It Happens in the Hamptons Page 8

  “No fair!” yelled Richie, yanking off his headphones and taking his eyes off his Candy Crush game on his iPad for a precious three seconds. “If Alexa goes, I want to go. If Luke is teaching, I want to see him.”

  “You don’t have your bathing suit or wetsuit, honey,” said Julia. “I wasn’t planning on having you all go to camp today. It’s so early in the summer, I just want family time at home, I’m not . . .” Julia, who sensed she wouldn’t get her way, suddenly decided to save her arguing capital for another fight. It was easier to let the kids and husband believe they were in charge so she could squash their demands like insects when it really counted.

  “They have so many wetsuits for kids always. Old ones for kids who forget, come on, Mom, pleeease? If Alexa gets to go, I get to.”

  Jake patted Mario on the shoulder. “Stop the car at that water sports camp. We’ll drop off the two kids. Who cares, Julia? We’ve got all weekend.”

  Once in a while, Jake had to trump his wife. He loved her to death, but still, she had to let him act like a man when it counted with the kids. He was happy she had a bigger brain than him, and wasn’t one of those women who obsessed over exercise classes to keep her ass from drooping. On the other hand, nothing worse than a droopy ass, Jake thought to himself, as various moms’ rear anatomies shuffled through his head like a deck of cards.

  Mario guided the Cadillac Escalade up through the public parking lot toward camp, and Alexa bounded from the back row and out the side door, stepping into her gold flip-flops on the hot pavement. Into a rubber Birkin-style fuchsia beach bag, she stuffed her plush Hermès bedsheet of a towel and her patchwork designer Cynthia Rowley wetsuit (which was so tight it gave her breathing issues).

  Richie ran out past his big sister. He headed directly for the plastic bins filled with wetsuits that dozens of children had peed in. They smelled like a combination of teenage boys’ feet and rotten fish.

  Evan, meanwhile, waited in the car, disgusted by anything having to deal with the local leeches on the beach, lost in their inane, underclass notion that instructing children in the water was an actual vocation.

  “Hey, man, happy summer once again,” Jake said as he fist-bumped Kona, who was rushing up from the bay area to the ocean side with a boogie board for one of the kids. “I got two very late kids here who want to jump in. You cool with that?”

  “Yeah, we already started camp, but if you want to sign up for a full morning now, you can do that. We don’t do half fee on late arrivals, but, hell, you wanna pay full fare, that’s fine. And you know, we’ve been meaning to talk to you. That day on the beach with your Scout truck, you know there are these people at the club who weren’t so happy with that. They are trying to shut down the camp which would pretty much ruin my life, so it caused some . . .”

  “Hey, lemme settle in for my weekend. You wanna call me next week?” Jake said, checking the weather app on his phone. He was hoping that sand incident was long forgotten.

  “Yeah, fine, but I do need to talk,” Kona answered, desperation clear in his voice.

  “I said, call me. I meant it, buddy,” Jake answered, loving that he was needed by one and all.

  Alexa pulled her new patchwork wetsuit up her thighs and leaned over for several beats too long, just to make sure there wasn’t a man within a five-hundred-yard vicinity who hadn’t noticed that purrrrfect wedgie, rammed up inside her full butt cheeks.

  Jake went on, his back thankfully facing his daughter’s sideshow. “You know, come to think of calls, Kona, something’s bugging me and I’m a very direct guy who’s gotta say it.”

  Kona cracked his neck purposefully, feigning interest in Jake as his eyes tried hard not to look at Alexa’s bending and stretching. The way she walked around the lot sickened him as if she were his own child. Last summer, this girl was a kid. The image of her Memorial Day weekend in that orange romper, on her knees in the sea grass still haunted him. Maybe he’d force her to wear a sensible, black wetsuit with long legs and arms like most of the other kids did. That’d be a start in the right direction for her.

  “About that music gig I promised you last summer,” Jake said. “So sorry we never got that done. I know I sent you on a few interviews, but I should’a, could’a gotten a few more until we got you a real fuckin’ job you were happy with. That wasn’t right. I just, you know, man, I tried . . .”

