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 zipped 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.
She began examining her polished fingernails. Should she get a drink? She wished she’d asked Ruth for a cigarette. Maybe she could ask a passerby for one, perhaps strike up a debate about which brand was best. She crossed her arms over her chest, then forced them to her sides in a charade of confidence. Maybe she should turn around and drive home, get in her pajamas. At the pop of a flash bulb, she looked up. And when she did, she saw Ash.
He was on the lower patio, near the bar, a black bow tie fitted about his neck. His blond hair, which was often windswept and loose, was styled to one side, a gloss of pomade holding his wave in place. Perhaps he sensed her staring because he looked up, and while he didn’t stop talking to the group of men surrounding him, he didn’t take his eyes off her, either.
Heddy tilted her chin down, looking up toward the first stars of night, letting her winged eyes find him again, and when he smiled at her, she grinned broadly. She had a desire to run to him, to tell him how often she thought of him, how she hunted for his truck on the road and searched for the back of his head in town. That when she lay in bed at night she stared at his cottage, daydreaming about what he was doing, what they could be doing together. She wanted to say that she didn’t know what it was, but he made her happy, that when she was with him the sticky things lost their stickiness.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Gigi trying to get her attention, nudging her head toward the crowd, meaning something like: Get your butt down here. She remembered the lesson then, the mark.
Count, she thought. Heddy inhaled the smell of cigars and cigarettes, citronella and salt air, and exhaled, calming the fluttering sensation in her chest. She willed herself to find him once more, waiting until he was fixed on her. One Mississippi, two Mississippi. He looked effervescent, exuberant, talking animatedly, like he believed every word he was saying with all his being. That’s how he spoke to her at Katama Beach, like she was the only one there, a genuine smile topping off whatever he said.
She gazed at him, willing him to come to her, counting three Mississippi, four Mississippi. Heddy felt for her hair, making sure it wasn’t sticking up, the anxiety of the situation turning to panic, since he wasn’t moving, not one step, like Gigi promised he would. She considered something she hadn’t before: Maybe none of it would work. Maybe Ash wouldn’t be impressed with the movie star’s red dress, maybe he wouldn’t fall for these tricks. Maybe despite all of this, he would tell her what a sweet girl she was and seek out a more sophisticated woman. Five Mississippi.
He wasn’t coming. She imagined a metal discus barreling down a pole, a wheelbarrow dumping bricks at her feet. She hunted for Gigi in the crowd, wanting her company desperately, but the actress was busy with her own friends. Her eyes roamed, burning with the threat of tears. Was that one of the nannies serving canapés? Heddy saw the back of Jean-Rose’s head. Perhaps she should stand beside her? No, the bathroom. She’d reapply gloss.
When Heddy returned to the patio, she forced herself to take the stairs down to the party. Ash was nearby, and when he saw her standing there, he motioned to the dapper men circling him to wait a moment. He began pushing toward her through the other guests, using his broad shoulders to break up conversations. She imagined placing her palms on his shoulders, squeezing the muscles there, standing on tiptoe to meet his lips. Her eyes didn’t leave his as he edged closer.
Heddy laced her fingers behind her back to keep her arms from hanging awkwardly at her sides. When he was in front of her, she could see the specks of green in his eyes. He looked wonderstruck, surprised at the girl standing before him. She shied away from him, swaying in her heels, and this time, the corners of her mouth turned up.
“Look at you,” he said, and for a moment he couldn’t look at her, and she knew then that he was smitten. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here.”
She straightened his bow tie, feeling emboldened, and elation coursed down her arms. “I thought it would be fun to surprise you.”
Ash grinned, placing his hand just above the red silk bow on her back. He led her into the thicket below, snippets of small talk circling like cigarette smoke. Jean-Rose watched hawklike as they breezed by her and the pool, aglow in aquamarine.
“Glad you finally made it,” Jean-Rose said, her eyes running up and down Heddy’s figure, red shoes to winged eyeliner.
Ash’s grip on her was confident and full of direction, and he told Jean-Rose: “Can I have her for a minute?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. He led her to the bar, the crowd seeming to part for them, even if the chatter around them carried on without pause. Everyone was looking at them— No, at her.
He handed her a glass of punch, the rim coated in brown sugar. “You looked like you needed saving.”
“Was it that obvious? I don’t know anyone here.”
