Beach Lane (13 page)

“Oh, okay. But we’re not going to stay long, right? The girls have ballet in the morning.”

“Yeah, we’ll stay for, like, a minute,” Eliza said, winking at Jacqui.

Mara pulled out her new red dress.

“WHAT are you doing?” Eliza asked, taking it from her and putting it back on the hanger.

“Um, wearing my new dress?”

“Sweetie. This is for the polo match. It’s all wrong for Jet East. This is a day dress. Also, you don’t want to show up at polo wearing something everyone’s already seen. Do I have to spell out everything?” Eliza sighed. “Here—put this on,” she said, handing Mara one of her own shirts—a clingy, black jersey halter with a plunging neckline. “You can wear it with your jeans; those are cool. And your new flip-flops.”

Jacqui came out of the bathroom wearing a black lace top and silk cargo pants that she had bought especially for her date with Luca that night. She stood in front of the cracked antique mirror with Mara.

“Don’t pull your hair back; wear it down,” Jacqui said. Pierre, Eliza’s hairdresser friend and self-proclaimed “Queen of Hair,” had come over that afternoon to give all the girls a haircut gratis in exchange for posing with their new styles for his portfolio. Jacqui started to brush Mara’s hair expertly. “See, you keep the flip—here, and kind of smooth it down here—but shake it out and make it all messy-messy.”

Jacqui brought out her twenty-pound, professional makeup artist’s trunk and began to apply foundation, powder, eyeliner, eye shadow, and lipstick on Mara.

When Jacqui was done, Mara looked at herself with the hand mirror Jacqui provided. “Don’t you think it’s too much?” She’d never worn this much makeup in her life, not even counting the spring formal she had gone to with Jim last year.

“You look almost better than me!” Eliza said, a little enviously. “
Almost
being the operative word,” she joked.

Mara laughed.

They said good-bye to Jacqui, and Eliza pumped her fist in the air when she saw the twins hadn’t left yet. Their Mercedes SUV was still parked in the driveway.

Eliza clambered into the front seat. “Get in,” she told Mara.

“What about the twins?”

“Anna and Kevin said we could take any car in the lot.” Eliza shrugged. “The Volvo’s still available.” She grinned wickedly.

A line of paparazzi stood in front of the red carpet, hollering at various people. Eliza walked slowly, hoping they would snap some shots, but they were distracted by blond pop starlet Chauncey Raven and her crew of bodyguards. The eighteen-year-old most famous for baring her toned midriff all the way down to her pelvis and declaring her virginity while sucking face with a crew of Hollywood hotheads was the latest tabloid phenomenon. “CHAUNCEY! CHAUNCEY! OVER HERE! CHAUNCEY!” the photographers screamed in desperation, but the star stayed completely hidden behind her seven-foot-tall army of former linebackers.

Eliza and Mara entered the club after her without any fanfare. Inside, Eliza began scanning the place for her friends and disappeared into a back room, losing Mara in the crowd. Mara stood by the wall, holding a martini glass and feeling a little out of place. She put down her drink and hit the ladies’ room,
where she found a chubby Chinese guy stuck halfway through the back window, his arms dangling helplessly over the porcelain sink.

“Excuse me?”

“Help! You, there, in the two-hundred-dollar top and the Jennifer Aniston haircut! Help me!”

Mara took one of his hands—the one not holding an enormous Nikon camera—and pulled him inside.

“Oh, good Lord!” the guy said, wiping his brow. “I should really stay away from the buffet table next time. Too many free meals are not good for
moi!
”

The man in front of Mara was a pint-sized Chinese guy with an enormous belly and a double chin. He wore a leopard-print jacket over a paisley shirt and shiny, polyester pants. Everything was too small and too tight—as if he had been caught off guard by some sudden expansion of his girth.

“Lucky Yap!” he said, holding out a hand for Mara to shake.

“Mara Waters.”

“My savior! I need to get a shot of Chauncey Raven or my boss is going to have my ass. The little tart didn’t even stop for photos outside the club. And they wouldn’t let me in even though I’m on the list.”

“Wow, they can do that?”

“Honey, they specialize in that! Her PR guy is a total prick. But then, they weren’t too happy with the shot we got of her last week.” Lucky sniggered. “Girlfriend passed out at Tavern and had
to be carried off the dance floor.
Star
magazine paid a hundred grand for the exclusive.”

