“Who is she again?” Lucie cocked her head.

“Baby, her family owns the Imperial Hotel in Gstaad and she’s a dear friend of my mother’s. We’re going to be seeing her every February from now on when we do the season in Gstaad.”

Freddie looked up from his plate. “I didn’t know you skied, Cecil.”

“I don’t. I go to Gstaad for the season.”

Lucie finally gave in, knowing Cecil wouldn’t stop fixating on this till he got what he wanted. “The ring is in the top left drawer of my highboy, behind all my sunglass cases. Mom, could you please call Tony and tell him someone’s coming by?”

Marian gave her a weary look. “Mary’s got the day off—there’s no one at home right now. Are you sure we want a total stranger up there?”

Charlotte leaned in. “Do you trust your assistant, Cecil?”

“Of course I do!” Cecil insisted.

Marian reached into her thirty-year-old Coach handbag and got out her phone. “What’s the name of your assistant? I need to tell Tony to let them up.”

“I don’t know,” Cecil answered.

Marian looked up at Cecil incredulously. “Uh … you don’t know the name of the assistant you’re going to be sending to rummage through my home looking for a multimillion-dollar ring?”

“Marian, they change so frequently, I can’t be bothered to keep track of their names. Rose, Kirk, Lili, Emile, who the hell knows? But I can ensure you not a single one of them would ever be stupid enough to risk being fired for screwing up this errand. We only hire kids from the Ivys, and they are all grossly overpaid if you ask me. Besides, the ring is insured, and trust me, there’s really nothing in your apartment that anyone would want to steal.”

Freddie projectile spat his mouthful of chocolate mousse all over his plate as he burst out in laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Cecil asked angrily.

“Nothing,” Freddie answered lightly. “Where’s the waiter? Don’t we need to order?”

Lucie fumed as Marian and Charlotte sat in uncomfortable silence, not sure how to resolve this matter.

“You know what? If you don’t trust one of my Ivy League minions, I will go and get the ring myself,” Cecil announced, rising from the table and rushing off just as the waiter arrived to take their orders.

“Oh well, let’s go ahead and order first. I’m not waiting for Cecil,” Marian said decisively.

After everyone had placed their lunch orders, Charlotte suggested, “Let’s google some famous animal activists and find the perfect person to honor at your benefit, Marian.”

“Yes, who should we try for?” Marian wondered.

Charlotte scrolled through her phone. “Okay … here’s a good list of celebs. Let’s see … Paul McCartney … we’ll never get him either. How about Penélope Cruz? She was so good in the latest Almodóvar film.”

“Hmm … I’m not sure she’s quite right for this crowd,” Marian assessed.

“Jared Leto.”

“Love him, but not right for this crowd either,” Lucie assessed.

“Oh, how about Bea Arthur?”

“She’s dead,” Freddie said.

“When did she die?!” Charlotte cried.

“Like, years ago,” Freddie replied.

“How sad! I must have missed that news cycle. Wait, here’s a good one for the Long Island crowd—Wendy Williams.”

“That’s a good possibility. Any others?”

Charlotte gasped. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! Cornelia Guest!”

“Oh, she’d be terrific!” Marian agreed.

Charlotte held up a PETA ad featuring Cornelia with an incredible mane of blond hair cleverly covering up her voluptuous nude body, accompanied by the slogan I’D RATHER GO NAKED THAN WEAR FUR.

“She’s a babe!” Freddie said.

“She’s so much more than a babe, Freddie. She’s an actress, she’s a cruelty-free fashion connoisseur who designed a line of vegan handbags, she runs her own vegan catering company and animal rescue operation, and she’s actually from Long Island!” Charlotte read out loud from the web page.

“Even more perfect!” Marian clapped her hands together excitedly.

“You know, I think Cecil might actually know her,” Lucie said.

“Really? Then this will be a piece of cake! Making the connection is the hardest part. Usually I have to spend months going through all these awful PR reps, agents, and managers to get to anyone famous.”

When Cecil returned to the table, everyone looked at him in anticipation.

Lucie grabbed his arm eagerly. “Cecil, we solved Mom’s problem while you were away. Cornelia Guest!”

“What about her?”

“Mom wants to honor her at the summer gala for the Animal Rescue Fund of Long Island!”

“She’ll never do it.”

Lucie was confused. “But isn’t she your friend?”

“Of course she is … but I wouldn’t dare ask her.”

“Why not?” Lucie asked.

Cecil paused for a moment. “I just know she’ll say no.”

“Why?” Marian prodded.

“I hate to say this, but I think it would be too low class an affair for her.”

“Low class!” Marian looked taken aback.

Charlotte was indignant. “But Cornelia’s a huge champion of animal rights, and she grew up on Long Island!”

“Not that part of Long Island. She’s from Old Westbury, which as you well know is haute WASP country. Besides, I think she’s mostly in LA these days, busy with acting projects.”

“But our crowd would adore her. They would open up their pockets even more at the gala. Come on Cecil, pleeeeease? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg?” Marian said with a little laugh.

“Oh, Cecil, won’t you please just ask her? What’s the harm in just asking, for Mom’s sake?” Lucie pleaded.

“Lucie, Cornelia Guest was the Debutante of the Decade in the eighties. She was BFFs with Andy Warhol, and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor were her godparents. She’s the daughter of polo legend Winston Guest and C. Z. Guest, who was the swan of all swans, and she’s the closest thing we have to royalty in this country. Trust me, we will never get her to come to your mother’s dinky fundraiser, and I wouldn’t dream of wasting my social currency to ask her.”

Everyone was stunned speechless. After an awkward pause, Charlotte cleared her throat and offered encouragingly, “Well, let me see how I can connect the dots to Wendy Williams. I think someone on my PR team in London will know how to get to her.”

Cecil nodded. “Yes, Wendy Williams, whoever she is, will be a much better choice. Now, Lucie, please put on this $26.5 million ring I bought for you—and designed myself—and come with me to meet the princess!”

Lucie could feel her jaw grinding in rage. She forced the ring on to her finger and got up from the banquette.

“Wait—where’s the jacket Mother gave you?” Cecil asked.

“It’s draped behind Freddie’s seat.”

“Well, put it on! It’s Chanel couture, and Marie-Laure is very close to Karl. She’ll be so touched to see you in it.”