The Seasonaires

by Janna King

  “Will you get me a piña colada?” asked Presley.

  “Will you give me a blow job?” Grant laughed.

  Cole shoved Grant, looking back at Presley and Mia. “We’ve got it.”

  Presley refused to look at the bar, where Mac hustled, making drinks with Frank. That hustle didn’t stop him from looking at her.

  Mia leaned into Presley. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m amazing!” Presley pulled her smartphone from her purse. “Let’s take a selfie.”

  Two girls approached in Lyndon Wyld swag bucket hats. Their long matching fishtail braids hung down in the back, like the one Presley demonstrated in her Instagram beauty tutorial before the Summer Solstice Soiree.

  “Hi,” said the girl with the darker fishtail braid.

  “Hi!” exclaimed Presley.

  Presley’s smile stiffened when she realized the girl was talking to Mia. “Mia, can we take a pic with you?”

  As Mia was pulled away, toward a Lyndon Wyld sign with the girls, she shrugged at Presley and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  Eve stepped up to Presley, holding an empty tray. “What can I get you?”

  “I’m good,” replied Presley, putting her phone back in her purse.

  “Mmmm,” Eve squinted at her. “You’re really not.” She walked off.

  Presley squeezed the clasp of her purse shut, her knuckles growing white.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Maz’s house was a seaside Hamptons Modernism masterpiece—all glass, concrete, and wood—designed by an East Coast “starchitect.” Its style veered from the historical shaker shingle beach architecture just enough to make Maz a happy anarchist but not enough to cause the neighbors to veto it. The money for their cooperation was well spent. His annual Blue Bash was organized by the world’s most sought-after caterers and party planners, with his wife Tatiana’s discerning eye on all of it.

  Jade and J.P.’s seaplane landed at the dock, fifteen yards from where Maz’s thirty-million-dollar yacht sat with its ten decks and reclaimed wood dining table under a ceiling-length Swarovski crystal chandelier. J.P.’s grandfather had a private jet and one of the fastest speedboats in the world, but this yacht trumped those riches.

  “That is fucking incredible,” said J.P. With his eyes glued to the yacht, he tripped on a rope anchor, but caught himself.

  “It’s whatever,” replied Jade. “We’re barely ever on it. My dad has no idea how to drive a boat.”

  “It’s not a boat. It’s a yacht,” said J.P. “And no one who owns something like that would ever drive it themselves.”

  Jade shrugged. “Bougie.”

  Instead of a Red Carpet, a blue one greeted guests from the list that was as star-studded as any awards show. No one dared to attend without matching that carpet.

  “Unbelievable!” Everywhere J.P. looked there was another famous celebrity: actors, rappers, pop singers, sports legends, and technology tycoons.

  “Your head’s going to fall off if you keep whipping it around like that,” said Jade, walking ahead of him. She made her way toward the house, kissing supermodels on both cheeks and having her ass grabbed by not just one but two musicians. J.P. was too distracted by the Hollywood wattage to even notice. Jade led him to the M-Kat logo backdrop for some paparazzi photos.

  J.P. tried to pull away. “Coming here was risky enough without photos blasted everywhere.”

  “My dad will be very disappointed if we don’t represent,” Jade said, nodding to the logo.

  “We’re supposed to be representing,” J.P. whispered to her. “Lyndon Wyld on Nantucket. That’s why I don’t want to do it.”

  “So you’re going to fuck up this opportunity?” Jade crossed her arms.

  J.P. had no choice, so they stepped up and put on media-worthy smiles.

  Tatiana saw Jade from the koi pond–bordered doorway, where she stood with two nannies, each holding toddler girls adorned in cornflower blue. Tatiana showcased her forty-four-year-old model-thin body in a tube top and skintight velvet leggings the same color as the cupcake-size sapphire ring on her right hand, which competed with her conflict-free diamond wedding ring set. When Maz and Tatiana met twenty-five years earlier, Tatiana had imparted her social consciousness on her famous beau, whose clothes were rumored to be made by poor São Paulo single mothers and their children. Tatiana ensured the mothers earned fair trade wages and received health care while a school was built for the children. Yet she was the one who liked the yacht.

  Tatiana waved to Jade, who came in for a hug and the required air kisses. She held Jade out and surveyed. “You look so thin, baby! I was worried that Lyndon would overfeed you.”

