“This needs to be back by nine AM tomorrow,” he said, waving the disc in front of her as if she didn’t quite deserve it yet. “Nine AM.”
“Okay,” she’d said.
Then he’d placed the disc in her hand with a flourish and closed the door in her face.
Still holding the disc, Rory ran to her room. She changed into a stretchy black top from Aéropostale and a pair of white jeans, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail. It wasn’t exactly the grooming routine she would have liked for her first real Hamptons date, but it would have to do. She left her purse by the door and went looking for Bianca. Hopefully this would be quick.
She found Bianca in the kitchen, taking trays with mother-of-pearl handles out of a cabinet. “I got it. His butler or manservant or whomever it was says that we need to get it back by nine AM tomorrow.” She held up the disc. “Now what should I do?”
“Get it set up,” Bianca said sharply.
“But I don’t know how to work the projector.”
Bianca gave a long, irritated sigh and walked over to the intercom pad in the wall. “Connor?” she said, pressing a button. “Can you meet Rory in the screening room and help her with the projector?”
Rory felt the DVD almost slip out of her hand.
“Connor?” she repeated.
“I’ll be right down,” said the voice, which Rory couldn’t help but notice sounded a little grouchy.
“He’ll show you,” Bianca said. “Now go. You’re blocking that cabinet.”
Rory moved into the dining room, too giddy to focus on anything. Connor was going to help her? Connor and her, alone in the screening room? She was so distracted that she walked right into the edge of the dining table.
“Ow!” She patted her aching hip as she heard Connor come down the front steps.
“Hey,” he said, walking into the dining room. “You need some help with the projector?”
“Yeah, I just have no idea how to use it. Sorry you got dragged down here.”
“No problem,” he said, smiling. “At least now I won’t be the only one who knows how to work it.”
Several minutes later, they stood side by side in the narrow projection room, in front of a tall media cabinet. She scratched her ankle with the opposite heel and redid her ponytail while he slid the DVD into the player. Standing this close to him made it hard for her to stand still. She looked at his hands as he fiddled with some buttons, and noticed that his arms were almost completely hairless. “Do you have to shave your entire body for swim meets?” she blurted out.
“What?” he asked.
“Sorry,” she said, catching herself. “I don’t know why I just asked that. Forget it.”
“No, that’s okay. Yeah. We have to shave.” He touched another button. “Okay, is something coming up?”
She looked out at the screen. “It looks like something’s on, but the screen is still black.”
He sighed and muttered, “Only my parents would get a system that nobody but Stephen Hawking can figure out. Okay, what about now?”
“Still nothing. Wait.” A picture flashed on the screen—the Universal Pictures logo—and then cut out. “Something almost worked.”
“Okay, what about now?” he said, turning around so abruptly that his right arm grazed her own.
She watched as the opening credits began and then turned into blackness. “It happened again.”
“I think it might be the disc,” he finally said, ejecting it. “Let’s try this one.” He slid another DVD into the slot, and a title came up on the screen. PHISH LIVE IN UTICA. Trey Anastasio stood with his hands outspread as he leaned into a mike, an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulders.
“So when are you gonna show me that documentary you did?” he asked. He stepped closer, blocking the tiny source of light in the projection room.
“Oh, right,” she said, as if she’d forgotten their conversation. “I’ll show it to you anytime.”
“We could screen it in here.”
“Actually, it’s more of a low-fi kind of thing.” The roar of a crowd made her jump, and up on the screen, she saw Phish launch into a song.
“Okay, looks like it’s the disc that’s the problem,” Connor said. “I think you got a lemon.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“It’s not your fault. They’ll understand.”
“No, it’s just that I’m probably going to have to return it and find something else. And I’m supposed to go out tonight.”
“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “I can go for you, then.”
“That’s sweet. But you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem. I know how it is when my mom is planning to have people over. Anything I can do to keep the peace, you know what I mean?”
He stepped toward her and she suddenly froze. He was going to kiss her, right now, and she wasn’t ready for it.
He cocked his head and gave her a strained smile. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m great. Uh, let’s go up and tell them it’s not working.”
She turned abruptly on her heels. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss her. And why couldn’t she come up with some witty things to say? Or at the very least, follow the thread of conversation? Why was she acting like a complete idiot?
She led the way up the stairs and through the dining room, where she managed to avoid the sharp edge of the table. So far, he was still following. “Thanks again for your help,” she said, just before they went into the kitchen. “I can take it from here.”
“I’ll go with you,” he offered.
“You sure?”
“I’m not gonna feed you to the wolves,” he said with a smile.
She turned around, biting her lip, and pushed through the swinging door. He doesn’t want to leave me, she thought.
Erica and Fee stood in an assembly line at the kitchen island, arranging pieces of bruschetta on a platter as Bianca supervised. “Good, you’re back,” Bianca said brusquely. “Is it all set?”
“Not really,” she said. “We couldn’t get the movie to work.”
“Something’s wrong with the disc,” Connor said. “I got something else to play down there, so I know it’s the disc that’s the problem.”
