by Janna King
“It’ll look better in the photos,” added Vincent. “Bareback, like Lady Godiva.”
“Except I’ll be wearing clothes,” Mia chuckled. “And I’ve never been on a horse, with or without a saddle.”
The trainer placed a mahogany mounting block next to Granite and motioned Cole to climb on first.
“Wait.” Vincent unbuttoned Cole’s shirt. Cole gave a good-natured head shake at Mia and mounted the horse. With the trainer’s help, Mia climbed on next, sitting in front of Cole. Cole put his hands on her hips to make sure she felt secure before they moved.
“You good?”
Mia nodded, though inside she was scared to death on this giant creature that could buck or run off any second. Petting him was one thing. Riding him was another.
The trainer got on a black-and-white-speckled Appaloosa that Granite knew to follow. Once they reached the pasture, he offered simple instructions. “Release your lower body and move with Granite. When you think ‘walk’ he’ll walk. When you think ‘stop’ he’ll stop. If you relax, he’ll relax. He can feel your heartbeat.”
Mia could feel Cole’s in his chest against her back. It was steady, but he always seemed confident, even when he claimed he wasn’t. His humility wasn’t disingenuous. It was the difference between insecure and cocky, and that place in the middle attracted Mia.
They walked the horses easily around the wide-open space overlooking the water. The Mia dress was a vibrant contrast to the horse’s silver coat, picking up the grass’s woodsy hues. Mia’s hair was loose, her expression relaxing as she let her body ease into Granite’s languid stride.
Vincent jogged around them, his feet light on the ground, snapping photos. He called out directions: “Put your arms around her,” “Lean your head back against him,” “Put your hand on her thigh,” interspersed with “Ah, oui!,” “Incroyable!,” “C’est magique!”
With Cole behind her, holding her, Mia felt safe and free at the same time. Seeing their growing comfort level, the trainer moved them into a graceful run. Mia let out an exhilarated whoop, beaming. She and Cole laughed. Vincent caught it all on film.
Hours passed like lightning and the shoot came to an end. Mia and Cole said goodbye to Granite and thanked the trainer. While Mia reviewed Vincent’s photos by the stable, Cole sat on the wood fence yards away, watching the horses in the pasture. The caramel, coffee, ink black, and white colors of the herd knit seamlessly with the wild nature that extended for acres around them. Mia pulled her smartphone from her black faux suede purse and snapped Cole with the horses in the distance. She posted to her Insta Story, tagging him.
Nature boy @motorcityfitz #BeWyld #ride
Vincent looked at the photo. “See, you do have a good eye,” he said. “Is your hearing as sharp?”
“What do you mean?” asked Mia.
“I know you came by the other night with dinner for me after my little dock incident.” Vincent touched his lower back. “I had familiar company.”
“I wanted to see if you were okay,” replied Mia, fingering one of her pearl earrings. “I wasn’t trying to intrude.”
“I know that privacy isn’t de rigueur in our line of business, but I appreciate that you respected mine,” said Vincent.
“No worries.” Mia smiled.
“Lyndon doesn’t have to know about everything.” Vincent noted Cole glancing Mia’s way.
“Like you said, isn’t the whole point of this job for everyone to know everything?” asked Mia.
“It shouldn’t be,” answered Vincent as Cole approached. “You two should wander for a bit.” He motioned around. “It’s spectacular.” He walked in the opposite direction. “I’m going to. I’ll be back in an hour to drive us back.”
Mia and Cole walked the grounds, meandering to the wide cliffs overlooking the beach.
“Since the fire, you’ve seemed a little distracted,” said Cole.
“Jade and I saw it.” Mia’s eyes were on the clear blue horizon.
“You did?” replied Cole.
“I watched the paramedics put Quentin in the ambulance. His burns were—” Mia shook her head, trying to expel the memory.
“It’s sad.” Cole picked up a stone and chucked it off the cliff. “No one comes here and thinks they’ll end up going home like that. I wonder how the others are holding up. You’re friends with Ruby.”
“I haven’t talked to her.” Mia picked bark off the tree. “She’s . . . sweet, sincere.”
