by Janna King
“You gave me this dress and now you’re going to give me sultry eyes, too?”
“The dress was meant for a gamine like you, not a curvy Barbie doll like me.” Presley lifted a shoulder, then watched Mia sew. “I can understand why you needed to make it shorter, since I have four inches on you, but the fringe?”
Mia finished the hem, holding up the dress. “A little passementerie never hurt anyone.”
“I don’t know what that is, but the dress looks hot,” said Presley, surprised.
“Thank you.” Mia surveyed herself in the mirror. “And passementerie is a fancy name for decorative trimming.” She touched the hem.
“Call a duck a duck, Mia. It’s fringe.” Presley stood and examined Mia. “But that dress is on brand for you—basic with a hint of quirk,” she said, half-joking.
“I still can’t get used to that,” said Mia. “Things are brands, not people.”
“Leave everything you know behind,” Presley said in a creepy voice, taking Mia’s hand and leading her to her bed. “And join our world.”
“You’re freaking me out a little.” Now it was Mia who was half-joking as she sat facing Presley.
“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” Presley leaned close, using tweezers and glue to place lashes on Mia.
“Yes.” Mia examined Presley’s face. It was poreless. Mia also noticed that she didn’t avert her eyes when theirs caught.
Presley told her about other hookups the summer before, regular blackouts, one bad Molly trip, and a broken leg when three seasonaires went tubing on one tube and wiped out.
“Most of the shenanigans stayed off social. But one girl got so drunk at the Soiree that she did a cartwheel on the dance floor—without panties on. Someone snapped a shot and her goods were all over the Internet. She lost the job she had waiting for her after college at some high-power hedge fund.”
“Sounds a lot like high school,” said Mia.
“Life is a lot like high school, honey.”
“God, I hope not.” She also hoped Presley wouldn’t poke her in the eye with the tweezers during this lash application. “So you stayed out of the fray?”
“I’m back, aren’t I?” Presley pulled away and scrutinized Mia’s face.
“If you had a super power, what would it be?” Mia asked Presley.
“I already have a super power,” answered Presley.
“Oh, yeah, what?”
“Irresistible charm.” Presley grinned. “It makes people forget what they want.”
“How did you get so much confidence? Honestly.” Mia shook her head.
“I was born with it.” Presley brushed mascara on Mia. “Humility is overrated, though that’s your super power.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a super power,” said Mia.
“Look at your social. That’s the reason behind the follows and the likes. It’s not an insult, Mia. You’re workin’ it just like everyone else. And tonight at the party, you need to pull that shit out, sugar.”
She brought Mia to the vanity mirror. “Voilà! Sexy thang.” Mia was amazed at what six little false lashes could do.
Mia thought about what Presley had said. The seasonaires’ relationships skimmed the surface. They were all still trying to impress one another, presenting the image they wanted out there on social. Even she was getting the hang of that. She now understood that she was a “Basic Bitch” who, like a straight-leg pair of jeans, never goes out of style. You could wear them with anything. They looked good on everyone and you could wear them everywhere. It was all about the accessories.
She picked up her smartphone off the nightstand. “Let’s post style tips.”
Presley filmed her as she showed a forearm weighed down by bracelets. “Put all the jewelry you want to wear on, then take off one piece.” Mia kept on only her four thin blue enamel bangles because “they were my grandma’s. Real vintage,” and a Lyndon Wyld cocktail ring. She Instagrammed, tagging the brand.
Presley tied a jersey wrap shirt on top of a satin skirt that stopped mid-thigh. Slingback heels tied the ensemble together—all from the store. “I think I’m getting too tan.” She smoothed her legs. “I look better pearlescent.”
“That sounds oddly shiny,” said Mia.
Presley offered Mia a style tip: “Here’s the best way to position your boobs.” She bent over and let them fall into place in her bra, so that when she stood, she had perfect cleavage. “Symmetrical nips. Nothing’s more awkward than having a conversation with a boy—or girl—who’s distracted by off-kilter snake eyes.”
Mia laughed. “Don’t post that! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Says you, but it’s good to be tits-forward. Especially when you’re talking to Grace.”
