Island Girls (12 page)

Arden’s best friend, Serena, came down for three days, sleeping on the living room sofa, keeping her clothes in Arden’s room. Meg’s colleague Liam Larson—blond, handsome, and, Arden suspected, from a wealthy family—traveled to the island and happily used the sofa in the den because Jenny’s friends, James and Manuel, were staying in the front bedroom, the master bedroom. The guests had been great, helping set up lawn chairs—and rushing
off to buy more—covering the old picnic table and the card table with cloths, filling new garbage pails with ice, beer, wine, and soda. James and Manuel had made several bowls of sizzling salsa and a huge bowl of guacamole.

Jenny came in from the backyard, carrying an empty basket.

“Oh, good, you’ve got more chips. We should just have had the Doritos truck back up to the yard and dump a load.”

Arden laughed. “It’s almost twilight. We’ll start walking down to the Jetties for the fireworks anytime now.”

They leaned over the sink, gazing out at the backyard.

“Good party, huh,” Jenny said.

“It’s a great party,” said Arden. “Except … Oh God, there she goes, I knew she would—Zoey’s sucking up to Palmer White.”

Jenny watched for a moment. “She’s not as cute as she thinks she is. Or as smart. Besides, Palmer White’s got the serious hots for you.”

“And that should thrill me, why?” Arden glanced sideways at Jenny. “What about you and Tim?”

“What about us?”

“Speaking of serious hots. I think he’s really into you.”

“Please. He hates me. I hate him. I’ll tell you who I think is interesting—that Liam Larson guy of Meg’s. He’s so handsome he almost looks gay.”

“PC much?” Arden joked. “Forget him. He’s all over Meg.”

“Yes, but she doesn’t seem to notice him.”

“We need to talk to that girl.” Arden wrenched herself away from the window and dumped another bag of chips into the basket. “Here. Let’s take these out.”

It was almost miraculous that this July Fourth was humid but not foggy. Almost all Independence Days over the past twenty years had been plagued by thick fog, postponing the fireworks for a night or two, but today was perfect.

As Arden set the chips on the food table, she felt a soft arm embrace her shoulders as a floral perfume swept around her.

“Oh, Arden, you are the best!” Zoey cooed. “I’m so grateful you invited me down to this party! I was just talking to Palmer White.
Palmer White!
He told me he introduced you to Ariadne Silverstone.
Ariadne Silverstone!
Oh, I would
die
to meet her.”

“Well, we don’t want that to happen, now do we?” Arden replied dryly, sliding away from Zoey’s arm.

“What?”

“You said you’d die to meet her.” Arden could see Zoey was still confused. “Oh, never mind. Listen, we’re all going to walk down to the beach in a few minutes to see the fireworks. I’d suggest you use the john. It’s not a long walk, but the streets will be congested with people so it takes forever to get there and back.”

“Oh, you are so thoughtful!” Zoey trilled, and raced into the house.

“Dear God, am I really so old?” Arden spoke aloud, shaking her head.

“Not old,” a man said. “Just experienced.” Palmer wore preppy patchwork shorts and a red polo shirt. In the dimming light, his white teeth gleamed. “I suspect little Zoey’s gotten a long way on her charm and pretend naïveté, and I’d bet money you employed those same tricks when you were her age.”

“That’s cynical,” Arden said.

“Tell me you’re not cynical, too,” Palmer dared her.

Arden had to smile. “Okay. I
am
cynical. But in a good way.” She considered this for a moment. “But I didn’t use any tricks when I started out. First of all, to be honest, I never ever was as sweet and naïve as she seems to be. I was always ambitious.”

“Zoey’s ambitious, too. More ambitious than you are.”

Arden stared at Palmer. “How do you know? What do you mean?”

“Think about it. You’ve got your Brad Pitt guy over there and your Ryan Gosling guy down at the end of the lawn. Not to mention quite a few other men and women. Who has naïve little Zoey spent the most time with today?”

“You?”

“Me. Once I told her I owned air space and stations, she was glued to my side.”

Arden narrowed her eyes. “Come on, don’t be so jaded. Zoey’s interested in the industry, and you know everything about television—”

“I’ll make a bet with you. I’ll bet that by the time the fireworks are over, Zoey will come back to my room with me.”

Arden’s eyes narrowed. “You’re disgusting.”