Lucy Rule breezed into the kitchen through the opposite door, pinning up her hair. She’d changed into a floor-skimming black tank dress and an elaborate gold-and-tiger-eye necklace. “I think I just heard the doorbell,” she said. “Did you all hear the doorbell?”
“I’ll get it,” Fee said, patting her hands on the half apron around her waist. She glanced at Rory, and her eyes seemed to warn of something.
“How are we doing in here?” Mrs. Rule asked, lifting one of the bruschetta pieces and inspecting the pieces of tomato. “Hmph,” she said, sounding less than impressed. “Maybe a little less topping on each, Erica.”
“Of course,” she mumbled.
“Something’s wrong with the movie, Mom,” Connor said. “We can’t get it to play. You’re going to have to use something else.”
Mrs. Rule looked up from the bruschetta. Rory remembered her expression that first day she met her, when all her features had gone slack as if they’d been wiped clean. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “Rory and I tried everything.”
Mrs. Rule’s eyes fell on her for the first time. “Both of you tried it?”
“Basically,” Connor said.
Rory nodded.
“Well, everyone is coming over here, expecting to see The Geisha’s Lament,” Mrs. Rule said in an irritated voice. “What am I going to do?”
“Maybe you guys can watch something from on demand?” Connor asked.
“I don’t want to watch something from on demand,” Mrs. Rule said. “People can watch on demand at home. I want to watch The Geisha’s Lament.”
“Well, it doesn’t work,” Connor said calmly. “Is there another copy you can borrow?”
Rory recognized some
thing in Connor’s voice: the same careful, measured tone that she took when her own mom was being unreasonable.
“Bianca?” Lucy Rule said. “Please call Billy right now and tell him that his disc is defective and I would like the next best thing he has, immediately.”
“Of course,” Bianca said, reaching for the cordless.
“And Rory will just go back to Billy’s and get something else.” Mrs. Rule smoothed her hair and shook her head, as if this was all getting too trivial for words. “And Connor, can you help Bianca get the guests something to drink?”
Rory saw Connor almost say something, but the sound of laughter out in the hall sent Mrs. Rule to the door. “I have to go,” she said warmly, and waved over her shoulder.
Rory glanced at the clock. It was six fifteen. If she raced back to Billy’s, she might just be able to be ready in time. She started toward the door.
“Hey!”
Connor rushed after her with the DVD. “Don’t forget this,” he said, giving it back to her.
For just a moment, that old feeling came over her again, that electric sense that something more was going on here between them than just friendly conversation.
“Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for everything.”
“Have fun tonight,” he said. Then he pushed his way back into the kitchen and disappeared.
It was already twilight when they pulled off the highway and bumped along a winding gravel road that seemed to head toward Lake Montauk. Isabel looked down at her fingers, which were stained with strawberry juice. She’d eaten so many strawberries she probably wouldn’t even be hungry enough for dinner. Finally, they drove up in front of a house so small and lonely-looking that it could have passed for an abandoned shack.
“So it’s a little bit smaller than your place,” Mike said as he parked, “but it has just as much character.”
“You live here with how many people?” Isabel asked, eyeing the crooked screen door and the strand of Christmas lights that ran haphazardly along the porch.
“It’s me and my friends Pete and Esteban. But they’re in Quogue for the night.”
Isabel got out of the car and followed Mike up the cracked concrete driveway. There was no yard to speak of, just bare dirt with some grass making a cameo appearance here and there. Beer cans lined the arms of two Adirondack chairs on the porch, and sat along the porch railing, and surrounded a pile of supermarket circulars and mailers that had fallen out of an overstuffed mail slot in the front door. “What’s that sound?” she asked.
“Frogs,” he said, carrying his box of strawberries in front of him. “From the lake. It’s just on the other side.” She watched him climb the peeling porch steps, balance the box on one arm, and grab a beer can from the porch railing. “I’ll just put the berries in the kitchen, and then we can get out of here,” he said.
“Or we can stay.”
He looked at her over his shoulder with surprise. “Yeah?”
“Sure,” she said. He still hadn’t kissed her. And hopefully this place didn’t look as bad on the inside.
“I can make some pasta,” he said. “You like spaghetti?”
“I love it,” she said with a smile.
He unlocked the front door and she felt herself get nervous again. Did she even remember how to kiss someone she really, really liked?
He opened the front door. Bright lights switched on and blinded her.
“Surprise!” screamed a crowd of voices.
She looked over Mike’s shoulder. A group of twenty people stood elbow-to-elbow under a sign that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY in accordion letters.
“Is it your birthday?” she asked him.
Mike didn’t seem to hear her in the din of people. He put down the strawberries and waded into the crowd, giving high fives and yelling, “No way! No way!” over and over.
Perfect, Isabel thought. Just perfect.
Someone started singing “Happy Birthday,” and soon the entire room was belting it out as Mike gave more high fives. She recognized some of the faces in the room from Buford’s, but almost everyone was a stranger. As for the house, it was definitely shabby, but not quite chic. All the furniture—a gray sofa with large pink flowers, a scratched cherry-wood oval coffee table, a La-Z-Boy with a long rip in the pleather seat—looked like it came from Goodwill. The TV was large but an antique—definitely from ten years ago. The orange shag carpet had a mysterious dark stain in the corner. It wasn’t dirty, though, and there were little touches that she liked: a black-and-white poster of surfers that said MONTAUK, 1965, and a vase of yellow flowers on the round kitchen table.