“My friends were stoners like her—good guys. I smoked a lot of weed in high school, but that got boring afterward. They fell into other shit and went a direction I didn’t want to go in.” Cole chuckled, kicking some leaves. “I don’t know what direction I’m going, except that I know it’s not theirs.”
Mia spun around. “I know what direction I want to go.”
“Fashion.” Cole motioned to Mia’s dress. “And you’re doing it!”
“I mean right now.” Mia twirled. “I want to go to the stable and visit Granite.” She skipped off. Cole caught up with her and took her hand. They ran toward the stable, laughing.
The twelve-stall stable was an architectural masterpiece of curved wood ceilings with stainless steel pendant lamps hanging from the beams across. Wrought iron gates with picture-frame windows let the horses peer out into the center aisle, where Mia and Cole strolled. The workers and trainers had left the barn immaculate for its equine occupants, who were calmly munching hay and resting.
“This is way nicer than most apartments in Southie,” said Mia. “I feel more comfortable here than at the estate.”
“Horses don’t judge.”
“Or at least we can’t hear them judging.” Mia caressed the nose of a snow-white stallion. She whispered, “Are you judging us?”
“I know I said you’ve seemed distracted.” Cole watched Mia. “But today, you looked really happy. It was nice to see.”
“I was. I am.” Mia turned to him. Those damn green eyes, Mia thought as Cole peered right into her soul.
Cole continued, “Because sometimes you have this look, Mia, like you’re ready for the rug to be pulled out from under you. How come?”
“I don’t know.” But Mia did know. Her dad had read her bedtime stories and checked for monsters in the closet. He kissed her bad dreams away. Then he left her. Trevor had constantly told her he wanted to protect her when they were together. Then he cheated on her and lied about it. And her mom showered her with as much love as any mom could, but she was going to die. Mia understood that the rug got pulled.
“You didn’t get lucky, like J.P. said at dinner.” Cole brushed a lock of hair from Mia’s face. “You earned your place here. Try and enjoy it.”
“Okay, I will.” Mia kissed him. His lips melted into hers, their tongues finding each other. With their arms wrapped, they felt and fumbled their way into the open empty stall at the end of the barn. It was filled with fresh hay waiting for a new gelding or stallion. Mia pulled Cole’s shirt off and unbuttoned his jeans. She let him undress her. Her hands made their way down his body. His hands felt strong on her. They made love.
Afterward, they rested in the bed of hay, their breath slowing. They could hear a horse’s neigh and another one’s snort.
“They’re judging us,” said Mia.
“Do you care?” Cole pulled her close.
“Nope.” Mia kissed him.
THIRTY-ONE
The July 4 Wall Street Journal’s website headline read:
LYNDON WYLD WILDLY MISSES ANALYSTS ESTIMATE FOR
YEAR-END RESULTS.
PROFITS DOWN 30%
Lyndon punched the “x” on the window tab to close the page. She picked up her smartphone next to the tea cup on her tray and looked at her brand’s Instagram. Her seasonaires, in playful pyramid formation, were filtered and Photoshopped to look more like the ideal American melting pot dream than ever before. The caption read:
Have a Wyld Fourth! #BeWyld #WyldFourth #dreamlife
She turn
ed to stare out her private plane’s window, her expression tense. All she could see were clouds.
Mia and Jade stood on the deck, polishing off the strawberry-blueberry mojitos Grant had concocted. Jade looked at the Instagram post as Mia gazed out at the three layers: dark blue water topped with a ribbon of burnt sienna, then the clear azure sky. A sea plane waited at the end of the dock. Its propellers churned up the water.
“Last chance,” said Jade, singsong, giving Mia’s shoulder a light bump. “Our fireworks are better.”
“Thank you for the invitation, but I’m good here,” replied Mia.
The other seasonaires were inside the estate, getting dressed for the night’s Rabbit Hole festivities. J.P. stepped out, holding his iPad. He repositioned his straw fedora with its indigo grosgrain band and the Perch bird logo.
Jade tilted the hat slightly. “Better.”
“Have a blast tonight, Mia.” J.P. kissed Mia on the cheek.
“You, too,” said Mia.
Jade pulled a small box wrapped with a red, white, and blue bow out of her sapphire sequin clutch and handed it to Mia. “Happy Independence Day.”
