by Nancy Thayer
“Clare, let me explain. Ed treats me—”
“There is nothing to explain!” Clare was so upset, she tossed her sandwich aside and stood up, pacing in her frustration. “Lexi, first, Ed Hardin is a terrible, terrible man. How can you even let yourself get sucked in by talk about all this art—this man has single-handedly ruined acres and acres of the island!”
Lexi nodded, miserable. “I know—”
“And second, which, actually, ought to be first, because I love you and don’t want to see you used and tossed aside like a piece of soiled tissue: all this man wants to do is seduce you.”
“Maybe not,” Lexi objected quietly.
“Really? You think he likes you for your mind? You think you’re interesting? Lexi, Ed Hardin is a carnivore! To him, you’re just one more pretty young gazelle in a herd of thousands!”
Lexi folded her arms over her chest stubbornly. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Then you’re kidding yourself.” Tears flew from Clare’s eyes as she paced in a circle. “Lexi, Lexi, come on! Don’t do this to yourself.” She glared at Lexi as if she were repellent. “Honey, if you date that man, you might as well hang a sign on your back saying ‘If you have money, you can do me.’”
“Clare, don’t be so mean!” Lexi begged.
“Lexi, don’t be so stupid,” Clare shot back.
Lexi opened her mouth to retort—and Jesse’s sign says “if you’re female, you can do me!” She wanted to be just as vulgar and demeaning as Clare had been. But she bit her tongue. She wasn’t with Ed Hardin the way Clare was with Jesse.
Ed phoned her to ask her out again. She politely refused, saying she was busy.
He said, “Well, what night are you free?”
She hesitated. “Look. I can’t—I’m not—”
“It’s just dinner, Lexi. And conversation. I enjoy your company.”
He seemed so mild, so reasonable. He didn’t seem like a monster at all. He wasn’t a monster, really.
“Well…”
On their next date, over dinner at Toppers, Ed told her about his life. He’d grown up in a suburb of Kansas City, he’d had a happy life with a loving family, he’d gone to college in the Midwest, married young, and had three children who were now teenagers. He was divorced. He seldom saw his ex-wife, but their relationship was amicable.
“I like what I do,” he told her. “I’m proud of what I do.”
“But how can you be?” she countered. “You…you ruin the earth. You’re like a scourge on the island.”
He smiled gently, not in the least offended. “It all depends on your perspective, Lexi. I provide luxurious residences for people who work hard at important jobs—a transplant surgeon bought one of my houses, and a civil rights lawyer bought one. They need a place to escape to, a place to catch their breath, away from the harsh realities of the world. Where they can unwind. Even dream again. Where better than in one of my homes among the dazzling, sheltering scenery? They go back to work recharged.”
He was like a word wizard, an enchanter. She could see his point of view.
He continued mildly, “And there are other places as spectacular as Nantucket Island. If you could see the big picture—I’ve built my estates outside Vail and Palm Springs and Miami. People can trust me to provide them with homes that nurture them.”
She nodded, thinking that what he said was true. There were other places as spectacular as Nantucket. She just had never seen any. She wished she could.
What do you think?” Clare leaned forward, eager to hear Lexi’s verdict. She wore an apron over her sundress, and the apron was covered with chocolate stains.
Lexi sat at the kitchen table in Clare’s kitchen. “Delicious. But maybe a little…”
“Too much cinnamon, right?”
It was a hot Sunday morning at the end of August. Miraculously, Clare had phoned Lexi to invite her over for breakfast. Both Lexi and Clare had the day off and Jesse had gone to an all-guys’ party the night before and was sleeping in today.
“I’m sure he’s hung over,” Clare told Lexi earlier that morning. “Anyway, I haven’t seen you forever, plus I’d love your opinion on a chocolate breakfast brioche I’m inventing.”
Lexi had jumped at the chance to spend time with her best friend. She’d thrown on shorts and a T-shirt and biked over to Clare’s. Clare’s father was off-island, doing research for his book, and Clare’s mother was already out in her studio, painting.
