The Shore (28 page)

Jodi leaned forward and shouted above the din on the deck around them, “FOUR!”

“One. Two. Three. Four.” Pointing at each of them in turn, Linley said, “Four females.”

“So?” shouted Claire.

“FOUR FEMALES,” Linley enunciated loudly and carefully.

“GOT. IT,” Jodi said. “ONLY YOU CAN’T COUNT. THERE’RE ONLY THREE OF US.” She slammed her glass down and added, “THIRSTY!” Rising, she plunged directly into the melee on the tiny worn area of planking that seemed to be the unofficial dance floor.

The place was called Banger’s, and its main recommendation was that it was within walking distance of their house.

Apparently it was convenient to every other house near the beach, too, Claire thought.

The music crashed to a stop as Linley shouted FOUR again.

No one even looked in their direction.

“So?” Claire repeated.

“We have four females at the house. And only two guys.”

“Two?” asked Claire.

“Dean and Max,” said Linley.

“I’m not sure I like Dean,” said Claire, enunciating way too carefully. “There’s something sneaky about him, don’t you think? Like he’s waiting for something to happen and he wants it to be bad.”

“Don’t we all,” said Linley. “We need Dean. Two guys, four girls. Bad.”

Claire gave up. Apparently, she was the only one who got a weird vibe from Dean. And she wasn’t sure why. Was it because during that whole conversation, his eyes had never ceased moving? What was he looking for?

“Dean and Max,” said Linley again.

“I thought you said you’d let Max know,” Claire reminded Linley.

Linley made a face and waved four fingers vaguely. “What am I going to do? Kick him to the curb? He’s an old, dear friend.”

“Uh-huh,” said Claire, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

Linley leaned forward. Her eyes were shiny, and Claire knew she’d been doing more than the specialty of the house, Banger Slammers. “You know what you need. More drinks. More drugs. More sex.”

“Like you had with Max?” asked Claire, before she could stop herself.

Linley jerked back, actually speechless for a nanosecond. Then she hooted. “Good one, Claire.” She leaned forward again and crooked her finger, beckoning Claire closer. “Here’s a secret,” she said.

Claire leaned forward.

“Max is an old, dear, good friend,” she explained again, solemnly.

Holding position, Claire said, “As in good in bed.”

Leaning forward even more, Linley said, even more solemnly, “He was. All night. Not just quantity, quality. The boy had an appetite, you know?” She ran the pink tip of her tongue along her upper lip.

“Too much information,” Claire said, trying to sound bored rather than shocked.

Jodi returned and claimed the chair.

“Dean’s here,” she reported.

“Everybody’s here,” said Linley, waving at someone in the crowd. “It’s like a big ole reunion. Hey, Kerri Lynn! Hey, Marie! And Micki! Hey, y’all!”

“You are messed up, aren’t you?” said Jodi scornfully. “You’re going all bad Southern belle accent. And you were born and raised in San Francisco, just like me.”

“Southern belle, y’all, honey,” drawled Linley.

“And he said, honey, that they were hiring waiters,” Jodi
went on. “Said we should come in tomorrow. He’d put a word in for us.”

“And the drinks?” Linley asked.

“Oh. I forgot,” Jodi said. She laughed uproariously, then sobered. “I’m not sure I like Dean.”

“That’s what I was trying to—” Claire began.

A waiter interrupted by settling a round of Slammers on the table.

“On the house,” he said, and Claire realized it was Dean. He leaned a little closer. And leered.

Claire burst out laughing.

He smiled, winked, and was gone.

“Nice,” said Jodi, eyeing the drinks. “Okay, maybe he’s not so bad.”

“Cheap,” said Linley.

“Easy,” retorted Jodi.

“Wait. What if these drinks have, like, date rape drugs in them?” Claire said.

“He’s not like that!” Jodi said, shocked.

“He’s like something,” said Claire. “I’m telling you.”

“You’re right,” said Linley, and quick as a snake, she grabbed Claire’s and chugged, then chugged her own.

“Now you’re safe,” she said.

“Asshole,” said Claire. She got up to go in search of another drink. And sober up a little in what she knew would be an endless wait on the bathroom line.

She returned from the bathroom to a sea of people around the table, like shipwreckees clinging to a life raft. Everyone was shouting cheerfully and no one seemed to be listening. Someone bellowed introductions. Claire didn’t bother to listen.

