Beach Lane Collection

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “Yeah, you’re booked for eight-thirty,” Eliza mumbled, picking up the baby from his high chair.

  “You made sure we got the corner table, right?”

  “That’s what they told me.”

  “Huh. Well, if we’re seated anywhere else, I’m so not going to be very happy,” Poppy threatened.

  Sugar shrugged, gave Eliza a half-scornful, half-pitying look, and followed her sister out of the room.

  After they were gone, Eliza had quietly sobbed into Cody’s Diaper Genie. It just wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. . . . She was a good person, underneath the fading five-hundred-dollar highlights, and she hadn’t done anything in her life to deserve being treated that way. Cody watched her in fascination as she sniffed and blew her nose loudly.

  “One day, when you grow up and come into your trust fund, promise me you’ll try to get them disinherited,” she told him, cuffing his chin.

  Her eyes were still red and puffy from her run-in with the two wicked stepsisters when she went out to join the others by the pool. But that was what big Gucci sunglasses were made for.

  * * *

  “Mara—the suntan lotion, please?” Eliza snapped, still holding out her palm.

  “Oh, sorry,” Mara said, looking up from the side of the Infinity Edge pool, where she was trying to coax Cody into the water. She was a little annoyed that both Eliza and Jacqui acted like they were getting paid to laze about and sunbathe in their skimpy bikinis. The two of them had been comatose on their lounge chairs all afternoon, hardly lifting a finger to help—even when William fell in and pretended to drown. “Psych!” he’d yelled when Mara dove in after him, still in her shorts and T-shirt. And Madison was stuffing her face, but no one had the energy to find yet another of her junk food hiding places.

  The only time the two had shown any motivation was when Kevin Perry passed through on his way to his golf game. Eliza had jumped to help William with his scuba mask, and Jacqui had assumed interest in the book Zoë seemed to be reading out loud to herself. Unfortunately, the little girl wasn’t actually reading any words, just pretending to by repeating the instructions her mother gave to their housekeeper every morning. “Make sure you alphabetize the spices in the pantry.” “When my trainer arrives, tell him to meet me in the studio.” “Please make sure you are using the environmentally safe tile cleaner I bought from Amsterdam.”

  “So how are our girls doing?” Kevin had asked, his gaze resting on Jacqui’s spectacular MTV-rocks-Cancún body, barely covered by two seashell-trimmed crochet triangles and a matching thong.

  “You missed a spot,” he said, coming over to wipe a smudge of white sunblock goop on Jacqui’s shoulders. He rubbed it in with his thumb. “There, that’s better.”

  Mara and Eliza blanched. But Jacqui didn’t flinch from his touch and returned his stare with an impudent smile of her own. With her luck, maybe she wouldn’t need to do anything this summer except keep the kids’ dad’s imagination well occupied. Besides, nothing could put a damper on her blissful state. Luca had promised he would take her to the very charming and quaint Farmhouse restaurant later that evening. And it was actually just down the street in East Hampton and not an hour away.

  When Kevin departed, Jacqui and Eliza flopped down on their lounge chairs again. Mara sighed. She didn’t know what to do about her two coworkers. She expected them to be closer after William’s sunstroke accident and the night of truth, but no such luck. Jacqui was completely preoccupied with Luca, and Eliza was acting aloof and distant. So the three were only really speaking when they were dealing with the kids or complaining about the Perrys. Although there really wasn’t that much to grouse about—Anna and Kevin were hardly ever home. It wasn’t as if she had no troubles of her own. Lately Jim had been pressuring her to take a weekend off, get on the New London ferry, and get her behind back to Sturbridge.

  “Here,” Mara said, getting up and slapping Eliza’s palm with the orange bottle.

  “Thanks.”

  Eliza massaged the oil into her skin, all the while exorcising the twins’ insults from her memory. She counted herself lucky because unlike Sugar and Poppy, she didn’t freckle or burn but browned to an even golden color.

  She didn’t have their money, but at least she could do one thing they couldn’t.

  She could tan.

  eliza gives the gardener a free show

  THE SOUND OF CLIPPING SHEARS STARTLED THE GIRLS, and they all turned around to see a very cute dark-haired guy in a holey T-shirt and weathered jeans trimming the hedges. Eliza looked up questioningly, and the guy met her gaze for a second before dropping his eyes back down to his task.

