Beach Lane Collection

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Mara hurried across their pier and stepped onto the back deck. She put her bag down in the living area and walked over to the front of the stern, where she found him. Ryan was on his knees, dressed only in his cotton pinstripe boxers, waxing the finish. He was sweaty, and Mara thought he’d never looked sexier in his life. There was only one problem.

  This was no surfer dude.

  A chick in a turquoise bikini scrubbed down the boat next to theirs. She leaned over her railing and splashed Ryan with suds from her sponge, and Ryan retaliated by throwing his rag at her.

  Suddenly, Mara didn’t feel very hospitable. The fantasy of serving hors d’oeuvres and cocktails went straight out the porthole.

  Throughout the year, Mara had wondered how she would be able to stand it knowing that Ryan was the kind of guy who’d had so many girlfriends, and girls who were friends, and girls who wanted to be more than friends. The problem was he simply adored female company. He was a natural around women, having so many sisters, and was completely oblivious to the fact that Mara felt uncomfortable with how comfortable he was around the opposite sex. Especially those who could fill out a tiny turquoise string bikini.

  “I’m just being friendly,” Ryan would assure her. “You know you’re the only girl for me.” But the guy was a natural flirt—it was part of his charm—and as much as Mara didn’t want to make him change, seeing him banter so easily with another girl didn’t do a lot for her feelings of insecurity and self-esteem. It had been hard enough to get over the Eliza factor.

  “Hey, you, have you been standing there for long?” he said.

  “Not really,” Mara said coolly.

  “Tinker, this is my girlfriend, Mara,” he said, taking Mara in his arms.

  “Oh, hi!” Tinker said. “I’ve heard all about you,” she said in a friendly manner.

  “Tinker’s in my frat,” Ryan explained.

  Mara nodded. She knew Ryan was in a coed fraternity at Dartmouth. Somehow, she’d assumed any girl who wanted to join a fraternity would be just one of the guys—but Tinker was one hundred percent babe.

  “Anyway, like I told Ryan, my sisters and I are living on my parents’ boat this summer,” Tinker said.

  Mara smiled and tried to look enthusiastic about the situation, then turned back to Ryan. “You stink,” she told him.

  “I do, do I?” he threatened, and pretended to smother her with his armpits.

  “Stop.” Mara giggled.

  “C’mon,” Ryan said. “Why don’t we take a shower? We can get all clean . . .” he whispered. “And you can, you know, make up for deserting me last night. . . .”

  As Mara’s knees turned to jelly, she squeezed his hand tightly. She was going to let him know how sorry she was she’d left him all alone last night. How very, very, very sorry she really was. She shot him a wicked grin. “You are a really dirty boy,” she said.

  He replied by blowing softly in her ear.

  “Nice to meet you, um, Tinker!” she called, feeling a buzz of anticipation as Ryan led her by the hand down to the master suite, where they would make the most of the rainfall shower-head, the Jacuzzi, the king-size bed. . . .

  too close for comfort

  WHEN JACQUI ARRIVED BACK IN the au pair cottage, she was startled to find that most of her belongings had been carelessly shoved into two small drawers and that a strange pillow was lying on the only single bed.

  Shannon walked out of the bathroom in a robe, a towel wrapped around her head. “Oh, hi, Jacqui! I had to move some of your stuff since you took the whole closet. You probably didn’t know I was going to be here, right? Anna’s a bit of a spaz, I can tell.”

  Jacqui was about to reply, but the girl kept talking. “And I hope you don’t mind, but my doctor says I have a back problem and I really can’t sleep on the bunk bed. Is that all right?” The tiny girl batted her eyes and left Jacqui momentarily flabbergasted. She was supposed to be the senior au pair here, yet with one breath, Shannon had taken the best benefits of the room.

  Jacqui didn’t trust herself to reply; she was still tipsy from the margaritas and sour from the misunderstanding she’d left uncorrected. Instead, she started to pull out the drawers so she could fold her clothes more neatly, thinking of a plan.

  * * *

  An hour later, as they prepared the children’s dinner, Jacqui told Shannon about how important the summer was going to be for them. It was certainly going to be an important one for Jacqui because if she was going to spend a fifth year in high school, she would need Anna to hire her for another full year.

