Summer Darlings

by Brooke Lea Foster

  Heddy handed her back the towel, worrying how the story would be told to Jean-Rose; Susanne had a flare for exaggeration. Not to mention Sullivan—this was his aunt. What would he think of her being seen with Ash?

  Ash folded his arms, grinning. “Susanne is just cranky that big wave knocked her down.”

  Heddy lifted her eyes to the two of them, a smile creeping away from her lips.

  Susanne affectionately patted Ash on the back. “If I had half a decent surf instructor, then maybe I’d have more luck. Thanks for the wild ride. I’ll see you at Gigi’s tonight, right?”

  Ash put his hands to hips, the soft blond hair running up his arms reminding Heddy of velvet. “Is the whole island going?”

  “Pretty much.” Susanne slung a straw bag over her slender shoulder. “Ciao.”

  When she was gone, Ash sat on Heddy’s beach blanket, and even though they weren’t touching, she could feel him along her edges. A red propeller plane offering rides flew overhead, doing air rolls, and the children cheered. “I can’t believe people pay for that sort of torture,” she laughed.

  Ash grinned. “You get paid for a certain kind of torture, too. I hope you don’t let Jean-Rose speak to you the way Susanne did. You have better manners than most of these chicks.”

  Heddy laughed; it was true. “No one makes you spend time with them.” She took in his back, the beauty marks arranged haphazardly down his shoulder blades; if she connected them, they’d make something close to a “W.”

  “It’s business. Susanne has a place in Palm Beach. I’ve been trying to convince her to buy a plot with me instead.”

  She imagined kissing those beauty marks, what his skin would feel like under her probing lips. “Is she going to?”

  “Probably not,” he laughed.

  The kids were fighting about a shovel, screaming about what this one did and the other one didn’t, and Heddy knew she should attend to them. Instead, she fell backward on the blanket, the sun beaming across her cheeks. She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of him. He was always grazing against her, finding a reason to touch her. Was it just lust?

  “Give it back,” Anna yelled.

  She tuned them out, feeling his shadow pass across her face. She fluttered open her eyes and saw a goofy grin on Ash’s face. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Ash noodled her, tickling her in the belly, and she laughed, scurrying her hands down his stomach. When he didn’t squirm or smile, she tried tickling his sides.

  “I’m not ticklish,” he said, flexing his abdomen tight with muscle. But he broke into a grin, and she laughed, but soon they were just gazing at each other, the silence broken only by their breathing.

  “Heddy! Make him stop.”

  She wiggled away from him and marched over to the kids. “Teddy, don’t you dare steal Anna’s shovel,” she attempted to scold but erupted with giggles, looking over her shoulder at Ash. She tried to compose herself, but being near him made her giddy. She couldn’t wait to surprise him at Gigi’s party.

  A plastic sand shovel in hand, Heddy helped the kids build a castle as Ash came over to set up a chair.

  Heddy flipped the bucket, revealing a clean-lined sand castle. “Tell me more about Montclair.”

  “You remembered.” Ash turned up a Ray Charles song on his handheld transistor radio. “Our house was the loveliest on the street, a Queen Anne. My mother planted rows of red tulips, and in the spring, our yard had hundreds. They practically covered our lawn.”

  Heddy smiled at his memory. “Seems idyllic.”

  Ash rubbed at the back of his neck. “It was, until it wasn’t anymore.”

  “You’ll get it back.” She thought of Gigi, of everything she’d said about men. She rubbed at the back of her neck to mimic him.

  “Enough of my sad story. I have a game. Think of a number from one to ten.”

  Two, she thought.

  His eyes danced. “Okay, multiply it by nine.”

  Eighteen.

  “Does the resulting number have two digits?”

  She nodded. “Then add them.”

  Nine.

  He told her to subtract five, and then think of the corresponding letter in the alphabet. The trick got Teddy’s attention, and he was listening, too. He looked at Heddy, who whispered in the child’s ear: “D.”

  Ash pretended to look perplexed, his lips pressed together like he was trying to figure something out. “Is your letter ‘D’?”

  Teddy’s eyes lit up, and he and Heddy exchanged amazed glances. “How did you do that?”

  Ash laughed. “My psychology degree finally coming to use. People are predictable, that’s all.”