He held up a shot of whiskey in a toast. “Well, you know me.”
“Cheers.” She swigged her drink, waiting for that tingling feeling that came with it, the one that made her feel like she could do anything.
The band was finishing an up-tempo doo-wop song people a generation older preferred. Ash leaned up against the bar sideways to face her. Smelling his aftershave—citrus and vanilla, she guessed—and gazing up at him, she nearly forgot she was at Gigi’s party, or that they weren’t the only two people there. Ash flattened the back of his hair with his hand.
“You’re different tonight,” he said.
Heddy matted her hair down in the back, too, mimicking him. “Possibly because I’m not chasing two little kids in a bathing suit.” She laughed. “And anyway, we didn’t stumble upon each other; I came looking for you.”
She watched a look of understanding flash across his face. His eyes were shiny then, a boy who was told he could ride the carousel a second time around, and she smiled softly.
“When I saw you, I thought, That dress. But it’s not the dress, it’s you. You’re so…” That he couldn’t find the right words made her blush, and she stood regally, for perhaps the first time in her life.
Heddy did her best pirouette: “I love this dress.”
“You’re having fun tonight, aren’t you?” His eyes twinkled; she swore it.
Nearby, she spotted Gigi on an outdoor wicker sectional, men hawking her on all sides. Heddy searched for Cary Grant’s pretty-boy looks but didn’t see him. Gigi caught her eye, waving seductively. She cupped her hands around her full red lips and mouthed: “Boob rub.”
Heddy worked to block Ash’s view of Gigi. “It’s a party, isn’t it? Besides, only four weeks until I leave the island.”
“Summer is flying by.” Ash tapped his hand to Chubby Checker’s “Let’s Twist Again.”
Heddy took another swig of punch, then tapped her hand, too, while sneaking a look at his watch: Peugeot. Gold-toned rectangular face, weathered brown leather strap, two dials (one for the hour hand, one to count seconds). Ash leaned his elbow on the bar, gazing at her.
“Every so often you get a summer you don’t want to let go of.”
“This is one of them,” she said. Heddy’s eyes followed a girl in a tailored lavender sheath as she sauntered by. Then she copied Ash’s position, leaning against the bar with her elbow resting on the bar top.
He looked at her like she was up to something. “Why are you doing that?”
She pooled her eyes with innocence. “What?” She turned her head, grinning.
He hooked his thumb in his trouser pocket, the muscles in his eyes pulling back a smile. “Nothing.”
“Maybe I’m just a little starstruck.”
“Bartender, another whiskey, please.” Ash stared into the shot glass for a moment, shaking his head. A whiff of pineapple chicken drifted by, and she moistened her lips, the reassuring flavor of strawberry gloss on her tongue.
“You took my breath away tonight. Did I say that? I don’t want the night to end without you knowing that,” he said. The liquor sloshed in her stomach, giving her courage, too.
“I think about you…” The bartender dropped a martini glass, the shatter pausing conversations.
Ash pushed off the bar with his fists. “There’s something I need to do. But… will you dance with me, first?”
Hypnotized, she let him lead her to the dance floor, where a few other couples held each other at arm’s length, slow dancing to “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
Heddy locked her arms around his neck, his hands resting on her back, his warmth enveloping her. Theirs would be a Cape Cod house, sweet yellow shutters with a paved drive. He would do the yardwork and she would bake the cookies. At night, they’d snuggle on a couch they picked from the Montgomery Ward catalog. They’d watch I Love Lucy and have two children, a boy and a girl, and she’d dress them in coordinating outfits on Christmas, and they’d drink a little too much spiked eggnog and make love after putting out the children’s presents. She would kiss him goodbye in the morning and again when he got home. He’d never cheat on her, and they’d never be pressed for money.
The song drifted to an end, and he pulled away. “I need to go now, but I’ll find you.”
She looked away from him, her cheeks hot. “Oh, of course.” Did Ash see the beautiful blonde standing near them, the woman she’d seen get out of the car earlier? She seemed to be watching them. Heddy ran her tongue along her lips, tilting her head to the side, like Gigi had the other day.
“I’ll be right where you left me,” she said, as sultry as her voice would go. Once he disappeared into the party, she tried to hide her disappointment that he’d gone off. She inched her way closer to where Gigi was, thankful when the actress noticed.
