They drove through town and then toward Lake Montauk, turning into a driveway that led to a low white-shingled building.
“Check out the line to get in,” said Mike, pointing to the people waiting along the porch and down the steps onto the driveway. Luxury cars idled in the drive. “It’s already douchey.”
A valet dressed in surfing trunks and an aloha shirt came out to take their car. “Welcome to the Ripcurl Lounge,” he said to Mike, handing him a ticket. “Aloha.”
“Aloha,” Mike said back to him. “If this place is lame, we’re leaving,” he said to her under his breath.
“Good plan,” she said, and got out of the car.
They walked in front of the line to the door.
“Hey, we’re friends with Leelee,” Mike said, and the bouncer opened the door without a word.
“Aloha,” he said once more, and Isabel couldn’t help but giggle.
Inside, the decor was both retro and sleek: tables whittled from driftwood, pink love seats and couches with rattan frames, whitewashed brick walls, black-and-white photographs of surfers from the 1960s. The crowd looked to be in their late twenties and professional. These were people who worked in the city, made good money, and wanted to feel like they were at a club in the Meatpacking District when they came out here. It wasn’t her scene. And she knew that it wasn’t Mike’s, either.
“Hey, you made it!” Leelee walked over to them dressed in a pair of teeny-tiny shorts and a white shirt knotted at the waist. Isabel watched her balance a tray of drinks on one hand as she kissed Mike on the cheek.
“Cool place here,” Mike fibbed. He threw an arm around Isabel. “You remember Isabel.”
“Oh, right,” she said. Her smile was subtle to the point of nonexistent.
“Hi,” Isabel said.
“Gordy and those guys are over there,” Leelee said, pointing. “Make sure they don’t get totally smashed, okay? I still want to have a job tomorrow.”
Isabel looked over and saw Gordy holding court on two sofas with a few guys and girls. She’d never seen the girls before. They sat at the end, having their own conversation over what looked like strawberry daiquiris. They looked like they were in their early twenties. Great, she thought. I’m the youngest person here, again.
“And what can I get you guys to drink?” Leelee asked.
“I’ll have a beer,” Mike said. “Isabel, you want a beer?”
She nodded.
“Does she have ID?” Leelee asked, pointing at her.
Mike looked at Isabel, unsure how to respond.
“I don’t,” Isabel said.
“Then sorry,” Leelee said flatly. “I can’t. A bunch of other clubs have been busted for underage drinking.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Isabel wanted to ask Leelee if Mike would have been barred from having a drink here a few weeks ago, when he was still technically underage, but she let it go. “I’ll just take water, then,” she said.
“Coming right up,” Leelee said with an arctic smile, and walked away.
Isabel gazed out at the crowd, too embarrassed to look Mike in the eye. “So, this place is okay,” she said vaguely.
“We won’t stay long,” Mike said. “Sorry they’re such hard-asses about the beer.”
“That’s okay.”
“Let’s go say hi to Gordy. We’ll only stay for a bit.”
They headed over to Gordy’s table. From the number of beer bottles on the table, it looked like he and his friends had been celebrating for a while.
“Hey, Gordy, what’s up?” Mike said as they approached.
“Castelloni!” Gordy cried out. “You made it! How’s it hanging, guy?”
Isabel put on her best fake smile. Gordy could be a little lame.
“Everything’s good, man. You remember Isabel, right?” Mike asked, putting his hand on her back.
“Oh, yeah, hey,” Gordy said. “Sit down, you guys. Everyone, scoot over for Mike.”
Mike squeezed in next to Gordy. Isabel sat down between Mike and the girls. The one on her right had bleach-blond hair that fell in winged pieces on either side of her face, like an updated Farrah Fawcett do, and she seemed to be the ringleader. The other two hung on to her every word. One of the girls, a skinny brunette, had a nose ring. The other girl had obviously dyed red hair and very green eye shadow. They all briefly looked at Isabel as she sat down, and kept talking.
“So, can you believe this place?” Gordy asked, turning to Mike. “Ten-dollar Coronas.”
“Admit it, G,” Mike said. “You love these kinds of places.”
“Yeah, you got me there,” Gordy said. “I really need to spend twenty bucks on a burger to feel like a man.”
Leelee reappeared and placed something that looked like a Slurpee topped with an umbrella on the table in front of Mike. “Here’s our house specialty. The Hot Lava. Compliments of Leelee.” She winked.
“Thanks,” Mike said.
“And for you?” Leelee said, placing a glass of clear fizzy liquid and ice on the table. “A Seven-Up.”
“I didn’t ask for this. I asked for water,” Isabel said, feeling everyone’s eyes on her.
“Not drinking tonight?” Gordy asked her.
“She can’t,” Leelee said sharply. “Underage.” She looked back at Isabel. “Sorry about that. I’ll bring you a water.”
Isabel quietly seethed as Gordy started telling Mike about someone he’d run into from high school. That had been such a deliberate move, Isabel thought. Maybe Leelee really did like Mike. Well, she wasn’t going to let her win. No way.
Suddenly, Farrah Fawcett leaned over and said, “Hey. How old are you?”