  She pressed on her skin to check if she was getting sunburned, but it sprang back pink. She swore she’d gotten more freckles this summer than in her entire life. “No, this was random. How did you know my number?”

  “It only seemed random. Say I’m selling a bottle of wine: One is two dollars, one is five dollars, and one is eight dollars. Most often, people choose the middle one. They won’t want to appear cheap or extravagant.”

  “Huh.” She would have picked the $2 one, but she kept quiet.

  “I’m trying to get people to buy what I’m selling, but I barely talk about the house. I talk about who else is buying, what size that person’s house is, etcetera.”

  “Who knew you were into mind games?” She smiled.

  “Which is why if I could get Jean-Rose and Ted, I’d get others. People look up to them. Their perfect marriage, beautiful home.”

  Heddy waved back Anna, who had gotten too close to the surf.

  “Do you think Jean-Rose convinced Ted to buy in?” Ash wondered.

  They’d spoken about the Coconut Coast, and Ted had shut down the conversation. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, or the truth about what Ted was really like in private.

  Heddy spoke quietly, so the children didn’t hear. “Last night they were guessing what movie stars had signed on. Jean-Rose wondered if Gigi McCabe had.” It wasn’t a total lie; she’d heard Jean-Rose ask Susanne the question.

  His pupils seemed to expand. “Would that seal the deal?”

  Heddy rolled her eyes, whispered. “Probably. Those two have a row going.”

  “Is that so?” He rose out of his beach chair, pacing in front of her.

  “So if Gigi bought one of my houses, Jean-Rose would insist on getting a bigger one.”

  Heddy smelled hot dogs, then spotted a man with a hot box on his chest walking toward them. “Ted’s opinion doesn’t even matter.”

  Ash scratched his head. “But I thought he was the money.”

  “Sure, but like I said, Ted is barely there, which is for the best, and he’ll do whatever Jean-Rose wants if it stops her from getting on his case. He nods along with her about running for state senate—and she’s hosted a couple of meetings with donors at the house—but I don’t think he even cares. I heard him say as much. Anyway, hint to Jean-Rose about Gigi, and you’ll get her, and she’ll get Ted.”

  “That’s my girl—you’re right.” Ash grinned. On the radio, a man announced Bobby Darin’s “Dream Lover.” Ash reached his hand down to her, pulling Heddy onto her feet. “Dance with me.”

  She glanced at the other beachgoers; she didn’t know any of them, but still. That almost made it worse. “Here?”

  He nodded. “It’s just a dance, kitty kit.”

  He spun her out, twirling her around, meeting her eyes with a soft smile. Then he let go, dancing a slow cha-cha, snapping his fingers, and when Heddy matched his footing, he threw his head back with glee: “That’s it, you got it.” A large wave crashed onshore.

  Heddy swayed to the beat. “All those nights catering cha-cha parties have finally paid off.” Beaming, Heddy took Anna’s hands, twirling her.

  They tried to get Teddy to join, but he grimaced. “You guys are weird,” he said.

  “It feels good to break the rules sometimes, kiddo. You should try it,” Ash said.
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  Heddy snapped to the beat, adoring the way that Anna was trying to copy her in her purple-ruffled swimsuit. “You’re a terrible influence. Besides, Teddy breaks enough rules.”

  When the song ended, Heddy and Anna applauded. Ash reached into his cooler for a cola, handing one to Heddy, and she sat cross-legged on the blanket.

  Ash stretched out in his chair. “I could go for a lobster roll.”

  “What’s that?”

  She and her mother had lobster specials once on the boardwalk at Coney Island—and she’d loved wearing the plastic bib, picking at the stringy meat.

  His face puckered with disbelief. “You’ve never been to Surf Shack?” Surf Shack was a take-out seafood restaurant in Oak Bluffs. She’d noticed its kitschy light-up sign on her first day.

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “Chunks of lobster stuffed in a hot dog bun. It’s about the best thing you’ll ever eat. They started making them a few summers ago. Let’s go, right now, for lunch.” He folded his chair. “Kids, we have to take Heddy to town. She’s never had a lobster roll.”

  She waited to see Teddy’s reaction; his mood dictated what they did and didn’t do. He planted his feet in the sand. “I hate lobster rolls.”

  Heddy eyed the red-and-white stripes of the hot dog man’s shirt. “What did I tell you about using the word ‘hate’?”

