‘Rich men are their own attraction,’ Fee asserts with a careless shrug.
‘Really?’ My head swings her way, the motion unintentionally exposing my disgust.
‘Well . . . yes. There have been studies, haven’t there? All this,’ she says, gesturing to the people around us with her glass. It’s evolutionary psychology. Men seek out mates with youth, which is linked to fertility, and with youth often comes beauty. Women don’t seek out mates that have a pretty face. They want security.’
‘Yeah, but you’re talking about a time when men wielded cubs and looked good in bearskin.’
‘It’s still the same for some now. They might not need someone to stand at the mouth of their cave but crave the security money brings. It’s a thing, especially out here. A beauty-status exchange.’
‘Being rich doesn’t make you a catch,’ I counter, trying hard not to sound prickly as I smooth my hand through my dark hair. The evening is balmy, which doesn’t bode well for my sleekly hot ironed look. And getting irrationally angry won’t exactly help.
‘But money can make you beautiful,’ Charles says, his eyes still glued to the guy with the ass.
‘You mean they can see beyond skin deep? Probably through wallets, too. Right to those black Amex cards.’ I snort as I struggle out of my jacket, feeling hot.
‘Non. Wis plastic surgery.’
‘I don’t want money or looks. I just want a man who treats me nicely.’ Her voice wistful as she sits forward, resting both hands on the table. ‘Anyway, it’s probably worse because the film festival lot are in town,’ Fee adds.
‘You mean, the place is full of actresses and stuff?’ I don’t recall seeing any famous faces when I was looking for J-Lo on the way in.
She shakes her head. ‘Monaco is currently full of fashionistas and the super wealthy. Oil tycoons, minor royals, and medically enhanced socialites.’
‘Ah. People who don’t have real jobs.’
‘Exactly.’ She makes a triangle around her glass with her thumbs and forefingers, her attention turning inward almost. ‘I’m sure if you happen to be in Ibiza next month, you’ll see all the same faces. They’re like nomads, but instead of trekking from camp to camp with camels and tents, they use private jets and stay in their vastly expensive holiday homes or ridiculously priced hotel suites. Royal Ascot, next on to Wimbledon, followed by a week in Venice for the film festival, then back to Monaco for the yacht show in September. Art Basel in December, New Year’s Eve in St Barts right before heading to Dubai for the races in the spring, then on to the Kentucky Derby.’
‘Some people have all the luck, right?’
‘I don’t know. The same places and the same beautiful faces month after month.’ She picks up her glass, seeming to come back to herself. ‘I think it sounds like a complete bore, personally.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Though I keep my tone neutral, something tells me this isn’t just an observation or second-hand information from her.
She smiles, but it almost seems tense. ‘I hear the wives and girlfriends talking after classes. Complaining, mostly.’
Hmm. I don’t think so.
‘You forgot about the other beauties.’ Charles inclines his head, his raised glass indicating a group of women crowded around the man Charles thought was about to hit on him. Standing straight now, his face in profile. Tall, dark, and handsome, as far as I can tell.
‘Yes,’ Fee agrees. ‘One of those things is not like the others.’
‘Because one of them is male?’ I’m confused because they’re all tall and dressed well; him in dark pants and a fitted shirt, the girls with their long tan legs running up to their chins and tiny dresses sparkling like candy wrappers. ‘He must be real entertaining the way they’re hanging on his every word.’
‘I think you’ll find they are the entertainment,’ Fee murmurs, her tone dropping.
‘Non. It is ’is wallet they find entertaining.’
‘I think someone might be selling sex. Hint: It’s not the one wearing pants.’
‘I’ve never seen a working girl look like that.’ I glance back at the group. ‘Every one of them looks like a freaking Victoria’s Secret model!’
‘That’s how they can charge so much.’ She glances knowingly my way. ‘The rich nomads follow the events, and the girls follow them.’
‘Some even travel with them,’ Charles says. ‘I understand rich Arabs ’ave their seasonal favourites.’
‘What, like a blonde for summer and a redhead for fall?’
‘Who knows. You could argue some cultures have arranged marriages, I suppose. Anyway.’ Fee sighs, reaching for her glass. ‘I guess for a lot of men it’s easier to pay for a relationship. Less risky to their billions.’
‘What about their hearts?’ I find myself asking.
‘I dunno.’ She shrugs. ‘I’ll let you know when I find a man with one. A straight man,’ she amends as Charles opens his mouth to protest.