"So here I am in my divorcée look, and Milton was like, 'We have to be upstairs, everyone's upstairs,' when actually there wasn't a soul up there, except Beyoncé or Lindsay Lohan, or some other girl of the minute everyone's so tired of they don't even count. Well, actually, I love Lindsay Lohan again. I want to be Lindsay Lohan most of the time, don't you?"
Lauren paused and waited for my answer. This was obviously a serious question.
"Wouldn't it be exhausting to be Lindsay Lohan every day, though?" I said. That many changes of sunglasses must be punishing.
"I'd love the attention. Anyway, I digress. Milton and I went upstairs, and I ordered strawberry tequila after strawberry tequila and ..." Lauren paused and looked around, as though making sure no one else was listening. Then she whispered, "... and next thing I know, this complete stranger sent over a glass of vintage champagne."
"Who was he?" I asked.
"Well. It was ... you're not going to believe it. It was Sanford Berman."
"No," I gasped.
"Totally. And he was celebrating his third company going public or something crazy like that, but I had no idea who he was because I stopped reading the papers recently so I don't have to read about my divorce. Milton was flipping, Sanford's his total icon. Milton said, 'Everyone thinks Rupert Murdoch's huge, but Sanford's so huge he owns Rupert Murdoch.'"
Lauren's cell phone started beeping. She picked it up and turned it off.
"It's him. It's always him," said Lauren ever so blasé.
"You should have answered. I don't mind," I said.
"Actually I need a break from him for now. Here's the thing. He's getting way too obsessed with me. Sanford is seventy-one-and-a-half years old. I can't date an antique. Sure, I like antiques, but not as boyfriends. So, where was I?" asked Lauren.
"The drink from Sanford came over," I reminded her.
"Well, I downed that glass of champagne, and then Sanford himself came over and started talking to me. He was so charming -- in the way that old things are. He thought it was very 'modern' that I was partying like that on my divorce day. So I was like, 'Ok, let's get another round of shots.' I can't really remember the night well at all," she said, with a coy expression, "except it turns out Sanford's married, but he's asking if he can take me home. So I let him give me a ride. On the way he asked me what I do, so I told him about how I occasionally buy and sell one-off estate jewelry, and he said he wanted to buy some for his wife. I thought that was sweet."
Sanford had called Lauren at 8 A.M. the next morning, asking to view the jewels. He showed up at her place at half past ten that night. They hung out until midnight, and finally Lauren asked Sanford if he wanted to see the jewels.
"He said to me, 'Not really. I just think you're amusing.' Can you believe?" said Lauren, her eyes widening cartoonishly to exaggerate the point. "God, I have to actually smoke a cigarette at this moment in the tale," she added, starting over with another. "Then he started sending his driver over every morning with the Wall Street Journal, a latte, and a warm croissant from Patisserie Claude, at which point I decided being a newly unwed sucks a lot less than being a newlywed. God, my divorce honeymoon is the best," she sighed contentedly as she sunned herself. "I love being divorced."