The Beach Lane Collection

  She tried to put the image out of her mind and went back to checking each model.

  “You guys look terrific,” Eliza said. Her vision of working-girl “uniform” glamour was really coming to life. She couldn’t wait to see the audience reaction. Would they hate it? Would they love it? Did she have a future in this business?

  Eliza peeked out from the side of her car. She’d asked her guests to assemble by the shore. A makeshift runway was cordoned off in the sand, and she had rented two spotlights to light the “stage.” Once they were switched on, the show could begin.

  She waited for the floodlights to illuminate the runway.

  And waited . . .

  And waited . . .

  Finally, a figure ran up from the sand. When he got closer, she recognized Serge, the busboy from the restaurant who’d volunteered to help with the lights.

  “They won’t go on. I’m not sure what’s wrong.” Serge shook his head.

  “What?” Eliza asked.

  “I tried ’em twice, checked the wires; they all looked fine. I don’t know. Maybe the bulbs are busted?”

  What good was staging a fashion show if the audience couldn’t even see the clothes? The beach was covered in darkness, and the audience was getting restless. Eliza saw guests mingling and drinking the purloined vodka martinis. The show was going to turn into nothing more than a cocktail party if she didn’t do something fast.

  “What are we going to do?” Shannon asked, her eyelashes heavy with mascara.

  “We need to start, Eliza. They’re already playing the music,” Madison said as the opening chant to Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl” played in the background.

  “Shit!” Eliza cursed, gnawing on her cuticles until they bled. She had no idea what to do now.

  Jacqui noticed they weren’t starting and walked out of the line to speak to Eliza. “What’s the problem?”

  Before Eliza could answer, another figure appeared next to her car.

  “Hey, did I miss anything?” Mara asked, walking up to the huddled crowd.

  “The spotlights—they won’t go on!” Eliza told her friends. “I don’t know what to do!”

  “I just saw someone working on them,” Jacqui remembered. “I thought she was one of your volunteers.”

  “No, Serge just checked. He said they’re busted,” Eliza said. “Mar, where have you been?”

  Mara blushed deeply. “Sam made me go to Sydney’s show. But don’t worry—the thing was a total disaster. No one even stayed for the finale. I thought I was the only one walking out early, but when I turned around, I noticed a bunch of people behind me. I think they all followed me here too.”

  Eliza felt elated at the news. Sydney’s show was a bust! Ha! Then she realized. Paige. It had to be. She’d known Eliza was staging a show, and she must have been furious when she noticed that everyone had walked out before the end of Sydney’s show to go to Eliza’s. Sabotaging the spotlights had to be her revenge.

  Eliza started to feel the sweat form in her armpits. She was so done. She could see major editors from W, Vogue, Bazaar, and the New York Times out there, as well as several prominent buyers from the best department stores in the country. They would never give her another chance if she messed this up. She would just be another fashion statistic—joining a slew of wannabes whose creations crowded the clearance racks. If she even made it to the clearance racks.

  “Okay, what if we gave all the models candles?” she suggested. “I could run to the Stop and Shop on 27 and—”

  All of a sudden, there was a hoot from the crowd. Then cheering erupted.

  “What’s going on?” Eliza craned her neck. She saw the sandy runway ablaze in lights, even though the spotlights were still dark. “How—?”

  “Who cares? Let’s go!” Jacqui said, stepping out from behind the car and leading the pack of models down the catwalk.

  The show finally started, and to the surprise of everyone, most of all Eliza, the “runway” turned out to be lit by two lines of cars parked by the beachhead, their headlights blazing.

  jacqui in wonderland

  JACQUI WAS STILL WEARING HER finale outfit—a daring three-piece black suit that was perfectly fitted to her proportions—when she saw three guys walking toward her from opposite directions, each holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. They handed them to her one by one, looking adorably sheepish.

  “You were great,” Duffy said. “It made me want to wear the clothes myself!”

  Ben elbowed him away and turned to Jacqui with a somber look on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

  “I’m fine.” Jacqui nodded. “I really like you guys.”

  “We really like you too.” Grant winked.

  “And the site, is everything okay?” she asked.

  Ben nodded. “Stock’s back to where it was before the fall, a few points higher, even.”

  “Someone sent in a video of that movie star Boris Carter, you know, Mr. Action Guy—who says he does all his own stunts?—getting a leg cramp from walking his dog. Pretty funny.”

  Duffy rocked on his heels and put a friendly arm around her shoulders. “Believe us, nothing will stop the Debauchery,” he promised.

  They all hugged each other fondly, and Jacqui realized that even if she had lost her chance at love, she had at least come out of the summer with three very good friends. Breaking up with all three boys was the best decision she could have made.

