Beach Lane (12 page)

“I forgot to tell you guys—Anna said we get to take the kids to the polo match next week,” Jacqui said. “She left instructions on how to get in the VIP tents.”

At the mention of “VIP,” Eliza’s ears pricked up. “No way—you guys got a box this year?” she yelled to Ryan.

Ryan nodded from the deep end.

“Oh my God! But I have nothing to wear!” Eliza shrieked, sitting up and accidentally flashing the gardener in her excitement. “Oops,” she said, pulling her straps up and retying her top.

The shears tumbled to the ground.

Eliza blushed but resumed her poise.

“What’s the big deal about a polo match?” Mara asked.

“It’s the Mercedes-Benz Polo Match Championship,” Eliza said, in the tone of, “It’s the Presidential Inauguration.” “Everyone will be there. It’s like a really important weekend.”

“Is just game,
sí?
” Jacqui asked, shrugging. Polo. Horses. Mallets. Big deal. Give her the World Cup any day.

Eliza shook her head. You couldn’t really
explain
the Hamptons social scene—you either had it or you didn’t, and you either got it or you didn’t. And sadly, Jacqui and Mara just didn’t have it
or
get it. They didn’t even realize how lucky they were to be in East Hampton—they could have been stuck in Montauk, for heaven’s sake.

“It’s not about the game. Nobody really cares who wins. It’s about the champagne in the tents. And between the third and fourth chukker everyone goes out to stomp on the divots! It’s, like, tradition. Stephanie Seymour always comes out in five-inch heels that sink into the mud! One year Prince Harry rode with one of the teams.” Eliza caught her breath, remembering how much fun she had last summer.

“Anyway, everyone gets really dressed up. But casual. Kind of like LA.” She fretted, “But I don’t have anything new. I need to go shopping.” Eliza was itching to spend some of her hard-earned money.

After the canceled progress meeting, the girls were given a handwritten note from Anna and three envelopes stuffed with cash ($3,334 exactly).
Thanks for all the hard work. So sorry we couldn’t meet today. Giorgio couldn’t reschedule my appointment. Try not to spend it all in one place. XOXO, Anna,
read the thick embossed card.

“Mim demasiado,”
Jacqui chimed. “At Daslu, I always had new outfit every week. I saw this great dress from Gucci with a snake belt in
Vogue.
It would look perfect with my new Alain Tondowski slides.”

They both looked so bummed, Mara almost laughed at them. “Hey, if you guys want to go shopping, I can stay here and watch the kids.”

“Are you sure?” Eliza yelped.

“Fantastico!”
Jacqui exclaimed. The two began gathering their
towels and beach bags, delighted at this unexpected turn of events.

“You guys taking off?” Ryan asked, pulling himself out of the pool, dripping fat drops of water on the limestone.

“Just them,” Mara replied. “They wanted to go shopping, so I offered to stay with the kids.”

“You should go, too. I’ll watch ’em,” Ryan offered.

Mara was floored. “Seriously?” she asked. Shopping did sound tempting—and she was feeling kind of frumpy around those two fashion butterflies. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little something—maybe a new skirt or a pair of those big sunglasses with the
G
s on the side that everyone seemed to own. Plus she could probably stop by the bank while she was in town to make a deposit.

“Yeah, Mar, c’mon, leave them with him. He’s got nothing to do all day,” Eliza said, giddy at the prospect of an afternoon of her favorite pastime. So giddy that she almost liked the idea of Mara coming along.

“Oh, okay. All right, but we’ll be back in, like, fifteen minutes,” Mara promised.

Fifteen minutes? Eliza and Jacqui eyed each other. Obviously Mara had never been shopping with girls like them before.

main street, east hampton: that’s why they invented credit cards

THE GIRLS LINGERED OVER SARIS AND “SUMMER
weight” satins at Calypso, where Jacqui picked up another Eres bikini to add to the fifteen
tangas
she had already brought with her, then they hightailed it to Tracey Feith to take a look at the new sundresses, passing by Steven Stolman because Eliza wanted to check if the rainbow-colored Jelly Kellys were in. Sadly, they weren’t: they were on wait list and out of stock. At Jimmy’s the selection of beaded corset gowns took their breath away.

Next stop: Scoop on the Beach.

“This is my
favorite!
” Eliza said, walking by the racks of terry cloth Juicy tube dresses, pastel-colored Marc Jacobs camisoles and tanks, rows of candy-colored cotton minis, and shelves of James Perse baby T-shirts and shrunken Joie hooded sweaters—the unofficial Hamptons uniform.

