Summer Darlings

by Brooke Lea Foster

  Gigi blanched; the actor’s latest affair and rumored divorce had been in the papers the day before, even Heddy saw it. “You and your sad sorry self. You think anyone wants what you have?” Gigi’s wicked laughter ricocheted through the crowd. “Oh, Jeannie. The ego on you, the false sense of purpose. Always pretending you feel sorry for everyone. Why don’t you look in the mirror? See who everyone feels sorry for.”

  With anger pinching her face, Jean-Rose shoved the actress backward into a picnic table, and Gigi, despite being bigger, lost her balance. “Get out now.”

  “That’s enough, Jean-Rose,” Ted said, draping his arm around her back, breathing heavily by her bosom. “We have guests.”

  Gigi, still facing Jean-Rose, poked at her bare clavicle with her pointer finger. “Why did you take Teddy’s toy away? Scared that he might be a little too much like daddy? Your damn babysitter had to fetch it from the garage just so he’d stop crying himself to sleep.”

  “You what?” Jean-Rose stiffened, sneering at Heddy.

  Footsteps pounded into the yard, dress shoes on stone. Heddy thought Nelson Cruz was back, but it was Ash standing before her now, breathless.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said. Ash realized then that he’d walked into something awkward, registering the rage on the women’s faces, while tugging on Heddy’s arm, trying to steer her away. Ted looked dazed, and she wondered if Ted knew about Ash, but then he ran toward the bushes, emitting the unmistakable spray of vomit.

  Heddy planted her sandals firmly on the patio. Safety pin and all. “Are you here to sell more bogus real estate developments?”

  “You hate me, I get it, but listen.” He looked greasy, his hair disheveled.

  “Tell them who you really are. Why you’re on this island.” Now it was her voice that sailed out over the crowd, and at once, there were whispers.

  He shook his head, like she didn’t get it, crestfallen and his tail between his legs. “Heddy, stop. You need to come with me.”

  Jean-Rose grit her teeth behind a smile. “Get back to the dishes, Heddy. That is why I pay you.”

  Heddy shirked from her, from Ash. She was done with all of them: “I’m sorry, Jean-Rose, but… But he’s worse than you thought.”

  The lipstick in the corners of her boss’s lips had smeared, giving her the appearance of a deranged clown. “No, dear, he’s exactly what I thought. And he’s done with you, isn’t he?”

  Ash grabbed Heddy’s shoulders, shaking her to attention. “Heddy, listen to me. It’s Ruth.”

  Heddy blinked twice, letting what Ash said register. Ruth. Fear swept over her. Had her mother passed away?

  Gigi lit a cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke into Jean-Rose’s face. “Why do you try to hurt her? She’s just a girl.”

  “Well, she provided you nothing but amusement.” Jean-Rose gestured toward Heddy.

  Gigi tucked Jean-Rose’s bra strap back under the tank of her pantsuit. “You are a miserable thing, aren’t you?” There was a murmur in the crowd, the crackle of the firepit, unfamiliar faces holding sticks with meat on them, waiting for the show to go on.

  Jean-Rose twisted the emerald pendant at her neck. “No matter how big your house. No matter how many movies you make. You’re an actress, not a Rockefeller, and on this island, you may as well be a whore.”

  “Bravo,” Susanne barked, and she shifted awkwardly when no one else applauded.

  “Is that what the Academy voted last March? That I’m a streetwalker?” Gigi sounded charmed, scanning the crowd for a response, summoning up a few delayed chuckles.

  “You’re all so curious about her,” Jean-Rose told the partygoers. “Well, I know her. Oh, I know her. I was there the day she terminated a pregnancy—a pregnancy!—because she couldn’t keep her legs closed.”

  Gigi’s eyes bulged, her lips falling open with surprise and disgust—or was it betrayal? She inhaled and exhaled, her gaze boring into Jean-Rose like a drill. Then with bravado—and plenty of cleavage—Gigi’s face changed to something wicked, and Heddy wondered what she’d say next. But she said nothing. The muggy air hung like wet towels, waiting for words to cut it; the American flag on the porch flapped in the breeze, the turntable still skipping.

  “Heddy, please,” Ash said, tugging on her elbow, her hands on her hips. The words raced through Heddy’s mind. Nasty. Entitled. Superior. A complete bitch. No, that wasn’t it. What did she want to say?