  J.P. stifled a chuckle, since his mother had the opposite worry.

  Tatiana continued, “With the exception of Kate Moss, those Brits love their bangers and mash. You’ll look incredible at the Victoria’s Secret runway show.”

  “We’re going to crush the mother-daughter theme,” said Jade.

  Jade handed J.P. her phone. “Take a photo, J.P.” J.P. took one, the women with their hands on one hip, chests out, inside legs pointed forward. He gave the phone back to Jade, who AirDropped Tatiana the photo. They both posted to Instagram.

  Jade:

  Like daughter, like mother. @tatianamkat #twinning

  Tatiana:

  Like mother, like daughter. @1jaded.1 #fuckthehaters

  Tatiana finally looked at J.P., who shook her hand. She held his for a moment too long. Jade’s face tensed.

  “You are much more handsome in person,” Tatiana cooed to J.P. She looked at Jade. “Lyndon needs to have Vincent better filter you all.”

  “We’re real life, Mom,” said Jade.

  “Oh, honey, you are so not real life.” Tatiana shooed them inside. “Go have fun.”

  The estate was a blue-hued fantasy down to the menu: blue crab cakes, blue fin tacos, blueberry tarts. The Dom flowed into blue crystal glasses flown in from Murano, Italy, for the occasion. The staff wore navy M-Kat uniforms with sailor hats. A DJ played from the second-story landing—not just any DJ, like The Rabbit Hole local, but one in multimillion-dollar rotation at Las Vegas’s hottest nightclubs.

  “Perch hats need be part of this next year.” J.P. adjusted his straw hat.

  “Slow down, tiger,” Jade chuckled. “You have the whole night to sell your soul to the devil.”

  Jade stopped at Skullcrusher and Wrecking Ball, who had dropped her off at the Lyndon Wyld estate. She got lost in their bear hugs.

  “Hi, honey. You’re looking gorgeous after your time in Lyndonland,” said Skullcrusher. His eyes burned into J.P., who immediately started to sweat.

  “Welcome!” Wrecking Ball slapped J.P. on the arm. “Be good, you two.” The two giant men lumbered off through the crowd.

  “You know we won’t.” Jade grinned.

  “That’s gonna leave a mark.” J.P. rubbed his biceps. “Can we go outside to get some air?” He nodded to the open deck that faced the beach.

  “Too much for you already?” teased Jade.

  “No, I just want to see who’s out there.”

  But before they could take two steps, they heard the booming velvet voice.

  “My princess!” shouted Maz, who approached with his arms wide. He was turned out in a sapphire three-piece suit and blue suede M-Kat kicks.

  “One of three,” said Jade, giving her dad a kiss on the cheek. No air kisses for Maz. “Hi, Daddy.”

  Maz spoke low in her ear. “You’ve been naughty.”

  “Learned from the best,” replied Jade.

  Maz shifted his gaze to J.P. “I know you!”

  “You do?” J.P.’s eyes went wide in shock.

  “How could I not? J.P., you’ve made quite an impression on my girl. She’s told me all about you.”

  “Really?” J.P. tried not to hyperventilate.

  “I hear you have a compelling business opportunity to discuss,” said Maz.

  “I think you’ll like what I have to show you,” said J.
P., absently touching the brim of his hat.

  Maz pointed the way to the foyer. “I have to go make sure that the head of Microsoft is behaving himself. But I’ll be back for you.”

  “All right!” J.P. grinned.

  “In the meantime, make yourself at home. Eat, drink, there’s lots of networking to be done.”

  As Maz walked off, Skullcrusher and Wrecking Ball flanked him.

  A server stopped with a tray of blue cheese and pear on endive. The cheese’s strong smell mixed with J.P.’s nerves. “I feel nauseous.”

  Jade waved off the server. “No, thank you.” She turned to J.P. “Don’t worry, baby, you got this.” She kissed him deeply, and saw Tatiana watching them from the arch between the foyer and the living room.

  “This is the most insane party I’ve ever been to,” J.P. said, scanning the room. “It makes The Rabbit Hole look like Abu Ghraib.”

  “Yep,” replied Jade.

  Skullcrusher and Wrecking Ball returned. “Maz wants you up in his office,” ordered Skullcrusher to J.P.