The store was filled with emaciated twenty- and thirty-year-old women trying on Petit Bateau T-shirts (made for French toddlers). Dueling mother and daughter tag teams abounded. Mara
noticed two distinct breeds—mothers who dressed younger than their daughters in Von Dutch tank tops and terry cloth sweatpants while their daughters wore vintage Chanel jackets, and mothers who dressed exactly like their daughters, both generations in sleeveless black Lacoste dresses and espadrilles.

“Can I help you?” Asked a bubbly salesgirl, about their age, in a T-shirt that read JUICY across the chest. “Looking for something in particular?” she asked Mara, who looked a bit hesitant, while Eliza and Jacqui went through the racks with feverish passion.

Mara shrugged. “Not really.”

“Just let me know if I can help you in any way!” the salesgirl chirped, and left Mara alone to wait on more savvy customers.

Mara noticed most of the shoppers clustered around several tables stacked with folded jeans and decided to follow their lead. There were blue jeans, dark blue jeans, pin-striped jeans, colored jeans, and “dirty” jeans. Bell-bottom. Low rise. Super–low rise. Flared. Slim. Boot leg. Jeans with cargo pockets in the front, on the butt, or on the thigh. There were so many permutations of infinitesimal difference. Yet everyone around Mara was discussing which ones they already owned and which ones they still had to buy. Mara turned over a price tag. $175! For a pair of blue jeans that didn’t look too different from her own trusty Levi’s.

“Mom, what do you think?” a sylph of a girl asked, walking out of the dressing room wearing a nude chiffon slip dress with a plunging neckline.

Her mother, a knockout with toned Linda Hamilton arms and a taut midriff, shook her head. “Don’t you think it’s a little too much for someone your age?” she asked.

“I’m twelve!” her daughter argued.

A thirty-year-old woman walked out of her dressing room wearing the same exact dress. She looked at the teenager and sighed. “I would kill to have your waist.”

* * *

The energetic salesclerk helped Jacqui and Eliza as they both disappeared into the dressing rooms underneath a humungous pile of clothing. Mara hung behind, her eyes widening at the prices. She found a cute bandanna-printed sleeveless blouse but immediately put it back when she saw how much it cost. $250! For a cotton top? Was there nothing in the store under fifty bucks? Yup—a pile of cotton belts in a bucket by the door. Eliza emerged from the wooden shutter doors in a slinky bias-cut Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress.

“Omigod, that is totally adorbs on you! Reese bought the same one yesterday,” the salesgirl gushed. Dropping a celebrity name was just the thing to ensure a quick sale; even Mara knew that.

“You don’t say?” Eliza asked. “I’ll take it!”

The salesgirl grinned. Mara knew that smile: it said
sucker,
but Eliza was too pleased with her new dress to notice.

“Find anything?” Eliza asked Mara as she tugged at the under-fifty-dollar belt and critically ascertained her figure in the mirror.

“No, uh, I’ll just wait for you guys. Maybe I should get back,” Mara said.

“What are you talking about!” Eliza said, marching over. She pulled out a body-hugging red strapless Shoshanna dress that came with a pair of matching red lace underwear. “Try this on. With your dark hair, this is going to look perfect on you!”

“I don’t know . . .,” Mara said.

The mother and daughter who were arguing about the sexy chiffon dress walked up to the register. “Get out of my way, Mom, I’m getting it,” the daughter said, holding the hanger and brandishing her Visa card. “It’s perfect for Tiffany’s bat mitzvah!”

Her mother sighed and gave Mara a look that said:
Kids, what can you do?

Mara didn’t return a sympathetic glance. She wasn’t sure she approved of twelve-year-olds in lingerie chic, but she was from Sturbridge, so what did she know. She had already spotted girls Zoë’s age wearing Porn Star T-shirts on the beach.

Jacqui walked out of her dressing room in a mini Polo shirt and the briefest striped denim shorts. “What do you guys think?”

“That is to die!” Eliza screeched. “Those look insane on you. Jac, don’t you think Mara should try this on?” Eliza asked, holding up the dress.

“Is
perfecto.
You must. We insist,” Jacqui agreed. The two of them pushed Mara into a dressing room.

“Oh, all right, but just for fun,” Mara said. Jeez, it was so tight, how did anyone get their hips into this thing? She zipped
it up in the back and looked behind her at the mirror. It barely covered her butt! So that was what the matching underwear was for.

