Hearse and Gardens (13 page)

I would have been down in the dumps from not seeing Gordon Miles, but I had the Barker party on the horizon and only a few hours before I had to get ready. I made an impromptu decision to get my nails done. What little nails were left after staining, sanding, and painting. When I worked at
American Home and Garden
magazine, I had a nail technician come to my office every Friday afternoon. A gift from my ex, who was also my boss. He also got his nails buffed on a weekly basis and the space between his eyebrows waxed. Oh, what I could have done with that info on social media.

My father had called and I'd told him about the fish-gut episode. After he stopped laughing, he told me no more late-night walks on the beach. I hadn't informed him about the strangled gull, the face in the window, or the menacing
white van because I knew he'd have Doc sleeping on my sofa—
tout de suite
.

I called a Yellow Fin taxi to take me to the party, in case I had more than my usual single glass of wine. If things went well with Byron, he could bring me home.

*   *   *

At eight o'clock sharp, my taxi pulled behind an early-model silver Jaguar stopped at the gates of the Barker estate in East Hampton. A guard stood in front of the gates and seemed to be in a heated discussion with the occupant of the Jaguar. I was able to read the guard's lips when he told the driver they couldn't come inside unless they had an invitation. I rolled down my window, just as a woman stepped from the car.

She jabbed her finger in the guard's chest. “I forgot my invitation. Just ask Mrs. Barker. She'll let me in.

I recognized the irritating voice.

The guard said, “That would be hard to do seeing she died last spring.” He put his hand on his hip where there was a holster, but it held a baton not a gun. “Get a move on, we're getting backed up.”

Tara Gayle turned to look at the long line of cars stopped on the lane.

I couldn't help myself. I got out of the taxi. “Is there a problem? We have quite a backup forming. My date is waiting inside.”

Tara looked at me. “You! What on earth are
you
doing here?”

“The same thing you're attempting to do, with one
distinction—I have an invitation.” I waved it in front of her. For a moment, I thought she was going to swipe it away with her scarlet nails.

People behind us were getting out of their cars to see what the holdup was.

The guard half shoved Tara back in her car. “Back it up, lady.”

I couldn't contain my huge grin. “Wish I could bring you as my plus one, but Byron Hughes has taken that slot.”

In her gravelly smoker's voice, she said, “You just wait. You interior designer fraud. Let's see what happens when we finish at the Crandles'. When they compare my decorating panache to your schlocky garbage décor, you'll be lucky if people hire you in Harlem. I'll make sure of it.”

I didn't respond. Plus, Harlem was an up-and-coming neighborhood with gorgeous prewar buildings. I just patted the hood of her car. “Better get a move on or the photographer from
Dave's Hamptons
will be adding a few candids for their Naughty-Not-Nice column. Then we'll see who the Crandles prefer.”

Tara closed her window. The guard had my taxi and the car behind pull off to the side so Tara could back up. She burnt rubber, just missing my toes. In the scheme of things, it was almost worth losing one or two. Good riddance.

I got back in the taxi and Bud Stevens, my taxi driver, pulled through the gates. Bud also worked the Montauk ticket office for the Long Island Railroad. Most year-rounders carried two jobs to keep afloat until tourist season. When he stopped to let me out, I gave him a generous tip.

The ocean was at the back of the mansion, but it was too dark to see anything as I walked along the torch-lit path.
Boxwood topiaries were trimmed to resemble reels of film. Was that Byron's doing? It was a little brisk, but propane heaters were spaced evenly along the way to keep people from feeling the cold. A huge white tent had been set up on the side of the estate. Music filtered out across the expansive lawn. And yes, there was a red carpet under the long awning at the entrance to the tent.

On my way inside, I rubbed elbows with last year's Best Supporting Actor winner—either that or his stunt double.

Byron and I were supposed to meet at the bar. I pushed through the crowd, breathing in the perfumed air, the perfect blend of male/female, rich/famous with a touch of earthiness. It wasn't hard to find Byron. It was almost as if a light engineer had strategically aimed a spotlight on him. He was dressed casually elegant, no doubt a pro about what to wear to a Hamptons event. When I'd gotten back from getting my nails done, I'd spent another hour looking for my missing top to no avail. I'd thought Jo was helping me until I realized it was five minutes to five. Chow time. A basic white crewneck T-shirt had been my only choice. I still felt appropriately dressed, thanks in large part to Elle's cashmere cape and Hèrmes bag. I would never put down her vintage obsession again.

When I finally reached Byron, I was sweating from the cashmere, but not about to take it off.

“Meg, you look stunning.” He put his glass on the bar, took my wrist, and directed me to an area with fewer bodies.

“Thank you. You don't look too bad, yourself.”

“Are you a film buff?” he asked.

“Yes. I love this time of year. There aren't many indie films around the rest of the year. You?”

“I enjoy all genres of movies. Mysteries and thrillers are my favorites.” He reached over and removed a piece of hair stuck to my lip gloss and tucked it behind my ear. When he saw my hearing aid, he only hesitated for a second. “Come, I have a surprise for you.” He still held my wrist, and I worried he'd think I was having tachycardia because of the frenetic beating of my pulse.

He took me to the corner of the tent where there was a doorway that opened to a small room. Against the back wall was a floor-to-ceiling banner that read,
HAMPTONS INTERNATION
AL FILM FESTIVAL
. In front of the banner was my, and the rest of the world's, favorite iconic actress. Her blonde hair and smiley eyes were lustrous. She had the group of photographers and interviewers laughing at her shtick, her arms and legs swinging in some kind of parody. And she was indeed standing on a red carpet. Byron showed the guard at the door the plastic badge hanging from his neck. I was so starstruck, Byron had to push me inside. I wasn't worthy. This was heaven in the Hamptons. My jaw dropped and my favorite actor took his place in front of the banner. I wondered if Elle would mind if I had both stars autograph her Hèrmes bag.

