Beach Lane Collection

by Melissa de la Cruz

  He sauntered in just as she was trying to excavate her second suitcase from underneath yet another one of his surfboards.

  “Let me get that,” he said, easily pulling up the board so she could reach for her bag.

  “Sweetie, do you think we could kind of—well, clean up here a little bit?” Mara fretted.

  “Sure, sure,” he said, coming over to kiss her. He was wet with sand and smelled like the sea. His dark hair was plastered slick against his forehead. Normally, the sight of him in his black wet suit would have made her melt—but she was more interested in finding her invitation to the party and the list of people she had to get interviews with for her story.

  “I can’t find anything in this mess!” she complained. There were a ton of empties around the room from a night when his friends had stopped by. Mara’s Martha Stewart fantasies of elegant entertaining had been quickly shattered, since the boys had preferred to eat cold pizza and drink cheap beer.

  “Why are you getting all worked up over this fashion show?” Ryan asked.

  Mara was beginning to get the impression he thought her job was pretty trivial, especially since several of the girls in his circle had penned the column in the past. It bothered her that he didn’t understand that it was a big deal for her.

  “Ryan, I’m not sure where the boutique is. And I don’t even know how I’m getting there. Are you going to come with me?” she asked.

  Ryan sank down onto the couch. Even though Mara didn’t own it, she felt irritated to see the water from his suit seep into the Italian leather, where it would definitely leave a stain. It bothered her that Ryan wasn’t even aware of things like that—the couch probably cost thousands of dollars, but what was such a small amount to a guy who already owned everything?

  “Can I meet you there?” he asked, hooking a hand behind his back and unzipping the suit. “I need to shower and change.”

  “I guess I could get a ride,” Mara conceded. She quickly dialed Lucky, who was fortunately not too far from Sag Harbor and was able to swing by.

  “Cool,” Ryan said, planting a kiss on her forehead before he walked, whistling, into the shower.

  Mara shrugged as she unzipped her suitcase. He was the love of her life, but sometimes it was maddening how careless he could be. . . . Mara was starting to discover that the path of love wasn’t always smooth.

  Sometimes, it was littered with dirty beer cans.

  working hard or hardly working?

  NOW, THIS WAS WHAT SUMMER was supposed to be like. . . .

  With Anna’s decree of full summer freedom ringing in their heads, Jacqui had decided that she and Shannon would just hang out by the pool the whole day. William was absorbed in a book, Madison was tanning on a raft floating lazily in the middle of the pool, and Zoë and Cody were hanging out in the shallows, practicing headstands in the water.

  Shannon was zoned out underneath the umbrella, wearing a skimpy black maillot one-piece, and Jacqui sat beside her in her new red French-cut bikini. That morning, she had purchased her new swimwear at one of the mobile J. Crew trucks that roamed the Hamptons for just this kind of emergency. Jacqui liked how the trunks on her suit could switch from boy shorts to a sexy high cut with just a few twists to the sides of the fabric.

  Jacqui closed her eyes and felt the sun warm her face and relax her tense muscles. After a few minutes, she sat up on the chair and flipped through the latest issue of W. This was the life—the kids entertained, her coworker now a friend, a pitcher of icy lemonade by her side. She settled in for a good juicy read on the latest socialite scandals.

  Then from the other side of the pool, behind the tall hedges, she heard a thump, thump, thump. Silence. Then thump, thump, thump. The noise was distracting, and she couldn’t concentrate on her magazine. Finally, she got up to investigate.

  She walked past the thick greenery that separated the house from the Reynolds eyesore, the hundred-thousand-square-foot monstrosity erected by the Perrys’ bombastic neighbors. Rising above the hedges was a huge inflatable plastic jumping castle, a puffed-out balloonlike structure that contained three tumbling, jumping, and laughing guys inside it. Guys who looked really familiar . . .

  “Excuse me!” Jacqui yelled.

  The tumbling abruptly stopped as all three boys looked her way, each wearing a goofy smile. She couldn’t help but grin back. In the light of day, these boys were seriously handsome. This time, NYU completely faded to the back of her mind. Who needed to worry about college when there were hotties around?

