“Yes, this is my son, Frederick, and here’s my daughter, Lucie,” Marian said.
Lucie, in a pink ruffled Alexandre Vauthier cocktail dress cinched at the waist with a black satin bow, came forward and shook Cornelia’s hand, slightly awed.
“What a gorgeous family you are!” Cornelia said, as she was escorted upstairs to a guest suite to get ready.
By 6:30 p.m., the party was in full swing. Marian had decided on a Chinese theme this year, and guests dressed in their festive summer finery wandered around the meticulously manicured grounds just as it was transforming into the golden hour, sipping on mai tais and munching on delectable dim sum appetizers. The central courtyard had been transformed into an ice sculpture fantasyland straight out of Harbin, China, and massive pavilions carved out of ice and lit in a spectrum of colors had been generously flown in for the occasion courtesy of Isabel and Dolfi De Vecchi, who unfortunately could not attend the gala, as they were at an intimacy retreat at Lake Titicaca. Meanwhile, towering arrangements of rare flowers encased in blocks of ice by Japanese artist Makoto Azuma stood melting in the late-afternoon sun.
Despite the jaw-dropping decor, the most popular attractions were the rescue animals, of course, and each of them was showcased in one of the luxurious stables—each state-of-the-art, climate-controlled stable boasted its own chandelier. Everyone oohed and ahhed over the adorable dogs, cats, and even a few miniature horses, trying to decide which ones to adopt and bid for in the charity auction later in the evening.
Cornelia had morphed in less than half an hour from country girl to fashion goddess, making her entrance into the central courtyard in a shimmering sil
ver off-the-shoulder Oscar de la Renta gown and mingling happily with all the guests as a band of Chinese musicians dapperly outfitted in white silk tuxedos played 1930s Shanghainese jazz standards.
Lucie approached Cornelia, shyly handing her a mai tai. “I thought you could use one of the signature cocktails. You’ve been talking to so many people nonstop.”
“How sweet of you. Thanks!”
“So I understand you were friends with Andy Warhol?” Lucie began, a little intimidated, knowing that Cornelia had been good friends with Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat as well.
“Yes, he was an absolute doll to me.”
“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I went to see the Warhol retrospective at the Whitney, and I couldn’t help but notice that out of all the iconic silk-screen portraits he did of famous people, yours was the only one that had a bit of…um…nudity,” Lucy asked delicately.
“I was topless,” Cornelia said matter-of-factly.
“Yes. Was that his intention or yours?”
“I was nineteen. It was my intention to piss off my mother,” Cornelia answered.
They both broke out in laughter.
Freddie came rushing up, looking a little disheveled. “Lucie, can I steal you for a moment?”
“Can you give me a sec? Cornelia and I were just chatting—”
“Actually, I really need you now,” Freddie said through gritted teeth.
“Everything okay?” Cornelia asked.
“Perfect!” Freddie flashed her his megawatt smile as he rushed off with Lucie.
“What’s the deal?” Lucie asked, suddenly alarmed.
Freddie took her into the kitchen, where several of the kitchen staff appeared to be hugging Cornelia’s humongous dogs.
“The animals somehow got into the kitchen, and now half the Wagyu beef sliders we were going to serve the guests have disappeared.”
“Oh, shit!” Lucie exclaimed as she burst into giggles.
“Stop laughing! I need your help getting these beasts to the smaller riding ring. Mom and Charlotte have already taken the Westie, the Chihuahua, and the duck.”
Lucie gamely helped to wrangle the big dogs, and when they had been safely ensconced in their plush indoor riding ring, she went to the ladies’ powder room in the main house to tidy up. As she stood in front of the large mirror over the sink, trying to brush off what seemed like a million dog hairs from her party dress, a tall patrician lady in her seventies entered the powder room.
“Hello, Lucie,” the lady greeted her warmly.
Lucie looked up, surprised to see her neighbor from 999 Fifth Avenue. “Hi, Ms. Ferrer.”
“My God, what have you been doing, wrestling a polar bear?”