“Ohhhh, Miss Heddy.” Gigi hollered from the outdoor sectional. The actress swatted away the harem of men who surrounded her and reached her hands out to Heddy’s. “Look at you.”
Heddy put her arms up, posing like she’d won an Academy Award of her own. “I feel like a million bucks.”
“Because of the dress—or because of the boy?” Gigi gestured to the spot where she and Ash had danced.
Heddy shrugged. “He had to talk to other people.”
Gigi’s eyes were luminous. “And so did you.” She planted her hands on her thighs, twisting her hips ever so slightly. “You look stunning. If I wasn’t here, no one would be able to take their eyes off you.” Gigi twirled a tousled lock of auburn hair around her finger. For a moment, Heddy was lost in a daze staring at the movie star. She snapped back. I’m supposed to compliment her.
“That dress is unlike anything I’ve ever seen—what material is that?” said Heddy, pinching at the knit.
“A designer in LA specializes in crochet. Isn’t it incredible?” The dress clung to Gigi, an elaborate white crocheted mini that fell to the mid-thigh, and lacked lining in parts, giving guests small peeks at the skin on her hips, her cleavage, even her thighs. “These ladies won’t wear anything like this in their lives—I feel sexy as hell in it.”
“You look sexy as hell in it.”
Gigi laughed wickedly, then kicked at Heddy’s stilettos.
Heddy nearly forgot her manners. “Thank you for these!” She pointed her foot like a ballerina to show off the heels, and Gigi’s grin spread from ear to ear. “They’re so gorgeous I may display them as art after this.”
“Her face must have been priceless.” Gigi smirked.
Heddy searched for Jean-Rose; she was talking to Ash, and he held a drink at his chest, his stance triumphant. That’s who he had to talk to?
“I’m sure Jean-Rose could afford them, if she wanted them,” Heddy said. Ash and Jean-Rose toasted, then he began chatting with a few well-dressed men.
Gigi jutted out her chin, sarcasm in her snicker. “The Williamses have money, sugar pie, but these heels are limited edition from Paris, something you get only if Coco Chanel is your dear friend.” Gigi cackled, like she and Heddy were in on the same joke.
Time stopped. The cacophony quieted, the dancers slowed their footwork, the music trailed off. Of course. That’s why Gigi was being so nice to her. Heddy was a pawn in a drama that had nothing to do with her. Gigi wasn’t interested in studying Heddy’s mannerisms for a role. The actress wanted to drive Jean-Rose to the brink of madness, showing her that even her own babysitter, who she paid to respect her, would rather emulate Gigi. That getting an invite to a party wasn’t so special if the babysitter got one, too.
“Heddy.” Gigi snapped her fingers in her face, but she stared at Gigi’s face, like she was seeing it for the first time. Gigi in her skimpy dress, her face flushed with liquor, drunk with ambition and ego. Even with all her beauty and the bloated bank accounts, she was just another girl trying to prove she was worth something. Maybe Heddy had known that all along. Maybe it’s why she asked her for help. However different they were, they had that in common. Two girls from the wrong side of the tracks working to right their ships.
Ted rested his hand on Gigi’s shoulder, and she turned to Heddy first, secretly rolling her eyes, then facing him with a phony smile.
“Nice job, Gigi. You turned our Heddy into a swan,” Ted said, sitting beside the actress.
But even as she considered Gigi’s intentions, she didn’t care if the actress had used her. Because in the end they’d helped each other. Heddy was here, wasn’t she? She knew Gigi wouldn’t forget her, and she had a feeling they’d remain friends, as unlikely as that seemed.
Gigi bent toward Ted, allowing the tops of her breasts to fall out of the ornately crocheted bosom. “I heard you’re running for state senate?”
“Oh, sit up.” He chuckled, but they couldn’t miss his stern tone. He sipped his champagne. “I’ve decided not to run.”
Gigi threw a crumpled napkin toward Edison Mule, his arm around his wife, a petite woman in a plum-colored sleeveless shift dress. “Too many skeletons in the closet?”
A waiter came by to refill Ted’s champagne glass, tiny bubbles popping at the surface. “Where is your date, Gigi?”
Gigi blew a kiss to the men gathering nearby, waiting for a turn to meet her. “I have enough to keep me busy. Where is that opportunist you call a wife?”