  “Greetings and salutations,” Grant Kotack said, making an impressive leap from the air mattress to the ground in front of her. “If I’m not mistaken, I do believe we’ve met before,” he said in his silky southern accent.

  “It was a very short meeting—unfortunately,” Duffy pointed out, taking huge steps on the billowing plastic and ending with a cartwheel onto the grass.

  “Almost broke our hearts,” Ben agreed, following his friends out of the tumbling castle.

  Jacqui wasn’t embarrassed about what had happened during her midnight swim—she was proud of her body and didn’t think there was anything to be ashamed about.

  “I’m Jacqui Velasco. I work for the Perrys,” she said, offering a hand to the nearest boy, the shaggy-haired one with the sideburns.

  “Grant Kotack,” Grant smiled, pleased that she’d come up to him first. He kissed the back of her hand with courtly, old-fashioned grace, which was pleasing to see in a boy who wore painter’s pants and an oversized T-shirt with a Reese’s peanut butter cup logo emblazoned on it. “A pleasure.”

  “John Duffy,” said the tall, lanky, towheaded one, interrupting their greeting. He was WB-star cute, with a square jaw, ashy-white blond hair falling in his eyes, and the kind of grin that grew slowly from his lips and lit up his whole face. “You can call me Duffy or Duff. Everyone does.”

  “Ben Defever.” The third guy nodded. He’d put on a pair of thick black glasses and looked not unlike Rivers Cuomo from Weezer, one of Jacqui’s favorite bands. “Can we help you?”

  “Do you guys work for the Reynoldes?” she asked.

  “The who?” Duffy asked with a wide smile.

  “The uptight bastards who own this joint,” Grant said, winking at Jacqui.

  “We rented it this summer. It’s insane. Do you know there’s a saltwater pool stocked with tropical fish in the back? With a grotto?” Ben asked, adding shyly, “You’ll have to check it out with us sometime.”

  “How about now?” Duffy suggested. “Now’s a good time, right? I’ll get the scuba masks!”

  “Only if you want to,” Ben assured in a sincere tone.

  “Maybe later,” Jacqui said, still smiling. Mara had told her all about it last summer. She blushed—Duffy was so cute and boyish, Grant the image of an indie-rock guitar god, and Ben just adorable with those glasses. And there it was—a definite tingle up her spine, the feeling she’d been missing all year.

  “What about a jump?” Grant asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the inflatable castle.

  “Sure, but I’ve got a couple of kids here too—can they come?” Jacqui asked.

  “Yours?” Duffy asked, looking perplexed.

  “No, I’m the au pair.” Jacqui laughed.

  “Oh, good, because for a while there, you scared us,” Grant teased, which let Jacqui know that Duffy had just been fooling with her.

  “The more the merrier!” Ben offered. “Bring them on!”

  Jacqui smiled her thanks and ran to tell the kids the good news. She brought them over, along with Shannon, whose eyes grew wide at the sight of the three cute boys.

  “What’s going on? Hi, I’m Shannon!” she said, smiling broadly at the three guys, her hands on her slim hips. “Cool castle!”

  But when Jacqui was around, like all boys, Grant, Ben, and Duffy could hardly see, much less hear, anyone else.

  nobody ever said college humor was mature

  SYDNEY MINX’S BOUTIQUE WAS IN the middle of the ea
st Hampton main street, lit up with two spotlights that beamed Sydney’s initials into the sky. There was the typical crush of people attempting to gain entrance, waving their pink-and-gold invitations vainly at the phalanx of unsmiling PR girls who were only letting in the press and VIPs.

  Mara flashed her pass and was immediately ushered inside. She spotted Jacqui at the bar, trying to get the attention of the bartender.

  “Where’s Eliza?” Mara asked, yelling over the blaring techno music. She looked around—for the party of the season it was surprisingly low-key, or maybe Mara had attended enough of these events over previous summers to finally feel jaded by them—a few socialites here, a few B-list celebrities there, a goodie bag . . . ho hum. All in all, it wasn’t that much different from the standard boutique opening. It was possibly even just a teeny bit boring. Hopefully the fashion show would change that. In the middle of the store stood a raised runway covered in plastic.