  “I just want to warn you, the first year I was here, we found out Anna fired the original au pairs before we even arrived. So we can’t really slack off. It’s not a total party, okay?” Jacqui said. “And the Perry kids can be a little difficult, especially Madison. We have to keep our eye on the basket all the time.” Jacqui meant to say “eye on the ball,” but she still mixed up her metaphors when she was flustered.

  Shannon nodded as she cut up the carrots. “Oh, of course,” she said effusively. “I’m really not worried, though. Kids love me.”

  Jacqui remained silent as she put the pasta pot on the stove to boil, a small smile on her face. With the Perry kids, Shannon had no idea what she was in for. . . .

  * * *

  At dinner, she introduced Shannon to the children. “Everyone, this is Shannon Shin. She’s going to help me take care of you this summer.”

  Shannon got down on her knees and put her face right in front of Zoë’s. She affected a high-pitched voice as she asked, “Hewow, Zoey. How are weed too-die?”

  Zoë stared back at her balefully. “I’m well, thank you,” she said in a clear voice.

  Cody screamed when Shannon tried to embrace him and refused to leave Jacqui’s side. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” he kept saying, shaking his head at Shannon.

  Feeling flummoxed, Shannon tried to befriend the older children. “Hi, I’m Shannon, and Jacqui tells me you’re . . . Bill?” she asked, offering a hand to William.

  William was rendered practically mute, and his face turned beet red when Shannon spoke to him. He stared at his plate and immediately stuffed his mouth with a spoonful of fettuccine.

  Jacqui bit back a laugh. Just as she’d thought, the kids weren’t going to be won over that easily. She even felt a little proud of them. She had earned their trust and love through hard work and dedication, and Shannon would have to do the same.

  But there was still one more kid at the table. Madison Perry sat in front of a plateful of wilted lettuce leaves that she kept moving around with her fork.

  Jacqui nudged Madison to eat, but instead of doing as Jacqui asked, Madison merely glared at Shannon. “Who’s that? And what is she doing here?” she asked Jacqui.

  “She’s the new au pair,” Jacqui explained. “Be nice.”

  Shannon came over to sit next to Madison. “Ooh, you have a TechnoMarine!” she gushed, motioning to Madison’s diamond-encrusted pink watch.

  “Uh-huh,” Madison allowed, holding up her wrist so Shannon could examine it more closely. “My dad bought it at a fund-raiser. It used to be Paris Hilton’s. It comes with five different straps. My favorite’s the pink alligator.”

  “That is so cool,” she said. “I’ve always wanted one. I’m Shannon. You’re Madison, right? I love your hair. Do you get it straightened? I’m can’t wait to grow mine out so I can get it done too.”

  Madison beamed. The two of them bent their heads together, admiring Madison’s watch. “You’re twelve? You look older, so mature. I just turned fifteen,” Shannon said. “We’re practically like sisters!”

  With one flattering compliment after another, soon Madison and Shannon were chatting just like two old friends. As Jacqui helped Cody cut his carrots, she couldn’t help feeling a bit cheated.

  eliza puts out an APB on a dress

  THE PHONE WAS RINGING. NOW-I-ain’t-sayin’-she-a-gold-digger-but-she-ain’t-messin’-wit’-no-broke- . . . Eliza opened one ey
e. Jeremy groaned. She reached over his chest and rummaged on her bedside drawer for her cell.

  “Uhloo?” she said while Jeremy buried his head underneath her pillow.

  “Hmpprff,” Jeremy complained.

  “Shh!” she said, jokingly pressing the pillow onto his face but half terrified someone would hear him. She’d snuck him in late last night when he’d gotten off from work and she’d come back from drinks with the girls, but Assignment: Expiration Date hadn’t quite gone as planned. Jeremy had spent the whole day planting Japanese maple trees and was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. They’d barely gotten to second base before Jeremy began snoring.

