Mara inched slightly closer to him on the clammy sand. Having such a demanding and overachieving mother explained a lot about David--the high standards he set for himself and for others.
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"Anyway, I just couldn't handle the idea of telling her I gave up the Lonesome Planet gig. If I'd told her I was just going to spend the summer bumming around Europe with my girlfriend, she'd freak." He shrugged helplessly.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" Mara asked pointedly. This information would have been helpful a month ago.
"I don't know. I didn't want you to think I was some kind of mama's boy, you know?" He turned to Mara and grabbed her hand, his blue eyes earnest. "But Mara, the minute I got on the plane, I knew I'd made a mistake. I got to Europe, and I missed you so much. But I knew if I called you and spoke to you, I'd just come back, so I e-mailed and texted instead. It was a total cop-out."
Mara listened quietly without interrupting. The waves crashed softly on the shore.
"But then when I got your e-mail, it hit me how much I'd really hurt you. I was so miserable. I cut myself off from everything. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't write--at all. I quit the guide and just wandered the streets of Europe by myself. After two weeks, I knew the only thing I could do was come back here and try to get you to forgive me. I called Alicia to ask if she knew where you were, and she told me, so here I am." Alicia was Maras roommate, the Southern debutante.
"Here you are," Mara repeated quietly, still unable to believe that he really was here.
"You can hate me if you want," he offered, biting his lower lip. The air was chilly, but her hand was warm in his.
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"I don't hate you. I'm not even sure I can be angry at you anymore." As soon as she said it, she knew it was true. She wished she could be stronger and hold on to her anger, but seeing him made her realize how much she'd missed him. She'd missed him so much she'd even convinced herself she still had feelings for Ryan Perry.
"Oh, Mara." Davids shoulders sagged in relief and he pulled her in for a close hug. She nestled her head against his neck, remembering how strong and solid he felt. "I missed you so much," he whispered gently in her ear.
When they finally pulled apart, David smiled mischievously. "And I almost forgot, I got you something."
She knew instantly what'd he'd brought her--a copycat Birkin, from the famous stall near the Trevi Fountain. He'd gotten her text after all. He really had been listening.
She pulled him close, and as their lips met by the crashing sea, Mara's heart filled with contentment. A boyfriend and a Birkin-- what more could any girl want?
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www.blogspot/hamptonsaupair1
it's not just a job, it's a relationship
There's something that they don't tell you and that you totally don't expect until you start taking care of other people's children. It's that you start thinking of them--and loving them--as your own. S. needn't have worried. Those kids are my life. Wyatt finally scored a decent grade on his KRTs (PHEW!) and to celebrate, I let him have a video game. (SHHHH!) The twins surprise and delight me every day with their inquisitive and unique view of the world. Yesterday after they found me scribbling notes for my book, they told me they too were going to pen their memoirs. (Tales of a First-Grade Nothing? Heartbreaking Works of Staggering Precociousness?) Cassidy is the happiest baby ever--not just on the block. If only Violet would come out of her shell a little. I wish I could find a way to let her know it's okay to have a little fun sometimes.
On a harsher note, it's easier to spot Christie Brinkley at the yacht club than J. at work these days. Her modeling shoot has taken over most of her time, and I know she's in the busy process of becoming an international sensation--this week she did a five-minute spot for a Japanese car commercial and had to learn how to say, "Take the wheel," in Japanese--but really, couldn't she pay a little attention to
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the home front? While I don't mind (much), I just wish she'd tell me when to expect her (or not expect her) so I'm not waiting around for her to burp the baby or take the kids to squash lessons all the time. I don't want to get in the way of her transformation into "The Body" (as everyone is calling her since that saucy photo of her ran in Hamptons mag). I just wish she'd bring her body over to help with doing the baby laundry sometime.
But the good news is that D. is back!!! I have a boyfriend again!!! He's staying at his parents' rarely used summer home in North Fork (they're not exactly beach types, or vacation types for that matter, if you know what I mean) and has claimed that his only job for the rest of the summer is to make his prior absence up to me. So far, he's been true to his word. He's been really great with the kids--we took them sailing in his boat the other day, and tomorrow we're all going to the Nautical Museum out in Riverhead. It's been wonderful to have him here. I take back all my bitching and whining. Yesterday he took me to the annual Writers & Artists softball game (his mom sponsors the Writers team) and we met all these famous authors. It was v. cool. They all seemed to know him--he's like everyone's favorite godson or something. He was nice enough to mention that I was a writer too, although I don't think a few clips in Hamptons and Metropolitan Circus really counts. Still, it was nice to pretend.
Till next time, HamptonsAuPair1
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IS MIDAS THE GUY NOT TAKEN?
AFTER A LONG DAY AT THE STORE, ELIZA SENT THE
salesgirl home, preferring to close up shop herself. This was her favorite part of the day--tallying the day's receipts, putting back all the clothing on the racks, tidying up and making sure everything was in order. It was her own tiny little retail kingdom, and she loved the peace and quiet.
She was folding the last of the linen sweaters when there was a knock on the door. Eliza glanced up to see Midas in the store window, waving to her. She buzzed him inside.
