Rules of Summer

by Joanna Philbin

  The screen went black, and then credits came up on the screen. Whichever movie he’d given her, it was working.

  As if on cue, the door to the screening room opened, and the guests trickled in. They were all well-kept women around Mrs. Rule’s age, but like her, each of them looked much younger, with long hair highlighted some shade of sandy blond and faces devoid of wrinkles. Their martini glasses were half full, and one woman sloshed some liquid onto the carpet. There was no sign of Connor, but Mrs. Rule brought up the rear of the group, chatting with a petite, dark-eyed woman swathed in black whom Rory recognized as a world-famous fashion designer.

  “Rory!” Mrs. Rule called out, a bright, hectic look in her eye. She seemed to be having a really good time. “Is everything set?”

  “It’s working,” Rory said. “I’m not sure what this is, but it’s working.”

  “Oooh,” Mrs. Rule cooed as she looked at the screen. “It’s The Geisha’s Lament.”

  “I hear that this is just fabulous,” said the woman next to her.

  “Okay, well, have a good time,” Rory said.

  “Oh, would you mind staying down here?” Mrs. Rule asked. “Just to make sure that we don’t have any problems? And if you can also bring down some of the snacks from upstairs, that would be wonderful.”

  Before Rory could answer, Mrs. Rule picked up her conversation with the designer and sat down in one of the deep suede chairs. Rory tried to think of a way to remind Mrs. Rule that she had plans tonight. After all, she’d been totally fine with her going out just a little while ago. But then Rory realized something. Mrs. Rule hadn’t forgotten that she had plans. She was just going to act like she had.

  She stood and watched the women whisper and giggle and slosh more martinis onto the floor until Mrs. Rule gestured for her to go upstairs. “More drinks, please!” she called out cheerily.

  So much for the date, Rory thought as she left the room.

  “Hey, Isabel.” A soft knock came from the other side of the bathroom door. “Isabel?”

  She put down the copy of Surfer and stuck it back in the magazine rack. She’d lost track of time reading about the winter swells at Mavericks in Northern California, and now Mike probably thought she had some kind of intestinal disorder. She stood up and turned on the faucet, then splashed some water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked about twelve. The idea of going back out there and trying to talk to his friends gave her a hopeless feeling inside.

  “Hey,” she said, opening the door.

  “Hey.” Mike stood with a Corona in his hand. Loud music and laughter drifted in from the living room. It sounded like the party had picked up while she’d been in the bathroom. “Here’s your beer. It’s probably a little warm by now.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She took it but didn’t have the least interest in drinking it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “You’ve been in here a long time.”

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “I was just reading.”

  He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. “So you’d rather read in the bathroom than meet my friends?”

  “Sort of. I mean, this was all kind of a surprise.”

  “You’re telling me,” he said, grinning.

  He was still so hot, she thought. Especially when he grinned at her like he already knew everything that was going through her mind. It made this awkward feeling even worse. “You know what? You enjoy your party. I’m just gonna call a cab.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. You can’t be mad because my friends threw me some surprise party that I didn’t know about.”

  “I’m not mad. Who said I was mad?”

  He leaned against the door. “You get your way a lot, don’t you?”

  “That’s rude,” she said.

  “It’s an observation,” he said. “But hey, if you want to bolt, fine.” He folded his arms and looked down at her as a smile curled around his lips. “We’ll just hang out another time.”

  His stare was so intense that she had to look away from him. “You know, you really need to clean this,” she said, pointing to the sink.

  “Okay,” he said, without taking his eyes off her.

  “And you know, fuzzy toilet-seat covers aren’t really in style these days,” she added.

  He reached out and encircled her waist with his arm, bringing her in closer. “Okay,” he said.

  “And you really need to organize that magazine rack,” she added, almost unable to breathe. Standing this close to him, she could feel his chest through his thin T-shirt. He smoothed her hair with the flat palm of his hand, all the way down her back.

  “I’ll remember that.” He moved his hand to the back of her head and leaned down.