  J.P. looked at Jade with the excitement of a little boy. “It’s happening.”

  “Kill it,” said Jade, touching his arm as he walked off with the men.

  Jade watched J.P. wind his way up the floating staircase. The two giant men following him looked like they would sink each step that seemed to be suspended in midair. Jade’s smile disappeared as she turned and walked into the nearby bathroom. She shut the door and pulled the vial of coke Otto had given her from her purse and unscrewed the cap. With the diamond-tipped spoon, she lifted a pinch of powder to her nose and sniffed, then pressed her nostril closed. She took a hit in the other nostril, replaced the cap, and put the vial back in her purse. She looked at herself in the mirror with a deadness that said she loathed what she saw.

  When she stepped out of the bathroom, Tatiana was waiting for her.

  “I bought a new comforter for your bedroom. Red satin, ugly as sin, but you’ll like it, since you’ll be staying here for the rest of the summer.”

  Jade didn’t argue.

  J.P. stepped into Maz’s office, which overlooked the property’s second pool, surrounded by a private courtyard that was off-limits at the event. When Skullcrusher closed the thick steel door, the party noise ceased as if the room were hermetically sealed. Maz stood at his large oak desk, pruning a bonsai with gold pruning shears.

  “Mister . . . Maz . . .” J.P. stuttered. “I don’t know what to call you?”

  “Have you ever had a bonsai, J.P.?” Maz trimmed.

  “I haven’t. Come to think of it, I’ve never had a plant of my own.”

  “Bonsai is more than a plant.” Maz glanced up at him.

  J.P. shifted his feet.

  “It’s an ancient Chinese art form,” continued Maz. “My wife introduced me to it. People think it’s Japanese, but the Japanese redeveloped it under the influence of Zen Buddhism.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said J.P., pushing his thick dark bangs out of his eyes and into the brim of his hat.

  “I already have hats in my collection,” said Maz.

  J.P. straightened. “I know, but you also partner with designers who bring new assets to the table.”

  “Like Lyndon Wyld?” scoffed Maz. “Everyone knows how that turned out.”

  “I’m not Lyndon Wyld.” J.P. held up his iPad. On the screen was the Perch website. “Perch.” He pointed to the logo. “For ‘Perchero,’ which means—”

  “‘Hat stand’ in Spanish.” Maz smiled. “That’s clever.”

  J.P. looked like a little boy being given a “Best Effort” trophy, along with the rest of the team.

  Maz continued to shape the bonsai, dropping the tiny trimmings into Wrecking Ball’s Godzilla paws. “Bonsai is a particular representation of something much more than itself, letting each person interpret it and build upon it based on their own experiences and memories.”

  “Like how we wear clothes or accessories,” J.P. chimed in. “They’re extensions of our own personal style.”

  Maz tilted his head, appreciating the bonsai’s new form. “They’re held in such high regard that they’re brought into the house, even though they contain dirt from the garden.” Maz’s smile seemed calculated, teeth bared wide. He looked at J.P.

  “I want you to explain yourself to my colleagues here.” Maz pointed the shears toward his two hulking lackeys. Then he put them down and left the office.

  J.P. looked flummoxed. He stammered to Skullcrusher and Wrecking Ball. “I’m supposed to show you my pitch? Is that like a pre-pitch to him?”

  “No. He wants you to show us the video,” said Skullcrusher.

  “What video?” J.P.’s heart raced.

  “You know what video,” replied Wrecking Ball. “The one you took of his daughter with that scumbag, Otto Hahn, slobbering all over her. The one you posted on Instagram.”

  J.P.’s face went white. “I didn’t post that.”

  “It was on your Instagram,” said Skullcrusher.

  “I know.” J.P.’s stammering worsened. “Someone got a hold of my phone and posted it.”

  The men snickered. “Yeah, right,” scoffed Wrecking Ball.

  “Even if that were true, why was it on your phone in the first place?” added Skullcrusher.

  “I was told to film . . .” J.P. paused. “The party. But I deleted it as soon as I saw it.”

  “News travels fast,” said Wrecking Ball, lifting his smartphone. On it was a screenshot of the Instagram post. “Two hundred thousand views with just as many likes, then shared on Twitter and Facebook.”

  “But it disappeared once I deleted it,” J.P. said breathlessly.