  He’s checking me out, Eliza thought, a little annoyed but also a little intrigued. She stretched her legs and arched her back as she slowly rubbed her chest and bare flat stomach with SPF 4 carrot juice.

  When she turned on her back and untied the strings, she caught him looking again. Ugh. How rude. She rolled her eyes. But a minute later she peeked at him from behind her lowered Gucci wraparounds.

  Broad shoulders, blue eyes underneath that icky fishing hat. Hmmm . . . possibly even cute?

  As if she would ever be interested.

  Let him look, Eliza thought. It’s probably the highlight of his life.

  “C’mon, Cody, it’s just the kiddie pool, it’s just water, it won’t hurt you,” Mara said, trying to soothe the trembling child.

  “YES, IT WILL! HA HA HA!” William said, splashing on his baby brother as he cannonballed in.

  “Ignore him.”

  “Ah, just throw him in,” a jovial voice joked. The girls looked up to see Ryan Perry—bare chested and wearing faded jams, stretching his legs to get ready for his afternoon laps.

  “Hey, dude, are you heading over to the thing at Sunset later?” Eliza called. What was it about Ryan Perry? Eliza wondered. He was superhot, but somehow she was never interested. Maybe because she’d known him since they were babies. And seriously, could she ever even think of dating those wretched girls’ brother? She’d pass. But it didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy lording it over Jacqui and Mara that they had a somewhat more special relationship. Her being an old friend of the family and all.

  “Maybe.” Ryan nodded, but his attention was focused elsewhere. He knelt down to where Mara was wrapping Cody in a towel.

  “Hey, when do you want to get together for that long-delayed Scrabble game?” he asked.

  “What? Oh . . . sure. Anytime,” Mara said, smiling.

  “Cool.”

  They grinned at each other, and Ryan dove headfirst into the pool. Mara missed Jim, but it was hard—every time she called, he was either drunk in Andrus Field with his boys or helping customers (who happened to sound awfully young and female) at his uncle’s car dealership. And Ryan was so nice to her. If she’d let herself think about it, she’d have already realized that Ryan was nicer to her than Jim had ever been.

  “I forgot to tell you guys—Anna said we get to take the kids to the polo match next week,” Jacqui said. “She left instructions on how to get in the VIP tents.”

  At the mention of “VIP,” Eliza’s ears pricked up. “No way—you guys got a box this year?” she yelled to Ryan.

  Ryan nodded from the deep end.

  “Oh my God! But I have nothing to wear!” Eliza shrieked, sitting up and accidentally flashing the gardener in her excitement. “Oops,” she said, pulling her straps up and retying her top.

  The shears tumbled to the ground.

  Eliza blushed but resumed her poise.

  “What’s the big deal about a polo match?” Mara asked.

  “It’s the Mercedes-Benz Polo Match Championship,” Eliza said, in the tone of, “It’s the Presidential Inauguration.” “Everyone will be there. It’s like a really important weekend.”

  “Is just game, sí?” Jacqui asked, shrugging. Polo. Horses. Mallets. Big deal. Give her the World Cup any day.

  Eliza shook her head. You couldn’t really explain the Hamptons social s
cene—you either had it or you didn’t, and you either got it or you didn’t. And sadly, Jacqui and Mara just didn’t have it or get it. They didn’t even realize how lucky they were to be in East Hampton—they could have been stuck in Montauk, for heaven’s sake.

  “It’s not about the game. Nobody really cares who wins. It’s about the champagne in the tents. And between the third and fourth chukker everyone goes out to stomp on the divots! It’s, like, tradition. Stephanie Seymour always comes out in five-inch heels that sink into the mud! One year Prince Harry rode with one of the teams.” Eliza caught her breath, remembering how much fun she had last summer.

  “Anyway, everyone gets really dressed up. But casual. Kind of like LA.” She fretted, “But I don’t have anything new. I need to go shopping.” Eliza was itching to spend some of her hard-earned money.

  After the canceled progress meeting, the girls were given a handwritten note from Anna and three envelopes stuffed with cash ($3,334 exactly). Thanks for all the hard work. So sorry we couldn’t meet today. Giorgio couldn’t reschedule my appointment. Try not to spend it all in one place. XOXO, Anna, read the thick embossed card.