  Heddy cleared her throat.

  “Jean-Rose,” she said to her boss, who, having turned her back on Gigi, apologized to guests for the “rude interruption.”

  “Jean-Rose.” Heddy, louder this time, waited for her boss to turn, this woman who pretended to be her booster, then accused her of stealing. Who wanted everyone else’s heart to break simply because her own heart broke long ago.

  “Heddy, go back to the kitchen,” Jean-Rose said, her silver heels pert and aligned.

  Emboldened by the chorus in her head, by all the people who ever said no or looked at her like she was less than, Heddy cleared her throat a second time, taking Gigi’s hand. She felt heat building in her chest, ideas forming in her mind. Heddy hated Ted, yes, but she’d come to hate Jean-Rose and Ted as a couple even more. And Jean-Rose was so selfish, so cruel and uncaring to everyone around her, that it was hard to feel sorry for her. She held this power over everyone, even Gigi, and Heddy wouldn’t let her crush the actress’s spirit, just as she’d tried to break Heddy’s own.

  “Want to know what I learned this summer?” Heddy let go of Gigi’s hand, but she could feel the actress towering next to her. “I learned that money doesn’t buy happiness. Or kindness. Or class.”

  It hadn’t come out the way she wanted, feeling contrived, cliché. Heddy stared at the horizon, where a lighthouse beam strobed across the horizon. She searched her heart, clawing for the right words. The truest ones. She found Jean-Rose’s eyes again, shadowed in silver, her mascara a perfect fan of long lashes. Even now, her beauty startled her.

  “I started this summer thinking I wanted to be you. This perfect life of yours. And I may go home and live with nothing for the rest of mine.” The pain of it burned in Heddy’s chest, and she bit her cheek. “But here’s what I know: You taught me that the most dangerous kind of woman is one without dreams. A woman who plays by someone else’s rules rather than her own. Who does what she thinks people want her to do rather than what she wants. And I will never, ever, be a woman who lets someone, no matter how much money they have, make her believe she’s not good enough.”

  Her eyes were damp, her lips trembling, and still the words came. “I’m sorry, but you can’t talk to me like that, Jean-Rose. And you certainly can’t talk to Gigi McCabe like that. The Gigi McCabe.”

  Gigi elbowed her, a pleased smile spreading across her face. She mouthed to Heddy: “Good girl.”

  Ted stumbled back to Jean-Rose, like nothing ever happened, and the sight of him wiping his mouth turned Heddy’s stomach. “And you,” she said to Ted. Later, Heddy might regret this, she knew it even as she felt her arm go up, but she needed to do it. Her flattened palm sailed through the air, poised to slap Ted’s chiseled cheek. Someone gripped her hand, stopping her. It was Gigi.

  “Please. Allow me,” Gigi said. But instead of Ted, she slapped Jean-Rose, who emitted a yelp. She knew then that Gigi didn’t know about Ted’s abuse, that no one did but her and Ruth, and she was sorry then that she’d started this.

  The faces around Heddy had turned to a concert of scowls, a sea of murmurs, and Heddy felt her knees buckle as Gigi shook out her hand. She leaned on Gigi to steady herself, her vision blurring for a moment before sharpening.

  Ruth. She needed her.

  Heddy turned to Ash, who was waiting. “Come on,” he said.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ruth was lying in a man’s T-shirt on Ash’s couch, her hair wet from the shower. As soon as she saw Heddy, her eyes glistened. She had a bandage on her forehead, a scrape on her cheek. Heddy took her in her arms, r
ocking her like a child. “Thank goodness, you’re okay.”

  “She died last night.” Ruth tried to pull away, but Heddy squeezed her closer.

  “Oh, Ruth, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Ruth collapsed into her; she smelled of shaving cream, perhaps she’d washed with Ash’s. “I wanted to be with her, and I thought people would think it odd.” Ruth pulled back to face Heddy, wiped at her eyes. “He wasn’t even there when it happened. She was choking, trying to breathe. I mean, he made me do it alone. I was so angry, and when he finally came home, I started yelling. I threw a plate. A vase. He lunged at me, and I fell.”

  Ash folded his arms across his chest, and until now, Heddy hadn’t realized there was blood on his golf shirt. Ruth’s blood.

