“This is nice, isn’t it?”

Andrew Green was leaning back on the elevated captain’s chair, one foot casually pushing back on the edge of the massive control panel, while the other was hooked around the base of the chair, when he asked the question.   He’d turned to look at Miller, who was sitting on the other elevated chair next to his, less relaxed than he was. 

He’d smiled at her, trying to get a conversation with her started, bemused that she’d insisted on wearing the lifejacket that she’d put on while waiting for his boat to get to the mouth of the marina even if it was apparent to her and to anyone else that the stylish new tender that he’d just taken delivery of was as stable as any of the bigger boats out here.

They had quickly sped away towards the open water as soon as Miller came on board the sleek new boat.  He’d heard of a storm possibly brewing north and west of where they were, and he was anxious about getting caught in it.   But he’d wanted to put his new acquisition through its paces first before docking – just to see whether it was everything the sales people said it would be.

Now that they were about half a mile from where they’d rendezvoused, they both saw that the waters where they were boating on were calm, paradoxically, and perfect conditions seemed to prevail in the horizon.  The sun sat high in the sky, burning brightly, and the purity of the deep blue of the ocean matched the sparkling cerulean blue of the cloudless sky.  For all intents and purposes, if he hadn’t read the last weather report transmitted to the boat, minutes before he’d met up with Miller, he would have argued that this news of the possible storm applied to one of the other islands, and not to Oahu. 

Nevertheless, he’d decided to trace an easterly route for this outing, to be on the safe side, so that Oahu would constantly be to their right as they circled the island.  If the storm changed its routing, he wanted to be able to turn in and head for the island as quickly as possible.

Miller took a sip of the “sidecar” in her martini glass, a cocktail that Andrew Green had fixed for them after they’d reached cruising speed, and were clear of the boat traffic in the marina.  She slipped a glance toward the island.  This is more than nice.  This is paradise.  Too bad I never got to spend time like this with you, Callie, on a nice boat like this one, out in the sea, circling a beautiful island.   Instead, I’m looking out into this perfect seascape with a man who could turn out to be my greatest enemy. 

“The fact of the matter is, as I read somewhere, this is the age of the perfection society, and the urban woman of New York, Paris, London, Tokyo, Chicago, Los Angeles, Hong Kong etc, is the standard bearer of the age,” Juliana said emphatically, and then speared the last bit of lobster on her plate.  “No other segment of this society is under more pressure: I bet you my next paycheck, Tom, that you won’t be able to disprove the urban woman is under more pressure than anyone else in modern society,” she continued in a challenging tone, just before popping the delicate morsel into her mouth.

“Men are under the same pressure to be perfect,” Tom batted back, wiped his mouth, and then set his fork down.  He leaned forward, as if preparing to line up his own arguments, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.  His friendly grin earlier was replaced by a firm line.

They stared at one another across the square, elegantly-set table like combatants in a ring.

“C’mon, Bette, quit being Switzerland for a minute, and back me up on this!” Juliana exploded after a moment, breaking away from the stare-down with Tom to glance over at the silent brunette, who’d been seemingly oblivious to the exchange.

“Didn’t we just go through the subject of Tina, her pregnancy, and your worries that her efforts to keep your home, your marriage, and her professional commitments together and on track were becoming too much for her?”

Bette pursed her lips and sat back, savoring the light yellow-gold Rhone white Ashley had generously instructed the sommelier of the resort’s main restaurant to send over to the cottage.  According to the sommelier, Ashley said she had authorized him to send the special bottle over because he had said it would go well with the dinner Juliana had prepared.   Excellent choice, Bette thought now as she inhaled the aroma of the wine in her glass again, shutting her eyes to enjoy the incredible bouquet that rose from the wine.  It perfectly complemented the full body, smooth taste, and fine finish of the incredible French white wine.

“Well, Bette?  What do you think?” Tom asked briskly.  “The men of New York and other cities are just as fucked as the women, right?”

Two days before the last scene of Chapter XXXI.

Hawaii, the night after Bette arrives

“Thomas Callahan are you trying to sweep my wife off of her feet?” Tina asked in a mock-scolding voice.  Tom smirked and gave her an exaggerated shrug of his broad shoulders.

“Just treating your lady right,” he drawled.  “As if she was my wife.”

He plucked a lily-white orchid from the bowl in the middle of the table, kissed it, and then gave it to a chuckling Bette in front of the phone’s camera so that Tina would see him do it.  “The orchid has symbolized luxury, beauty, and strength,” he said, “which this night, and you, are all about, dear Bette.”

“Play-a,” Tina growled.  “Save those moves for the others, would you?!”

Tom laughed and stood slowly, leaning slightly on the table before straightening up to his full 6 foot 3 inch height.  He pulled on his lapels to straighten his jacket out — needlessly, because the jacket was still immaculately smooth.

