37
The club was set right on the water, with a wide deck, hoppin’ bar, and a female DJ wearing a fluorescent sports bra and cranking out remixes of Lady Gaga and Kanye West songs circa 2010. Shirtless men abounded—young, old, six-pack abs, and potbellies. No one cared. Gemma felt she could take off her own shirt and no one would raise an eyebrow.
Sanjay had given up on taking photos an hour earlier. But he’d hesitated to leave his camera at their table.
“This is P’town! Lighten up,” Maud said, pulling him out of his chair by the hand. Gemma wasn’t sure if the comment meant that no one would steal his things, or that dancing was mandatory, but either way, the four of them fell into the groove of the crowd.
Maud ordered food for their table—chicken fingers, a hummus plate, and a spicy noodle salad. She insisted everyone stop and eat something because it was clear they were all crossing the line from pleasantly tipsy to sloppy drunk. But every time Gemma thought about slipping away to grab a bite, the DJ hit them with an even better song. A man wearing a Speedo, a glowstick around his neck, and a sailor hat handed out small water bottles. Gemma wanted to dump it over her head but knew she’d feel better in the morning if she started drinking something other than vodka.
“The club scene is dead in New York,” Sanjay said to Maud. “I’ve been there my whole life and haven’t seen anything like this.”
“That’s because you don’t go to gay bars,” said Alvie.
“If you think a random Thursday night is fun, come back on the Fourth. Now, that’s a party.”
The sun began to set, and the music shifted into a mellower, 1970s R&B vibe. Sanjay noticed the quickly changing light, and his eyes became very focused. “I want to get some shots from the beach.”
Gemma, breathless and with her tank top clinging to her sweat-soaked skin, said, “I need a break. I’ll walk you down to the water.”
The sky turned violet edged with gold. The breeze off the water gave her a chill in her damp shirt, and her slides filled with sand. She barely noticed.
“I guess what they say about the light here is true,” she said.
Sanjay adjusted his camera lens, focusing on the horizon. “One of the few places that lives up to its reputation,” he said, lowering the camera after getting his shot.
“I’m glad it was worth your while to make the trip then,” she said. He took a few more photos before the sun disappeared. Sanjay recapped his lens and put his camera back in his bag. “All done?”
“Almost. I want to head over to the Pilgrim Monument. I tried to get some good shots of it last night but it was cloudy. Now the sky’s clear. If I’m able to get the moon in the frame, it will be amazing.”
Gemma looked up at the three-quarter moon and shivered. Sanjay unzipped his bag and pulled out a thin cotton blanket, draping it over her shoulders.
“You carry this with you?”
“In case I ever need to lay on the street for a shot,” he said. She pulled it tighter, arranging it around her body like a wrap. The fabric smelled earthy and familiar—it smelled like Sanjay. Her longing for him broke through her alcohol fog, hitting her like a physical blow. She abruptly sat down on the sand, leaning forward to brush the shells out from underneath herself.
“You okay?” he said.
“Yeah. I just need a minute.”
Sanjay sat next to her, keeping his camera bag on his lap. “So . . . what really happened today with the interview?”
Had that just been earlier that day? She sighed. Her complicated feelings about the interview were hard to put into words. But if anyone would understand, it was him.
“The reporter started asking me about the Pavlins. She’d done her research. I was prepared for that, but it still felt weird to talk about it.”
“Well, you probably should get used to it. Your family background is something you can’t avoid if you’re going to become really big. And I believe you will, Gemma.”
She adjusted to the fresh darkness, the moonlight off the bay giving her enough light to see the expression in his eyes. As she tried to decipher it, he looked away, out at the water. She stared at his profile, taking in the curve of his cheek and the line of his jaw. She could feel the stubble against her neck, against her breasts. Her eyes lowered to look at his hands, remembering what they could do to her.
“Sanjay,” she said quietly. He turned toward her, and she leaned forward, kissing him. For a second, he didn’t move. The sound of the water seemed to roar in her ears, her heart pounding so hard she felt it might burst. Sanjay touched her face, tentatively at first, then cradling her jaw, kissing her hard. The feel and smell of him was like a homecoming. The kiss deepened, and she felt instantly sober. Her body was on fire, but her mind was clear: It wasn’t over between them. Not by a long shot.
She pulled back just long enough to catch her breath. He jumped to his feet.
“I can’t do this, Gemma,” he said. “I’m seeing someone.”