“Syllablitis,” Claire heard Jodi say suddenly.

“What?” Claire asked.

“Big words, use of, when approaching a state of inebriation. In Linley. A sure marker,” said Jodi.

“Indubitably,” said Linley, raising her glass.

“Lots of practice drinking together,” noted Claire.

“Yes. Friends don’t let friends inebriate alone,” Jodi said solemnly. She leaned over. “One time, when Linley was grounded, we went and sat in her father’s new car, right. In the garage. And we were passing this nasty bottle of cheap wine and we heard something, right?”

“Right,” said Claire encouragingly.

“So Linley got scared—”

“Did not!”

“And jumped out of the car and ran around to the trunk and threw the bottle inside and slammed it shut. And locked it.”

“It could’ve happened to anybody,” Linley said.

“Did you get caught?”

“Yes. Because Linley had locked the keys in the trunk.” Jodi rolled her eyes, and then she and Linley started to laugh.

Laughter bubbled up in Claire, too.

Then the band began on the back of the deck, and Claire was dancing and laughing and leaning against the railing and drinking some more, and once doing a definitely dirty grind with one of the guys from the table who clearly wanted to bump and grind without the interference of clothes, and then she was leaning against Jodi watching Linley and it was much, much later than it had been.

So late, it was early again. Except in Massachusetts, where it was . . . what? Dead. Yes, dead.

Sometime during the night, Jodi had switched to diet Coke. At least, that’s what Claire thought it was. She squinted down at her own drink. Was she drinking margaritas?

“I like this place,” she said, speaking with great care.

“Yeah,” said Jodi. She sighed. “And thank God this year is over.”

“Bad?” Claire asked. She decided to use the shortest possible sentences. They seemed easiest.

“Are you kidding? Local college, living at home? I think there’s a law against it, somewhere.” Jodi sucked on her diet soda. “Hated every minute of it, let me tell you.”

“Parents much?” asked Claire. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to say.

But Jodi seemed to understand. “Parent. Mother, with stepfather.”

“Right. Linley. Told me.” Claire tried for sympathetic sounds of one syllable.

“I can’t believe she married him . . . he’s . . . creepy. . . .” Jodi’s voice trailed off. Then she took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m outta there. I’m going to work two jobs this summer, and I’m up for a full scholarship next year at a real art school and . . . it’s going to get better.”

“It will,” agreed Claire. “It is already. Could’ve been a bank for the summer. I mean—in a bank.”

Jodi made a face. “And living at home?”

“And living at home. Parents. My sister has her own place, and my brother is married and working on the family thing.”

“Are they nice?”

“Mm?”

“Your parents. Your family. Nice?” Jodi repeated.

“Uh . . . yeah.” Not something Claire had thought much about.

Jodi sighed. “My mom’s nice, but she’s not what you’d call the independent type.” Another sigh.

“So, you and Linley—both only kids,” Claire said, swerving slightly off subject. “You think that’s one of the reasons you’re friends?”

“Maybe.” Jodi sounded doubtful.

“And Linley and I . . . hey! Our parents are still married to each other,” Claire said. “We have that in common.”

“I guess.” Jodi gave Claire an odd look. “But I think the reason Linley and I got to be friends is she was the only person I met at our stupid high school who was willing to do
anything. I mean, she is totally fearless. Without fear. The first time we surfed together, I knew we were solid.”

“Right,” agreed Claire. She thought a little longer. “And Max. About Max?”

“Max is the ex-love of Linley’s life. Old story,” Jodi said flatly.

“’s cute,” Claire slurred.

“Color me overcautious,” Jodi’s tone remained flat. “But I wouldn’t look in that direction. He may be history, but I’ve got a feeling he’s still not in her past.”

“Right,” Claire said. “Well. Anyway, thanks to Linley—no bank.”

“Thanks to Linley,” Jodi said. “Yes. Linley makes things happen. But . . .”

“But ...?”

“But wait for the end of the summer before you thank her for it.” Jodi flicked the rest of her soda over the deck railing. “I know some people who’ll give us a ride,” she announced. “Let’s go.”

“What about Linley?” Claire asked.

“Linley,” said Jodi, “can find her own way home.”

Five

“You’re twenty-one?” asked the burly guy with the round baby blue eyes behind the counter. He’d introduced himself as Joseph, and Claire was discovering that the ferocious scowl was probably an illusion caused by thick, jutting eyebrows that almost met over the bridge of what looked like a once-broken nose. He wiped the same place in the counter over and over again with a rag that might have also been used for oil changes. Claire couldn’t be sure.