  She closed her eyes.

  His lips touched hers, softly, hesitantly, feather light. She allowed them to linger on hers, daring him to kiss her deeper. He did. His hand on the middle of her back pressed her close. By the time she let her arms reach up around his shoulders, she knew that she no longer wanted to leave.

  Rory sat hunched over the butcher-block table in the kitchen, poking her fork at a plate of fried chicken. Mrs. Rule had finally released her from duty, but she wasn’t even hungry. She’d made at least twenty trips up and down the stairs to fetch drinks and appetizers and, finally, individually plated dinners of Erica’s miso black cod, fried chicken, and Caesar salad for Mrs. Rule and her guests to eat on their laps. Now they were having coffee and blueberry cobbler downstairs and pretending to watch the movie, which Rory had been asked to start from the beginning several times. It was nine o’clock. Rory yawned. Erica stood at the island, wrapping up pieces of leftover cod and fried chicken and carefully storing them in glass containers.

  “Weren’t you supposed to go out?” Erica asked, snapping the plastic lid onto one of the glass bowls.

  “Yup,” Rory said. “I had to cancel.”

  “Was it important?”

  “Not really.” She ate a morsel of coleslaw. “My friend didn’t take it too well, though.”

  “Was it a date?” Erica asked.

  “Sort of,” she said. “But that’s okay. I wasn’t really that into him anyway.” Rory watched Erica stack the bowls in the refrigerator and then start cleaning the counters. “How long have you been a chef?” she asked.

  “About ten years,” she said. “But I’ve only been a private chef for about five.”

  “It seems stressful,” Rory said.

  “Oh, it is,” Erica sighed. “These people want what they want when they want it. And it’s the nice ones that you really have to watch out for.” Erica gestured downstairs to the screening room, and Rory knew that Erica was referring to Mrs. Rule. “Just a little piece of advice. You didn’t hear it from me.”

  Rory nodded. It had been hard to name the feeling that she’d been having in her gut all night about Mrs. Rule. It felt a little like the time her mom had promised to take her to Great Adventure for her eleventh birthday, just the two of them, but at the last minute had brought along her boyfriend—some guy with shaggy hair and a bad smoking habit—whom she made out with at every opportunity in public. Manipulated was probably the word. From now on, she’d be more careful about Mrs. Rule.

  The swinging door creaked open, and Connor peeked his head into the kitchen. “How’d it go?” he asked.

  Rory put down her fork and tried not to blush. “Fine. Crisis averted.”

  “But you didn’t go out tonight.”

  She smiled. “No. That didn’t happen.”

  “Well, can I make it up to you?” he asked. “I’m just hanging in the TV room if you feel like being social.”

  Rory could see Erica watching this entire interaction very, very closely.

  “Great,” she said as casually as possible.

  “Bring your food,” Connor said. “You need to keep your strength up around here,” he said with a smile.

  She
looked at Erica, who nodded and mouthed “Go!” Rory grabbed her plate. She felt giddy and vulnerable. After what had happened tonight, she wasn’t sure if she could trust anyone in this family.

  “So I know that my mom can be kind of high-maintenance,” Connor said as they walked down the hall. “Sorry she ruined your night.”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” she said. “She really didn’t. It wasn’t that big a deal.”

  “It’s not the point,” Connor said. “She’s just used to getting what she wants. Same thing with Isabel. Is my sister being nice to you, by the way?”

  “Yeah,” Rory said, smiling. “She is being nice to me. She took me out last night to a party.”

  They walked into the TV room and sat down next to each other on the couch. Rory balanced the plate on her lap and prayed that she wouldn’t drop any food anywhere.

  “Well, in that case, be careful,” Connor said. “My sister can be kind of crazy. Don’t get sucked into the vortex. Take it from me. It’s not pretty.” He aimed the remote at a hidden cabinet, and soon Van Morrison was playing through hidden speakers.

  “But is Isabel that crazy? I haven’t really seen that. Except behind the wheel, of course.”

