The au pairs skinny-dipping (3 page)

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bottles moving, at least two per hour, 'cause that's what's going to pay the overhead."

"Remember, you've got to dress sexy, look sexy, feel sexy, you know?" Kartik grinned. "Here's a piece of advice: The shorter the skirt, the better the tips. I'm talking crotch-length, babe," he said, making a cutting motion with his hand across his thigh to demonstrate.

Alan reached out to grab her elbow, making Eliza recoil. "Whatever you do, never, never, never, ever, ever,
ever
let anybody in if they're not on the list. The list is God. It could be my mother out there, but if she's not on the list, tough luck, Ma, no list, no entry. Unless it's a celeb, but that goes without saying. I'm frigging serious. The only way we can keep the place hot is if absolutely no one can get in."

A model in a baby T-shirt and ripped jeans slunk out of the bathroom and plopped herself on the armrest of Alan's chair. "Baby, I'm hungry," she pouted. Eliza recognized her from a recent Victoria's Secret commercial. She'd been wearing a lace teddy and three-foot-long angel wings. The ad always irritated Eliza---what kind of lame sexual fantasy involved underwear and hokey feather-covered appendages?

"Get the chef to make you something," Alan said irritably.

"I love your necklace," the model said in a thick accent, flicking her eyes at Eliza.

Eliza nodded. "Thanks." She fiddled with the leather string Ryan had given her in Palm Beach, feeling a pang of anxiety.

22

"What do you think? You up for it?" Kartik asked. "The best summer of your life?"

Eliza smiled, thinking she'd heard that line before. "When do I start?" she asked, elated that she'd landed the job so easily. She would be back on the A-list as fast as you could say, "By invitation only."

"Saturday," Alan and Kartik replied in unison.

"In two days?" Eliza blanched, looking around. Hello, the walls were still exposed Sheetrock, weren't they?

"Relax. It's only a soft opening, for a premiere party. You know that new movie that's an update of
Gone with the Wind
with Jennifer Love Hewitt and Chad Michael Murray? Favor for a friend of ours. You know Mitzi Goober?" Kartik asked.

Eliza nodded. Mitzi was only the most feared publicist in the tristate area.

At twenty-seven Mitzi had achieved immortality by landing on the cover of
New York
magazine as a "party grrrrl." Two years ago she'd spent a month in jail after her teacup Chihuahua attacked an unsuspecting waitress's fur-trimmed uniform vest, landing the waitress in the hospital and Mitzi on the cover of the tabloids. It was widely reported that Mitzi had laughed off the incident and called the waitress a "fashion victim," setting off a class war that resulted in aggressive and diminutive canines being banned from certain Hamptons eateries. But now she was back, a bestselling prison memoir under her belt, and more popular than ever. It was the Paris Hilton effect--there was no such thing as bad publicity in the Hamptons.

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"But..." Eliza wordlessly motioned to the surrounding mess. It was hard to believe that in less than forty-eight hours the place would be turned into something resembling a decent watering hole.

"They'll be done by then, I promise you. By the way, how old are you?"

"I just turned seventeen . . ." she said tentatively, wondering if she should have lied.

Kartik waved a hand dismissively. "You're not bartending, so its cool.

Eliza realized she didn't know what exactly she would be doing, or even how much she would be making. It seemed a little rude to ask, especially since the interview was obviously over. She figured they would straighten out those details later.

"You guys fans of Dante?" she asked, on her way out the door.

"Huh?" Kartik looked at her blankly. Alan was already nuzzling the underage panty model, his hands disappearing up the back of her shirt.

"The club. Seventh Circle. It's about the seventh circle of hell, right?" she asked, wondering if she sounded like an idiot, because that was how her new boss was looking at her. She remembered from English class that in Dante's
Inferno,
the seventh circle of hell was where Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, and a bunch of other boldface names in history had ended up, due to sins of violence and pride.

24

"Sure, whatever." He shrugged. "Dante's cool. He's that new DJ from Paris, right?"