  Jacqui shrugged. She craned her neck and tried to catch the bartender’s eye, feeling slightly irritated. She usually had no problem getting a guy’s attention, but the bar was mobbed and Jacqui’s request barely registered.

  “Champagne, madam?” Duffy asked, suddenly appearing with a flute and placing it in Jacqui’s hand.

  “Oh, thanks! And one for my friend too?” she asked.

  “Not a problem,” Ben said, appearing with another flute. Jacqui passed it to Mara. They toasted quickly and took long sips from their respective glasses.

  “There’s more where that came from,” Grant assured them, topping off their glasses with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot hidden underneath his arm.

  “Where’d you get that?” Jacqui asked.

  “We have our ways,” Ben said mysteriously.

  “Nicked it from the kitchen.” Duffy grinned, revealing two more bottles underneath his canvas coat.

  “With a healthy bribe to the bartender,” Grant explained. “Hey, you two clowns owe me, by the way.”

  Mara and Jacqui giggled. The three boys formed a protective half circle around them.

  “Guys, this is Mara. Mar, these are the guys,” Jacqui said, introducing them. Mara smiled and thanked them for the drinks.

  “Where’s Shannon?” Mara asked. She’d heard the latest about the au pair’s machinations concerning the bed and the closet but agreed with Jacqui that as long as Shannon had been responsible for Anna’s change of heart, it was worth a few inconveniences.

  “Over there,” Jacqui said, and Mara looked over to where the dark-haired girl was ferociously going through the racks of clothing one by one. Shannon reminded her of someone, Mara thought. Someone who shopped as if executing a military operation. It struck her—Shannon was a lot like Eliza. Or at least, shopped a lot like Eliza: as if her life depended on it.

  “It’s kind of hot in here, isn’t it?” Jacqui said to no one in particular as she fanned the neckline of her vintage Oscar de la Renta dress.

  “I’ll take care of it!” Duffy exclaimed, quickly springing into action. He was so thrilled to have a task he almost knocked over a nearby mannequin. “Hey, buddy!” he called to the nearest cater-waiter. “Turn up the air, yo!” he called as he ran after the guy.

  “Don’t bother—I know where the HVAC is!” Ben argued, nudging Duffy to the side so he could fulfill Jacqui’s latest request.

  “Stay right here,” Grant whispered, giving her arm a squeeze. “I know the guy who’s running the party. I’ll get it done.”

  “Who are they?” Mara asked when the three boys disappeared into the throng. “Your slaves?”

  Jacqui laughed. “They’re cute, aren’t they?”

  “Not bad.”

  “They’re the guys who started DormDebauchery.com—there was a big piece in the Sunday Styles section about them a few months ago, remember? They started the web site their freshman year at Harvard, and last spring their IPO took them to, like, several hundred million dollars.”

  Mara nodded in recognition. The web site was a paean to college humor—selling T-shirts screen-printed with slogans like the punch line to a famous SNL skit, “More Cowbell,” and jokes concerning teenage abstinence, proclaiming, “I gave my word to stop at third.” They were famous for their “Shocker” logo—a vulgar hand gesture (not the usual one) of two fingers held up in a crooked V, which they’d made into the huge foam fingers normally found at football games. Ryan had once explained to Mara what “The Shocker” was, and she’d been disgusted for a day and then amazed at how dirty boys’ minds could be. But what was most amazing was how young and rich they were. None of them was over twenty-one.

  “Anyway, they rented out the Reynolds castle this summer. It’s their first summer in the Hamptons, so I told them I’d show them around,” Jacqui explained.

  Mara raised an eyebrow. “All three of them?”

  “I’m just having some harmless fun.” Jacqui laughed.

  “Oh, wait, there’s Sydney. I should go—I need to get an interview,” Mara said, spying the designer mingling in the crowd.

  She passed her champagne glass into Jacqui’s hand, almost running over a tuxedoed waiter bearing a tray of canapés as she chased the rotund designer around the crowded room.

  “Sydney, hi! Mara Waters from Hamptons; we’re doing a story on you. . . . Can I ask you a few questions?” she asked, thrusting her iPod voice recorder in his face. She’d bought it soon after finding out about the assignment.

  “Not right now,” Sydney said, hiding his face behind his black fan. “As you can see, I’m extremely busy.”