  “Mim demasiado,” Jacqui chimed. “At Daslu, I always had new outfit every week. I saw this great dress from Gucci with a snake belt in Vogue. It would look perfect with my new Alain Tondowski slides.”

  They both looked so bummed, Mara almost laughed at them. “Hey, if you guys want to go shopping, I can stay here and watch the kids.”

  “Are you sure?” Eliza yelped.

  “Fantastico!” Jacqui exclaimed. The two began gathering their towels and beach bags, delighted at this unexpected turn of events.

  “You guys taking off?” Ryan asked, pulling himself out of the pool, dripping fat drops of water on the limestone.

  “Just them,” Mara replied. “They wanted to go shopping, so I offered to stay with the kids.”

  “You should go, too. I’ll watch ’em,” Ryan offered.

  Mara was floored. “Seriously?” she asked. Shopping did sound tempting—and she was feeling kind of frumpy around those two fashion butterflies. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little something—maybe a new skirt or a pair of those big sunglasses with the Gs on the side that everyone seemed to own. Plus she could probably stop by the bank while she was in town to make a deposit.

  “Yeah, Mar, c’mon, leave them with him. He’s got nothing to do all day,” Eliza said, giddy at the prospect of an afternoon of her favorite pastime. So giddy that she almost liked the idea of Mara coming along.

  “Oh, okay. All right, but we’ll be back in, like, fifteen minutes,” Mara promised.

  Fifteen minutes? Eliza and Jacqui eyed each other. Obviously Mara had never been shopping with girls like them before.

  main street, east hampton: that’s why they invented credit cards

  THE GIRLS LINGERED OVER SARIS AND “SUMMER weight” satins at Calypso, where Jacqui picked up another Eres bikini to add to the fifteen tangas she had already brought with her, then they hightailed it to Tracey Feith to take a look at the new sundresses, passing by Steven Stolman because Eliza wanted to check if the rainbow-colored Jelly Kellys were in. Sadly, they weren’t: they were on wait list and out of stock. At Jimmy’s the selection of beaded corset gowns took their breath away.

  Next stop: Scoop on the Beach.

  “This is my favorite!” Eliza said, walking by the racks of terry cloth Juicy tube dresses, pastel-colored Marc Jacobs camisoles and tanks, rows of candy-colored cotton minis, and shelves of James Perse baby T-shirts and shrunken Joie hooded sweaters—the unofficial Hamptons uniform.

  The store was filled with emaciated twenty- and thirty-year-old women trying on Petit Bateau T-shirts (made for French toddlers). Dueling mother and daughter tag teams abounded. Mara noticed two distinct breeds—mothers who dressed younger than their daughters in Von Dutch tank tops and terry cloth sweatpants while their daughters wore vintage Chanel jackets, and mothers who dressed exactly like their daughters, both generations in sleeveless black Lacoste dresses and espadrilles.

  “Can I help you?” Asked a bubbly salesgirl, about their age, in a T-shirt that read JUICY across the chest. “Looking for something in particular?” she asked Mara, who looked a bit hesitant, while Eliza and Jacqui went through the racks with feverish passion.

  Mara shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Just let me know if I can help you in any way!” the salesgirl chirped, and left Mara alone to wait on more savvy customers.

  Mara noticed most of the shoppers clustered around several tables stacked with folded jeans and decided to follow their lead. There were blue jeans, dark blue jeans, pin-striped jeans, colored jeans, and “dirty” jeans. Bell-bottom. Low rise. Super–low rise. Flared. Slim. Boot leg. Jeans with cargo pockets in the front, on the butt, or on the thigh. There were so many permutations of infinitesimal difference. Yet everyone around Mara was discussing which ones they already owned and which ones they still had to buy. Mara turned over a price tag. $175! For a pair of blue jeans that didn’t look too different from her own trusty Levi’s.

  “Mom, what do you think?” a sylph of a girl asked, walking out of the dressing room wearing a nude chiffon slip dress with a plunging neckline.

  Her mother, a knockout with toned Linda Hamilton arms and a taut midriff, shook her head. “Don’t you think it’s a little too much for someone your age?” she asked.

  “I’m twelve!” her daughter argued.