“Even after all this, she gets to you. Do what I do: pleasant ignoring.” Ted snorted, and Heddy stared at her hands. She didn’t like Jean-Rose, either, but still, she wanted to clock him.
Gigi pushed the barrel of his chest. “You always were a little cruel.” She wondered then if Gigi knew what he did to Jean-Rose sometimes.
When he was gone, Gigi put her arm around Heddy’s shoulders. “Did you see his wristwatch? Audemars Piguet. Stainless steel. One of the finest men’s watches—extremely expensive. He’s always trying to prove something, probably to make up for those awful eyebrows.”
Heddy spit her olive back in her martini. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, composing herself, then breaking into laughter. “What do you know about Peugeot watches?”
Gigi found Ash, deep in the same conversation. “Is that what he wears?”
Heddy nodded.
“Affordable luxury. Moneyed, but practical. Waiter, I want one of those chicken thingies.” A man in a red jacket swooped in, handing her a plateful.
“So he’s not going to blow his savings on diamonds,” Heddy said. “Good, I don’t need diamonds.”
Gigi blew the stink of liquor into Heddy’s face. “Oh, Heddy the babysitter. Didn’t I teach you anything?”
“I thought he wasn’t going to come. I kept staring, and he wasn’t, and then.”
“I saw it. A perfect scene. You did good, little girl.” Gigi sipped the last of her martini, slamming the glass on the table, something else clearly on her mind. “Do you know that you’re the only one on this island I can trust? You and my agent. But you’re the only one I don’t pay. Everyone else just wants bragging rights. You like me, don’t you?”
Heddy pressed her hand over the actress’s slender fingers. “I love you, in fact.”
Gigi squeezed Heddy’s hand, smiling seductively, like the cameras were on her. They were. “Cary broke my heart not showing up tonight. We’re done.”
“He must have good reason.” Heddy ogled a plate of shrimp cocktail whizzing by, and Gigi whistled to the waiter, handing her a tower of them.
“He didn’t even call.” Gigi pushed a cascade of hair across her shoulder, posing for a clicking camera. How often did Gigi smile for the wrong reasons? “See, sugar pie, you can’t make assumptions about people. On-screen, I get to control the ending. Real life is so much more disappointing.”
Heddy tugged a shrimp off a skewer. “Maybe that’s why I want to be a writer. Then things can only be as bad as I make them.”
Gigi slapped her on the back. Rough, the shrimp cocktail sauce splattering her face. Heddy wiped her cheek with a cocktail napkin. “Why are you smacking me?”
Gigi pushed Heddy’s shoulders back. “Because you’re fretting. Look how wrinkled your brows are!”
Heddy put down the plate of shrimp. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
“Easy. Then you move on.” Gigi scooted closer, pointing at the partygoers. “These people come here. They don’t care about me. They don’t care about you. You know who they care about?” She held up one finger, wagged it in Heddy’s face. “Numero uno.”
Heddy fiddled with her gold-post earring.
“That’s our problem, me and you. We don’t put ourselves first. We think that finding love is about making someone else happy.”
Heddy stared at the couples on the dance floor. If she didn’t find someone to love her, what future could she have, except one like her mother’s? A life full of lonely. “With all due respect, I’m not sure you and I play by the same rules. You could spend your life unmarried. But me. I’m out of options.”
“All I’m saying is don’t squander your degree.” Gigi tilted her head toward a group of men in dinner jackets talking to Ash. “He’s just the first. Give yourself time.”
“I don’t have that kind of time.” Heddy cleared her throat. “Sorry. There are some things I haven’t said. Important things.”
Gigi reached for Heddy’s cheeks, cradling them in her palms, looking deep into her eyes, like she might kiss her. “I’ve been playing along with you, sugar pie, about this husband stuff. But listen to me: Discovering who you are isn’t about finding love. That’s about the only real truth I know in this wretched world, and I’m still trying to learn it.”
The rims of Heddy’s eyes began to burn, and all she could imagine was her eyeliner. That it might run down her face, staining her cheeks with thick streaks of black. “But what if I…”
Gigi used her hands to push Heddy’s bangs into place. “There, there, dear. All I’m saying is: Why not figure out what you want first? You don’t want to become one of these vacant-eyed housewives slow dancing with your vacuum every afternoon.” She motioned her hands around, disgusted with the sight of everyone before her, a queen shooing away peasants. “You could be more than this. You want to be a writer? Start writing, send me a script.”
