“Julie, honey, what’s the dealio? I’ve waited more than fifteen minutes for my table!” Bettina sighed to the owner of the restaurant. Tourists should have to take a style exam before being allowed to set foot on the island! Feeling like she had been patient long enough, Bettina stormed into the kitchen, the fringe on her crocheted Pucci caftan top shaking furiously as she made a beeline for the woman with a shock of pixie-cut blond hair manning the main stove. This three-and-a-half-mile-long paradise with its pristine pink-sand beaches was one of the best-kept secrets in the Caribbean, a haven for the very very rich filled with quaint little wood houses painted in shades of sherbet, charming boutiques, chic oceanfront mansions turned into inns, and five-star restaurants to rival St. And the men were even worse! All dressed in old rumpled shirts and shorts, wearing those cheap straw hats sold at the trinket shop on Dunmore Street. She felt like walking up to their table and handing out her dermatologist’s business cards. the women overly tanned, wrinkled, and saggy, none of them properly lifted or Botoxed.

She wanted to sit on one of the comfy orange canvas director’s chairs and stare out at the gently lapping turquoise waters while eating her kale Caesar salad, but there was a large, noisy group taking up the entire terrace and they didn’t seem in much hurry to leave.īettina fumed as she glared at the tourists happily savoring their lunch in the sun. Today she wanted the corner table on the terrace at Sip Sip, her favorite lunch spot on Harbour Island. A former Miss Venezuela (and Miss Universe runner-up, of course), the exceedingly bronzed strawberry blonde was these days the wife of the Miami auto-parts tycoon Herman Ortiz y Meña, and at every restaurant she chose to grace with her presence, she was always greeted with reverence and whisked to the exact table she desired. HARBOUR ISLAND, THE BAHAMAS, JANUARY 21, 2015īettina Ortiz y Meña was not accustomed to waiting.

Rich people problems book