Mia gave her a curious look. “Are you saying . . . ?”
“I’m not saying anything. But if you like a little pussy in your life or you think you might like a little pussy in your life . . . you could suck up to the boss’s sister.”
“Love is love,” said Mia with a shrug.
“Have you ever been with a woman?” asked Presley.
“No.” In sixth grade, she practiced kissing with Olive Hamilton when Olive’s mom was at work. That was it. But they were definitely not women at the time.
Presley handed Mia her smartphone. “All this talk about clam gives me a beauty tip idea.”
“For a Southern belle, you’re downright filthy.”
“I’m multilayered,” said Presley. While Mia filmed, Presley skillfully worked her hair into a fishtail braid, describing the steps. She ended with “A fishtail braid is a touch of mermaid glam for any outfit.”
When Mia and Presley went down to meet the others and head to the party, everyone was turned out. Jade wore cream Lyndon Wyld wide-leg sailor pants with Miu Miu studded platforms that made her look eight feet tall. The guys wore light cotton or linen suits with pastel ties. J.P. topped his with a Perch straw fedora. Mia was accustomed to seeing Cole in cargo shorts and a T-shirt, so the sight of him dressed up was jarring, in a good way.
“You look great,” he said to her.
“Thanks. So do you.”
“Who’s ready to slay it on the runway during our Summer Solstice Soiree fashion show?” Presley sashayed across the living room and back. Jade watched her, hand on hip.
“I’ve never been in a fashion show,” said Mia, nervously turning the bangles on her wrist.
“Me neither,” replied Cole. “I’m sweatin’ a tad just thinking about it.” He yanked at his collar.
“We need some pre-party lube,” said Grant as he poured tequila into the shot glasses that lined the mantel.
Presley handed Mia a shot. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
SIXTEEN
The Summer Solstice Soiree took place at the Seascape Restaurant, an open-air shoreline restaurant. Families flocked there during summer days for sliders and lobster rolls between dips in the ocean. This evening, it was filling with millennials playing dress-up.
A long banquet table inside held a clambake. Grant walked by and picked up a crab from the colorful pot and pushed it in front of Mia like a puppet. “Save me!”
“Too late,” said Presley, who put her arm through Mia’s, walking them off. Vincent snapped Grant holding the crab.
The seasonaires each took an Aperol Spritz from the beverage table. The cocktail’s orange sunset color bounced off the rest of the party’s decor. Mia noticed that everything was white, from the folding wood chairs to the tablecloths to the clusters of tiny tea lights that gave the room a magical sparkle, like anything could happen. And boy, did it, when Lyndon and Grace arrived. Lyndon wore a Stella McCartney garnet-hued sequin skirt with pink tulle at the hem and a simple silk tee from her own line that made the sequins elegant instead of gaudy.
Grace was wearing a white Lyndon Wyld sleeveless jumpsuit. Her thick red hair fell over her shoulders, ablaze against her outfit. She rounded up the group as Lyndon wa
ved at the other guests she knew, like Jill, who was sitting at one of several booths hugging the walls. Though this was her brand, her “baby,” Lyndon didn’t belong here among the twenty-somethings who still had so far to go in life. She strode to the circle of seasonaires, her arms gesturing to them like they were prized livestock.
“What a gorgeous lot! It’s so good to see you all in person again!”
“It’s good to see you, too, Lyndon,” said Presley, beaming.
Lyndon’s eyes stopped on Mia’s dress. “Is that from last season?”
“Oh, um, yes.” Mia clasped her hands, obscuring the dress.
“Let me see!” Lyndon scrutinized it.
Mia dropped her arms, shifting uncomfortably.
“It was mine,” said Presley before Mia could answer.
Mia’s face grew hot.
“And Mia made it hers! I love that new length,” said Lyndon, examining the hem. “And the passementerie!”
Presley muttered under her breath, “Fringe.”
“Did you do that, Mia?” asked Lyndon.
The heat radiating through Mia turned from embarrassment to excitement with Lyndon’s interest. “I did. I’m used to working with hand-me-downs. Sad, huh?” She caught herself: There was the self-deprecation Presley was talking about.