  Eliza thought they could try again this morning. She was counting on her dad leaving early for his golf game and her mother for her charity committee meeting. Then she and Jeremy could have the rest of the house to themselves. She had meant to discreetly slip out of bed, brush her teeth, change into the lingerie set, and slide back under the covers so she could look perfect before he awoke. But she hadn’t counted on an early-morning wake-up call from her least favorite person throwing her off schedule.

  “Eliza!” a frantic voice exclaimed.

  “Paige? What is it?” Eliza asked, immediately sitting up.

  “It’s an emergency!”

  “What’s wrong?” Eliza asked, her heart beating rapidly. Numerous dire scenarios filled her head: Sydney had changed his mind, he hated all the outfits she’d styled. Or the clothes had arrived and all the spray-painted parts had stained parts of the fabric that weren’t meant to be painted. The paint had dried the wrong color.

  “An outfit is missing,” Paige said with panic-stricken urgency. “The one Vidalia is supposed to wear for the finale. I’m here at the boutique on Main Street with Sydney and we’ve unpacked everything, but we can’t find it. It’s not here.”

  “But I packed it myself,” Eliza argued. “It has to be there.”

  “Well, it’s not and Sydney’s having a heart attack. You know it’s the most important outfit in the show. The whole thing is ruined without it.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “You need to fix this. You packed that box,” Paige insisted. “It’s your fault if it’s not at the show tonight. . . .”

  “All right, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” Eliza promised, trying not to panic herself. She clicked off the phone and sat pensively by the side of the bed. All thoughts of early-morning seduction were completely dismissed.

  Think, Eliza, think, she admonished herself as she tried to remember the details of the previous night . . . the chronology of events . . . and tried to figure out what had happened: she’d asked Vidalia to remove the dress and put it in the hanger to be wrapped, but in all the frenzy, Eliza had forgotten to check whether the model had done so. She remembered Vidalia saying how she was going to some fancy dinner party that night and needed something fabulous to wear so the cosmetics executives at Estée Lauder would take her seriously and offer her an exclusive contract.

  Eliza gasped. The damn model had snuck out in the outfit! She’d worn it to the Lauder dinner! Eliza was sure of it.

  “What’s happened? Everything okay?” Jeremy asked.

  “Everything is going to be fine,” Eliza said just as a Black Hawk helicopter thundered overhead. She looked out the window and wondered about the two-fingered logo painted on the side. It disappeared into the clouds, blasting hip-hop music.

  Eliza picked up her purse from the side of the bed and fingered her titanium AmEx card. . . .

  is there such a thing as an early-life crisis?

  SHANNON WAS ALREADY IN THE screening room when Jacqui arrived that morning. The new au pair was sitting at the head of the gaming table, chatting happily with Anna Perry.

  “Oh, Jacqui, there you are. You know we do try to run these things on time, dear,” Anna said, waving Jacqui toward the nearest seat.

  Jacqui glared. “The, uh, hot water was out at the cottage,” she explained.

  “I should have warned you,” Shannon said, an innocent look on her face. “I have to take really long showers because of my back condition. . . .”

  Jacqui nodded curtly. That morning, she had woken up to find the bathroom door locked for a solid hour. She had decided to give the kids breakfast without the benefit of bathing and had returned to find only cold, freezing water coming out of the pipes for her own shower.

  “I’m glad you guys have met. Shannon has a lot of experience and excellent references,” Anna explained.

  Jacqui gave the younger girl a sideways glance. Last night, Shannon had admitted to Jacqui that despite her impressive resume, the only kids she’d ever babysat were her younger siblings. Still, Shannon looked the picture of innocence.

  Anna clasped her hands. “So, here we are, another summer in the Hamptons!” she said, mustering a cheerful tone even though Jacqui had heard her and Kevin battling over the credit card bills last night. Anna was already on her third cup of coffee, and it was obvious the strain of her crumbling marriage was getting to her.

  Jacqui opened her notebook, her pen poised to take notes on Anna’s list of expectations for the children’s educational, spiritual, and physical activities for the next three months.

  “This year, I have nothing planned for the children,” Anna announced.

  Jacqui almost fell out of her chair. Every summer, Anna planned a strict, hour-by-hour regimented schedule and a list of unachievable goals she expected the children to accomplish and the au pairs to facilitate. Last year, there had even been an hour-long PowerPoint presentation.