  A thirty-year-old woman walked out of her dressing room wearing the same exact dress. She looked at the teenager and sighed. “I would kill to have your waist.”

  * * *

  The energetic salesclerk helped Jacqui and Eliza as they both disappeared into the dressing rooms underneath a humungous pile of clothing. Mara hung behind, her eyes widening at the prices. She found a cute bandanna-printed sleeveless blouse but immediately put it back when she saw how much it cost. $250! For a cotton top? Was there nothing in the store under fifty bucks? Yup—a pile of cotton belts in a bucket by the door. Eliza emerged from the wooden shutter doors in a slinky bias-cut Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress.

  “Omigod, that is totally adorbs on you! Reese bought the same one yesterday,” the salesgirl gushed. Dropping a celebrity name was just the thing to ensure a quick sale; even Mara knew that.

  “You don’t say?” Eliza asked. “I’ll take it!”

  The salesgirl grinned. Mara knew that smile: it said sucker, but Eliza was too pleased with her new dress to notice.

  “Find anything?” Eliza asked Mara as she tugged at the under-fifty-dollar belt and critically ascertained her figure in the mirror.

  “No, uh, I’ll just wait for you guys. Maybe I should get back,” Mara said.

  “What are you talking about!” Eliza said, marching over. She pulled out a body-hugging red strapless Shoshanna dress that came with a pair of matching red lace underwear. “Try this on. With your dark hair, this is going to look perfect on you!”

  “I don’t know . . .,” Mara said.

  The mother and daughter who were arguing about the sexy chiffon dress walked up to the register. “Get out of my way, Mom, I’m getting it,” the daughter said, holding the hanger and brandishing her Visa card. “It’s perfect for Tiffany’s bat mitzvah!”

  Her mother sighed and gave Mara a look that said: Kids, what can you do?

  Mara didn’t return a sympathetic glance. She wasn’t sure she approved of twelve-year-olds in lingerie chic, but she was from Sturbridge, so what did she know. She had already spotted girls Zoë’s age wearing Porn Star T-shirts on the beach.

  Jacqui walked out of her dressing room in a mini Polo shirt and the briefest striped denim shorts. “What do you guys think?”

  “That is to die!” Eliza screeched. “Those look insane on you. Jac, don’t you think Mara should try this on?” Eliza asked, holding up the dress.

  “Is perfecto. You must. We insist,” Jacqui agreed. The two of them pushed Mara into a dressing room.

 
; “Oh, all right, but just for fun,” Mara said. Jeez, it was so tight, how did anyone get their hips into this thing? She zipped it up in the back and looked behind her at the mirror. It barely covered her butt! So that was what the matching underwear was for.

  “Hey, guys, what do you think?” she asked, stepping gingerly out of the dressing room.

  “Muy bonito,” Jacqui pronounced.

  “What did I tell you?” Eliza asked. “But you need shoes. Sorry, but those Reeboks aren’t going to cut it and don’t you dare think you can wear your cowboy boots with that.”

  Jacqui nodded and picked out a pair of matching red plastic Sigerson Morrison high-heeled flip-flops. “Here, put these on,” she said, slipping them on Mara’s feet.

  The extra height lengthened Mara’s legs, which were getting good and brown from their daily excursions to Georgica Beach. “Perfect!” Eliza crowed. “Except for the hair. Have you always worn it that way?”

  “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

  Eliza tut-tutted. “We’re going to have to let Pierre have a hand in it.” She punched some numbers on a cell phone. “Pierre? It’s Eliza. Do you think you could come and visit me later? I’ve got a friend who really needs your help.”

  “Jim would never let me wear this in public,” Mara said, scrutinizing herself in the mirror.

  “Who’s Jim?”

  “My boyfriend,” Mara reminded them. The two of them seemed to have some kind of amnesia whenever Mara told them anything about her life back home. “He’s kind of pissed at me already for leaving him this summer.”

  “Right. Mr. Numero Uno,” Eliza teased. “Why? Can’t he visit? Aren’t you from Boston? That’s only four hours away.”

  “Sturbridge. And yeah, it’s not that far, but Jim’s kind of a homebody.”

  “God. What a baby,” Eliza said. “If I were him, I’d want to keep an eye on you!”

  “And who cares about Jim? Esqueça-se dele. That’s going to blow Ryan’s mind!” Jacqui said.