“It’s not sad, is it, Grace?” Lyndon turned to her sister.
“It’s resourceful.” Grace turned to Jade, motioning to her hand-shredded M-Kat tank paired with the Lyndon Wyld pants. “Like cross-promotion, yet different.” Her tone was disapproving.
Jade shrugged. “It matches.”
Lyndon’s tight smile said that this annoyed her, but her voice was bright and encouraging. “Fashion show time, lovelies!”
In the back office, the group got in and out of outfits from items on a rack separated by plastic dividers with their names. A bedsheet was tacked to the ceiling for privacy. Mia was the only one to change behind it.
They took to the plank runway constructed above the sand, with the guests sitting in folding chairs on either side. The sun lowering into the harbor served as the backdrop. Jade was first. Mia and Presley watched her effortlessly work it.
“This must feel like small potatoes to her,” Mia whispered to Presley.
“She’s totally phoning it in.” Presley exhaled sharply.
Vincent and some other photographers from local to national media snapped photos. Grant ate up the female attention as the girls in the audience started “the Grant Chant.” At the last minute, J.P. took off the Lyndon Wyld hat he was given, handing it to Jade. When the time came for Mia to head down the runway, she was ready to bolt. Cole jumped up with her and the two walked side by side. His laughter at the whole affair relaxed her.
“Watch a pro,” said Presley as she stepped up on the runway. She brought the house down with a beauty pageant sashay and wave that inspired cheers.
Lyndon was pleased, air-kissing and hugging the seasonaires inside after the show. “Brilliant job!”
“Cole, I know you’re new to social media, but this was a chance to feature each of you individually,” said Grace.
“Sorry.” Cole and Mia’s laughter subsided.
Lyndon patted Cole on the arm. “I thought it was sweet and entertaining.”
Grace’s brow knit for a beat. She handed each of them a stack of business cards that touted a discount at the store. “Make sure everyone here knows that the party doesn’t end tonight. Summer celebrations on Nantucket aren’t complete without some frivolous shopping.”
“But don’t be obnoxious.” Lyndon wagged a finger at the group. “Save that for The Rabbit Hole.” Her finger stopped at Grant, his knuckles still bearing a few scabs from his fight. Her gaze was chiding. “Have fun tonight.”
J.P. excused himself to the bathroom. “Drink went right through me.”
Jade touched the Lyndon Wyld straw fedora on her head—the one J.P. had handed her. “See? I’ve got you, Lyndon.” She air-kissed Lyndon and Grace, then followed J.P.
Grace motioned to Presley, Grant, and Cole. “I’m parched! You?”
Presley got the hint. “Dry as a tumbleweed!” She put herself between Grant and Cole, linking their inside arms, then grinned at Lyndon. “Amazing party, as usual!” With Grace, the trio walked toward the bar. Cole glanced back at Mia, who was left alone with Lyndon.
Damn them, she thought as she shifted under Lyndon’s steady gaze.
“What happened at the store, my talented lovely?” Lyndon sounded more curious than angry.
“I didn’t take anything. It was a misunderstanding.” Mia glanced out at the restaurant’s deck where guests drank, ate, and chatted in the moonlight. She wished she could get some air.
“That’s unfortunate,” said Lyndon. “It’s not right for the staff to humiliate my seasonaires in front of one another. That creates a lack of trust, a crack in the fabric of my brand.”
Mia put on a smile. “It’s fine. Honestly. No harm, no foul.”
“Well, you let me know if you ever feel that you aren’t being treated fairly.” Lyndon caressed Mia’s arm. “You’re not like the others, Mia.”
“No disrespect, Ms. Wyld, but I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment.”
“It’s Lyndon. And you should. I understand why you’d be drawn to a diverse group of friends.”
Mia tried to keep her brow from furrowing in confusion.
“I know I’m not your mother,” continued Lyndon.
A lump lodged in Mia’s throat.
“But it’s part of my job to take care of you while you’re here.” Lyndon pulled her smartphone from her garnet clutch, revealing an Instagram post of Mia at Nantucket Coffee Roasters, sitting with Ruby:
Make new friends. #teamwyld #teamnational
Mia swallowed hard, her neck and face growing hot. She didn’t recognize the account: hounddogdayz.
