Beach Lane (17 page)

But just as Mara’s face was beginning to contort with some strange understanding of what was really going on here, Ryan looked up.

“Mar—”

But Mara was already halfway down the back stairs, more embarrassed and confused than ever.

eliza is learning a lot this summer, like the atkins diet isn’t worth it

IN THE FRONT YARD ELIZA THOUGHT SHE HAD THINGS
under control. She had gotten all the kids in their beach clothes without too much of a struggle. William was already strapped in and Cody was in his child seat, which left only Zoë and Madison to go.

“Where are we going?” Zoë asked, holding a raggedy copy of
Where the Wild Things Are
to her chest.

“Same place we always go,” Eliza replied, checking the seat belt.

“I’m hungry,” Madison said.

“You’re always hungry.” Eliza sighed.

“Hi, Jer’my,” Zoë called from the backseat.

Eliza turned to see Jeremy carrying a hose and a rake, walking out from the rear shed. He tipped his cap.

“HI, JEREMY!” William mimicked.

“Come get ice cream with us!” Madison said.

“Yeah, come get ice cream!” Zoë agreed.

William took up the call, and soon all the kids were begging Jeremy to come to the Snowflake with them.

“You guys getting sundaes?” Jeremy asked. “Which ones are your favorite?”

“Hot fudge,” William said promptly.

“Good choice, my man.” Jeremy nodded.

“Butterscotch,” said Zoë.

“Even better.”

“Can you? Can you? Can you?” Zoë asked. “Come with us?”

“Sure, why not?” Jeremy said, winking at Eliza. “I’m done for the day.”

“I don’t mind.” Eliza shrugged. “I was going to wait for Mara, but I heard her fighting with her boyfriend on the phone, so I figured she might need a break.”

“Then it’s just us.” Jeremy smiled.

* * *

The Snowflake was a cute retro-fifties-style diner on nearby Pantigo Road, famous for its juicy hamburgers and vats of homemade ice cream. Eliza eased the Range Rover into the parking lot next to the creepy statue of a six-foot-tall hot dog squeezing ketchup on itself. It was famous in the Hamptons as “the weird hot dog.”

The Perry kids lined up in front of the ice cream counter, peering into the freezer.

“I want Tasti D-Lite,” Madison decided. “Poppy and Sugar always order it.”

“They don’t have nonfat ice cream here,” Eliza said patiently. It was one of the reasons the Snowflake was so popular. “And anyway, it’s not really that good for you, sweetie. It has more sugar than regular ice cream so you’ll be hungry again in an hour, plus it doesn’t taste as good!”

Eliza felt bad for the kid. Sugar, Poppy, and Anna, with their fickle, macrobiotic diets, food phobias, and addiction to laxatives, weren’t the best examples of healthy nutrition. Lately Madison had been mimicking their food indulgences—not eating for hours and then gorging herself, which made it even worse. But at least she hadn’t learned the twins’ trick of post-meal excursions to the bathroom to throw up. Not yet, that is.

“Eating healthy is all about moderation,” Eliza said. “Why don’t you have one scoop of butter pecan instead of the whole sundae that you usually do? You’ll feel better and you won’t crave sweets later.”

If there’s one thing Eliza knew about, it was the Zone, the South Beach Diet, Atkins, Sugar Busters, and portion control. Mostly she thought it was a bunch of hooey—
who can give up carbs for good?
—but she’d taken the major tenets to heart years ago.

Once the kids were properly sated, they piled back in the car. Eliza backed out of the lot and wheeled the car to their usual destination.

“Have you ever been to Two Mile Hollow Beach?” Jeremy asked.

“Isn’t that the gay beach?”

“Yeah, but only on the far side. On the other side it’s all families. And it’s great. It’s so empty and doesn’t have the scene of Georgica. We should go there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just take this next right and it’s straight down.”

Just as Jeremy had predicted, Two Mile Hollow Beach was paradise compared to the towel-to-towel congestion of Georgica. Down beyond, Eliza spied groups of handsome gay men arrayed around lavish picnic spreads, complete with champagne and caviar, while several random lesbian couples sunned underneath golf umbrellas.

“This is great!” Eliza said, unzipping her Juicy Couture hoodie and taking off her shorts. She was wearing a sleek black bandeau bikini with boy-cut briefs monogrammed with the letter
E.
She looked like a throwback to one of those Vargas pinup girl calendars, with her long blond hair in a high ponytail with a thick black headband.