Mia was surprised. “What is this?”
Jade shrugged as she and J.P. walked to the dock. Mia waved, then opened the box. It was the long necklace with the green sea glass pendant she had seen when she went to the farmers market with Jade. She softly gasped. Jade smiled at her from the dock as she and J.P. got in the seaplane, which took off.
“Lyndon is gonna flip a shit,” said Presley, who was putting in a diamond stud earring as she stepped out. They watched the plane ascend.
“I don’t think Jade cares,” said Mia.
“And J.P. will do anything to meet Maz.” Presley looked over Mia’s shoulder at the necklace in its box. “That’s cute.” Mia put it on and took an Instagram selfie, tagging Jade:
Happy mermaid tears. Thank u @1jaded.1 #BeWyld #surprise #notcheesy
Presley touched the smooth gem that hung above the second button of Mia’s white Lyndon Wyld cardigan, fastened over a red gingham strapless dress. Mia had replaced the original buttons with ones bearing hand-painted American flags.
Presley fingered her own pearl choker. “I don’t wear long necklaces because they always get caught when I lean over.”
Grant met them with three pink-and-blue mojitos. “Lean over who?” he snickered.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” responded Presley. She tapped one of the artful buttons on Mia’s cardigan. “I saw you painting those. Maybe Lyndon will dub this ‘the Mia sweater.’”
Mia brushed her hand down her cardigan to brush Presley away. “I get it. You’re mad about the photo shoot.”
“Do I look mad?” Presley’s face was a mask of practiced cheer.
“You’re so passive-aggressive.” Mia sipped the final drops of her cocktail from the straw.
“Ladies, let’s not fight,” said Grant. “Unless there’s going to be hair pulling, then go for it.”
“I’m not starting petty tussles tonight.” Presley hugged Mia.
“Good.” Mia softened, lightly embracing Presley.
Presley threw her arms in the air. “It’s a night for celebration and fireworks!”
“And getting lit!” Grant handed the girls fresh mojitos.
Mia took one, but Presley put her hand up. “I’m not drinking that—strawberries and blueberries! Do you see what I’m wearing?” She twirled in a white Swiss dot dress that flared at the tops of her thighs.
“More for me,” said Grant, drinking two-fisted.
“God bless America! Land that I love. Stand beside her. And guide her . . .” Vincent sang as he stepped out and motioned for Grant to continue.
“I do not know the lyrics, dude,” said Grant.
“You’re a disgrace to your country.” Vincent gave Grant’s hair a quick ruffle.
“No shit. Are you hanging with us tonight?” Grant slurped from his straw.
“I’m going to come for a bit, take some photos, then meet friends for a late dinner at the Club Car,” replied Vincent.
“What about fireworks?” asked Grant.
“You’ve seen one finale, you’ve seen ’em all.” Vincent shrugged.
“Adulting is a snoozefest,” said Presley. “Who gets sick of fireworks? That’s just plain sad.”
“It’s your job to post festivities and fireworks,” said Vincent. “Remember, Lyndon wants at least four for your Insta Stories.”
“Mia, where’s Cole?” asked Grant.
“How would I know?” Mia snapped back.
“You guys are a thing, don’t deny it,” teased Presley.
“Not a thing.” Mia sipped, shifting her eyes away.
Grant yelled at the top of his lungs, up to the second-floor window above them.
“Cole, get the fuck down here and tandem-ride with your thing.” He nodded to Mia.
“I’m in the john!” Cole yelled back through the bathroom window.
“He complains that I’m in there for a long time,” scoffed Grant to the others. “He takes his phone. I think he’s sending dick picks.” Grant grabbed Mia’s phone from her hand. “To Miiiahhh!”
Mia went to punch low, then grabbed high, getting her phone back. Grant laughed. “Scrappy.”
“Maybe he manscapes more meticulously than you.” Vincent smirked at Grant.
“Mia? Could that be true?” Grant raised his eyebrows to Mia.
“I wouldn’t know,” replied Mia. “I haven’t seen your manscaping either, so I can’t judge.”
Nadege brought out a basket of powdered sugar-coated pastries, placing them on the deck table. “Homemade beignets.”
