May 27th, 1990
Ramada Renaissance, Royal Antiguan Resort
Deep Bay, Antigua
Whilst sunbathing at Galley Bay, Dolly suggested that we change our names and identities, if only to serve as a safeguard, especially since she had her handbag stolen from the police station.
“Who do you want to be?” she asked Laney.
“I always had this notion that someday, I’d be a minimalist architect.”
“Oooh,” I teased. “Get you!”
Laney gave me a disdainful look. “I’ll be an architect, based in London. Let’s see, my name will be, hmmmm…”
“That name’s already taken.”
This time she rolled her eyes in my direction.
“Millie,” she said, with conviction.
“That actually suits you, I like it. Millie the architect.”
I looked at Dolly. “What about you?”
“Well,” she said, twirling a strand of her curly dark locks. “I’ll keep my nickname but I don’t know what I want to be.”
“When you were a little girl, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
She chuckled. “An Air Hostess.”
“Ok, well, you can check that one off!”
She giggled. “Oh, wait, I know, I know.”
“A dancer. I also wanted to be a dancer. I used to dream of dancing on the stage like in the West End musicals.”
“Great, so we have Millie the architect and Dolly the dancer stroke actress.”
Tonight, at Tropix, after William replenished yet another bottle of Dom Pérignon us girls were guzzling, thanks to the afternoon chat with the girls, I didn’t hesitate, when he asked what I do.
“I work for a magazine.”
I expected him to ask which one but he didn’t so I carried on.
“Vogue. I work for Vogue,” I lied, draining the last of the Champagne from my glass.
“I’m actually a features editor.”
“I don’t know what that is but it sounds cool.”
“It’s an amazing job,” I continued. “I’ve only been there for a short time but I’m really enjoying it.”
“I like my job too,” he smiled.
Eh excuse me William, we’re not talking about you right now!
“Ya, it’s really supah,” I slurred, sounding scarily like Annabel.
“So, you live in London?”
Finally, a question!
“Oh no, not London.”
I’d clearly moved beyond tipsy, because instead of leaving it there, I felt compelled to continue, if only for some kind of reaction that didn’t involve the word, “cool.”
“New York,” I stated. “I work for Vogue. In New York.”
“Cool,” he said, leaning in. “And what’s your name, again?”
“Madison.” I smiled. “Madison Frazer.”