There was no use in lying. “Seventeen,” Isabel said.
“And you and Mike met… how?” she asked.
“In the water. He was surfing in front of my club.”
“Oh, wait, wait, we heard about you!” The brunette with the nose ring leaned closer. “You’re from the city, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But we didn’t know you were in high school.”
“Well, I am,” Isabel said.
“Sorry, it’s just… well, considering who Mike normally dates,” said Farrah Fawcett. “He’s always dated older people. His last girlfriend was, like, twenty-five.”
Isabel felt her stomach plummet to the floor.
“Oh yeah, Nicollette,” chimed in Nose Ring. “I think I just saw her in a Ralph Lauren ad.”
“What?” Isabel asked.
“She was a model,” said Farrah. “They dated a long time. Lots of drama.”
“Yeah, I heard it was pretty steamy,” said Nose Ring.
As the word steamy hung in the air, Leelee returned and placed a glass of water in front of her. “Anything else?” she asked in a bossy voice.
Isabel shook her head. Her heart was galloping in her chest.
Leelee stormed off.
“I’ll be right back,” Isabel said, getting up. As she waded into the crowd, she felt like she’d just been punched. All this time, she’d suspected that Mike had been comparing her to other girls who could stay out all night and order a beer at a bar. But to be compared to a girl who was paid to look beautiful and travel the world and get her picture put on ads in magazines, and who could provide him with a relationship that was steamy—she’d never felt so small before.
She found the ladies’ room and locked herself in a stall. Outside, she heard girls chatting happily at the sinks about the guys they were with or the guys they were trying to be with. Girls who were older, who wouldn’t understand or even relate to what she was going through. Girls who lived on their own. Girls for whom sex was just part of having a boyfriend. Maybe sex was actually less of a big thing than she’d thought. Maybe if she just had sex with Mike, she’d see that it wasn’t worth all this worry and concern and feeling bad about herself. It was probably like getting your driver’s license—something that felt like a big deal at first, but then would become as routine and ordinar
y as anything else.
She missed Rory. There was something about how levelheaded she was, how immune she was to the highs and lows that Isabel had always known. Rory would help her feel better. What was she doing tonight? Anything? She couldn’t remember. Now she wished she had invited her along. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, but the small upside-down cone at the top of the screen was gone. No service. She’d have to call her outside.
When the other girls left the sinks, she unlocked the stall and opened the door. In the mirror, she saw that her hair had dried into soft, tousled waves and her face had just the softest bit of color from the sun. But all she could see was that other girl Mike had dated—whoever she was, whatever she looked like—posed in a field, wearing a black ball gown and a pair of galoshes, looking gorgeous and unattainable and more beautiful than Isabel would ever be.
When she walked back into the lounge, Mike was talking to another waitress, who Isabel suspected was Leelee’s friend. “Hey, babe,” he said. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. There was something about the way he was standing next to the waitress. So close. “I don’t feel so well. I think I’d like to go.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she walked out the doors, past the line that still waited along the porch and that the bouncers still attempted to control. The air was thick and humid, and as she skipped down the steps into the gathering dark, away from the club, she could hear a chorus of bullfrog calls from deep in the bushes.
“Isabel? What’s wrong?” Mike asked, following her.
She turned around. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ex-girlfriend?” she asked, barely able to look at him.
“What?” he said.
“The Ralph Lauren model. Who’s twenty-five. Or was twenty-five. What is she, thirty now?”
“Why are you getting so mad? I don’t ask about your old boyfriends.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
He stepped toward her. “Why is that so important?”
“Because I would want to know.”
“Fine, yeah, I dated a girl who’s a model and who’s twenty-five. And yes, I’ve had some older girlfriends. Who the hell cares?”
“I do! I care!” she yelled. “If all you want to date are models, then what are you doing with me? What are you getting out of this?”
He backed away. “You’re being a little bit crazy, okay?”
“I just need to know what you’re doing with someone who’s gonna get carded, and who can’t drive, and who needs to be home by midnight. When you can obviously just go off with some model to Paris or whatever. Is this about seducing the rich girl from Lily Pond Lane? Is that what this is?”
He flinched, as if she’d held up her arm to punch him. From the look on his face, she knew that she’d said too much.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” he finally said.
“What?”
“I don’t want to date someone who doesn’t know why I’m with them,” he said. “Or who thinks that all I want is someone who doesn’t get carded.” He turned and began to walk back toward the building.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” she said, going after him. She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m just having a freak-out. Don’t go, okay?”
He kept walking, refusing to look her in the eye. A breeze rustled the leaves.
She stepped in front of him. “Hey. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m not used to feeling like this.”
He looked down at the gravel, and then finally she felt him squeeze her hand. Then he drew her into his arms and held her without a word.
She buried her face into his shoulder and then reached up to cradle the back of his head with her palm. “Let’s go home,” she said as meaningfully as she could. “Right now.” She hoped that he knew what she meant.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his hand kneading her shoulder. “I don’t want you to do anything that you’re not sure about.”