  “Teddy, they’re only the most delicious thing on the island.” Ash was looking over his wayfarer sunglasses, which he’d pushed down his nose.

  “But we just got here,” the boy whined.

  “I’ll go,” Anna said, “if you get us ice cream.” Heddy thought she sounded just like Jean-Rose.

  “We should stay,” Heddy said, waving over the hot dog man. “Three dogs, please.”

  * * *

  Heddy begged Anna to sit still. The girl’s hair was tangled, and every time Heddy went to run the plastic comb through, the child ran away. Heddy threw the comb onto the bed. “I give up.”

  She stood in front of Anna’s oval dresser mirror, tugging her shirt off one shoulder and arching the bare slope of her upper arm, trying to re-create the sexy pose Gigi had demonstrated. With her hair gone, she could see the supple skin of her neck, and it electrified her to imagine Ash brushing his mouth there. She pouted her lips, tilting her head to the side, and batted her eyelashes, testing her look in the mirror.

  “What are you doing?” Jean-Rose, her hair sculpted into glamorous Grecian curls atop her head, a sparkly headband hiding her bruise, dropped a package onto Anna’s floor.

  Heddy jumped back, so startled that she tripped on Anna, who was lying on the floor with Teddy. “I was just… looking at my freckles.”

  “Mommy!” Anna threw her arms around her mother’s legs. “Where is your dress?”

  “The party isn’t until eight. Anna, your hair is beastly,” she said to the girl.

  Heddy grabbed the brush off the bed. “I was trying. Anna, come here.” But the girl spun away.

  Jean-Rose tapped her navy flat against Anna’s plush pink rug. “What made you take the children to Katama?”

  Heddy hoped her face didn’t betray her. “Teddy was begging to play on the surfboards.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Teddy said. Heddy opened the girl’s top drawer, taking out white folded camisoles and refolding them. She hoped Jean-Rose didn’t notice her burning cheeks.

  “Mm-hmm. I see.” In the mirror, she could see Jean-Rose’s reflection, arms folded tight below her emerald necklace. “Don’t make this the summer of your rebellion, dear girl. What happened with Sullivan?”

  Heddy shrugged; she was still working it all out. But it was starting to feel like Jean-Rose didn’t want Heddy to see Ash. Was it because Sullivan, at least on the surface, was like Ted, bringing money and a good name to the courtship? Did dating him reinforce Jean-Rose’s ideas about who was husband material and who wasn’t?

  Jean-Rose used her foot to slide a brown-paper package, like a hockey puck, toward Heddy. “This has your name on it. Someone dropped it off.” Then she handed her a letter, from Wellesley.

  “Maybe it’s from Sullivan?” Heddy pretended to be delighted, playing to Jean-Rose’s desires, even though she wanted to tear open the letter. She set it on the bed.

  “Well, go ahead. I’m as curious as you are.”

  Heddy turned the package over, fiddling with the red-and-white twine. Inside was a shoebox made of thick black parchment, COCO CHANEL spelled out in shiny white lettering on the lid. A scripted note read: I didn’t forget. xo Gigi

  Inside, layers of black tissue paper separated, opening to reveal shoes, but not just any shoes. Stilettos. Fire-engine red, slip-on mules with a peep toe, stacked on a skinny, four-inch heel. She took one out, running her fingertips along the glossy finish of the patent leather, the double C’s engraved on the arch.

  Jean-Rose’s lip twitched. “Good luck walking in those.”

  Heddy let the heel fall in the box. “She’s helping me. With that project.”

  “I think we know who has a project.” Jean-Rose rolled her eyes, marching off with Anna at her heels. Heddy grabbed the letter from Wellesley off the bed, clawing it open and racing to read it. The first line, then the second. Her eyes grew misty, and she sniffled, then tore at the words manically until it was confetti, stuffing the pieces in her back pocket.

  Teddy, lining up Anna’s stuffed animals on the floor, looked up. “Don’t you like your present?”

  “These are happy tears,” Heddy lied, blowing her nose. She supposed she hadn’t really expected Wellesley to reverse their decision, but at least she’d had hope.