  The three of them had added up to one great boyfriend, but Jacqui was certain that one day she would meet the one boy who had all those qualities—Duffy’s energy, Grant’s magnetism, and Ben’s sensitivity. In the meantime, their friendships would survive, and, by default, Jacqui had become the fourth amigo.

  It looked like everything was settling in place. Except the clock was ticking—the anniversary party was tomorrow night. Madison had happily reported that Kevin had postponed his trip to the Caribbean to attend her tennis match and would be in East Hampton to support her as well as to check out the fictional encroachment on his property. He had been incensed when she told him that the Reynolds were building a three-story gazebo in their backyard that was going to look over the Perrys’ pool and block their view of the ocean.

  There was a new snag, however—Anna still wasn’t back from her spa trip. She was supposed to return earlier that evening but had explained she was taking an early-morning flight instead, since she wanted one more night to “commune with the stars.” Jacqui hoped her employer’s newly rejuvenated self would be on that plane. Otherwise, there was one to São Paulo with her name written all over it.

  caught in the high beams

  ELIZA CAME OUT TO TAKE her bows at the end of the show. She looked out at the applauding guests, several of whom cheered and wolf-whistled. They had loved it—but even better, she had never felt so satisfied in her life. The past two weeks, she had worked harder than she had ever done, and she was so proud of herself. Her collection was a success—even if no one ever ordered a single piece or no one ever wrote a single line about it, she was satisfied. She’d done it for herself.

  Mara ran up and gave her a big bouquet of tulips. “This is from me and Jac,” she said, kissing Eliza on the cheek. “We’re so happy for you!”

  A man wearing a natty bow tie approached her with his card and introduced himself as the dean at Parsons. “I’d love to talk to you about scholarship opportunities to our freshman class.”

  Parsons School of Design? The school that counted Marc Jacobs, Donna Karan, and Calvin Klein as alumni? Eliza couldn’t believe it. She’d never even thought of applying, because she’d been certain she wouldn’t get in—and besides, there was the whole Princeton thing. She’d been working so hard to get into Princeton all her life. If she told her parents she wanted to go to design school, they would choke on their vichyssoise.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  A slim girl with long dark hair and wearing the season’s best jeans joined the throng. “Hey, great collection. We
should talk—I’d love to order some for my store.”

  Eliza recognized her immediately. She’d been shopping at Scoop forever. It was Stefani Greenfield, the store’s owner.

  “Give my buyer a call,” Stefani said.

  “Definitely.” Eliza grinned.

  She looked around happily. Her “models” were mingling with the guests; the buyers were all talking to Todd, her new business partner; and several editors had congratulated her on their way to their cars. Slowly, one by one, the headlights that had lit the catwalk turned and disappeared up the road until the makeshift cat-walk was dark again. It would have been the happiest moment of her life—if only . . .

  Suddenly, she missed Jeremy with an ache so painful, it hurt to breathe. She had no one to share her success with, no one to rehash every little delicious detail with, no one who would tell her how well she had done. Of course she had her friends, and she smiled to notice Jacqui attempting to make peace with her three suitors and Ryan and Mara walking on the beach holding hands. If only . . .

  Eliza sighed. Maybe that was the way life was—it just wasn’t perfect. There would always be something missing. She gathered the rest of the clothes, packing them away carefully so that she could ship them to the Italian manufacturers later that week. If they did get as many orders as she thought, they would have to start production on the line as soon as possible.

  She was lugging the rolling trunk over to her car when a familiar figure walked up from the shadows.

  “Need help with that?” Jeremy asked quietly.

  Eliza looked up. It was as if she had been wishing so hard for him to appear and now that her wish had come true, she wasn’t quite sure if he was really there, standing in front of her. “I can handle it.”

  “I know you can,” he said, walking over and taking the other end of the trunk. They lifted it into the car together.

  “I’m really proud of you,” he said. “I always knew you could do it. That was amazing. I don’t know anything about fashion, but I think girls will really like it.”

  Eliza smiled. “I hope so.” Then she realized Jeremy had once told her that part of his job as a landscape contractor and designer was to figure out creative lighting schemes for the estates he tended. Some preferred tiki torches, some gas lamplights. He’d once had a commission to light a garden party for a big shipping company and had used truck headlights as an interesting twist.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked. “The headlights? Was that your idea?”

  Jeremy looked sheepish. “Yeah, I overheard you talking about the busted spotlights, so I checked them out. The wires were cut.”

  “Bastard!” Eliza swore.

  “It’s my fault. Paige went a little Fatal Attraction tonight. She asked me to meet her at Volcano this afternoon because she said she wanted to tell me something. Turns out she just wanted to get back together again. Then you drove by, and I told her you were the only girl for me, ever. I think it set her off.”