“Ladies, if you’ll excuse me?” he asked and then bowed slightly before turning around smartly, to head towards the restrooms.

“So that place is really swanky, huh?  Would not have imagined something like that in a beach city,” Tina observed after telling Bette about what she had read to Angelica while putting her down to sleep.

Bette’s eyes were still sparkling from her excitement over the meal.

“Not just swanky.  You can’t imagine how delicious the food was, T.  I think we had about twenty courses, at least … mostly small plates, of course, but each bite was heavenly!” the brunette exclaimed.

“And just look at this place!” she slowly swept her phone around so that Tina could see through the camera what Bette seemed so excited about.

“Is that a wall of Picasso drawings I see?” Tina asked, squinting.  The lights in the restaurant, appropriately called a Cave, were very dim, but the wide-open aperture of Bette’s phone camera allowed her to see some of the interior décor as Bette swept the interior scene around her.

“Good eye, honey.  Yeah, those are Picassos,” Bette answered.  “There’s a lot of other art scattered around, including sculpture.  When we were being ushered to our table I spotted an ancient, and certified, marble Madonna from Italy.”

Manhattan

“Oh, hey, Jackson! This a social call? I should let you know I could be leaving soon, though,” Bette answered Jackson over the speaker of the security system by the gate that opened to the path leading to the front door of a four-storey mansion where their duplex was located in. Bette’s and Tina’s duplex occupied the top two floors of the mansion; the first floor comprised a small lobby and a spacious 3 bedroom apartment being rented by Jacques, a tenor in the Metropolitan Opera, and the second floor was another three bedroom apartment that had long ago been purchased by Kara’s father from Luke Skinner’s family. Kara was living in the second floor apartment now while she worked in a Manhattan law firm. Bette and Tina had purchased the top two floors several years ago, and had remodeled them into a duplex, added a terrace, and rehabilitated the façade of the whole mansion.

“Yeah, I know. I dropped by for a quick word, if that’s alright? Before you go?” Jackson asked and waved at the camera.

He heard a gentle buzz and a click from behind the metal gate, which indicated the gate had been unlocked. Bette called out over the speaker, “Okay, the front door will be unlocked, and so will the elevator.”

Tina greeted him a few minutes later as she opened the door to their duplex, “hi, Jackson.” She chuckled when he stepped closer after some hesitation and then bent to give her a tentative peck on the cheek. Jackson seemed to have reverted to his usual formal demeanor over the last few weeks, and still hadn’t gotten used to the more casual and warm attitude Bette and Tina displayed while greeting people they’d considered friends.  

Mindful of his discomfort, Tina stepped back and to the side to give Jackson ample space to enter their home and step into the vestibule.

Bette was on the phone, exiting her office, heading towards them, as he walked in.

She pointed to the phone and mouthed, “Just wrapping this up. Be with you in a sec.”

He nodded and then turned to answer Tina after she’d asked whether he wanted a drink. “Oh, thanks, Tina. Please don’t bother. I wasn’t intending to stay. I just wanted a word with Bette before she left.”

Bette coughed and nervously fingered her speaker’s notes. She adjusted the microphone anchored to the front edge of the podium and angled it downward so that it pointed towards the base of her throat, instead of directly on her mouth. The crowd packed into the National Cathedral in downtown Washington, DC, stirred restlessly.

“Like the others who’ve spoken ahead of me,” she began, reading from her notes, “I, along with my family, mourn Peter’s untimely death, and, since he requested it in his instructions to Jackson,  thank you for your indulgence in allowing me to have the last word at his memorial. I won’t say that I’ll be as eloquent … or as funny…”

The crowd chuckled.

“As everyone else has been,” she said, and looked up to flash a tentative smile. She paused and looked around. Many in the crowd smiled back at her supportively. The previous speaker from one of the main foundations Peter had supported had spoken long and eloquently about Peter’s generosity, and had issued a plea to whoever would be handling his estate to continue that support. Bette had looked on noncommitally as he spoke. But after he’d finished and returned to his seat, she looked around and saw the crowd was growing restless. It had been a long service.

People had flown in from all corners of the globe, it looked like, and the crowd reflected the mix of business, society, political, and charitable luminaries Peter had either worked, socialized, or done business with. A sizable portion of the crowd had also known his father and grandfather; there were charities supported by his mother that had also sent representatives.

As she looked around from the podium, Bette couldn’t help but feel there may have been a few amongst them who didn’t really mourn Peter’s passing, or who may have even harbored a grudge or something towards Peter while he’d been alive. Or toward his family. They may have turned up as a matter of courtesy, perhaps, and they were probably the ones who kept checking their watches or smartphones.

Before the service had started, Bette also reflected that the true feelings of the core group of the gold collective’s leadership remained unclear to her.   This was particularly true about those who were increasingly insistent that Bette share what she knew about what she’d managed to figure out about the cache of gold they had been chasing.