Now Lexi tilted her head as she let the tastes meld in her mouth. “Yeah, yeah, perhaps too much cinnamon.”
“I know. Right.” Clare grabbed a journal and scribbled notes. When she looked up at Lexi, her face was radiant. “Oh, Lexi, I’m having so much fun working at the gourmet shop! Especially creating new recipes. I’m toying with the idea of leaving UMass and going to a culinary college.” She buzzed around the kitchen, setting pans in to soak, wiping down the counters.
This seemed like a good time to tell Clare, Lexi decided, while they were both in a good mood and the sun shone through the window. “Well, you know, I’m not going back.”
“Back where?” Clare bent over to put a pan in the dishwasher. “La Maison?”
“College. UMass.”
Clare stood up and gawked at Lexi. “Oh, come on! You’ve got to go back, are you kidding me? You don’t want to clean houses forever, do you?”
Lexi took a deep breath. “Clare, my parents can’t afford it.”
“Oh.” Clare sat down in a chair with a thump. “Oh. Wow. That’s awful, Lexi.”
Lexi was grateful for her concern, but at the same time, she felt herself bristling, straightening in her chair. “Well, it’s not tragic, for heaven’s sake. I mean, well, look at Jesse. He’s not going to college.”
Clare snorted. “Jesse in college? Ouch, can’t even imagine it. Of course some people just aren’t meant for college, but you, Lexi, the way you love art and stuff…” She looked at Lexi with affection and sympathy. “What are you going to do?”
Lexi toyed with her fork. “I’m not sure.”
Clare squinted her eyes at Lexi. “Are you dating Hardin?”
Lexi looked away. “He wants to take me to Williamstown in September. To see the Clark Art Museum.”
“Please, Lexi. He wants to get in your pants, that’s all.”
Lexi lifted her chin defiantly. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he did. Anyway, Clare, I don’t think that’s true. I think he likes me.”
“Lexi, come on, don’t tell me he likes you for your mind! You’re a baby compared to him!”
“No, I don’t think that. I do think he likes the way I look—and I don’t mean,” she hastened to add, “just that he wants to screw me. I think he likes it that I’m tall and lean and young. He likes being seen with me.”
“Yeah, because it’s another way of giving it to the islanders. It’s like saying, not only can I buy up your land and trash it, but I can buy up your women and trash them.”
“Clare, you’re being really harsh about him.”
“Lexi, if you want to know why, just drive out on the Polpis Road and look at his development. And it’s not as if he’s going to live here and funnel some of his gazillions back into the town, no, he’s just flying over like…like a stealth bomber or something, blasting the hell out of the land and then disappearing.”
“He’s providing tranquil places for stressed-out people,” Lexi argued weakly.
“Look,” Clare snapped, “just sleep with the man, okay? Sleep with him, so he can add another notch to his belt, and then maybe he’ll leave you alone!”
After Labor Day, the island was suddenly quieter. Most of the summer people had gone back to their homes to ready their children for school or to gear up for work. Lexi’s cleaning jobs ended after she helped close up the houses for the off-season, and her hours at La Maison were cut drastically. She knew she had to find a full-time job, but this was just exactly the wrong season to look for one.
Perhaps because she had time on her hands, perhaps because a lot of her friends, including Clare, had left the island for college, and perhaps because she actually truly wanted to, she accepted Ed’s invitation to go to Williamstown to see the Impressionist paintings at the Clark Art Museum.
In a fit of madness, Lexi spent half of her hard-earned money on three dresses and a pair of fabulous shoes at one of the most expensive boutiques on the island. Now, as she walked through the cool, hushed rooms of the museum with Ed at her side, she knew she looked absolutely classy. She saw the way other people looked at her, their eyes lingering, and she felt so elegant, so special, it almost seemed that even the eyes of the people in the portraits were looking at her, too.
That night Ed took her to a restaurant with the dark, mysterious, leathery ambience of a world-class library. The menus were even larger than the ones at La Maison, and no prices were listed. Roses floated in a low bowl in the middle of their table and candles flickered in silver holders and on sconces on walls around the room. Lexi shivered with the realization that here, now, in her marvelous, simple black dress, she must seem to others like the well-educated, well-traveled women she had waited on all summer at La Maison.