Mike walked back to her and grabbed her hand. “Hey, meet my roommates,” he said, leading her over to a guy with sun-bleached blond dreads and a tattoo creeping out of his shirtsleeves on both arms. “This is Pete,” he said. “Pete, this is Isabel.”
“Hey,” said Pete, shaking her hand. “Hope we didn’t ruin your romantic night. It’s just we really wanted to bring in Mikey’s first legal birthday in style, seeing as he’s always getting carded.”
“Dude,” Mike warned, playfully giving him a jab on the arm. “And this,” he said, steering her by the shoulders, “is Esteban. Esteban, this is Isabel.”
A shorter guy with piecey black hair and a scar on his cheek leaned in to give Isabel a hug. “Don’t listen to a word this guy says,” he said with a smile. “He’s a complete liar.”
“Hey—” Mike warned.
Esteban clapped him over his ear and laughed. “You guys want something to drink?”
Mike looked at her. “Anything?”
“I’ll take some champagne,” she said.
“How ’bout a beer?” Mike asked her.
“Fine,” she said.
Esteban headed into the kitchen, and Mike pulled her in close. “Sorry about this. I had no idea. These guys can’t even pay the rent. I’d never think they’d be able to pull this together—”
“Maybe I should call a cab and let you have your party,” she said.
“No,” he said. “Don’t go. Please.”
Suddenly, a girl with brown hair and a tight purple tank top stepped between them and gave Mike a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, stranger!” she said.
“Leelee, what’s up?” he asked, with a bit more enthusiasm than Isabel would have liked.
“I heard you were finally legal, and I figured I had to be there,” she said in a saucy voice. She reached up and patted him on the shoulder.
“Hey, Leelee, meet Isabel.”
“Hey,” Isabel said.
The girl gave her only the briefest smile and wave before turning back to Mike. “Come by the Ripcurl sometime. I’m working there now. And there are some really cool bands next week.”
“Where’s the bathroom?” Isabel asked.
“It’s right through there, first door on the left,” Mike said. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “I’ll be right back.” She gave Leelee as fake a smile as she could muster. “Nice meeting you.”
Leelee barely looked at her. “Yeah.”
She pushed her way through the crowd and into the hall, and located the first door on the left. She flipped on the light. The bathroom was a mess. Razor stubble coated the sink, while razors, tubes of toothpaste, and bottles of shaving cream crusted with dried foam competed for space on the counters. A wet suit hung from the showerhead, dripping sandy water onto the bathtub floor. And there wasn’t a scrap left on the toilet-paper roll.
She lowered the fuzzy-covered toilet lid and sat down. Copies of Maxim and Surfer were jammed into a magazine rack on the floor. God, this place was dirty. Her mom wouldn’t have stood for this for one minute. But that was probably the point. This was Mike’s house. There weren’t parents around to tell him what to do. There weren’t even parents at this party. This was his very own place. She couldn’t even imagine having that kind of freedom. She’d never dated a guy before who didn’t live at home or live in a dorm. It was
exciting but also slightly disorienting, like leaving a department store through a side exit. Suddenly, she realized why she felt so off her game out there in the living room, and during most of the date. She was feeling something she’d never felt before. She felt young. That girl outside talking to Mike—and frankly, hitting on him—was more appropriate for him than she was. Leelee probably also had her own tiny, messy shack with a few friends, her own kitchen, and her own unsupervised bedroom. And a car. That she was legally able to drive.
Isabel stared straight ahead at the wrinkled and stained towels on the rack, feeling herself begin to get depressed. She needed to vent. She unsnapped her clutch and took out her phone.
Date total disaster, she typed. How’s yours?
Hopefully Rory was having a better time than she was.
Rory gunned the Prius up to forty-five as she drove past the hedges and vast front lawns of Further Lane. Somewhere in her purse, her phone chimed with a text, but she ignored it. The replacement DVD slid along the leather seat beside her and slammed into the door. She still wasn’t even sure which movie this was. Billy Withers’s butler had placed it in her hand with only a stormy look on his face, as if she’d ruined his night, and uttered, “Here.” This time, she didn’t wait for the front door to slam in her face. She ran straight to the car.
When she drove through the Rules’ iron gates, she glanced at the clock on the dash. Six forty-five. She zoomed up the long gravel drive, parked the car, then picked up her phone and tried Landon. It went straight to voice mail. She pictured him driving toward the house, music too loud for him to hear his phone, oblivious to the small drama happening here on Lily Pond Lane. She hung up and threw the phone back in her bag.
Downstairs in the projection room, she slid the disc into the machine and pressed the same buttons she’d seen Connor press. She paced the floor, one eye on the screen through the box-shaped hole in the wall. Please work, she thought. Otherwise she’d be sent back to Amagansett for yet another movie, and her date with Landon would definitely be canceled. Upstairs, she could hear Mrs. Rule’s guests in the living room. One woman was laughing noisily and stomping her foot on the carpet.
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