Mara snickered. “C’mon, I think I saw an alternate entrance to the room back there.” They headed to the hole between the curtains that separated the VIP tables from the rest of the riffraff. Inside, Chauncey was straddling her latest paramour with great gusto. “Keep it sexy!” Lucky said, angling his camera for a shot. “That’s right, baby, grind it! Woo-hoo! Show me the money!” His flashbulbs barely made a dent in the laser strobe light that shone to the beat of the music.

“Thank God her thong was showing. They always pay more for undie shots,” Lucky said, putting his camera away. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No worries.” Mara smiled. Meeting Lucky was the most fun she’d had so far that evening.

“I’m going to do a lap to check if there’s anyone else worthy of being plastered all over the party pages with spinach on their teeth. Do you know if the Perry twins are here? Sugar and Poppy?” he asked.

“Um . . . not sure.” Mara giggled, wondering if the twins would hazard the Hamptons nightlife in the crappy Volvo.
Crappy?
Apparently the Hamptons really were getting to Mara.

She said a warm good-bye to the prickly paparazzo. But now that their little adventure was over, she didn’t know whether to go or stay. She was still deciding when she felt someone brush by her.

“Hey, you,” Ryan said, bumping her shoulder with his fist lightly.

“Ryan! Hi!” she said, so happy to see a familiar face that she impulsively gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Ryan was suddenly glad it was so dark in there since he was blushing to the roots of his blond hair. “Wow, you look great!” he said, stepping back to take a good look.

“Because for once I’m not covered in baby drool?” Mara teased.

“No, no, I mean, you always—er, look good. I mean, I . . .,” he said, uncharacteristically fumbling for the right words. “So, uh, I thought you said you were staying in tonight,” Ryan finished lamely, trying to change the subject.

“Can’t a girl change her mind?”

“I’m glad she did,” Ryan said, a little more seriously than was necessary. “Anyway, Eliza said you were here. Come on back and meet some of my friends.”

“Sure.”

He took her hand and led her to the far corner of the room, where a bunch of guys were lounging on velvet couches, smoking stogies, their girlfriends perched daintily on their laps.

“Hey, everybody, meet my friend Mara,” Ryan said. “Mara, that’s pretty much everybody.”

His friend!
Mara thought, elated at the introduction.
He didn’t say meet the au pair! Or meet the girl who’s working for us this summer! His friend!

The tall guy with the shaved head sitting nearest to Mara made as if to kiss her hand. Mara laughed as Ryan swatted his pal’s hand away. “Enough of that,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked her.

“Sure, why not?”

As they turned to the direction of the bar, Lucky Yap walked by. “Hey! Mr. Perry!” he said, blowing Ryan a kiss.

“What’s going on, Lucky?” Ryan said, laughing. “How’s Frederic?” Like everyone in the Hamptons, Ryan knew Lucky Yap as über-party-photographer Frederic O’Malley’s right-hand man.

“He’s all right. In Cannes for the festival. Leaving me with the B-listers! There’s no one here! I haven’t even seen your sisters all night. Let me get a photo of the two of you instead!” Lucky ordered.

Ryan and Mara looked at each other questioningly, then Ryan put his arm around Mara’s shoulders and they both turned to the camera.

“Perfect! Marvelous! Sexy!” Lucky enthused. Afterward he let them take a peek at the results on his digital viewfinder. Lucky whipped out his notebook. “Ryan Perry and Mara Waters, right?” he said, scribbling their names.

Ryan raised his eyebrows at Mara, impressed that the town’s most social shutterbug already knew her name.

Mara only smiled mysteriously.

somewhere in the sticks (aka hampton bays), jacqui is getting in touch with her feelings

JACQUI VELASCO WAS . . . WHAT WAS THAT WORD
that Mara used? Bummed? Yes, bummed. Really, truly bummed.

She should be really, truly, totally, completely happy at being reunited with Luca. In fact, she had spent the last month telling herself how perfectly happy she was, how glad she was that everything was working out just like in her wildest dreams. But that was the problem—Jacqui knew that if she really felt happy, she wouldn’t have to keep reminding herself how happy she was. As the weeks dragged on, miserable seemed like a more accurate description of her feelings. Yes, miserable, Jacqui decided.