Eliza made a note that being literate was something that her new job--whatever it was--would not entail. Just wear the short skirt and keep the celebrities happy. She could do that.

25

is there such a thing as an accidental lap dance?

"I'M MARA, BY THE WAY," MARA SAID TO THE DARK-HAIRED

boy who was uncorking a champagne bottle. She wondered why he was paying so much attention to her--there were several girls on board who made their living off their cheekbones, and yet he'd barely looked at them. The two of them were sitting opposite each other in cushy caramel leather wing chairs in a cozy alcove behind the cockpit.

"I know who you are," he said smoothly. "You work for the Perrys, right? I'm Garrett Reynolds," he introduced himself, offering a hand. Mara had already put two and two together. It was his parents' jet. They were
that
Reynolds family. The one
Forbes
magazine had just minted America's newest billionaires. His father, Ezra Reynolds, was responsible for littering the Manhattan skyline with
R
logos on all of his buildings.

Garrett pulled down a cantilevered metal table hidden in a side panel and began placing champagne glasses in two rows on top of it, taking the glasses out of an adjoining cabinet. The flight

26

attendants secured the doors and the plane began to roll down the runway. Mara noticed there was no standard spiel concerning safety procedures, the nearest exits, or about using one's seat cushion as a floatation device (although she bet mink didn't float). She and Garrett were two of the few people even sitting down.

"It looks pretty bad out there," Mara noted, as the storm rattled the plane.

"We're only a half-point over the minimums to fly," Garrett agreed, explaining that unlike commercial airlines, which were legally required to adhere to FAA regulations that restricted flying under certain weather conditions--like, say, the violent downpour they were caught in--private jets had no such limitations. As long as wind velocity met a minimum standard, they were good to go. "But apparently Mother has a hair appointment she can't miss." Garrett smirked.

Mara didn't know if he was kidding or not. That Chelsea Reynolds would risk death for a blowout was totally plausible, considering everything Mara knew about the Hamptons high life.

"Brace yourself," Garrett warned, cupping the magnum of champagne under his chin.

The plane took off like a bumper car on a trampoline, and Mara heard the crowd shriek with laughter as they bounced around like pin balls. Miraculously, none of the glassware on their table moved an inch.

"Magnetized bottoms." Garrett smiled, pouring champagne into each flute as the plane zigzagged off the ground.

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Mara gripped her armrest worriedly, but Garrett seemed completely oblivious to the booming thunder and taut drumbeat of the raindrops against the windowpanes.

"Is it always this, uh, bouncy?" Mara asked, trying desperately to keep her balance on her seat as the plane hit a sharp air pocket. If there was a seat belt, she couldn't find it.

"Smaller planes take the bumps harder on takeoff, although this weather certainly doesn't help," he mused. "This is nothing compared to landing," he added.

When all the champagne flutes were filled to the brim with bubbly, Garrett looked up at her expectantly. Mara couldn't help but be reminded of the way her cat Stinky always stared at Blue, her sister's parakeet.

"There's an old saying in the West..." Garrett drawled, leaning forward and staring into her eyes intently.

Mara smirked. So that explained why he'd chosen her. It was all a game called Let's Get the New Girl Drunk. Did he really think she would be such an easy mark? In Sturbridge, they'd used beer mugs instead of champagne flutes, but she was sure the rules were the same.

"In Texas, it's always high noon," Mara replied somberly, gratified when Garrett nodded admiringly at her recognition of the game's ritual introduction.

"And at high noon, we ...
drawl"
Garrett exclaimed, reaching for his first flute.

Mara lunged for hers. She opened her throat and poured the sharp, crisp liquid inside.

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"Draw again!" Garrett exclaimed gleefully when he'd emptied his glass before she was even halfway through hers.