“Nadege, it’s a crime that you’re working another Fourth of July,” said Mia.
“Miss Lyndon always invites us to stay,” said Nadege. “The holiday is much nicer here than where we live in Mattapan. People get crazy. The firearms come out in celebration and you never know where the bullets that go up will come down.”
“That’s kinda what Southie’s like tonight, too,” said Mia.
Presley put her arm around Nadege. “Nadege’s husband brings her three kids.” She smiled at Nadege. “They are so darn cute, Nadege.”
“I’m leaving most of the beignets up here instead of bringing them down to the beach,” said Nadege. “Fireworks and sugar get my babies riled up.”
“Oh, you know I will go HAM on these later,” said Grant, chowing down on one while miming a joint.
“There’s no ham in a beignet,” said Vincent.
“HAM. Hard as a motherfucker,” clarified Grant. “Because these are insaaaaane!” He ate another one.
“They get him riled up, too,” Mia chuckled to Nadege. “Enjoy the night with your family.”
Cole joined the group. “Let’s roll, people!”
“To The Hole!” yelled Grant.
Mia started her Insta Story with a selfie, sitting on the cruiser bike with Presley behind her in the G’s passenger seat. She drew a crown on Presley and captioned:
Princess @thenewpresley #WyldFourth
“Get your ass out of that car and bike with us.” Grant yelled at Presley.
“I’m not getting overheated,” replied Presley. “I’ll carry the swag.” She held up Lyndon Wyld canvas totes filled with monogrammed bucket hats and white woven rope bracelets adorned with the words Free To Be Wyld.
They passed the beach estates, where revelers were ensconced behind their high hedges at private catered parties, like the one Maz was having in the Hamptons. As they rode closer to town, the saltbox houses were quaintly decorated for barbecues and picnics on the front lawns. Kids giggled and shrieked with glee as they threw their bodies onto Slip ’N Slides, whooshing across. A couple dads gave it a run, too, making guests laugh.
Grant stopped to watch. “I was the king of Slip ’N Slide!” he said to one of the dads.
The dad handed him a beer. “Slurp ’N Slide.”
“You’re going to look like an i
diot going into The Hole completely wet,” Mia said to Grant.
“You earned your very own dress contract by being wet,” replied Grant.
That shut Mia up. Vincent captured the action shot with Grant in a midair dive while the kids and adults cheered. The look on his face was pure joy. Mia grinned, simultaneously tickled by his all-encompassing lust for life and jealous of it. Some people were made that way and their lives seemed to follow accordingly. After, Grant high-fived the families around him, giving the kids fist bumps. The smile never left his face.
As Mia watched these families celebrate, she thought about her Fourth of Julys when she was a kid, playing around the street’s fire hydrant. She had never been purely joyful, like Grant on the Slip ’N Slide, but she had been happy. Her dad had detonated that happiness like a bottle rocket. She looked at Cole and thought about being with him at the photo shoot, in the horse stable. It seemed like a dream. He smiled at her as he laughed at Grant, who climbed back on his bike, his Lyndon Wyld polo shirt soaked. They peddled into town, where people were out in the street, drinking and waving American flags. There seemed to be music coming out of every bar and restaurant, each with its own crowd of party people.
The Rabbit Hole event was already packed when they arrived.
“The party has arrived!” exclaimed Presley, who sashayed inside first, with Grant and Vincent following.
Cole held the door open for Mia. “After you, pretty lady.” Mia grinned, absently holding the sea glass pendant.
A DJ was spinning under a Lyndon Wyld branded banner. Many of the millennials had come straight from beach barbecues, volleyball tournaments, and water sports, still in bikinis and board shorts, accessorized with a solid alcohol buzz. The no shirt, no shoes, no service sign meant nothing tonight. Grant whipped off his wet shirt and fit right in, grabbing two girls and taking a selfie. The other seasonaires were the best dressed there. The merch they passed out was gone in two seconds flat, giving Vincent a snap-worthy sea of partiers dancing and drinking in brand gear.
Presley took a seat at their table. Grant made a beeline for the bar. “We need some drinks!”
Cole looked at Mia, who sat next to Presley. “What can I get you?”