  Heddy needed to be strong. She wouldn’t cry. “Your dad, he did this to you?”

  “It was awful, Heddy,” she said. “He’s all I have, and I hate him.”

  Heddy cupped her shoulders. “Ruth, we have to get you out of there.”

  She shook her head. “There’s nowhere else for me.”

  Ash handed Ruth a glass of water, then dropped a small white pill into her hand. “I drove her straight to Doc Rogers, who told her to take one of these once she calmed down.”

  After swallowing the pill, Ruth lay down, resting her head on a crochet pillow. “Ash called nine-one-one so they’d come for Mom. I wanted to say goodbye one last time, but I couldn’t go back there.” Ruth scrunched up her face, her eyes welling up.

  Heddy held her hand. “How are you doing?”

  “I’ve been preparing for her death for so long.” Ruth buried her face into the knit. “And I’m not prepared at all. What am I going to do?”

  “Don’t worry. We’re here now.” Heddy covered her with a blanket, caressing her forehead and humming a lullaby—“Hush little baby, don’t say a word”—because she didn’t know what else to do.

  In the kitchen, she and Ash leaned against the cabinets, sitting on the counter, whispering. “She can’t go home.”

  He put his hand over hers. “She can stay until we figure out what to do next.” They could hear Ruth’s muffled cries in the living room.

  “I think I’m going to have to pack my things today, too,” she said, banging her head against the cabinet.

  Ash hid his smile with a fist. “You certainly put her in her place. Do you want me to come back with you? Maybe I can smooth things out.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve gotta face them at some point.” Heddy scooted closer to him, and he put his arm around her. “Thank you,” she said. “For helping.” She could feel his edges against her, pulsing with longing.

  “Can we talk?” he asked. “I have things to say.”

  She shook her head. “Ash, really, it’s not the right time.” Heddy went to sit with Ruth, even as she slept, wondering what she could possibly do to help.

  * * *

  The house was dark when she stepped onto the porch after midnight, and she crept upstairs, thankful that Jean-Rose’s door didn’t swing open as she passed.

  She needed to write.

  August 11, 1962

  I am without options: saying those things to Jean-Rose felt necessary—I’d held in everything for too long. But in bringing out those feelings, others have come, too. I will not choose a man who is untruthful, and I won’t pretend to love another for what he has. I think of my mother and how lonely she must have been raising me without a husband, and of the betrayal she must have felt when he told her to get out of his life. Is every man a liar?

  There’s a pattern here of women taking what a man gives her, accepting her position as less than his, but I will not do that. I will not let a man do as he pleases and still slide under his covers… I will find my own way.

  She soaked her pillow with her wet face, tears pouring out, chewing down her fingernails one by one. Her nerves kept her up most of the night, and at dawn, with her chest muscles sore, she carried a basket of laundry down to the washer. As she loaded it, she sensed someone behind her.

  When she peeked over her shoulder, she saw Jean-Rose was without makeup. Her face pale and tired and so utterly different from how she typically looked. “You know, hiring you was a favor. I had someone else. But Beryl, she promised you were charming,” Jean-Rose said from behind Heddy’s back. Beryl, it was hard to bear. She wondered if they’d stay friends, if they’d have anything in common without school.

  Heddy tossed in the last sock, shut the washer door, keeping her back to Jean-Rose. “She can be convincing.”

  “To think you questioned me as a mother. Yelled at me in my own house. At my own party.” Jean-Rose’s voice was unhinged, and for a moment, her skin prickling with fear, Heddy wondered if she would creep up behind her and strangle her.

  Heddy shut her eyes, willing the moment to end. She spun the dial to Wash, waiting for the spray of the water. “I’ll be gone as soon as I can find other arrangements.”

  “You’re lucky I honor my contracts or I would throw your stuff on the lawn. You have forty-eight hours to leave, and I’ll be sure you never work on Martha’s Vineyard again. And New York, too, at least in a household.”

  Heddy stood tall, even if she still hadn’t turned around. “Ruth is okay, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Ruth will be taken care of. I’ve been helping her family for years,” Jean-Rose snapped. The cycle began to spin, and Heddy pressed her hands against the washer. Something made her turn, curiosity, she supposed, and she felt the cool metal of the machine at her back.

