Carole Radziwill

Carole ponders what lead up to the "white trash" bust-up and discusses the mating habits of Bonobos.

on Sep 4, 2012

Do you get the feeling that everyone is off their meds this episode? I need a Xanax just watching it, some of this I hadn't seen until now. Does anyone have a Xanax?

It inspired me, though, I found the title of my next novel -- a thinly-veiled roman a clef about six women and a pirate in paradise and the hijinx that ensue. I’m calling it: “Drinking, Lying, Screaming.”

Let’s start with the scream, the one heard round the world. I should never have left the main house that night. I should have stayed. But there was my hair to consider and an outfit change -- my boyfriend was waiting. Aviva had arrived in one piece, passed her presents all around, kisses and hugs went back and forth and Reid was thank-you’d and tucked in his room with emails and business. All was well. Jean Batiste made canapés with dip, the sky if I were to step out from beneath the bar and look up was full of stars, the moon was bright. Music floated out from the well-placed speakers, the pinot flowed free in red and white, and happy laughter echoed across the island. The ocean lapped onto Saline beach in what sounded like faint applause behind me.

“I did it!” I thought, and patted myself imaginarily on the back. “I pulled off the hat trick.”

I thought I had merged the crazy lot of us into one $40 million house, seamlessly. A cloudless blue-skied day had melted into a star-filled night. It was perfect. It was ripe for calamity. It was the kind of night where no one expects anything to happen, and so it does. I should have known.

I’m no stranger to the Goddess Fortuna. In ways both good and bad -- she could care less -- she steers our fate. And she favors the prepared. She sneaks into five-bedroom, three pool, two-guest bungalow, wait-staffed homes when all is calm, and she throws up a clatter. I was unprepared.

But let’s start at the beginning when things are still light and sexy.

Our pirate is back!