  Connor put down the remote and chuckled. “Yeah, driving with her can be a little intense. But the rest of it…” He looked off into the distance. “I don’t know. She’s always acted out a little. She’s always been hard to control. And I think it’s because she’s always felt like an outsider.”

  “Really?” Rory asked. “Why?”

  “No clue. But she does. She hates Gregory and Sloane.” He looked at her, catching himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “I’m not going to tell anyone,” she said.

  For a moment, there was just silence as they looked at each other, and then the sound of women’s voices and the click-clack of heels wafted into the room.

  “Con-nor!” Mrs. Rule yelled. “Connor, are you still down here? Mrs. Van der Cliff has something to ask you!”

  Connor looked at Rory hesitantly.

  “I guess you need to go,” she said.

  He nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll create a diversion. So you can get back to the kitchen.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve had lots of practice,” he said wryly.

  He walked into the hall, and soon she was listening to him talk to the women. She waited until she heard them move to the front door, and then she slipped out of the room with her plate.

  Tap-tap-tap. Rory lifted her head off the pillow. She’d been dreaming about someone knocking on her wall, and now she realized that she wasn’t dreaming at all.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  Someone was at the window, again.

  She sat up and turned on the light. After her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she could see blond hair and big blue eyes peering in through the window. “Hey!” Isabel tapped her knuckles on the glass. “Can you open this?”

  Luckily, she appeared to be alone.

  Rory threw off the covers and padded to the window. “Isabel?”

  She raised the window and was hit with the overpowering smell of beer.

  “Hey!” Isabel clambered through the window and fell right onto the floor.

  “Are you okay?” Rory crouched down and helped Isabel sit up.

  “I’m fine,” Isabel said, but Rory could tell that she was slightly drunk.

  “How’d you get home?”

  “I got a ride with some really nice people,” Isabel said. “Nice, sober people.”

  “Okay, we need to get you back to your room.” Rory slung an arm around Isabel’s narrow shoulders and helped her to her feet. She weighed almost nothing. “So I guess you had a good time?”

  “Wait! How was Landon? Did you guys make out?”

  “No, we didn’t go out,” she said, dragging Isabel by the arm to the door.

  “What do you mean, you didn’t go out?”

  “I mean, the date was canceled,” Rory said. “But that’s okay, it’s so not a big deal.”

  “Did you chicken out?” she asked.

  “No, I didn’t chicken out. Your mom had stuff for me to do.”

  “I’ll totally yell at her for you,” Isabel said, weaving unsteadily on her platform espadrilles.

  “Thanks, but that’s okay,” she said.

  They walked past Bianca’s room as quietly as possible, though Isabel did manage to bump into the wall. Being caught helping a tipsy Isabel might actually be worse than having a guy sneak into her room, Rory thought. When they reached the second floor, Rory looked down the dark, slumbering hall. “Which one’s your room?”

  “I can take it from here,” Isabel said. “But you—you,” she said, pointing to Rory as she tripped backward, “are awesome. You know that?”

  Rory nodded. “He kissed you tonight, huh?”

  Even in the dark, Isabel’s smile was blinding. “Yes, he did.”

  “Good. Well, good night.”

  She released Isabel, who flew out of her arms, twirled down the hall, and then crashed into a wall. “Uh, you okay?” Rory asked, not sure if she should laugh or gasp.

  “Oh yeah,” Isabel said, righting herself. “Definitely. G’night.”

  Rory waited until Isabel opened a door and disappeared behind it. Then she padded down the stairs, smiling to herself. Someone had finally gotten to the ice princess. Isabel was totally whipped.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “So I’m thinking, next weekend, when my parents go out of town to visit my sister in London, I should just say to hell with it and have a party,” Thayer said as they walked out of the dining building with their trays. “What do you think? It would be cool, right? People would come.”

