book party for Candace Bushnell’s newest novel, and apparently it had been a zoo. Since I hadn’t worked on it from the beginning, I’d attended another event that night, a dinner welcoming the CEO of one of Kelly & Company’s new accounts.

      Leo sighed. ‘I know, you’re right, of course. It was just so, so … B and T!’

      ‘Yes, it was, wasn’t it? I mean, who were all those girls on the outside patio? They were positively attacking the champagne – you’d think they’d never seen it before. And those two guys with the Staten Island accents who actually got in a fight? Hideous,’ Skye added.

      ‘Yeah, Penelope, you didn’t miss anything,’ Elisa reassured her, even though Penelope clearly had no idea what anyone was discussing. ‘That’s the beauty of book parties, though. The publishers are usually

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