I can remember as a kid when Mother would drag me by the hand through this dining room, chatting with everyone as she walked through, showing me off when people made a fuss. Sundays were like high holidays in the restaurant – that day’s menu looked more like a coffee table book than a list of dishes. Dim lights, Sinatra crooning in the hallways … it felt like the home of true Hollywood glamour.
In its day, the Golden Pillar was “the place,” and though, most days, I’d rather stick a pen in my eye than compliment Mother, I had to admit that “the place” was holding up well.
“I used to hide behind that curtain there and pretend I didn’t hear Mother when she spoke or called out to me,” I tell Lindy, who, though physically present, is clearly not listening. I sip my wine. “Well you could at least pretend you give a damn about my day!”
Lindy shakes his head. “Merc, it’s not that I don’t care. It’s that I have a lot of things …” He dabs his mouth and throws the napkin on his plate. “There’s just a lot going on right now. My business partner is MIA, and you … you’re …”
“I’m what?”
“You’re … well, you’re not exactly around much anymore … I think you spend more time with that Silas person than you do with me. It’s … well, it’s rather unbecoming for a member of a royal family to be … punching a clock.”
I could feel the blood rush to my face. I am breathless. I cannot believe what he’s saying.
“Unbecoming?”
“Mercury, we don’t work … we invest. We donate. I thought you understood that. It’s … frowned upon. People expect more from us.”
He leans in, whispering dramatically.
“We’re … aspirational.”
I sit back in my chair.
“Is this why you wanted to come here? To talk to me about this?”
“Well, I just thought …”
“You can leave.”
Lindy’s face turns ashen and he looks confused.
“I can … what?”
“You can leave. I’ll text Mother and get a room and stay here this evening. … Go ahead. Go.”
“Well … I guess … when will you … how long will you stay?”
I grinned. “Until I’m ready to come back, I imagine. I’ll send Miller around tomorrow to pick up a few of my things. Go on.”
I shoo him away from the table and he stands up.
“Mercury, you can’t think this looks good on any level – you living in a hotel, me on the boat.”
“So take the boat somewhere … get away for a few days. Tell people I had to stay behind because of work. Do something … and, while you’re at it, might I suggest getting your head out of your ass.”
He turns and strolls out of the dining room as Miller walks in my direction.
“Is something wrong, Miss Mercury?” he asks.
I smile. “Hope your gin rummy game is on-point. Looks like I’ll be staying here for a bit.”
He nods, a grin pulling up the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Can you hook me up with a room and another bottle of this cab? I’ll take the leftovers in the room, too.”
“Yes, of course. And … shall I call your mother?”
And just like that, Bitsy appears, dressed for dinner and a night of heavy mingling.
“Apparently that won’t be necessary.”
Seeing her only daughter, Bitsy glides across the room, shimmering in navy blue sequins and black sling-backs. She smiles.
“To what do we owe this unusual and most welcome pleasure? And where is your husband?”
I kiss her on the cheek. “The 1950s it seems. Come, walk me to my room. I’m going to be here a bit.”
Gunnar Olafsson