Page 45 of The Dolce Vita Divas
‘Yes, I know, that’s why we are all here.’
Paulo had taken his box of table linens and handed it over to one of the waiters.
‘I have a special suit to wear,’ Eric said, watching with interest as another waiter put out some glasses on the tables.
‘You are going to look very smart.’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘but I wish I could have some jeans.’
‘Don’t you have any?’
‘No. And I need some if I am going to be a cowboy.’
This was surprising; I thought all American children lived in blue denim. Perhaps Raleigh didn’t approve of them.
‘Maybe we could find some,’ Paulo said, ‘if we went shopping.’
Eric’s eyes widened. ‘For me?’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh.’
He went back to watching the waiters, his face a picture of concentration. Paulo had received another phone call and gone off through one of the service doors at the far end of the room.
‘How is Andrea today?’ I asked.
Eric slipped his hand into mine, and the gesture made me feel rather sentimental for a moment. He might have been badly behaved but he was only a little boy.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I hope she is feeling all right.’
A white rose had fallen out of one of the floral displays onto the floor and I picked it up.
‘You could take her this, and say you hope this makes her feel better.’
Eric looked puzzled. ‘Why would that make her headache go away?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t, but it would show you cared and had been thinking of her. And that would be kind, wouldn’t it? You should always be kind to people, especially those who look after you.’
‘Oh.’
The waiter he had been watching finished his task and walked out with his empty plastic crate, ruffling Eric’s hair as he passed us.
‘I think I’ll go now,’ Eric said, and he let go of my hand and hurried off.
I wondered yet again where Leo and Raleigh were. Perhaps they were still in bed, asleep. No, someone must have got Eric up and dressed.
* * *
I went back upstairs, checking that Susie was in her room. It was nearly midday, and the celebration was due to start at two o’clock. Which meant we had plenty of time to get ready and hopefully glammed up so that Ceci would not give us one of her disapproving looks.
I tried on the three dresses I had to choose from and made my choice. It wasn’t that difficult. The blue one was obviously from the sixties and rather short; the yellow one might have looked good on Ceci when she was younger, but the colour just made me look ill. Then I decided to start getting ready.
Why was it, I wondered, that when I was younger it took no time at all to slap on some makeup, run a brush through my hair and drag on some clothes and still look presentable? Now it took much longer, and the final effect was nowhere near as pleasing.
And why did I look reasonable when I looked at my face in the mirror, but every time someone took a picture of me from the side, my face looked as though it was sort of collapsing into my neck? When we were young, why didn’t we appreciate ourselves?