A song picked up, a fast-tempo jazz number, which made Heddy think of Sullivan. She fidgeted with the hem of her dress, wondering if he was here, worrying that he was. “Can we talk about something else, please?”
Gigi kissed her cheek, and Heddy stood. “If only I had someone like me at your age,” Gigi said, swatting her away. “Go find him. And don’t forget our little trick.” Gigi shook her breasts, which seemed to excite the men waiting for her on the sidelines. They swooped in, angling for a spot next to the movie star. Gigi eased into them, gushing in their admiration.
With sunset, the sky turned indigo, and all at once a dozen chandeliers illuminated over the patio, casting the party in an amber glow. Men in tuxedoes balancing shiny silver trays zigzagged through the guests while the swimming pool glowed with underwater lights. Heddy found Ash near the bar, arm in arm with Susanne, her husband holding a drink for a toast, all of them laughing.
A freckled waiter sidestepped to face her, a large, pleasing smile on his face. “Triscuit with cream cheese, salmon, and pimento?” The waiter bowed, like the food was something prepared especially for her to consume. I’m being mistaken for someone with money. She’d approached the women at the country club when she used to cater like this, like they were a species that needed special attention. Heddy reached for a cocktail napkin and took one of the hors d’oeuvres.
She made her way through the crowd to look for Jean-Rose, who was near a gazebo strung with lights, talking to two women.
“There you are! Everyone has been asking about the mysterious woman in the red dress.” Jean-Rose opened her arms in an embrace. “Have you all met our superstar babysitter?”
A woman with long dark waves pushed to one side with jeweled combs, offered a slender hand: “Abigail Rhodes.”
Sullivan’s mother. The other, holding a notepad and pencil, looked Heddy up and down: “I’m Estelle Pintard. I write the Around the Town column for Abigail’s paper.” Then: “A babysitter wearing Oleg Cassini? Impressive.” She scribbled something. “Do you mind if I take a photo for the paper?”
“That’s Jackie’s favorite designer.” Jean-Rose scoffed, running her hand along Heddy’s skirt, looking seduced by the feel of it. She put her arm around Heddy for the photograph.
Estelle, whose nose was as pointed as her tone, dropped her gaze to Heddy’s shoes. “Where on earth did you get special-edition Chanel? Jean-Rose, you treat your help very well.”
Heddy looked at Jean-Rose for assistance—should she say that it was all Gigi’s? No: Fake it till you make it, as Grandma said when she left for Wellesley.
“Thank you, ma’am. I borrowed it all from a friend.”
“I’m not sure I’d call her a friend.” Jean-Rose looked toward Gigi, and Estelle wrote something else in her notebook. Her wrinkled lips had flecks of dried mauve lipstick in the creases.
The music stopped, and Gigi took the microphone. Her husky voice welcomed “the Vineyard’s most beautiful people to the season’s most beautiful party.”
“She always sounds like there’s a frog in her throat,” Jean-Rose whispered to Abigail, who snickered.
Abigail, a triple strand of diamonds hugging her neck, shared Sullivan’s baby face and turned to Heddy when Gigi’s speech was over. “Jean-Rose says you’re a Wellesley girl. I graduated in ’forty-one.”
Heddy looked around the glowing pool for Sullivan—she hoped he wasn’t there tonight, that he hadn’t seen her with Ash.
“I begin my senior year in the fall.” A blatant lie. What if she knew? What if she was on the Wellesley board and had a list of students who’d lost their scholarships?
“Are you studying for a Mrs. degree?” Abigail snorted. The waves in her hair were a cascade of coiffed hills and valleys. “Peter and I married my junior year, and I was pregnant by graduation.”
Heddy smiled. “I’m just trying to keep my nose in the books.”
“I’m sure you are.” The woman grimaced, glancing at Estelle, but the reporter was impatient, tapping her foot.
Estelle rolled the pencil between her fingers. “I thought you said Cary Grant was coming.”
Jean-Rose pretended to look for him. “He’ll be here. Gigi said he was running late.”
Heddy took in Jean-Rose’s blush-colored evening gown, a stunning, fanned bosom casting an accordion of delicate silk against her chest. Hanging from her wrist was a shimmering golden cuff.
“You always manage to look perfect,” she told her boss, sad that she had to stand here and pretend the night before didn’t happen.