Luca had negged on the romantic dinner again. Instead of taking her to the Farmhouse, he’d suggested a “romantic” clambake on the beach. They had driven an hour to a small, rundown restaurant where Luke had bought two soggy oyster po’boys and picked up a six-pack of beer. They weren’t even alone. His friend Leo had met them on the beach.

At least the boys had made a roaring campfire, or else Jacqui
would have frozen in her silk and lace. She shivered under her thin cotton sweater and wondered when she would be able to go home.

The other thing that was making her miserable: Luca wasn’t even paying her the least bit of attention. That was the heart of the problem. She wouldn’t have minded at all—they could eat at Burger King every night and she wouldn’t care, but she was beginning to realize that maybe he wasn’t quite the guy she had met in Sao Paolo. In fact, all he’d done all night was roll a couple of fat stogies filled with tobacco and pot and smoke them by himself. He’d offered Jacqui and Leo a few puffs, but pot made Jacqui’s head ache, and Leo had declared himself fine with the beer.

“I’m out of rolling
papiere!.
Nobody panic!” he said, laughing hysterically at his own joke.

Jacqui watched him silently. He was the love of her life, but when he was like this, she had to face it, he was kind of a jackass.

Luke got up from the blanket and ran down the beach to where he’d parked the car behind some sand dunes.

“You having a good time this summer?” Leo asked, propping himself up with his right arm and looking up at her. He didn’t have Luke’s startling blue eyes or fine, Roman nose, but he had a kind face.

“Yes. Is been nice,” Jacqui said politely, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Don’t mind Van Varick. He can cut up kind of rough sometimes,” he said gently.

Jacqui nodded, not really sure what he’d said.

“So what’s Brazil like?”

Jacqui thought about it. What a question. But soon enough she was telling Leo all about her life back home—her two younger brothers, who still lived at home in Campinas, her life in the big city with her grandmother, who was sending her to the prestigious Santa Anita convent, where the president’s daughters were educated, how her family wasn’t rich, so she had gotten a job at Daslu to help pay her tuition.

Leo was an avid and interested listener, asking her all the right questions and prodding her for more details. Jacqui found herself feeling so much better just to have someone who was actually interested in what she had to say.

The two of them were laughing at some particularly funny soccer play-by-plays she was recounting when Luke rounded up the hill.

“What’s so funny?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing—nothing,” Jacqui said, still chuckling at the David Beckham fumble.

Luke looked pointedly at his friend, who shrugged and turned away. Jacqui knew that look. It said:
Easy, man.

Luke crouched next to Jacqui and whispered in her ear, “Hey, babe, you wanna go for a walk? So we can get a chance to talk without this clown around?” he asked, winking lasciviously.

Jacqui nodded and let Luke help her up.

“Just going to take Jacqui for a moonlight stroll,” he said to Leo.

Luke led her to a secluded spot near the bushes. “Come down here with me,” he said, patting the sand.

“Look at the moon,” Jacqui said as she sat down beside him. “Remember how you told me that poem about the stars?” she mused.

“Mmm,” Luke said, not having any idea what she was talking about.

“Walt Whitman. You read it to me when we were camping outdoors. ‘The Astronomer’ . . . ‘the Astronomer’ something?”

“‘When I heard the learn’d astronomer,’ ” Luke said impatiently.

In São Paolo, Luke had recited this poem to her when they were looking up at the night sky.

Yeah, Dalton had taught him something, but he wasn’t about to repeat that poem—or that moment with her now. He had other things on his mind, and before she could ask him another question, he was on top of her, slipping a hand up her shirt. She flinched as he stuck his wet tongue in her ear. He smelled like shellfish.

“You know how pot makes me so horny . . . and you look on fire tonight, babe. God, you don’t know what you do to me,” he said, slobbering all over her neck and shoulders.

Jacqui blinked up at the fat, white moon and the perfectly silent stars. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t making her happy, but somehow, she wanted her Luca all the same.

ryan finds out mara is full of surprises

THE PARTY WAS OVER. CHAUNCEY RAVEN AND HER
thirty-person entourage were long gone. The only people left at the club were desperate single people who were still hoping to go home lucky, hard-core alcoholics, and a stray cocktail waitress or two. Even the publicists and the gossip columnists had gone to bed. Eliza had taken the Mercedes SUV, though, so Mara was still there, sitting alone in the back room with Ryan.