I’d miss them all, and a fresh wave of self-pity engulfed me as I reached her door. Before I even knocked it swung open wide as if she could see straight through it. She regarded me astutely for a split second.
“Marina! Darling!” she cried enthusiastically, embracing and air kissing me, “You look absolutely lovely this morning! You must be so excited! You simply have to come to the city for a visit when I return from Cannes. I’ll want to hear everything about your new school.” Aunt Evie had been a celebrated fashion model in her younger years and remained a style icon, traveling the globe in a relentless pursuit of luxury and pleasure. She possessed the devastating combination of wit and beauty that made people from all walks of life shamelessly fawn all over her. When Evie focused her attention on you, it felt as though you were the most important person in the world.
“I wish I could stay with you,” I said mournfully, watching her with one eye as I bent to pet the little dogs who danced in hysterical circles around my feet.
“Nice try,” she laughed knowingly, “You’ll forget all about me when you’re around people your own age.” I cast her a sour look. Even Evie had thrown me to the wolves, agreeing with my father’s theory that I would benefit from exposure to a bunch of small town teenagers.
“Not a chance,” I griped, mimicking her, “I absolutely dread being abandoned there.”
“Now, now, let’s not be overly dramatic,” she said with an indulgent smile.
I rolled my eyes at her, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!” Aunt Evie has always been larger than life, attacking each day with theatrical flair. If you looked up “drama queen” in the dictionary you’d find a full page picture of Evie.
“Sweetheart, high school will give you precisely the sort of real world experience you’ll need for your brilliant future. Just be sure to keep me up on all of your romantic intrigues,” her ice blue eyes flashed with mischief.
I snorted, “It’s high school, Aunt Evie, not one of your foreign films.” She shook her head in disagreement, “A beautiful sixteen year old should not be holed up in an apartment all alone! You need to meet new people– make some friends! You have no idea what destiny has in store for you!” Her face softened into a dreamy smile, “You’ve been hidden away with your nose in a book for far too long,” she closed her eyes and sighed, “You should be going to dances and parties and having some fun! Those Aptos boys won’t even realize what hit them… You’re going to have such admirers!”
I sighed with frustration. Aunt Evie led the glamorous life of a jet setter, flitting from one social event to another, and couldn’t begin to imagine how anyone might prefer a quieter existence. Widowed years ago and never remarried, she kept busy, filling her days with philanthropy, travel and shopping, though not necessarily in that order. Her late husband Harold had indulged her every whim and bequeathed her a vast fortune upon his passing, secure in the knowledge that his Evelyn would be provided for– even as she spent money with reckless abandon.
Evie took me under her wing when I was very small, exposing me to the rarefied world of wealth and privilege; her lifestyle was the polar opposite of the one I lived with my father. She exists for designer clothes, while dad and I are most comfortable in worn blue jeans. Like us, she travels extensively, but to resort areas with five star hotels, while we generally take spare quarters in remote impoverished villages. Between my father and Evie I felt like I already had plenty of real world experience.
She left the room abruptly, returning with several giant shopping bags and a sly smile.
“I’ve got a few new things!” she announced.
I knew what that meant. Whip thin, tall and stylish, Evie’s singular obsession is fashion, and she’s made outfitting me in the most beautiful clothing one of her top priorities in life. It’s great fun playing dress-up with all the gorgeous things she buys me, but she’s deadly serious about keeping up with the latest trends, and perpetually on the hunt for the perfect ensemble.
Relentlessly chic, Evie always dresses to kill. Her platinum blonde hair is invariably perfectly coiffed; her makeup and nails equally impeccable. High society types gossip endlessly about her wardrobe, jewels and furs. For a woman like Evie, shopping