Palmer pretended innocent surprise. “Because I want to take a shapely young woman to bed?” Leaning close to Arden, he whispered, “How did
you
react when you met me? You’re in the industry, too. Did you play up to me?” Before Arden could answer, Palmer continued, “You are the woman I’m interested in, and I’ve had to pursue you and bribe you with parties to get you to go anywhere with me.”

“W-well,” Arden stuttered, suddenly flushed with a peculiar, unexpected tingling at Palmer’s words, “there you are. You had to bribe me with parties. So I’m just as ambitious as Zoey.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that. But you’ve got a softness to your ambition.”

“I am not soft!” Arden told him.

He held up his hands to placate her. “Sorry, wrong word. How about kind?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This man was getting under her skin.

“Let’s take Ariadne Silverstone. I went through her house
with you. I saw you in action. Which room in her house is the most cluttered and chaotic?”

“Her study.”

“Right. Which room did you offer to help simplify?” Arden had to smile. She knew where he was going, and she was surprised and pleased. “The kitchen.”

“Why?” Palmer asked.

“Because her study is her safe place. It’s her sanctuary. I could tell at once, and I didn’t want to violate that. Besides, she knows what all those piles and scattered papers are; she could find anything she wanted in a moment. But she doesn’t care about the kitchen. She really doesn’t even care about the entire summer house. She’s a lawyer. She cares about her work. The summer house is for entertaining guests, lobbying, having her children and grandchildren for a week or so. The kitchen is for staff. Ariadne doesn’t even care what she eats. She lunches on saltines and V-8 juice and usually has dinner out with her husband or orders takeout. But she needs a decent coffeemaker that makes one cup at a time instead of the monster the staff uses for parties. The kitchen needs to be simplified so that much of the equipment can be stored when she’s there alone with her husband.”

Palmer was smiling at her with admiration in his warm dark eyes. “Exactly. You honed in on all sorts of deeply personal peculiarities of Ariadne’s. You work with your heart, not just with your head. You know lots of viewers would drool to see her study, because it’s so personal, and you steered away from that immediately, when Zoey would have pounced.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m
soft
,” Arden protested. “I intend to go someplace in the television business. I am just as determined as Zoey—more determined, even.”

“Are you?” Palmer’s eyes met Arden’s. All at once he wasn’t
smiling. He radiated power, intent, and an almost mesmerizing desire. “Then why don’t you come home with me? Now.”

Arden’s entire body flushed with heat. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or attraction. Talking to Palmer this way, with his piercing dark eyes fixed on her face and no hint of a smile on his lips, made her shiver. “The-the fireworks,” Arden remembered.

“I’ll give you fireworks.”

She realized with a kind of thrill that this man could do exactly what he said. He was charismatic, and more than that, he was intelligent, shrewd, and discerning. He had a quality of concentration she’d found in few men. If he aimed that focus on her when they were alone together in bed …

“Hi, guys, I’m ready!” Zoey bounced up to them, all pert and bubbly.

At the top of the steps to the porch, Jenny clinked a fork against a glass. “Hey, everyone, it’s time to go down to the beach for the fireworks. There’s always a crowd, so we’re bound to get separated. Find two or three people you want to be with and stick to them. If you don’t want to sit in the sand, carry a lawn chair down, but please return it. And if you need to use the john, do it now.”

“Oh, goody,” Zoey trilled. “I don’t need a chair, but you might, Arden.”

“Right,” Arden responded, deadpan. “For my old, aching bones.”

“Arden.” Tim Robinson appeared at her side, tall, wide-shouldered, muscular, and easy on the eyes. “I’ve got a blanket for us.”

“Um, thanks.” She tossed him a friendly smile.

Zoey ignored the hunky Tim. Linking her arm through Palmer’s, she cooed, “You were telling me how you got into the television business. Did you study communications in college?” Silkily,
she angled her body toward the gate, tugging Palmer along with her.

Palmer looked over his shoulder at Arden with a smirk. Arden shook her head at him, but smiled.

Meg and Liam were in the kitchen, covering any fresh veggies and salsa and stashing them in the fridge before going down to the beach. Meg glanced out the window and saw tall Tim Robinson standing next to Arden. At the far end of the yard, Jenny was laughing with her friends James and Manuel. Arden’s friend Serena was carrying the last bowl of guacamole, and Zoey was flashing all she had at Palmer White.