Byron looked at me and smiled. I must have looked like a geek in an Apple computer store. “How about we get something to eat? The food last year was amazing.”

And that was the last time we were alone.

I can't exactly say I became a wallflower, but I was definitely an extra in this movie and Byron the lead. He always tried to include me in the conversation, but with the noise level, I had a hard time hearing. And after my second glass of champagne, I was having trouble reading lips.

The party didn't seem to be breaking up anytime soon and there wasn't any available seating, so I continued to stand behind Byron, like one of his fawning entourage.

Another glass of bubbly, and this Cinderella might turn into her Detroit middle-class self. I'd been known to sing Motown or Madonna tunes at the drop of the hat.

Byron had a definite fan club. Of course, most of his fans were women. I'd been trying unsuccessfully to get his attention, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

At first I didn't recognize her. Her eyes were lined in black liner so thick, each line was the same width as her eyeball. Her outfit was definitely homemade. It fit her well but was too mature a silhouette for such a young thing. Maybe I was jealous because her top was low-cut, similar to my missing one from Chateau Couture.

Kate said, “Hey there. I'm surprised you're here.”

I would've never taken Kate as a snob. “Um, yes. I was invited.”

“No, I mean because of Elle.”

“What? What about Elle?”

“She had an accident at Sandringham.”

My heart dropped into my boots. “What kind of accident?”

“She fell down the stairs. But she's okay. Stepdaddy's nurse took care of her. Just a sprained ankle and a chipped tooth.”

“I have to go to her. Is she home in Sag Harbor?”

Kate waved hello to one of the TV twins from Pierce's wake. “No, she's staying at Sandringham. Stepdaddy insisted.” She took a step away. “Uh-oh, Mommie Dearest is looking for me. Time to scoot.”

I drained my glass and stepped outside to call Elle's cell phone.

She sounded fine, just a little loopy, but assured me not to come over to the estate until the morning. Uncle Harry's doctor was going to stop by with a portable X-ray machine. Wow, must be nice to have money. After I hung up, I called a taxi.

When I finally made my way to where I'd left Byron, he was talking to Nathan Morrison, the Falkses' neighbor. Nathan cleaned up nicely. His dark hair was slicked back and he wore a black T-shirt under a leather jacket, tight jeans, and boots.

Byron introduced us and I told him we'd already met. I listened as Byron talked to him about the project the town had given him in connection to the property that used to be in Nathan's family.

Nathan said to Byron, “Stop by the gatehouse, anytime.”

“That would be great. I want to do something special above where the foundation for the old house was. Maybe a folly or gazebo.”

Quell my beating heart. This guy was a keeper.

Nathan left us and headed for the exit. I felt sorry for the guy. The twenty-year-old scandal of Pierce and Helen's disappearance with the Warhol couldn't compare to today's headlines and the thought he'd been married to a killer.

Richard was standing at the bar. How'd he get an invite? Of course, Celia. I saw Kate approach Richard. She placed her hand on his sleeve and I read his lips as he praised her for the design of her dress. Then he pulled Kate close and whispered in her ear. Kate took out her cell phone and
showed Richard something on the screen then he kissed her on the forehead. What was going on with those two? Did Mommie Dearest know about it?

Another gaggle of female admirers came up to shower compliments on Byron's landscape genius. A waiter offered me a raw oyster swimming in mignonette sauce, red wine vinegar, and shallots. Not that I needed an aphrodisiac, standing next to Byron. My father had imparted his knowledge on the proper way of eating an oyster by saying there wasn't a proper way. Although, he did say if you chewed it twice before swallowing, you'd get the full ocean flavor. I turned to take a croquette of something filled with truffles and cheese, and saw Celia heading in our direction.

I grabbed Byron's arm. “I think I'm going to have to say good night. A friend had an accident and I have to make sure she's okay.” A small white lie. Elle had told me to come to Sandringham in the morning, but I was at my drinking limit and my new boots were killing me. When I took them off, my big toes would probably come to perfect points.

Celia stopped a hundred feet ahead of us to chat with a woman wearing a sari. In the corners of Celia's mouth were little black caviar eggs. Her Chanel No. 5 wafted over to where I was standing. Then, to top things off, Michael, my ex-fiancé, and his ex-wife, Paige, stood a few feet behind Celia. It looked like Paige had spotted me. Only I should have known it was Byron she'd zeroed in on.

When they reached us, Paige said, “Byron, dahhrrling, where have you been keeping yourself? I just want to tell you Windy Willows was the picture of perfection this past season. Even Daddy noticed, and he doesn't notice
anything.” Paige Whitney's father was the founder and head of Whitney Publications.
American Home and Garden
, where I'd once been an editor, was only one of their magazines. I'd heard from Elle that Whitney's circulation was in a downslide because they were one of the last companies to hop on the Internet bandwagon. Old-fashioned and stuffy—what Michael aspired to. I couldn't help but notice a ring with a diamond the size of an ice cube on Paige's finger. Paige looked at me. “Oh, it's you.”

“Yes. It's me.”

As usual, Michael remained silent. He kept glancing at Byron's jacket—probably dying to ask where he bought it.

Paige walked next to me and said in a superloud voice, “I told Michael I didn't have a problem inviting you to the wedding. It's going to be in the city, in the exact spot we first met.”

A massage parlor?

She walked closer to Byron and cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered something. I knew what that something was.

“He knows I have a hearing loss. No need to broadcast it, Paige. Oh look, isn't that actress your double? You could be sisters.” I pointed to a popular character actress who had an interesting, although well-worn face.