  “It’s fine,” Kona lied, trying not to reveal any disappointment. “I know you’re a busy guy with a lot going on. This camp thing, though, is serious. We’re trying to get city families supporting our cause or we’re going to have to shut down for real.”

  Meanwhile, Julia had gotten out of the air-conditioned SUV in time to witness Alexa jam her breasts inside the wetsuit and then struggle to zipper it up her neck. “Honey, that suit is just too small. Can we please go into town later and get another?”

  “Stop, Mom.”

  Julia watched her daughter strut around, fear and maternal anxiety now pumping through her body. “I’m not stopping, honey. We’ll talk later.” The girl didn’t have any smarts about the mesmerizing power her balloon breasts would have over men. Julia got back in the car and sat with her head in her hands, concerned about the trouble her daughter could get herself into this summer.

  Alexa took a photo of a little drink shack on the side of the beach where she’d hooked up with a guy a grade older from the Riverdale school the previous weekend. She immediately posted it on her anonymous @DIDITHERETOO Instagram account that pretty much showed the locale of every expert blow job she’d ever delivered.

  That was her favorite way to taunt her twenty-three thousand social media followers: just give them a hint, not really a full idea, that maybe she had blown someone there in the photos she posted. The great shot she’d posted the night of the Memorial Day bash, with the purple sunset and the grassy dune, had been her most popular this spring. She got thousands of likes. Sunsets always got likes, but sex and sunsets, even better. The suggestion that she “did it here too” was a really clever way to use her Instagram when all the other girls were posting selfies in bikinis. Like, no one knew it was her account. And, like, no one would ever find out.

  Thank God she knew how to handle boys and men so well at age sixteen; it helped that she was born with no gag reflex, which was a really great thing in life. Something to be really thankful for.

  She hoped she’d see the older man from the party this weekend, so she could play with his head a bit. He said he might show up here today to see her at camp. He was really handsome, and so mature. And she liked how hot and desperate he got around her.

  When her parents questioned why she still wanted to go to surf and water-ski camp after four years, when she hadn’t noticeably improved since season one, she explained it all made her feel happy and fit. She mostly sat on the boat with Luke acting as camp DJ, blasting music while the kids water-skied behind the boat. Plus she got to buy a lot of new swimsuits every spring, and bags for her beach belongings and awesome flip-flops in colors that coordinated it all. And it made for good posting photos for her other Instagram account with her real name on it. All the surfing photos she posted made her look really athletic and down to earth, which she so was.

  “It’s not right,” Jake said to Kona, using his best patrician tone, as he headed back to his SUV. “I promised I’d deliver some kind of job for you and I’m a man of my word. I just get pulled in so many directions and, Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t help everyone.” He slapped Kona’s shoulder.

  “I got it. Maybe another time,” Kona answered. “But I’m going to push on the camp closing. They’re sending summons for infractions, building a case. It’s very serious, Jake, and we need . . .”

  “You know what?” asked Jake, nodding thanks at Mario who’d run around the open car door like it was an Olympic track meet trial. “Let’s do this. Let’s celebrate the start of summer. You guys, you know, Luke, that teacher guy, whomever, the older one who doesn’t talk, you all come over after camp soon
. I’ll have my chef lay out a spread. And we’ll talk about your camp problem.”

  “We’ll come, we’re there, for sure, man,” Kona answered. “It’s really important. We can’t shut down after ten summers. We need the income, your kids need safety in the water.”

  “2206 Beachwood Lane? Best food you ever had, guaranteed?” Jake slugged Kona’s back a little too hard, and climbed into the climate-controlled comfort of his car, marveling at his own magnanimity as if he’d cured every case of malaria in the Third World.