“Liam.” She clutched his arm. “Listen. Go out and talk to Jenny. Walk with her down to the beach, okay? Maybe even flirt with her?”

Liam pushed his glasses up his nose so he could get a clearer view of Meg. “What? Why?”

“Because she likes Tim Robinson and he’s dating Arden. Jenny shouldn’t be left with two gay guys even if they are her friends and cute.”

“But I don’t want to date Jenny,” Liam protested.

“You don’t have to
date
her,” Meg said. “Just hang out with her.”

“Then she’ll think I want to date her.”

“You’re making this way more complicated than it is!” Meg complained.

Liam crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. “Is that why you invited me down here?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why?”

Except for the glasses, Liam could have been carved from a
medieval tombstone, with his long aristocratic nose and deep-set blue eyes. “You-you seem”—she struggled to find the right word—“
gallant
. Well, that’s not why I asked you down here, but that’s why I want you to help Jenny.”

“First, tell me why you invited me down here.”

“
Liam
,” Meg began, helplessly.

Serena came into the kitchen and set the bowl on the counter. “Time to go.” She was a brisk, no-nonsense real estate lawyer with short hair and long legs. Like Arden, she was obsessed 24/7 with her work; she’d already told Meg that she really didn’t enjoy having fun.

Meg was grateful for the interruption. “You don’t have to watch the fireworks.”

“I came down for the damned fireworks, so let’s go,” Serena said, grinning at her own impatience. Her Julia Roberts grin changed her completely.

In a loose, informal group, the party strolled down to the beach. Police had blocked cars from the main roads leading to the Jetties, and crowds of people thronged eagerly toward the water. Kids in various yards they passed set off firecrackers; flags waved from poles and houses. In the harbor, boats motored close to shore for a better view of the spectacle.

As they left the pavement and began crunching over the low, sandy dunes, Liam reached out to take Meg’s hand. She pulled her hand away. No, she argued in the silent turmoil of her mind, she was not going to have a fling with a colleague. She was not going to let this
child
, five years younger than she was and so spectacular he could get anything he wanted, think he could have her, too, just like that—like a toy or a car or a trip to Disneyland. He was brilliant, he was handsome, he was adorable, he should be with a fabulous woman, but she knew what she was, she knew what she looked like, and she knew anything she did with Liam
Larson, PhD, would only end in complete and miserable disaster for her.

She stomped faster through the sand, calling out, “Serena, let me help you with the blanket.”

Earlier that day, most of the party had gone swimming, but not Meg. She stayed home, cutting up strawberries, melons, and pineapple for a fruit salad, making a platter of tuna fish sandwiches for the group who returned home tanned and as starving as only a swim in the ocean could make you. Truth was, she didn’t want Liam to see her in a bathing suit. Arden was as sleek as an otter, Jenny was curvaceous and slender, Serena was a stick—and Zoey, in her bikini, well, she was temptation personified. Meg could only imagine how she’d compare to those women in her black Speedo, her boobs bobbing along with each step. Uh-uh, no, never.

She believed someday she’d meet a good man, hopefully a professor, too, who would appreciate her charms, and who would be happy to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. She imagined he would be an older man. Perhaps he might even teach German, like the professor Jo March met and married in
Little Women
. Meg was not down on herself; she was realistic.

The fireworks began—stars, chrysanthemums, waterfalls, Catherine wheels, screamers—and the crowd yelled, applauded, and sighed at each one. The faces of those seated around Meg were lit by colored light, as if they were in a spacecraft flashing through the cosmos. The grand finale was an explosion of color and noise. The crowd cheered. Boats in the harbor sounded their horns.

Suddenly it was over. Everyone gathered up their chairs or blankets and made their way back through the sand toward their homes.

“I haven’t seen fireworks in years,” Serena said to Meg. “I’m
always working on the Fourth of July. I’m always trying to catch up on something.”

“I’m glad you could watch this,” Meg told her.

“Me, too. It was sensational. And Arden knows so many fascinating people. You teach at Sudbury College, don’t you?”

“Yes. It’s a great place.” Out of the corner of her eye, Meg saw, by the light of the streetlamp, Jenny walking close to Liam, gazing up at him with admiration, while Liam told her something Jenny evidently found fascinating.