SUNSET DRESS AT ES CUCONS: one rumour, two dresses, no Rickys

Not the dresses, not that night, but Victoria and I at Es Cucons

 🎸❤️‍🔥☀️😎🌊💫🍷🫠❤️

“Ceschina! You’re not going to believe this, but Ricky’s on the island! Bora rang to tell me he’s just down the road from me, at Es Cucons. Get dressed and come and get me. I’ve booked us a table there in an hour.”

Victoria had the giggles, so I figured she was pulling my leg. I’d only just dropped her back at her place after a day out on a friend’s boat, and I was feeling desiccated, sun-woozy and exhausted.

“Haha. Very funny. Night-night.”

“Cesca, it’s true! Bora knows these things. He’s apparently staying there with some gorgeous blonde Spanish model.”

“He’s with Esther Cañadas?” I said, sitting bolt upright. Twenty-odd years ago I was already the world’s leading expert on Ricky Martin. Heck, I was about to write the book!

“Err, I guess,” uhmed Victoria, clueless. “Come on! Come and pick me up. I almost out of petrol so I can’t meet you there.”

OMG.

My heart was hammering. My armpits were in meltdown. I’d washed my hair, but it was only semi-dry, and the back had gone all frizzy-kinky.

“Are you there?” Victoria said in her smoky voice.

“What shall I wear?” My voice sounded like Minnie Mouse on helium.

💫

I know it sounds insane to anyone who hasn’t had a crush on a public figure such as an actor or a pop star to have a total freakout about what to wear while potentially having dinner in the hotel where their famous crush is allegedly staying. I mean, even if he and Esther were there, they could have gone out. They could be having room service, or had dinner earlier, or not had dinner at all. The potential plot lines were endless.

Nevertheless, what if he was there? And if he was, would I have the courage to go and talk to him? And if I did, what would I say? What if I did go talk to him, and he was unpleasant? This scenario would totally suck, because I didn’t want to no longer like him. But then again, what if he was there, and was super friendly, and then Victoria and I got to hang out with he and Esther over dinner, and they gave us their numbers, and we became friends? Stuff like this happens. In fact, it had happened to me before, in a restaurant in Ramatuelle in the south of France, when my sister and I were seated next to a famous French film star and ended up having dinner with him and his friend and chatting for hours. Sadly, neither my sister nor I had a crush on him, but it was kind of cool, anyway.

So after Victoria and I hung up, I raced around with the biggest butterflies known to man – which is Queen Alexandra’s Birdwing (Ornithoptera alexandrae), just so you know – creating absolute havoc in my stomach, with ramifications to how my legs worked, and to my hand-eye coordination, meaning putting makeup on was potentially likely to cause bodily harm. As for what to wear, I selected a silk Indian dress that Victoria and I had nicknamed the sunset dress, because it went from yellowish-gold to deep-red, with tiny-sequins on it. It had a matching shawl, and was very Ibiza-boho-cool. I added my gold hoop earrings, and an ankle bracelet, and with my flip-flop-sandals on my feet, I was ready to meet the man of my dreams.

Off I rushed, over the hills above San Antonio, towards Santa Ines, with the windows down, listening to Private Emotion super loud, belting it out at the Mediterranean pine trees and the crescent moon, and the navy-silver sea down-below. It’s a stunning drive so if you’re ever in Ibiza I highly recommend the back lanes at night. Just be careful this particular road is twisty-turny and there can be moron motorists about!

I picked up Victoria, decked in emerald-green silk-velvet (she now has a shop on the island, La Galeria Elefante in Santa Gertrudis, an absolute treasure trove of gorgeous things), and boogied on back to Es Cucons. The dining room was empty. We sat at our table, she cool as cuke, me tachycardic. Dinner was delicious, as always (another great address in Ibiza! The hotel is gorgeous – small and cosy -– surrounded by almond trees on one side and forest on the other, and the owners are adorable), but there were no Ricky and Esther sightings that night, nor any reservations under their names.

It wasn’t a full epic fail! We both looked good, had a laugh, and a nice dinner. In fact, we probably had a nicer time just the two of us than if Ricky and Esther had shown up, because chances are I’d have been too shy to do anything other than glance at him through my hair. And maybe he’d have been grumpy and put me off, and I wouldn’t have written Just Like A Movie, or maybe I would, but the outcome would have been different.

I’m hoping he’ll come to my book launch. What shall I wear?