She raised her head. Those liquid brown eyes seemed to see the most hidden parts of her. And she realized that she was helpless against them. There was no use in fighting it anymore.
“I’m sure,” she said. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rory looked at the phone and then at the clock. It was pitch-black outside, and through the open window she heard the agitated pulse of crickets. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Three weeks had passed, it was a holiday, and if she didn’t do this tonight, then the silence between her and her mother would go from imagined to very, very real. As usual, she would have to be the one to make the first move. At home, this involved walking up to her mom’s door, knocking three times, and apologizing through the door. But she couldn’t do that now. She grabbed the cell phone lying nearby on the duvet and dialed. It rang several times. At least the landline was still on—that was a relief.
A man picked up. “Yeah?” he said, as video-game gunfire sounded in the background.
“Hi, Bryan!” she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. “Is my mom there?”
“Hold on one second,” he said. A particularly loud explosion sounded behind him. Then she heard the cordless phone drop to the carpet. “Lana?” he yelled. “Phone!”
There was a scrabbling sound, and finally she heard someone pick up the extension. “Hang it up!” her mom shouted in the background.
Bryan clicked off.
“Hello?” her mom said, her voice as smooth and warm as hot caramel.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me.”
“Rory!” her mom said. “I’ve been thinking about you. How are you, honey?”
Her mom’s expansive mood could mean only two things: She’d had two glasses of Chardonnay, and Bryan had moved in.
“I’m fine,” Rory said. “I just thought I’d call because it’s been a while since we talked. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s just wonderful. It is. Bryan and I are just having so much fun together. Really,” she said. “You would just love him. How’s everything there?”
“Great. Fee says hi.”
“That’s nice,” her mom said. “And honey, everything worked out with Bryan. He’s just the best. He helps around the house, he fixed the toilet so it doesn’t run all the time, and we’re just having an amaaaaazing time.”
“That’s great,” Rory said, inwardly cringing at her mom’s teen-speak. “I’m really happy for you.”
“You’ll see when you get back,” her mom said. “I think you’re going to really enjoy having him around.”
“So he’s moved in,” Rory said.
“Yeah, he was having some trouble with his roommates. But it’s all wonderful. And now we have to get going. Stacey’s having a party down at the lake. What are you doing tonight?”
“Some of the other staff went to watch the fireworks, but I’m kind of tired tonight. I thought I’d just stay home and do some summer reading.”
“Well, that’s my daughter!” her mom said. “Staying home on the Fourth of July.”
I guess it is, Rory thought.
“We’ll talk soon, honey.”
“Good-bye, Mom,” Rory said. She hung up the phone and placed it on the nightstand, right on top of the wrinkled cover of A Confederacy of Dunces, which she was supposed to be reading for English. How appropriate, Rory thought. It was the perfect title for her mom and Bryan.
She sighed and put her head down on the soft white bedspread. At least that was over. Now she could think about Connor.
She plucked at the edges of the bandage on her hand. This morning’s dramatic incident with the crazy dog seemed like a year ago. Was it really possible that just a few hours earlier she’d sat next to him on the chaise by the pool as he bandaged her hand? Was it really possible that he’d held on to her hand for minutes on end? Was it really possible that he’d said he was worried she might leave and go home?
She turned over on her back and, still smiling at the memory, looked up at the ceiling fan. But then she rem
embered the disapproval on Steve’s face. She knew that Steve wasn’t trying to be a buzzkill. For him to give her a lecture like that, he had to at least think that he was saying the right thing. Connor Rule was off-limits. Even if he did feel the same way about her, which she wasn’t sure about, it still couldn’t happen between them. Dating Connor could only ever be a bad idea. And you always paid for bad ideas in the end. Look at her mom, she thought. She’d decided not to tie herself down and get married when she got pregnant, but to be a bohemian earth mother instead. Which was the first of many bad decisions for Lana McShane.
A yawn overtook her, and she pulled down the duvet. Just as she reached for her book, she heard the sound of a car coming up the drive. She looked at the clock. Eight thirty. Someone was home early—very early. She listened as the car made its long approach and then parked. The purr of the engine sounded familiar. With a pounding heart, she got up and went straight to the window and very carefully peeked through the curtains.
The silver Audi was there. She jumped back out of sight. There was the sound of footsteps. Connor. He was alone. And now the two of them were going to be alone in this house together.
She wanted to jump up and down from excitement, but she forced herself to stand still. As she listened, the back door opened. Footsteps came into the hall and continued on into the kitchen. She let out her breath. It was now or never, she thought, slipping her feet into her flip-flops. She had to let him know she was here. She’d just pretend she needed a snack from the fridge. And if he didn’t want to hang out, then she’d make a discreet exit.
As she padded down the hall, she could hear him in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and drawers, unwrapping plastic. When she got to the swinging door, she bravely pushed it open. “Hey,” she said, walking into the kitchen. “Early night?”
Connor looked up from the mess of cold cuts that he’d placed on the counter. “Hey,” he said, smiling in a way that made her belly flip-flop. “I didn’t know you were home. You didn’t go to Sag Harbor?”
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