“I always come here. It’s the best beach in the Hamptons—it’s so private,” Jeremy said.

The kids seemed to agree. Already William was engrossed in building the largest sand castle he could imagine—he always had to fight for space on the other beach. Madison had taken off her shorts—she was always too self-conscious to be seen in her bathing suit, but since there was no one else around, she didn’t seem to care. Zoë just snuggled next to Eliza, seemingly grateful for the company.

Eliza pulled out a glossy magazine from her tote bag. Zoë had forgotten
Where the Wild Things Are at the ice cream parlor
, but Eliza was determined get her reading. She flipped through the pages. Maybe the reason Zoë wasn’t learning was because she was reading all those boring books about puppies and flowers and that ilk. Maybe if they gave the kid something more interesting to read . . .

“Here, Zoë, let’s start with this,” Eliza said, finding a promising page. “How to blow his mind in twenty-six ways.” Eliza pointed down the column. It was alphabetical! So educational. “A is for Always Be Ready.”

“Always be ready,” Zoë repeated, her eyes wide at the picture of a woman in the lying on silk sheets.

“For what?” She asked Eliza.

Eliza didn’t quite know how to answer that one. “Hmm . . . let’s try something else?” She asked, paging through to a fashion spread. “Here we go. Packing for a weekend in the country.”

Jeremy, who had been silently appalled the whole time, burst out laughing.

“I dare you to kiss her,” Zoë turned to Jeremy.

Jeremy blushed. “A dare is a dare,” he said solemnly, and brushed Eliza’s cheek with a quick kiss.

Eliza was flattered. She was surprised at how much fun she was having. It was always such a hassle finding parking, getting a space, and making sure no one from her old high school spotted her with the kids. This way she could actually relax. And that kiss wasn’t too bad either. . . .

“What are you doing later?” Jeremy asked. “My friends are having a bonfire in Montauk tonight.”

Just as Eliza was about to ask what time, her cell phone rang with a piercing shrill.

“Sorry—let me just take this,” she said. “Oh, Lindsay, hi! Charlie’s having a party? No, he didn’t tell me. Tonight? Oh my God, I’ve been dying to get in there. Sure, I’m not doing anything! What time should I meet you guys?”

She clicked off, a happy smile on her face.

Jeremy turned away and scowled at the ocean.
Did she really just make other plans right in front of me after I asked her out?

“About tonight . . .,” Eliza said hesitantly. “Something just came up for later. But maybe we can still do dinner or something?”

“Sure.” Jeremy nodded. He wouldn’t normally have said okay, but there was something about Eliza that made guys agree to lots of things they normally wouldn’t.

jacqui is still testing out that brazilian saying

MEANWHILE SOMEWHERE IN BRIDGEHAMPTON WAS A
bed with two lumps underneath. Jacqui and her new boyfriend were spooning, and she was happy to feel the warmth of another person next to her. It was the most comfortable she’d felt in weeks.

“Oh . . . Luca . . .,” Jacqui whispered.

A tousled head shot up. “What did you say?” he asked Jacqui. “What did you call me?”

“
Leo
. . . Leo . . . I said, ‘Oh, Leo,’ ” Jacqui explained, peppering his face with kisses. “I said, ‘Leo . . .
meu amor. . . .
’ ”

Leo settled back down next to her, even though he wasn’t quite sure that Jacqui was thinking about him. Jacqui lay there, thinking of how Leo was a bad idea she couldn’t shake. Jacqui couldn’t help herself. She was the type of girl who always had a boyfriend, and she needed to do something to stop herself from crying all the time, and finding solace in Leo’s skinny arms seemed to do the trick.

After the scene at the polo match Jacqui hadn’t had the heart to continue working. Who could work when your heart was stomped on and thrown to the dogs? Instead she holed up in Leo’s room, watching bad television and raiding the fridge. She had gone back to the Perry house to pick up clothes when she knew Eliza and Mara were out with the kids.

She didn’t want to face them. They had been so nice to her at the match, but she just wanted to be alone, or at least alone in the only way she knew how to be. She knew she was going to get in trouble, but she was in a foreign country, in a place that only meant something to her because of the guy she loved, and somehow everything that she knew was
actually
important—like her job—just . . . faded away. She thought about maybe just getting on the next plane back to Sao Paolo and forgetting all about the Hamptons. She hadn’t even spent any of the money she’d made so far. That morning, she’d looked up ticket prices on Leo’s laptop. But right now, she didn’t even have the energy to leave the shelter of Leo’s bedroom, and she had a feeling that feeling wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.