Jean-Rose feigned modesty, pushing a bobby pin deeper into her braided bun. “Why thank you, Heddy. You look lovely yourself. I love your pearls.”
“They were my grandmother’s.” Her buzz made her want to tell Jean-Rose more, like how her grandmother gave them to her on her sixteenth birthday, that they were the finest thing she owned, and how she’d put them on the day of her high school graduation and wouldn’t take them off until she graduated from Wellesley, a symbol of her perseverance. Even after reading her rejection letter earlier tonight, she’d left them on.
The drummer used his sticks to bang out a finale, finishing big with a slam on the cymbals. Everyone clapped.
“I hope I got the right drink, Mother.” It was a man’s voice, and Heddy recognized his uncertain tone straightaway. She raised her punch to her lips, hand trembling. Sullivan, underdressed in khakis and a navy sports coat, stepped beside her in the circle, so close their elbows grazed. She felt him notice her, his eyes lingering on her profile, but he didn’t say hello. She gave him a sideways smile, not sure if he was angry with her. Her breath quickened, heat gathering up the nape of her neck.
Jean-Rose nudged Heddy, wrinkling her nose. “I think you two know each other.”
Sullivan shifted from one foot to the other, holding up his drink in toast. He sputtered. “Mother, this is the girl I told you about.”
Heddy grinned. Here she was chasing Ash, and Sullivan had told his mother about her.
Abigail tilted her head forward, blue shadow coloring her eyes, pasty with foundation. “We were getting acquainted. Sullivan didn’t want to come tonight—he’s always late, this one. I’m starting to suspect on purpose. But he cleans up well, doesn’t he? My handsome boy.” She reached for his face, but he smacked his mother’s hand away. She turned to Heddy. “Who was your friend at the bar?”
“Mother, please.”
Heddy filled with dread, realizing Abigail was addressing her, asking about Ash. “A friend from the beach. He’s teaching Teddy to surf.”
“You seem to have many friends, Heddy,” Abigail said, causing the muscles in Heddy’s cheeks to twitch.
Jean-Rose cleared her throat. “What are you doing this summer, Sullivan?”
“Waiting at the the Clamshell. But I’m also teaching baseball at the town camp.” His voice brightened, and he glanced at Heddy. His mother was right: without his glasses, Heddy could see how handsome he really was—full, round lips; hazel eyes.
“You didn’t tell me you did that, too,” Heddy said, and he smiled at her.
His mother clicked her tongue. “So curious, this one. Curious about everything but the paper. We’re going to have to give him the science pages.” Everyone laughed, except for Sullivan, who mouthed to Heddy: “See?”
His mother winced. “Where is Peg? I’m sure she’d love a dance.”
Heddy’s lip twitched. Was Peg here?
“Mother, Peg and I are over. Long over.” He gave Heddy a cursory glance. She stared into her martini.
Abigail shoved him in the chest. “Oh, Sully, go find your future bride. She doesn’t have complications, like some girls do.” Her eyes narrowed on Heddy.
“Piss off, Mother.” Sullivan stormed off, his head low, and Heddy dashed after him. He ran up the steps into Gigi’s house, and she followed him until she felt a tap on her back. The smell of vanilla and citrus. She spun to find Ash, the crest of his chest leaning into her. The last few minutes washed away like the receding tide. She felt something close to awe. He’d come for her.
A tickle of warm breath in her ear. “You’re a hard woman to track down. You think you’d be easy to spot in that red dress.”
“Ash.” She wanted to hug him, to follow him to the dance floor and do the twist. Watch the fireworks from the gazebo on Gigi’s lawn. But Sullivan’s mother. She’d said those things, about Heddy being “complicated,” and Peg was here somewhere—his future bride—and Heddy felt ridiculous. “I have to go. This night. It’s been…”
She wasn’t going to be someone’s punching bag. She didn’t need to take this assault on her character. She knew she didn’t belong here. Why did everyone else seem so intent on reminding her?
Ash whispered in her ear: “I have to hang around for a half hour. I’ll meet you on the beach, near the path to my cottage.”
A part of her wondered why he couldn’t leave now, why he wasn’t as lost in her as she was in him. But she supposed she was willing to wait thirty minutes if it meant spending more time with him, especially since the eye makeup, fancy red dress, and studied sex appeal had been for him. Sullivan was nowhere to be found, and she certainly wasn’t driving the island to hunt him down.