  “You loved that man, Nelson, didn’t you? So why did you marry Ted? I don’t get it.”

  Jean-Rose sighed, leaned against the doorjamb, her eyes puffy and red. She stretched out her fingers, stared at her ring. “You think you’re so smart. But I guess I did, too, at your age. Love seems so black-and-white, I’m sure, but with Ted, well, he was the practical one. He was the choice that made my parents happy. When I told my mother about Nelson, she threatened to disown me—my own mother—and she said, ‘If I can’t accept you being with a Cuban, why would anyone else?’ So I didn’t go to city hall that day, and Ted and I went for a drive instead. My whole life came down to that drive. It’s funny how a moment can mean everything in retrospect.”

  Heddy nearly hugged her, despite everything. There was sadness in these walls, no matter how perfectly painted their lines. And now that she knew the details of Ash’s scheming, the unhappiness in Jean-Rose’s marriage, that Gigi had demons of her own, Heddy could see that money couldn’t fix a person. It couldn’t save someone, or serve as a Band-Aid to whatever wounds a person carried around. It helped keep the lights on and the radiators humming, but it didn’t make anyone happier. Whatever had hurt Heddy as a child would always be with her, no matter how much education she received or how high her social standing climbed. She was thankful for the island for showing her. It was a lesson she could have spent her entire life trying to learn.

  Footsteps padded on the floorboards upstairs, causing Jean-Rose to wipe her eyes.

  “Stay out of my way until you go. I think you’ll understand why I’m withholding this week’s pay.” Jean-Rose trudged up the stairs, greeting the children in murmurs, the television switching on.

  They avoided each other the rest of the day. It was so quiet it felt like someone died. With Jean-Rose in her bedroom and Ted puttering in the garage, Heddy encouraged the kids to go for a walk. She led them to Ash’s cottage.

  Ruth was on the telephone when they arrived, and the children were confused at the sight of her. “I thought you were sick,” Teddy said, scrunching up his nose while Anna wrapped her skinny arms around Ruth’s legs.

  Heddy quieted them, setting down the clean outfit she’d brought for Ruth.

  “That was Jean-Rose,” Ruth said, when she hung up. “She said I should move into the attic. You’re leaving?”

  Heddy pulled her away from the children, who were sitting at Ash’s chessboard. “Something happened. I sai
d some things.” She whispered in Ruth’s ear.

  Her eyes resembled saucers. “You what?”

  Heddy tucked a wisp of red hair behind Ruth’s pale ear. “I wish I could take it back.”

  “I wish I were that brave.”

  “Ruth, you’re an ox. You could haul the world up a mountain.”

  They laughed, joining the children on either side of the chessboard.

  “Mom wanted to be cremated. Will you scatter her ashes with me? Off Katama Beach.”

  Heddy took her hand. “You can’t do that alone.” She was supposed to leave in two days; would Ruth have the ashes by then?

  “Ash said he would fetch my things. I don’t want to see Dad.”

  Heddy rubbed her arm. “Of course not. Where is Ash?”

  “He left with a list. He’s a good man, Heddy. I screamed at him when he pulled over, beating him on the chest. He said to breathe, that he wouldn’t leave me on the road. He said he’d bring me to you. He told me stories on the drive, kept asking me my name, what day of the week it was. He didn’t have to do any of that. He’s more than good.”

  Heddy buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what he is.”

  * * *

  She and the kids had one more stop, and when they left Ash’s cottage, they turned to the path opposite from theirs.

  Karina answered the door of the estate, leading the children to the patio, where they found Gigi dressed in a skirt suit with a hat pinned sideways, a petite fishnet veil over her forehead—clearly about to board an airplane. Gigi hugged Teddy tight, then Anna. She got on one knee. “I’m off to make my next movie.”

  “An Afternoon in Central Park?” Heddy said.

  She nodded. “On a set in the Valley. Does she know they’re here?”

  Heddy shrugged, wondering how Gigi could slap Jean-Rose, then hug her children. “Why are you so nice to them?”

  Gigi and Heddy followed the kids to the wide-open lawn, where they were chasing seagulls. “This may sound crazy, but no matter how nasty she is to me, we were little girls together, then best friends. At one time she was the closest thing I had to a sister. Plus, she knew me before this”—Gigi threw her head back, laughing—“maybe she keeps me grounded.”