“Like in any family, loyalty is rewarded.” Lyndon touched Mia’s chin. “Be the smart girl I pegged you for.” She turned on her kitten heel and walked off toward Grace, who was perusing the buffet.
Heat filled Mia’s whole body. She was pissed at the shame she felt for hanging out with Ruby. No one should pick my friends. This was not high school, but she might as well have been fourteen, caught cheating.
The bar was crowded. Presley stopped Grace, Grant, and Cole at one of the tall tables guests used for their drinks and food. “You all wait here. I’ll grab us some bubbly.”
“You’re the best, Presley,” said Grace.
“I know.” Presley gave her skirt a swing as she turned and strutted off. She swiped a half empty flute off an abandoned tray and put it down in front of the bartender, who was shaking a cocktail. She craned her neck to look behind the bar.
“Can you pour four of those from a fresh bottle?”
“Sure,” replied the bartender. “We’re out up here, so if you’d wait a couple minutes . . .”
“Of course, sugar. Patience is a virtue.” Presley tapped the bar with her newly manicured Ballet Slipper nails.
“Right.” As the bartender started for the back, Mac appeared with an unopened bottle.
“Nice of you to show up,” the bartender grumbled to Mac and moved down the bar to take orders.
“You whined, princess?” Mac tossed Presley’s flat beverage into the sink.
The candles along the bar seemed to flame with the energy between them. Presley, feeling Grace’s eyes on them, doused any spark with a sharp response. “I didn’t know you worked here, too.”
“It’s a side gig.” Mac grinned. “I told y—” He stopped, seeing Presley’s eyes shift toward the tall table where Grace, Grant, and Cole talked.
“I get it. Your bosses are here.” Mac opened the bottle with a tense smile. “Don’t want them to think you’d hang with the likes of me. My girlfriend doesn’t want me hanging with likes of you either, but—”
“Does she pay you?” Presley turned the bitchiness up louder. “What I’d like is bub
bly that’s actually bubbly. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
Mac’s grin became forced. “You should always get what you ask for. You’re a seasonaire.” He poured champagne into another flute.
“I want four of those,” demanded Presley.
Mac poured three more and put them in front of her. Presley lifted one by the stem and tilted it toward her, pouting. “Sad pours.”
Mac stared into her. She held tight to her bitchiness. He poured more champagne into each flute. “Better?”
“Much.” Presley sashayed off with the four glasses.
Cole stepped up to Presley and took two of the champagne glasses. He caught eyes with Mac, then moved to Grace’s table.
“I’m going to mingle.” Grace walked off with her champagne, aiming toward Jill.
Presley’s eyes were focused across the room. “Mia looks like she’s in the corner with a dunce cap on.” Cole and Grant turned to look at Mia. Her eyes were toward the floor.
SEVENTEEN
Lyndon finished doing an efficient lap around the party, graciously greeting guests. She returned to Grace, who was talking to Jill in a corner. Grant and Cole drank at the tall table while Presley handed discount cards to a pair of douches in aviator sunglasses despite the fact that they were indoor and it was night.
“I have some work to do, so I’m going to go,” said Lyndon. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”
“Want me to join?” asked Grace.
“No. I’ll see you in the morning at the hotel. Breakfast in my suite?”
“Only if I can have flapjacks.” Grace shifted to Jill. “You Americans call them ‘flapjacks,’ right, Jill?”
“I call them evil carbs,” Jill chuckled, sipping a sparkling water.
Lyndon and Grace laughed. Lyndon air-kissed both women. “Have fun.” She slipped out the front door.
Mia was still frozen in the same place Lyndon had left her. Watching Lyndon exit the restaurant, she let out a sigh of relief that seemed to unglue her feet from the floor. She did a slow 360 and scanned the party. J.P. and Jade emerged from the hallway leading to the restrooms. Jade strutted ahead, smoothing the front of her pants. Grant had a giggling strawberry blonde against a wall near the deck, his face close to hers. Presley was on the deck, posing for Vincent with the harbor behind her.