  She slipped on the heels, if only to distract herself, and the soft seams hugged her slender feet. As indulgent as a slice of red velvet cake, she thought—like the ones they served on china plates at the Waldorf Astoria. She slid on the other and bit her cheeks to keep from crying, since these heels were powerful and victorious and representative of everything her life was suddenly not.

  And yet, while staring at her stilted expression in Anna’s floor mirror, she knew that no matter how her fortunes dipped, she would never go back to Brooklyn. She would be the dutiful daughter and help her mother with the rent. Oh, she would be the good girl. But her resolve would also propel her forward. She’d get her own apartment. She’d get a job. Any job. And all those old classmates who gossiped about her when she didn’t return to school, who pitied her for not being able to pay her way, she’d prove them wrong. Because Hibernia Winsome wasn’t the type to give up.

  EIGHTEEN

  A fierce rapping on the bathroom door made Heddy drop Emily Post’s Etiquette onto the floor. She was on the toilet reading about “Balls and Dances,” her stomach in knots, her red dress still hanging from the towel rack beside her. She wanted to see what Ms. Post would say about attending Gigi’s party without an escort.

  “Go ahead without me, Jean-Rose,” she said, embarrassed to speak through the bathroom wall.

  “We’ll wait five more minutes, Heddy, but that’s it.”

  Heddy had decided that she’d purposely run late, just so she didn’t have to arrive on the arm of her employers. She wanted to walk into Gigi’s party like an invited guest, not a third wheel. “It’s okay. I’ll meet you there. I’m not even dressed yet.”

  Jean-Rose sighed. “You’d think you were going to your own wedding.” Small, careful steps down the creaky stairwell. Minutes later, she was back: “Ted will leave keys in the Buick.”

  Heddy pulled her lace underwear—the only pair she owned that her mother wouldn’t approve of—over her hips and checked her makeup in the gilded vanity mirror. She looked bewitching. Long false lashes fanned out from her eyelids, outlined with thick black liner. She’d used the pencil to draw a small diagonal line up from the corners, so her eyes looked winged, just like Gigi showed her. Rather than a thick matte of red on her lips, she applied a simple, clear gloss.

  She clasped her grandmother’s triple strand of pearls around her neck and z
ipped her dress—the silk hugging her hips. In the mirror, she blew herself a kiss. “Go get ’em, Brooklyn.”

  Ruth wolf-whistled when she came into the kitchen.

  Heddy fidgeted with the rhinestone belt. “You like it?”

  “Oh, shut up. You know you look incredible.” Ruth licked a finger, wiped at a smudge on Heddy’s cheek.

  Heddy hugged her close, not letting go when Ruth did, holding her for an extra second. “You’re sleeping here again tonight, right?”

  “Jean-Rose asked me to stay, with you being out and all.” Jean-Rose had said she expected Heddy up with the children Sunday morning. Rightly so. But Heddy was so grateful for Ruth’s standing in she almost hated to leave.

  * * *

  The sky was streaked with pink and orange as a line of waiting automobiles pulled around Gigi’s circular driveway. Two gas lanterns flickered on either side of the glass-paned double doors, and a young man dressed in a top hat and coattails ran out to each car, offering a gloved hand for the keys. A statuesque blonde in a strapless sky-blue evening gown emerged from a black sports car. Out of a sedan came a couple with coordinating outfits; his powder-pink bow tie the color of her floor-length taffeta dress. Heddy took out her compact and brushed on a little more powder, her cheeks tingling with anticipation.

  No one knows about Wellesley, she reminded herself.

  Before she knew it, Heddy was out of the car, feeling unsteady in the Chanel heels. She faced the house’s grand double doors, and an usher led her through Gigi’s lobby, the living room with the horseshoe-shaped couch, and out the sliding doors, where throngs of people clustered in groups around the pool. To one side, a wooden dance floor lit with tiki torches stood before a rock-and-roll band. Japanese lanterns flickered in the pool like fireflies.

  Heddy gulped in the salty breeze, aware of the click of her stilettos on the patio, scanning the crowd frantically for a familiar face. In the cacophony of conversations, the clink of glasses, she noticed a few of Jean-Rose’s friends. A woman rammed into her on accident while dragging a friend up the patio, nearly knocking Heddy over, the notes of their conversation traveling to her ears: “I think he’s messing around.” Heddy shifted to the side, dropping her eyes to her heels. She adjusted her belt, even though it wasn’t out of place.