  “I know, I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Minx, but if I could just get some quotes?” Mara asked, feeling intimidated by Sydney’s imperiousness.

  “Paige! Paige!” Sydney suddenly shouted, taking no notice of Mara. “Talk to my assistant, Paige. She’ll take care of what you need. . . .”

  “Oh, okay. I guess,” Mara said, defeated, as she switched off her recorder. “Do you think you’ll have time after the show to chat?”

  “Regina, darling! You look fabulous! Yes, thank you. It’s crazy, right? And Cecily! You’re wearing it! Love!” Sydney said, disappearing into a crowd of socialites congratulating him on the opening and taking no further notice of Mara.

  Mara stood to the side, patiently waiting for him to finish his conversation. “Mr. Minx, do you think—”

  “Can you move? You’re blocking my light,” Sydney ordered, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence. “Paige!” he yelled. “What’s the ETA on that dress?”

  “Eliza said she’d be here any minute now,” Paige assured him, looking harried.

  “She better be,” Sydney threatened. “The show starts in minutes!”

  Mara felt upset and flustered. She’d been brushed aside like an inconsequential minion, like someone who didn’t have her own column in the area’s most popular magazine. Maybe Eliza could help get her on the inside track—but Eliza was nowhere to be found.

  Mara tried not to panic, but if she didn’t get an interview with Sydney, how on earth was she going to file the story?

  eliza turns main street into an haute couture drop zone

  MARA WAS STILL CHEWING ON her nails, worried about the fate of her assignment and wondering where the hell Ryan was. She’d tried calling him on the boat, but he hadn’t picked up the phone. He really should have arrived at the party by now. She was contemplating calling him again when the lights in the store dimmed and the raised runway was illuminated in a pink glow. The guests’ conversations hushed, and they clapped halfheartedly, manicured fingernails clinking against the crystal.

  Runway-staple French techno music wailed from the overhead speakers, and the first model, dressed in a spray-painted tiger-print caftan, walked out of the back room and onto the platform. Model after model followed, each wearing a variation on the jungle theme, and Mara noticed that the clothes were actually interesting to look at. With their tie-dyed and spray-painted details, they represented a radical and slightly avant-garde departure for the Syd
ney Minx line.

  Mara took copious notes while Jacqui chugged champagne. After fifteen minutes, the final model, wearing a tangerine tunic and turquoise hot pants airbrushed with gold flecks, abruptly stopped mid-walk. The music was suddenly drowned by an earsplitting noise coming from outside the store. The audience turned away from the runway and crowded to the front of the store to look out the window to find out what had caused the interruption.

  Hovering above the store was an ominous-looking black army helicopter.

  “Is that our Black Hawk?” Duffy asked.

  “Nah—no logo. Must be a rental.”

  Mara and Jacqui followed the crowd outside. A rope ladder was being lowered from the helicopter, and a familiar figure was climbing down toward the sidewalk.

  “Oh my God! It’s Eliza!” Mara gasped.

  So it was. Eliza descended from the rope ladder wearing a daringly cut, shredded chiffon dress and thigh-high crocodile boots. She had several chunky interlocked gold chain rope necklaces around her neck. As the wind kicked up by the helicopter blades whipped the dress around, Eliza sauntered straight from the rope ladder to the sidewalk, into the store, and onto the runway stage without breaking her confident stride.

  The photographers rewarded her with a shower of flashbulbs—and the momentarily stunned crowd broke into enthusiastic cheers and wolf whistles. They had seen a lot of things in the Hamptons—but a fashion show finale via helicopter was a definite first.

  Eliza grinned as she posed for the camera, bathed in the klieg lights. It had worked! She’d made it happen! She’d managed to track down Vidalia at the model’s fifth-floor walk-up in the East Village. At first, she had planned on having Vidalia do the honors, but the model had been so hung over from the party the night before, there was no way she was going to look presentable for the fashion show. So Eliza put the dress on herself and thanked God she was a sample size. Then she chartered a helicopter flight on her new Marquis Jet Card (thank you, AmEx!) that took her from New York to the Hamptons in a snap. Those nifty little Black Hawks sure came in handy.