Ed gazed approvingly at Lexi. “I hope you’ve noticed, you’re the object of much admiration.”
Lexi tried to be cool. She felt both triumphant and frightened. Ed had reserved two rooms for them—with an adjoining door. She took a sip of the champagne Ed had ordered and forced herself to calm down. She wanted to be more than she was.
“This has been a wonderful day, Ed,” she told him.
Did he actually blush? He seemed almost embarrassed by her sincerity. “Yes, it has. Which painting did you like best?”
She laughed. “I couldn’t possibly choose!” Then, more seriously, she said, “But the pictures that most interested me were by Mary Cassatt. I’ve been reading about her, and about the Paris Salon in the 1880s. Mary Cassatt was one of only a few women who exhibited with the men whom we now regard as masters. Renoir. Monet. Degas. And poor Degas! Did you know he never married? And he hated the term Impressionist and he believed that no painter could possibly have a private life. He was blind when he was older, and lonely—” She paused, suddenly embarrassed by her own fervency.
“Go on,” Ed prompted. “Please. I’m fascinated. I’ve never taken the time to study the personal lives of artists.”
“Oh, well,” Lexi sipped more champagne. What was she thinking, telling this real estate mogul anything at all?
“Really,” Ed insisted. He smiled his charming smile. “I find the lives of all successful people of interest.”
After dinner, they strolled around the formal grounds of the hotel. The air was hot and humid and lush with the scent of roses. For a few moments they watched the waters of a fountain spill over the marble. This would be a good time for Ed to kiss her, Lexi thought. To hold her hand…
But he only took her arm, lightly. “It’s late,” Ed said. “We have to get up early tomorrow to drive back to the ferry.”
She walked along helplessly as they returned to the hotel and took the elevator to their floor. At the door of her room, he said formally, “Good night, Lexi. Thank you for a delightful evening.”
“Oh.” She felt awkward, uncertain. “I thought—”
Calmly, he told her, “Anything else that happens tonight is your choice. The door between us stays locked, or you can open it. It’s up to you.”
“Well, okay…”
“See you in the morning.”
Ed walked away, down the corridor to his own room. As he did, Lexi experienced an unexpected twinge of disappointment. A sense of loss, almost.
In her bedroom, she crossed to stand in front of the full-length mirror. She had twisted her blond hair into a simple, classic chignon. Her makeup was only a touch of lipstick, but her cheeks were rosy from the champagne. She was sleek and slim and, yes, she was elegant, standing there in the black dress and high heels.
And she was glowing. From champagne, or nervousness, whatever—she was glowing.
And now she thought: why shouldn’t she sleep with him? Probably she would never see him again in her entire life. Or perhaps next summer she would see him, and she would be waitressing at La Maison, and he would be courting and seducing another, younger waitress, and Lexi would be cast aside just like Clare predicted.
But next summer was far away. And until this trip, she had been feeling so lonely. Her brother was in school in Boston, her parents were in the process of closing their store, and most of her friends were back at college. She was young, after all; why shouldn’t she be foolish while she was young? Why shouldn’t she have a night of frivolous sexual passion with a wealthy, fascinating man?
She rechecked her image in the mirror. Should she change into her sexy little nightie? No. No, if she didn’t unlock that door right this very minute, she’d have second thoughts and freeze up with terror. She looked as good as she was going to, and so she took a deep breath, and she unlocked the adjoining door.
Ed was standing by his bed. He was just removing his dinner jacket. His white shirt gleamed like snow. “Well, hello.”
She crossed over the threshold into his room. “I thought…” Suddenly she was trembling. She’d had sex with boys before—with boys, inexperienced, clumsy boys. She clenched her fists and struggled to remain dignified. “I thought I’d like to go to bed with you.”
“Did you, now.” Ed’s face softened. “I was rather hoping you’d decide that.”
She walked toward him slowly. She could feel her thighs brushing the silk of her dress. “Do you—Would you like me to undress?”