  “The toothpaste is out of the tube. People saw it, lots and lots of people.” Skullcrusher jabbed his smartphone screen.

  “Nothing is ever really deleted. You know that,” said Wrecking Ball.

  “Jade has been popular since the day she was born.” Skullcrusher slid his phone in his back pocket. “Everyone wanted to be her. Now everyone wants to be with her.”

  “Maz isn’t stoked about that,” said Wrecking Ball.

  “Jade and I are friends.” J.P. lifted his hands. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

  “Take off that hat,” demanded Skullcrusher.

  Shaking, J.P. removed the hat.

  “Please. I’m sorry,” cried J.P.

  “Relax.” Skullcrusher took the straw fedora. “I just want to try it on.” The hat sat on top of Skullcrusher’s bowling ball pate like a kids’ party hat. “You’re sorry all right. It’s too small for my head.” He shoved it back on J.P. “You should have the hat on anyway. You know why?”

  “Why?” said J.P., the word coming out like a squeak.

  “Because your feet are going to be cold.”

  “Why would they be cold? They are toasty warm in here.” J.P. offered a twitchy smile.

  “If you keep your head warm, your feet will stay warm,” said Wrecking Ball. “Take off your shoes.”

  “I’d prefer to keep them on.” J.P. let out a nervous chuckle. “Hammertoes.”

  Wrecking Ball lifted J.P. and Skullcrusher snatched off the M-Kat slip-on sneakers.

  “Your toes look nice.” Skullcrusher glanced down. “You wouldn’t want anyone to step on them, but you’ve been stepping on plenty of toes yourself. Maz don’t play that.”

  Wrecking Ball picked up the gold pruning shears from the desk.

  “No. Nonononono, please,” J.P. begged, sweat beading on his upper lip.

  “We should remind you that there is an implied nondisclosure agreement,” growled Skullcrusher.

  J.P. started to hyperventilate, his eyes darting around in the hopes that someone would save him. But the room was silent and the pool courtyard below was empty.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I can’t get her to move,” said Mia, standing at the pool table with Cole. She nodded toward Presley across the room, still sitting in the same place, poking her straw in and out of her
full piña colada.

  Mia and Cole put their empties on the windowsill.

  “Every party has a pooper,” said Cole, racking up balls. “Are you going to let her ruin your night?”

  Mia plucked two pool cues from their clips on the wall. “Nope.” She handed a cue to Cole and pulled her smartphone from her pocket. They took a selfie. Mia posted to her Insta Story:

  Who will win? #WyldFourth #stripes #solids

  Cole looked at Mia’s smartphone screen. “Nice photobomb.” Ruby was in the background between them, making rock-and-roll devil horns with both her hands, tongue out. Mia turned as Ruby came in for a hug.

  “Mia! Where have you been?” exclaimed Ruby. She pulled back to admire Mia’s sea glass necklace. “I love that. You have the best taste in jewelry.” She jangled her bracelets—one was the thin blue enamel bangle that matched the other three Mia wore. “I haven’t seen you since our lighthouse adventure!”

  “What lighthouse adventure?” Cole asked Mia, expression curious.

  Ruby continued in her drunken slur. “The night of your Summer Soiree, Mia and I went for a swim at Brant Point. Have you been to the lighthouse?”

  “Can’t say that I have.” Cole chalked his pool cue.

  “Ooh, you’re missing out!” said Ruby. “Mia saved my life there.” She grinned broadly at Mia.

  “She did?” Cole looked at Mia, both impressed and confused.

  “Yes!” Ruby gave Mia another huge hug. She smelled like a distillery. “And because you’re such a beautiful person, I brought this for you.” She pulled a white capsule from her wood beaded satchel, holding it out for Mia.

  Mia squinted at it. “I know some people think it’s, you know, YOLO, to take something at a party without asking what it is, but . . . what is it?”

  “A treat!” answered Ruby with glee.

  “It’s Molly,” Cole whispered in Mia’s ear.

  Mia put her hand up. “Thank you for offering, Ruby. I want to be able to kick Cole’s ass at pool. We were just going to play.” She touched Cole’s arm.

  “I am the worst pool player,” said Ruby with a giggle. “Which is why I wasn’t here when your charming pal there beat the crap out of Axel.”