"Are you busy?" he asked, glancing at the pile of sweaters in her hand. "I've got something to tell you, and it deserves a bit of champagne."
"What is it?" she asked warily, setting the sweaters gently on a lower shelf. "I have to warn you, I hate surprises. . . ." Her voice trailed off as she remembered the last time a guy had a surprise for her--it had ended with a very heavy rock on her finger.
He shook his head with a grin. "Mum's the word until we've
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got drinks in our hands." He ushered her out of the store. Main Street was emptying as the shops closed, but the streets glowed with late-summer light. "Let's just pop in here." Midas motioned to a tiny hotel bar along the avenue.
They walked into the dark recess, feeling the cold blast of the air-conditioning hit their skin. The bar was cozy, with plush red velvet cushions on cane-backed chairs, and bamboo lining the walls.
"I like this place," Midas proclaimed as his sharp blue eyes took in the decor. "Its like a pub in Rangoon, you know--men in white linen suits and fedoras, the sun setting on the British Empire, all that jazz."
"Mmm. The British raj. Khakis against pink saris." Eliza nodded. She too viewed every unique setting as a possible stage for a fashion shoot. It was also the way she dressed--every outfit told a story. Today she had put on a pretty, floral-print forties-style Rodarte dress with a nipped-in waist and bell sleeves, matched with her black-and-white Brian Atwood spectator pumps, because she was feeling very Scarlett Johansson in The Black Dahlia. Not that she'd even liked that movie, but the clothes were to die for. Pun intended.
The waitress approached, and they ordered--a martini for her, a Manhattan with bitters for him.
"So, khaki with pink ... I can see your mind working." Midas leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing her from across the table.
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"I need ideas for my resort collection," she admitted, running a finger over the bamboo coaster. She shivered slightly in her thin silk dress and wondered if she could ask the bartender to turn down the air-conditioning.
When the waitress returned with their order, Midas hoisted his lowball glass. "Now, then.
Let me be the first to congratulate you"--he paused dramatically--"on being the youngest designer ever to grace a twenty-page spread in Vogue. I think Zac did it before he was twenty-five, but I don't know anyone who's done it before they were legal to drink," he added with a smirk, clinking his glass against hers.
"Oh my God! You're joking ! " Eliza cried. Did he just say twenty pages in Vogue? She knew the Eastons were in the Hamptons on Vogues dime, but that they were working on spec for the shoot--which meant that the magazine hadn't approved it yet, and there were no guarantees. Eliza had hoped for two or three pages at the most ... but twenty? That was every designer's dream.
"I'm serious as a priest." He put a hand over his heart, his eyes twinkling mischievously, looking quite a bit like his twin brother. Midas looked very much the cool auteur that day, with his five o'clock shadow, chain belt, and distressed Paper Denim jeans. "It was originally scheduled for August, but when Anna saw some of the shots, she flipped. They're running the whole thing in the September issue."
"Midas!" She leapt from her chair and threw her arms around
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his neck. Twenty pages in September Vogue, the biggest issue of the year!
He kissed the top of her head, and she felt a frisson of electricity spark between them.
"I'm sorry." She blushed, extricating herself from his lap.
"Oh, go right ahead." He laughed, pulling out her chair for her so she could sit back down. "Though in case you feel like jumping again, let me tell you the rest of the news--they want to throw you a big party at the end of the summer at Calvin Kleins beach house."
Eliza grabbed Midas's hand across the table and squeezed it tightly. "You have no idea what this means for me."
He squeezed her hand back. "You deserve it, kiddo."
"Please. You're not that much older than I am."
"I graduated from university two years ago," Midas protested. "I'm practically a dirty old man," he said cheekily. Noticing Eliza's empty glass, he waved the waitress over for another round, handing her his platinum card.
"You went to college?" Eliza asked, remembering that in England they called college "university," so in Australia it was probably the same. "I figured you went to art school."
"Nah, I'm an Oxford man." Midas took his glass from the waitress as their drinks arrived.
"Oxford, really? Not design school?" Eliza asked, totally floored. She spiked an errant onion in her martini with the little plastic sword that came with it.
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"Design's school's all well and good, but if you want to work in fashion or media, everyone went to Cambridge or Oxford. And while I'm loath to admit it, who you know is always part of making it in this business."
Huh. Eliza brought the martini glass to her lips and took a slow sip. She had heard from friends who worked in the industry that the staff at all the top magazines were Ivy bred. But she couldn't imagine going to school just to make connections. "So that's why you chose Oxford?" She had to decide pretty soon if she was going to Princeton or back to Parsons in the fall. Princeton had only allowed her to defer a year, so if she didn't enroll this fall, she'd have to reapply for admission, and who knew if she'd even get in the second time? After such a successful year at Parsons, she hadn't really been considering it. "I can't imagine committing to a school for four years just to rub shoulders with the 'right sort of people,'" she said, making little air quotes. "I think ... ," Eliza started, realizing she really meant it as the words tumbled out of her mouth, "I'd go to college to explore what's out there, to get a well-rounded education."