“Hey, guys, what do you think?” she asked, stepping gingerly out of the dressing room.

“Muy bonito,”
Jacqui pronounced.

“What did I tell you?” Eliza asked. “But you need shoes. Sorry, but those Reeboks aren’t going to cut it and don’t you dare think you can wear your cowboy boots with that.”

Jacqui nodded and picked out a pair of matching red plastic Sigerson Morrison high-heeled flip-flops. “Here, put these on,” she said, slipping them on Mara’s feet.

The extra height lengthened Mara’s legs, which were getting good and brown from their daily excursions to Georgica Beach. “Perfect!” Eliza crowed. “Except for the hair. Have you always worn it that way?”

“Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

Eliza tut-tutted. “We’re going to have to let Pierre have a hand in it.” She punched some numbers on a cell phone. “Pierre? It’s Eliza. Do you think you could come and visit me later? I’ve got a friend who really needs your help.”

“Jim would never let me wear this in public,” Mara said, scrutinizing herself in the mirror.

“Who’s Jim?”

“My boyfriend,” Mara reminded them. The two of them seemed to have some kind of amnesia whenever Mara told them
anything about her life back home. “He’s kind of pissed at me already for leaving him this summer.”

“Right. Mr. Numero Uno,” Eliza teased. “Why? Can’t he visit? Aren’t you from Boston? That’s only four hours away.”

“Sturbridge. And yeah, it’s not that far, but Jim’s kind of a homebody.”

“God. What a baby,” Eliza said. “If I were him, I’d want to keep an eye on you!”

“And who cares about Jim?
Esqueça-se dele.
That’s going to blow Ryan’s mind!” Jacqui said.

“What do you mean?” Mara squeaked.

“Don’t tell us you don’t notice the way he looks at you. And he’s supernice to you all the time.” Eliza smirked. Shopping always made Eliza more magnanimous.

“He’s nice to all of us,” Mara said stubbornly.

“Have it your way.” Eliza shrugged.

By habit Jacqui began putting away the sweaters they had disturbed. She was enjoying herself as she folded the cardigans into perfect squares. But as she laid them on the shelf, she looked out the window and almost dropped the whole load. Outside was Luca! Her heart started to beat. They almost never saw each other during the day anymore. He always had some sort of excuse—he had to go back to the city for a family event or he had to go on a fishing trip with his dad.

“Luca! Luca!
Um momento!
” she said excitedly, heading for the door, still wearing all of the store’s clothes. She scrambled out to
say hello, and just as she hit the sidewalk, she was pulled roughly back into the store by the ever-vigilant Scoop salesgirl.

“Whoa! Miss! Where do you think you’re going?” she said with a viselike grip on Jacqui’s elbow.

“Hey! Jacqui! It’s great to see you! Nice Polo!” Luke hollered from across the street without slowing his pace.

Huh. Jacqui reluctantly followed the salesgirl inside. Maybe he didn’t want to spoil the romantic dinner they’d planned that evening? Somehow that didn’t feel likely, and making all these excuses for Luca was starting to wear on her.

“Seriously, I can’t buy this. I can’t wear it and I can’t afford it,” Mara said.

“What are you talking about?” Eliza asked. “I get 25 percent off at this store. VIP discount, hello. That dress was made for you. And didn’t we just get paid?”

Jacqui paid for her outfit, and Eliza put her purchases on the table. A Marc Jacobs Stella handbag, several C&C California T-shirts, four pairs of Jimmy Choo sandals, and a new Theory dress. The whole thing amounted to five hundred dollars more than she had actually made. “Put the rest on my Visa,” she told the salesgirl.

Mara hesitated, but she did need a new dress, and those flip-flops were so cute.

“All right, I’ll take it,” she said reluctantly.

Shopping bags in hand, Eliza led them to her
second
-most favorite shop in East Hampton, Scoops—with an
s
—where they all ordered chocolate parfait sundaes.

contrary to
queer eye
logic, not all gay men dress well

THAT NIGHT, WHEN ALL FOUR KIDS HAD FINALLY BEEN
put to bed, the three au pairs hung out in their room and made plans.

“You coming out, Mara?” Eliza asked. “Don’t say no again!”

Mara was reluctant, but it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do. She had already walked Zoë to the bathroom, so she didn’t have to stay home for that. And Jim was giving her the cold shoulder after she had told him she couldn’t take the weekend off to visit. She had even sent him a care package from Barefoot Contessa, complete with scones and muffins, as a guilt present, but it had done nothing to thaw his temper.