  The corner of Julia’s mouth turned from frown to naughty smile at the news that Kona was coming for lunch, while Evan smacked his forehead in disgust, just like his daddy always did when he was astounded by other people’s idiocy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Conscious Coupling

  Thursday, June 15

  At the end of Katie’s third week in the Hamptons, George arrived at the cottage at 3:00 p.m. bearing bags of succulent blackberries and cherries he’d picked up at his favorite Halsey farm stand. From her room, she heard the sound of the kitchen faucet running. She walked out to find George flipping berries in a colander. He took a bunch of bright wildflowers out of newspaper and placed them in a mason jar.

  “George, this is really kind. I don’t need flowers.”

  “You do, actually.”

  “Thanks.” Katie smiled at him. “Okay, maybe I do. I love them.”

  “And I promise this is the last time I come here unannounced. I wanted to take you to the new tutor client, and then for a Kir cocktail on my favorite bayside spot, Sag Harbor Point. We’ll have oysters and watch the sunset after your session.”

  “How could any woman say no to that?”

  “And I want the sitter next door to understand the rules in this house when you all are here.” He then pulled her toward him and kissed her forehead, keeping his mouth pressed against her for a long while, expressing that he wouldn’t be letting go any time soon.

  “Did you go for a swim?” she asked. He smelled clean from his afternoon shower.

  “Of course. In the ocean. After a brutal tennis match I’ve been losing since boarding school. My friend Oldie was captain of the team, and I never caught up. Still trying.” He laughed. “You know . . . boys.”

  “I know. I got one, but mine isn’t such a competitor. He hates it actually.”

  “Let me work on that this summer. There’s plenty of sports at the club for the kids. It’ll be good for him. He likes Cynthia, right? She could organize some games,” George asked, referring to the sitter next door. “That family has lived in that house for thirty years. She’s the grandchild of the owners, and worked for the club a bit as a waitress and she’s a good young woman.”

  “We like her so far. I feel more comfortable that you know her.”

  “Did she stay while you found the windsurfing bay the other day or did you bring Huck?”

  “No, I got her, it was a godsend. The southwest wind is the prevailing wind in summer at Napeague Harbor. It comes up in the afternoon at about fifteen miles per hour. It funnels in there nicely, just like it does back home in the Columbia Gorge. But, it still feels very different here when I’m on the board.”

  “How come?”

  “I can’t quite define it. I’ll let you know, though.”

  “Did you get an instructor? They have a shack out there of some kind where they teach.”

  “Nah, I do it alone, that’s the whole point. Just me and the boom and the sail. There’s people out there, about thirty the day I was there, so we watch out for each other. But I love it, it’s like an elixir, I told you that.”

  “That’s why I wanted you to try it in the Hamptons first thing. And good you feel secure with Cynthia here. I went by this morning to their house. I asked they check on you often to make sure all is okay over here when I’m in the city.”

  “George, you’re being an angel.” Katie grabbed the back of his belt and brought him toward her. She rubbed her pelvis hard against his. “I love flowers and berries, you know that, but I can drive alone to the tutor appointment if you want to get stuff done before dinner. What do you think I do out West? I find places on my own, there’s Google Maps when I’m lost, I drive all the time to . . .”

  “I think you manage brilliantly.” He swayed back and forth, pushing his body back into hers, allowing into his mind the possibility there was time to ravage her now without the child knowing. “You raise that gorgeous boy on your own, you turned your degree into a career, and now, you take a chance at a new life. Maybe even a chance at real happiness after a terrible spring. I never knew your mother, but I know she’d want that and more. Maybe I even hear her saying that now.” He cupped his ear toward the sky as if he were listening to her mother from above. Katie smiled hard at first, but then blinked the stinging out of her eyes. He kissed a tear away that ran down her cheek. She tried to pull back, but he’d have none of it. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pushed her against the old fridge with the rounded front door. “I’m here for you. Any way you want. You can discard me as a lover, and I’m still here for you. It’s a wonderful community to start a life. When you do your new tutor client session today, pretend it’s for real and you’re getting that full-time gig in Bridgehampton.”

  “Why are you kissing my mom again?” Huck asked, trying to open the fridge door for a juice box, shoving George in the kidney to get him to move.