  “Yeah,” Isabel said, trying to keep her tray stable as she reached for some napkin-wrapped utensils by the door. Her head was pounding, and she thought she might throw up right onto her sandals. She also hadn’t heard a word Thayer had said while they’d been standing in line, waiting to order, but it didn’t really matter. Thayer liked to have a captive—and quiet—audience.

  “Because I’m thinking then I can just invite Andrew over and that way we’re sort of just hanging out already and then maybe something can happen. Instead of waiting for him to get it together and ask me out.”

  “Uh-huh,” Isabel said, as she almost tripped over a small child in front of her.

  “Are you okay?” Thayer asked. “You seem a little out of it.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  Thayer cocked her head and stared at her. “And maybe a little hungover?”

  Isabel looked at her.

  “Did you go out last night?” Thayer asked with an uneasy smile. They’d talked about going out to see a movie, but Isabel had said she couldn’t.

  “No,” she said. “I would have told you.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t have,” Thayer said, as they walked over to Darwin sitting at a table, reading The House of Mirth. “Hey, D,” Thayer said as they placed their trays on the table. “Check it out. Isabel’s hungover.”

  “Yeah?” Darwin looked up briefly from her book and then returned to it. “Sorry, I’m just really into this right now.”

  “I hate summer reading,” Thayer said, digging into her Cobb salad. “So boring. Anyway, where were you getting hungover, and with who?”

  Isabel picked up her fork, and a memory slammed into her brain, taking her breath away: she and Mike kissing in the bathroom, her hands in his hair, feeling his hands on her, holding her, lifting her onto the sink so she could sit with her legs wrapped around his waist as they kissed, then later, on his bed, underneath him, feeling his hands travel up her shirt, her hands feeling the hair on his chest… She shook it away. “Nobody you know,” she said softly.

  “Huh. The plot thickens.”

  “Just someone I met.”

  “Someone?” Thayer asked, her eyes on her plate. “That’s a vague pronoun—”

  “You don’t know him. Okay?”


  Thayer was quiet as she ate her salad, but Isabel knew that she’d just broken the first commandment of being Thayer Quinlan’s best friend: Thou shalt not keep anything to yourself.

  “His name is Mike,” Isabel offered.

  “What school?”

  “I told you, you won’t know him.”

  “So he doesn’t go to school?” Darwin asked, putting down her book.

  “I think he goes to Stony Brook.”

  “He goes to college?” Thayer asked. She and Darwin looked at each other. “Where’s he from?”

  Isabel started to feel a swell of anger build. “He’s from here. The North Fork.”

  “What?” Darwin said, amusement and shock mingling on her face.

  Isabel looked down at her salad.

  “Wow, that’s a first,” said Darwin. “He must be really hot.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Thayer said. “You’re hanging out with some Jersey girl who’s working for you and now you’re dating some local? What happened to you?”

  “That is so gross that you just said that,” Isabel said.

  “Oh, please, don’t tell me that I’m being horrible here,” Thayer said. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. Is this to get back at your parents or something?”

  “What?”

  “Sorry, but it just sounds like another one of your crazy stunts,” Thayer went on. “You do have a thing about giving everyone the finger.”

  “Thanks for your support, T,” Isabel said. She stood up and grabbed her bag, sending her chair screeching across the concrete.

  “Where are you going?” Darwin asked.

  “I suddenly lost my appetite,” Isabel said.

  “Oh god, Iz,” Thayer groaned. “Fine, throw a fit. Whatever.”

  Isabel wove her way through the tables, feeling her face flush. The exquisite pounding in her head had settled right above her eyebrows and was fast turning into a migraine. She hated that these girls had embarrassed her. She needed to go home. She took out her phone and texted Rory, not even caring about the no-cell-phone policy down at the patio.

  Can you pick me up? At the GC.

  She headed for the family cabana, which was the only real spot to hide at the club. The Georgica changing cabanas were a relic from the club’s earliest days, when members needed a fully private place to change into their bathing costumes. Now owning one of these narrow shingle closets meant that you were one of the club’s elite. They actually weren’t good for much, besides a few memorable make-out sessions whenever there was a good party.