Mara slammed her flute down, surprised she'd been beaten, and promptly reached for another. She won the next round, barely, but Garrett beat her on every other, until each glass on her side was empty. Damn, this guy was slick. In Sturbridge, Mara had wiped the floor with many a competitor, putting even the most funnel-happy football player to shame. Her ex-boyfriend Jim had taught her that the trick was not to breathe.

"Impressive," she commended him.

"Thank you," Garrett smiled. "You're not so bad yourself."

Mara relaxed against her seat, momentarily forgetting her nervousness about the turbulence, when a particularly sharp jolt threw her completely out of her chair and onto his lap.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, scrambling to get her balance.

"No need to apologize," Garrett replied breezily, helping Mara steady herself against him when the plane bounced sharply again. She clung to him, bouncing up and down against his lap.

"So you're that kind of girl," Garrett joked, making her blush. He was obnoxious, but somehow charming all the same. She couldn't help but notice how tightly he was holding her.

"You're driving me crazy," he growled, half-mockingly, but with a flirtatious edge. "Why don't you have dinner with me this weekend? That way, we can actually get to know each other instead of just fooling around like this."

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"I can't." She shook her head. "I have to work, I'm sorry." She wondered what Ryan would think if he saw her now, sitting on some other boy's lap.

"I'm making the reservation anyway." He shrugged. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

A few minutes later, the plane stopped shaking and the pilot announced that they were above the storm clouds and had settled into a stable cruising altitude. Garrett helped Mara to her seat, bowing and kissing her hand in a gentlemanly fashion. She exhaled a sigh of relief when he excused himself to attend to his other guests. He was suave all right, but she had a feeling Garrett Reynolds always got--or bought--what he wanted, and Mara was definitely not for sale.

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in girl-talk,

"you look great!"

means 7m so happy to see you"

INSIDE SCOOP, JACQUI TREATED THE DRESSING ROOM
as a revolving door, posing in each skimpy bathing suit in rapid succession, discarding those that were too tight across the chest and too small in back. (She'd gotten in trouble for her thongs on Georgica Beach last year, and she didn't want to get hauled in again for violating the "morality" laws that kept the Hamptons beaches safe from the sight of exposed rear ends.) When Eliza found her, she was wearing a bandeau top and checking out the crucial crack-covering ability of a minuscule suit bottom by performing a series of squats in front of the three-way mirror (to the obvious consternation of an envious row of shoppers).

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" Eliza joked, as Jacqui performed deep knee bends in the tiny half-moon piece of fabric.

'"Liza!" Jacqui said happily, standing up for a hug. They embraced each other warmly, Eliza's stack of gold bangle bracelets clanking against Jacqui's bare shoulders.

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"Look at you!" Eliza said, pulling Jacqui's arms out and admiring how her friend filled out the Gaultier bikini.

"No,
chica,
look at you!" Jacqui squealed. The two of them clucked and cooed in the fawning, joyful way that girls greet each other, effusively complimenting each other on their hair, their shoes, their weight loss (real or imagined).

"I didn't see you at the Jitney stop and figured you'd be here," Eliza explained. "I'm sorry I'm late. The interview took a while."

"How did it go?" Jacqui asked, disappearing into the dressing room to change.

"Awesome! I got the job!" Eliza said, admiring a canvas Kate Spade tote.

"Hooray!" Jacqui cheered, emerging in a bohemian-style empire-waist dress and high-heeled Gucci clogs. "Do you take AmEx?" she asked the salesgirl, handing her the bikini.

"Can I take a quick peek around before we get Mara?" Eliza asked, critically examining a crocheted poncho while Jacqui paid for her new purchase.

"I think her plane gets in right now, so no."

"All riiiiight," Eliza said, looking longingly at the brightly colored Matthew Williamson sarongs. "We'll come back."

"So, how've you been?" Jacqui asked, when they were in Eliza's car on the way to the East Hampton airport. They rolled down all the windows to let in the fresh ocean breeze, even though Eliza had the AC cranking. The girls hadn't seen each other since Palm Beach, where they'd shopped on Worth Avenue and hung