He pulled her to him in a gentle hug. “Lexi.” He kissed her face and ran his hands down her arms. “Yes, Lexi, I’d like you to undress. But first, I’d like you to sit down. Here.” He gestured to one of the chairs in the sitting area of his room.
Puzzled, she obeyed. Ed sat next to her. He studied her for a moment. “You really are lovely.”
Her throat was so dry she was afraid to respond.
“Lexi,” Ed said, “what would you think about marrying me?” And from his pocket he brought out a small black velvet box holding a large emerald-cut diamond ring.
Clare was nearly shaking with anger. It was very early Sunday morning, a muggy hot morning in early September. “I can’t believe you made me come out to Moon Shell Beach to tell me this!”
Lexi hugged herself defensively. “We agreed we’d tell each other the important things here!”
Clare stamped her foot. “You’ll never forgive me for not telling you the moment after I first slept with Jesse, will you?”
Lexi kicked off her thongs and drew a design in the sand with her toe as she gathered her thoughts. After a moment, she said, “Clare, this isn’t about you and Jesse. This is about you and me. Our friendship. I thought it was special.”
“It is.” Clare held out her hands. “I love you, Lex, you know that. You’ll always be my best friend. And we always knew we’d fall in love—it’s part of growing up.”
“So, that’s why I asked you here to meet me. So I could tell you I’m going to marry Ed Hardin.”
Clare protested, “But Lexi, he’s a horrible man! What kind of woman have you become that you’d marry him? You know you can’t love him. So you’re marrying him for his money, and that makes you no better than a whore!”
Stung, Lexi shot back, “You should know. You’re sleeping with the town slut. Jesse can’t keep his trousers zipped, plus oh, right, he’s really going to be able to support you with his awesome band that never quite gets formed.”
“This isn’t about Jesse,” Clare said between clenched teeth. “It’s about you marrying Ed Hardin. He’s just an immoral, greedy, saga-sized turd!”
Lexi retorted, “And you’re just a provincial little peasant whose ambitions end at Jesse Gray’s ass!”
Clare bit her cheek to stop the tears. She took a deep breath and struggled for dignity.
“Well, I’m so glad you invited me out here to our special place to have this conversation,” she said sardonically. Slapping bushes out of her way, she stormed along the path to her car.
Lexi held herself tightly for a long moment, then sank onto the sand and wept. Her parents were having financial troubles, her best friend hated her, she was alone—she was lost. You can only take what life offers you, Lexi thought. Clare wanted Jesse. Ed Hardin wanted her. She would marry him.
FIVE
2006
Clare leaned against the bathroom door, watching Jesse shave. “Honestly, Jesse, I don’t want to do this.”
“Come on, babe. It’s disrespectful if you don’t show up.” Jesse made a face as he scraped the delicate skin between his mouth and nose.
Tony Kostner’s fishing boat had gone down in a storm on Georges Bank a week ago and Clare was trying to decide whether she was obligated to attend Tony’s memorial service. “Well, I never did respect Anthony,” Clare reminded him. “He was a drunk and an arrogant, bad-tempered lout.”
Jesse dipped his face toward the basin, splashing it with cold water. Grabbing a towel, he rubbed his face dry. “We went to school with him, Clare.” He scowled at her. “Anyway, this isn’t just about Tony. It’s about Georgeann.”
The name opened between them like a black bog, indistinct and dangerous. One step into it and they’d be mired, thrashing around through their past in a frantic attempt to get back to the surface, clear and free.
Jesse brushed past Clare, out of the bathroom. She closed her eyes and tried counting to ten. All of her life, every decision, every deed, seemed tied to her love for Jesse and his philandering.
For the past twelve years, Clare had based her whole life on the conviction that she and Jesse were meant for each other. It seemed right—until good-looking, easygoing, sweet-smiling Jesse once again confessed he’d sort of, kind of, had a little—oh, you couldn’t even call it a fling, he’d just made one more tiny, purely meaningless mistake—in the arms of yet another woman, in yet another woman’s bed. Laid-back Jesse, indeed.