  “Nothing?” Jacqui asked, mouth agape.

  “I’ve been reading a lot lately about ‘mini-midlife crises’—about kids who are so thoroughly scheduled that they experience undue anxiety and juvenile stress syndrome. You know, like those Japanese kids who throw themselves out the window during finals,” she said with a meaningful look toward Shannon.

  “They call it karoshi,” Shannon replied cheerfully. “Suicide due to overwork. It’s rising among grade-schoolers especially.”

  “Right,” Anna said a little nervously. “Anyway, I don’t want that for the kids. Therefore, this summer is all about play. I want them to relax, enjoy themselves. Let them be free . . .”

  “To do what they want,” Shannon finished.

  “Exactly. I think that’s about it.”

  “That’s it?” Jacqui asked, still incredulous.

  “That’s it,” Anna said.

  Jacqui couldn’t believe it. No riding lessons, no surfing lessons, no kabala camp, no krav maga, no conversational French, Italian, and Cantonese? No ballet, no yoga, no Pilates, no Yogalates? The kids free to do whatever they wanted? Play video games, watch movies, go to the mall, swim, hang out with their friends . . . nothing educational or aspirational at all?

  As they walked out of the screening room, Jacqui couldn’t help but share with Shannon how different this summer was going to be compared to the ones before.

  Shannon smiled craftily. “Who do you think sent her the Time article on stressed-out grade-schoolers? I know what these alpha moms are like. I’m here at the Hamptons for some fun, hello! By the way, you don’t need to thank me.”

  Jacqui granted her new coworker a respectful nod. Shannon Shin might be a manipulative little wench, but one day at the Perrys’ and she already knew how to work Anna. . . . Well, she might just come in handy.

  “Did you get an invitation to the Sydney Minx opening?” Jacqui asked her. “It’s tonight, and it’s supposed to be the best party of the summer.”

  “No,” Shannon said, her face dropping. “I don’t know anyone here but you, really.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “I think it’s a truce,” Jacqui said, sotto voce.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. Now, let’s decide what you should wear. . . .”

  underneath ryan’s perfect exterior lies the soul of pigpen

 
RYAN ASSURED MARA THAT AFTER a couple of days, she wouldn’t even notice the rocking of the boat, but Mara woke up from her afternoon nap feeling cranky and like she hadn’t slept at all.

  She’d spent the morning at the Hamptons office, tracking down background information for the Sydney Minx piece and calling in gift bag requests for Sam. Her editor demanded a gift bag from every event featured in the magazine even if she hadn’t attended it personally. Sometimes, Sam called in gift bags from as far away as Europe if she heard the contents were particularly choice.

  After work, Mara returned to the Catalina for a short nap before the evening’s festivities. When she awoke, she realized she had only a half hour to get ready for the fashion show.

  She walked out to the living room and found all of Ryan’s gear haphazardly strewn around the room. His boxes had arrived by UPS truck from Hanover that morning, and the living room looked like a branch of the Sports Authority. There were a wake-board, several snowboards, tennis and badminton rackets, lacrosse and hockey sticks, basketballs, golf balls, footballs. Ryan had once told her calling him a “jock” was an insult. The proper term, he’d explained, was athlete, since jock connoted a level of brutal small-mindedness to which Ryan certainly did not subscribe. His best friend from prep school was gay. All right, Mara thought, looking at all the sports paraphernalia. So he wasn’t a jock . . . but he was certainly athletic.

  One of the boxes was open, and Mara saw that it contained all manner of clothing, from clean T-shirts to dirty socks and towels to suit jackets that were still on hangers and wrapped in drycleaner’s plastic. It appeared that Ryan had just tossed anything and everything into the nearest box without bothering to separate anything. Nestled in the pile of clothing, Mara saw CD jewel cases, cigarette boxes, an ashtray (dirty), a beer mug (clean), and even a trash can, complete with balled-up scraps of his term papers. Mara shook her head—she hadn’t known Ryan was such a slob. Ryan had promised to get his stuff in order, but he’d apparently abandoned the project to hit the waves. Typical.