Anna would probably fire her when she got back, but Jacqui was too far gone to care.

How silly of her to think that anyone could really love her. Their two weeks in São Paolo were nothing but a mirage. What had Eliza said? He was a “player.” Someone who pretended to be in love with her, but he was really only in love with her body. Just
like every other guy on the planet. No one ever got past her looks to bother with the real person inside.

Leo seemed different at first. Yeah, he was always telling her how beautiful she was, but he was also always mentioning how lucky he felt. When she looked at him, she didn’t feel any butterflies, and when he kissed her, she didn’t close her eyes and see fireworks. But she could pretend. She was good at that.

He was sweet. He was a nice guy. And right now, he would have to do.

mara finally orders the right kind of drink

SHE COULD GET USED TO THIS LIFE, MARA THOUGHT AS SHE
sipped on her second frozen star fruit margarita. The cool, sweet, and tart concoction tasted like liquid heaven, and she was getting a nice buzz from the pure agave tequila. Better yet, Ryan had asked her to come with him to the party—as friends of course—it wasn’t a date or anything. But Mara had been flattered enough that she was trying very hard to put the weirdness of that morning behind her.

The two of them shared a prime outdoor table with an ocean view, underneath a heat lamp. Lucky Yap had swished by and took yet another photo of the two of them. By now it was such a common occurrence, Mara knew how to pose to show off her best side.

Ryan explained it was some party for an old friend of his. Whoever it was, he must be really important, Mara decided. Around them assorted glitterati mingled and table-hopped. Mara had already spotted the teenage star of the summer’s hit movie,
the game-winning shortstop of last year’s World Series, and a slew of quasi-famous reality TV stars, from the twenty-something socialites who had shipped themselves off to boot camp to a couple who had met and married on a dating show.

If Megan could see me now, she thought, feeling a little homesick at the memory of her funny older sister, who worked at the local beauty shop and spent her days giving the local clientele her approximation of the latest Hollywood looks. Mara promised herself she would remember every detail so she could tell her sister all about it.

But her mind kept wandering back to the scene in the kitchen. So Ryan had a girlfriend, so what? She kept reminding herself that she had a boyfriend, too.

And so what if Ryan liked redheads? Who didn’t? Mara thought as she unconsciously pulled on her own dark locks. The girl was cute, Mara would give her that. Too cute. She could surf, too. Mara was a flop at athletics. Always the last picked on any team. Cute and could surf. And blessed with a hot little body that filled out her string bikini top. Speak of the devil . . .

“There you are!” the girl said breathlessly, giving Ryan a quick kiss on the lips before she sat down.

Mara tried to curl her lips into a smile, but they wouldn’t obey.

“Hi! I’m Camille!” she said, sticking her hand in Mara’s face.

“Mara.”

Camille leaned forward to whisper something in Ryan’s ear.
The two of them started to laugh, and Mara felt extremely uncomfortable.

“Sorry! We’re being so annoying, aren’t we?” Camille asked. “Being in love is so sick!”

“How did you two meet?” Mara asked. She and Ryan had avoided talking about this—her—until now, but Mara was above all that. At least, she would try to be.

“Oh, I used to work for Ryan!”

“How do you mean?”

“She was, uh, one of the au pairs . . . before you guys came,” Ryan explained, a little apologetically.

“Yeah, getting fired was, like, the best thing that happened to me! I got a job at Bamboo and I’m staying at my friend’s place in North Haven. And now I don’t have to feel guilty about dating the boss’s son!”

Ryan laughed nervously.

“So! Mara, you replaced me!” Camille joked. “How are the kids doing?”

“They’re fine. We take them to Georgica every day,” Mara said.

“GEORGE-i-cuh,” Camille said, batting her eyelashes.

“What did I say?” Mara asked.

“George-EEE-cah.”

“Oh.” Mara couldn’t tell the difference.

“Accent’s on the first syllable, not the second,” Camille explained. “Lots of newcomers do it. Where are you from? New Jersey?”

Mara had been in the Hamptons long enough to know when she was being insulted. She didn’t reply.