  Katie wiped her salty wet face with a dish towel. She then turned on the faucet and patted cool water on her cheeks to reduce the ruddiness that always erupted when tears came. She went to gather her notebooks.

  With Huck ensconced with his Angry Birds games on an iPad and Cynthia on the back porch, George drove Katie to her new session in East Hampton. All four windows of his BMW were open and the afternoon foggy mist left a soft dew on Katie’s cheeks. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, content to be driven after all.

  She turned her head lazily to look at George. He looked fit after his tennis match, and handsome in a starched white shirt that showed off his good tan. His blondish, graying hair was askew, flying around now with the wind from the open windows. She loved the way he always yanked his too-long bangs back with his fingers. His haircut was more French writer than American preppy, and it was one of the things she always remembered in her mind’s eye. His hair made him look cool, but responsible. A man you could count on with a bad-boy look. His wide shoulders gave him the air of a man who took care of himself, and who didn’t put up with anything he shouldn’t.

  Katie knew her mother would like him (mostly his kindness and care).

  Her friend Ashley back in San Francisco would be the only voice advising her not to get too wrapped up in George. She had called that morning to make sure. “Just because you’re in his family cottage and he’s a masterful lay doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Well.” Katie laughed at the predictability of Ashley’s constant protective watch. “There you go again, just like we say . . .”

  “I know,” Ashley answered. “Everyone’s advice is autobiographical.”

  “Exactly. Just because you don’t trust men, doesn’t mean I have to be so cautious. Good sex and a nice cottage with a beat-up Volvo can also mean he’s generous and thoughtful. A masterful lay is a man who cares about a woman’s pleasure. And that he does—it’s all he focuses on. He says he can’t get turned on if I’m not, so . . . it’s not all bad.”

  “Where’s your heart? That’s what I want to know. Does your heart stop when he walks in?” Katie could imagine Ashley’s image burning through the phones, all hunched over, one eyebrow cocked, waiting breathlessly for the answer to this key question.

  Katie paused. “Well, yeah . . .” Yes, her heart fluttered, but sometimes it felt like nerves around the newness.

  “Doesn’t sound like true love,” Ashley responded like a prosecutor.

  “Well, I mean, c’mon. You told me to wait until summer was over, not to get too attached, take my time. Now you�
��re saying either I have to fall hard or leave town?”

  “I’m asking a simple question. Are you really into him?”

  “I’m into him,” Katie answered, trying to provide her friend the right answer, without annoying legal ammunition to be used later on. “But it makes me nervous sometimes.”

  “Why, because you think he’s going to ditch you, too?”

  “No, c’mon, I’m not that fucked up and scared of life. It’s something else. I don’t know. Maybe the newness of the East. Just, I’m totally responsible for Huck and my finances, and I can’t assume everything will be working here yet.”

  “Okay, like I said, take your time to figure out where you are . . . in every which way.”

  “Trying!” Katie yelled into the phone.

  “Love you. Bye.”

  As George drove and explained back road Hamptons savvy, she thought about what she’d divulged on the phone. She didn’t relay to Ashley that they’d only slept together a few times since she’d arrived in the Hamptons, not dozens a weekend like they had at the Portland Hilton.

  The sex here was just as powerful, but much less frequent. Katie felt it wasn’t due to Huck asleep in the next room; they could have found stolen hours while he was at camp. It was some limbo George had manufactured “for her.” She and George had even had one surprisingly chaste dinner date with stolen kisses only. She’d been sure they would fall into bed afterwards. But one night he’d gone home early, reminding her he’d made a pact.

  “I’m going to leave now,” George had said, at about eleven on a balmy, humid June night, after furiously kissing her on her porch. “Before it’s too difficult to leave, I have to go.”

  “Huck’s asleep. You don’t have to,” Katie had said.

  “I don’t want to crowd you.” Then he’d left her wanting him sexually, but convincing herself she could have him if she insisted.

  As she’d watched his BMW roll into the night, she’d remembered the weekends back at the Hilton after the seminars, the scent of sex so pungent on their bodies they’d had to shower several times a day.