“Twenty-two,” corrected Claire, following Linley’s rule that if you’re going to lie, lie big.

He looked at her a moment, his blue eyes blank.

She wondered if the massive hangover from the all-nighter at Banger’s made her look older, or just skeezy. She was grateful for the interior gloom. It cut down on the wince factor.

“I.D.?”

It was a phony I.D., but since it was from Massachusetts, she figured he might not spot it. She flipped open her wallet.

His eyes flicked over the license.

“No experience.” His eyes flicked across Claire: chest, face, chest. Then he made a pretense of studying the employment application that she had filled in.

“None,” said Claire. In so many ways.

“Well, you could add some class to the joint. You don’t need to be no rocket scientist.” That made him laugh. “Start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s fine,” Claire said primly.

“Good,” he said. “Be here by ten a.m. You’ll start with lunches. We’re sandwiches and beer; lunches are our bread and butter.” That made him laugh again. He pulled open a drawer, folded the application, and crammed it in. “Jan—she’s who you’ll be working with most—can show you the ropes.” From another drawer he withdrew a T-shirt emblazoned with the name of the place. “Your uniform. Wear it with a skirt. A short skirt.”

The shirt looked small. Very small. The words stacked snack shack spread across the chest. It did not in any way fit Claire’s definition of class, but who was she to argue?

“Great,” she said. “Uh, why ‘Stacked Snack Shack’?”

“Sandwiches,” uttered Joseph, as if this made all things plain.

Claire shook her head.

He elaborated. “What’s a sandwich? A stacked item. A piled-up meal. A stacked snack? Get it? I didn’t just want to call
this the Sandwich Shack. I mean, it says it all, but it doesn’t say it memorably, y’know?”

“Oh. Right.”

Joseph bared his teeth in a terrifying way that Claire was pretty sure was a friendly smile. “So Stacked Snack Shack. Has an edge, y’see?”

“Definitely. It’s . . . it’s brilliant.”

More of the large, terrifying teeth were exposed. “Yeah, thanks. I’m good with words, y’know?”

“Clearly. Well, see you tomorrow.”

“Right,” Joseph said.

She had a summer job. And it was most definitely not in her father’s bank.

And not, a small voice in her mind pointed out, at Banger’s, either. She might have to share a house with Dean, but she didn’t have to see him on the job, too.

But she was definitely sharing a house with him. He was the first person she met when she got home, stretched out on a deck chair wearing a banana hammock bathing suit and dark glasses, a forgotten joint in one hand sending up a last curl of sweet dying smoke.

Claire stopped.

“Welcome home,” he said.

“You’re here,” she said.

“All moved in,” he agreed.

“So I see,” she retorted.

“Please don’t tell me you’re a drug-free house,” he said. “I join the rest of the world in looking down on those who view drugs as more than purely recreational, but you have to admit the right pharmaceutical choice can add so much to the moment.”

The ironic flow of words made Claire blink.

He looked around, picked up the joint, toked it back to life, and extended it to Claire. “Care to join me in the moment?”

“No thanks,” she said. “And we have a no-smoking-in-the-house rule. From Linley’s uncle.”

Exhaling lazily, Dean said, “Yes, ma’am. I do like a woman who likes to be on top . . . of things.”

“Linley or Jodi around?” asked Claire.

“Out on the job trail,” he said. “At this very moment, they are, I believe, talking to the pathetic control freak who runs the business end of Banger’s.”

“Banger?”

“No, sadly. Darling Banger is the whipped slave of the vile Vickie. He’s the sweetness-and-light front man, she’s the penny-pinching numbers whore lurking in the caves of avarice—in the back, fortunately for business. And fortunately, after the initial interview, you work mainly with Banger. Except to run a sharp eye over the paycheck, because she will short you, even if it’s only pennies. She makes cheap look like an all-night spending binge.”

“Nice,” said Claire, turning to go in the house.

“And Poppy is, of course, at her gallery. Art is life, you know,” he said.

“I thought life imitated art,” said Claire, in spite of herself.

“Ah, you know Wilde. Good for you,” Dean said, flashing a smile. His teeth were just as terrifying as Joseph’s, but in a different way. Joseph really was smiling, after all. Dean looked as if he were preparing to take a sample bite.