"Of course." Midas nodded. "It was a twenty-four-hour schmooze fest, yes, but I loved learning the Great Books. I majored in philosophy, if you can believe that." He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "But my dear, you just have to do what-ever's best for you."
Eliza set her glass down on the table. As she mused on Parsons, which would teach her everything she needed to know
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about design, her first and current love, versus Princeton, which meant exploring everything she might ever want to learn, Eliza couldn't stop herself from looking down at the ring on her finger. If she married Jeremy, she'd be committing to her other first love--the only person she'd ever really been with. What if she was closing the door on other experiences too? She played with the diamond ring, turning it around and around so that it caught the light, reflecting a thousand rainbow colors on the dark bamboo walls. Between Parsons and Jeremy, it was starting to feel like her whole life had been decided for her.
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IT'S MINIATURE GOLF, not the pga grand slam...
"GREAT SHOT!" MARA CHEERED AS DAVID SHOT THE
ball through the windmill, past the wooden cow, and into the tiny cup at the end of the felt fairway.
David took a little bow and walked over to the hole. "Your turn, man," he called to Ryan as he bent to pick up the robin's-egg blue ball, a smug grin on his face. He came to stand beside Mara and gave her a little peck on the cheek. "We've got 'em where we want 'em," he whispered in her ear. She giggled.
"Show him, baby!" Tinker cried from her post behind Ryan, swinging her golf club in the air. "Give 'em hell!"
David had only been back for a week when Mara had run into Tinker and Ryan and they'd invited her to a late-night bonfire. When Mara demurred, saying her boyfriend was in town, Tinker suggested they all double-date sometime. Mara had accepted the invitation, not sure if it would actually happen, but here the four of them were. She was pretty sure she owed the evening to Tinker's enthusiasm rather than Ryan's--he'd seemed a little
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stunned to find out she even had a boyfriend, which she had to say was strangely gratifying--but since they'd been having a good time tonight, she was genuinely glad it had all worked out. They had met at Lunch for dinner, ordering mouthwatering lobster rolls and platters of assorted fried fish, the guys swigging back longnecks and talking sports while the girls gossiped about people they knew.
They were going to call it a night when David suggested a round of mini-golf in Riverhead, on the North Fork. It was a nice respite from the high-flying Hamptons scene, as mini-golf was way too corny and suburban for the Hamptons elite. True to form, the course was populated by suburban types in wash-and-dry cotton rather than dry-clean-only denim.
"Isn't this fun?" Mara giggled, a little tipsy as they moved on to the next hole. She and David were beating Ryan and Tinker-- a miracle, considering the other two were athletes. She'd been teasing them about it mercilessly.
Ryan bent down and set his ball, which was fiery red, on the slotted black rubber pad that served as a tee. As he set up his shot, practice-swinging his club back and forth in the air, he accidentally nudged the ball with his club and it rolled off the tee and onto the forest green fake grass.
"That counts as one stroke," David called.
"Oh, man." Ryan laughed at his own clumsiness. "I think I had one too many back there." They had left more than a half-dozen empty beer bottles on the rickety wooden tables back at
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the restaurant and had decided to cab it to Riverhead. "Can I get a do-over?" he asked.
"No way, dude, those are the rules." David was the one keeping score, and he'd already reached into his pocket for the stubby golf course pencil to add a stroke to Ryan's score.
"Rules are made to be fixed," Ryan grumbled good-naturedly as he set the ball back down on the tee for take number two.
"What's that?" Tinker asked, looking up from her beer. She was wearing a pristine white knee-length Lacoste dress, a wide grosgrain headband in her thick blond hair, and a string of real pearls around her tanned neck, the epitome of polished patrician chic. Mara had been briefly intimidated when they first met up. Tinker looked like one of those country club queen bees for a moment--but as soon as she'd greeted Mara, rather sweetly asking about the kids and their "enlightenment," the feeling had quickly passed. Besides, Mara felt confident about her own, Eliza Thompson-approved outfit: a cotton
voile bib-front Chloe top and tailored pinstripe Bermudas that Eliza had pronounced the "look" of the season.
"Oh, nothing," Ryan mumbled as he set up his shot again.
"You know, rules are made to be fixed. The early bird releases the worm. Idle hands are the devil's workplace." Mara grinned at Ryan from across the course. Back when they were dating, the two of them would try to come up with as many subverted cliches as possible.
Ryan looked up from his club and grinned back. "The heart despises what it despises."
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"Ah, but I don't think 'despises' is the opposite of 'wants,' really," Mara pointed out, leaning jauntily on her club. "Good try, though. Half a point for effort!"
"I don't get it." Tinker frowned, taking a long slug from her plastic cup of Bud Light, the only drink the golf course offered. The red Solo cup looked hilariously mismatched with her chic outfit.
David looked back and forth between Ryan and Mara, shaking his head with a sigh. He yawned.
"We keeping you up, man?" Ryan teased. He tapped the golf ball lightly but didn't hit it.
"No, but if you don't take the shot anytime soon, I may just fall asleep standing up," David ribbed him back, holding his club over his head as he stretched his arms.
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