“Okay,” she said, watching him disappear into a circle of tuxedoed men.
Heddy sat on a large piece of driftwood under a near full moon, listening for his footsteps down the beach for close to an hour. Had she misunderstood? Perhaps he meant they’d meet at his cottage—or maybe he changed his mind. The party was still going, the music sounding distant and faraway from here. She stared across a smooth plane of dark sea, watching lights flickering on the mainland.
She heard footsteps and saw his form ambling toward her.
“That took longer than expected,” Ash said, dropping his dress shoes in the sand; she’d already kicked off her heels.
“I almost gave up on you,” she said. More than once.
Ash skipped a stone into the sea. “The party took a turn. Susanne changed into her bikini and nearly lost it in a dive. Sally and Judy jumped in in their evening gowns, and Gigi made them do handstands for prizes. ‘Utter trash,’ one lady told me.” Ash was laughing. “They haven’t a care, these people, do they?”
He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
“You were busy,” Heddy said. The truth was she was disappointed. No, she was mad. Why was he always with women like Jean-Rose and Susanne? She found a flat gray rock, throwing it like a discus, so it would skip over the surface of the sea, but it dropped into the deep after one bounce.
“I’m sorry, kitty kit. I had to close a few deals. And it’s happening. Jean-Rose is signing on. She handed me the contract tonight. We got them, Heddy. That means we’ll get more.”
We? Was she part of this?
She hugged him, her frustration waning. Perhaps, someday they could be a team. “Congratulations. You did it.”
“I’m going to get the money I need.” He picked up a flat rock and handed it to her. “This is how you skip a rock.” With Heddy gripping the stone, he pulled back her wrist and let her fling it. The press of his chest on her back made her breath slip. Her feet pivoted, and she spun in his embrace to face him, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. She noticed a small scar just above his lip, the tiny pores where he’d shaved.
“What I need is a lesson in money,” she said, covering her eyes with her fingers. Ash gently moved her hands away, and she batted her lashes just once, a coy invitation that beckoned him to come closer. She imagined that her winged eye makeup was as sexy as Elizabeth Taylor’s in Cleopatra. That he might see her that way.
“How can I help?” He ran his fingertip along the edges of her lips, parting her mouth. A buoy bell rocked with the waves. His nose brushed against the bridge of hers. She desperately wanted to kiss him. “People do crazy things to get money,” he said.
She wondered what he’d say if he knew she needed more of it. But then she felt his lips press into hers, and she yielded, melting into him, tasting peppermint and molasses, perhaps from the whiskey. He dug his fingers into her hair, pulling her deeper toward him, and she shivered, from the inside out.
When he pulled back, his lips were swollen and red. He took her hands, pressing his thumbs softly into her palms. “You’re quivering.” He kissed her again, satin spreading across her mouth, then drank in the sight of her.
“I better get back,” she said, because she knew she didn’t want to get back at all.
“You won’t get away that easy.” Ash jumped in front of her, walking backward while she walked toward home. “Are you free one night next week?”
“It depends,” she flirted.
“On what?”
She listened to their footsteps kicking up sand. “On whether Jean-Rose and Ted have plans. I have off Fridays, sometimes I can get Monday nights off.”
“Then try for Monday. I want to take you out on the water.”
“I thought we were having lobster rolls,” she laughed. If she began spending more time with him, she’d have to stop calling Sullivan.
“That will be our next date.” Ash turned to face her, using his finger to trace a line down her neck, stopping at her clavicle and letting it linger. At night, the sweet lines of the Williams house’s gingerbread lattice looked ominous, haunted.
“This is you,” he said.
She pulled on the pocket square in his suit. “This is me.”
Ash reached for her hand, and she held it up to him. He leaned down and kissed the top of it, just below her bent knuckles, leaving behind an imprint that felt as definitive as a signature.
“Can I have this?” She pulled out the pocket square, dangling it in front of his face.
“What for?”
“To keep a piece of you.” She knew that all of this—tonight—was a fantasy, that someone like Ash Porter would feel faraway from her life next year.
“If it means something to you.”
“Good night, Mr. Porter.”
“Good night, kitty kit.”
He chuckled, a bit giddy himself, and walked off in bare feet, the moon reflecting in the shiny dress shoes he carried in his hand.