  “You told her that?”

  He nodded. “Eliza, you should have told me Paige had fired you. I knew she would try to do something like that once she found out about us. She tried to get back together with me earlier this year, but I told her I was going out with you.”

  “She knew I was your girlfriend all along?” Eliza asked, incredulous. No wonder Paige was always giving her a hard time. She’d wanted Jeremy back for herself, but when he’d rebuffed her affections, she’d taken out her anger on her romantic rival—Eliza. It all made sense now.

  “So she cut the wires?” Eliza asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. She’s a bit psycho. The first time I broke up with her, she came by the Perry house at five in the morning every day, and I almost got fired. But don’t worry, I don’t think she’ll bother you anymore. I told her if she ever did anything like that again, I’d tell her family what she’s been up to. Her dad’s a cop—he won’t stand for that sort of thing.”

  “How did you get everyone to agree to turn on their floods?” she asked, stepping into his arms. “Not everyone who’s parked up there was here for the show.”

  “I told them that if they turned on their lights, some beautiful girls would appear,” he murmured.

  sweeter the second time around

  THEY WALKED ON THE BEACH, feeling the cold water wash over their bare feet. Mara leaned her head on Ryan’s shoulder. The summer was almost over. It wasn’t what she’d thought it would be—she’d realized love wasn’t enough. There were chores to consider. Perhaps she and Ryan had rushed into it too soon and taken all the mystery out of it. Living together. They were still so young—they had the rest of their lives to fight over who squeezed the toothpaste from the middle. She decided that if she did end up at Dartmouth, she wouldn’t move in with him until sophomore year.

  Ryan kissed the top of her head. “Guess what I brought,” he said, fishing in his Coach wallet.

  He handed her a laminated piece of paper.

  It read Washington Post. BEHIND THE SEAMS: SYDNEY MINX, by Mara Waters. It was the headline of the profile she’d written earlier that summer, which had been picked up by the Associated Press and distributed to their network.

  “Oh my God,” Mara said. “The Washington Post! That’s huge. That’s a real newspaper,” she told him.

  “I know,” Ryan said, grinning. “You’re a rock star.”

  “When did you see this?” she asked.

  “I put in a search the other day. Your piece showed up in about fifty newspapers. This is the biggest one.”

  They walked a little more, past the fashion show, and found a private spot behind a dune. She was so touched that he would even remember to look up where her article had been published and that he would keep a copy in his wallet.

  “This reminds me of something,” Mara said wickedly, pulling Ryan down to the sand.

  He rolled over on his back and put his arms underneath his head, looking up at the stars. She cuddled next to him, feeling his warm body on the wet sand.

  “What?” he asked sleepily.

  “That night we slept on the beach? Remember? That first summer?”

  “Mmm . . .” Ryan agreed, his eyes closed.

  Mara snuggled up under his chin, marveling at how his lashes lay flat against his fair cheek. He was just so handsome. He was the kind of guy she’d never thought would ever, ever, in a million years be interested in someone as ordinary as her. But he had stopped being “that guy” anymore. He was just Ryan. Her Ryan.

  He rolled on top of her suddenly, pinning her to the ground with his body. “I wanted to do this that night,” he said as he held her arms down with his.

  “What stopped you?” Mara asked.

  “It was kind of hard to do since you were all zipped up in your own sleeping bag.” He laughed.

  “What’s stopping you now?” she asked, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. The sound of the waves crashed behind them.

  “Absolutely nothing,” he replied, pulling up his sweater and throwing it over her head so that the two of them disappeared underneath. Thank God it was so roomy. . . .

  * * *

  Later, back at the boat, Mara was trying to wash the sand out of her jeans. That’s what you get for having sex in the sand, she thought, a bit amused. Her hair was mussed, and her lips were red from his kisses. She had been wrong earlier—love was enough. Love was all she would need ever. She didn’t want anything else but Ryan. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. His name was written in the stars above her head in the night sky; she had called his name out again and again.

  There was a tap on the bathroom door.

  “Come in,” she said, smiling up at him. He was wearing only his boxer shorts, his perfectly sculpted lateral muscles shining in the dim light.

  “I found this on the kitchen table,” he said.

  He held up the white envelope with a Dartmouth address. “Why haven’t you sent it in yet? Wasn’t it due yesterday?”

  Mara was momentarily caught off guard. The accepta
nce form. She had been meaning to mail it in all week and somehow had never gotten around to it.

  She didn’t know what to say. She’d deliberately forgotten to mail it because she was still on the fence about whether to accept their admission. The prospect of turning down Columbia seemed wrongheaded now, especially in light of how quickly she was amassing press clips.

  “Anyway, don’t worry about it. I can make another call to the admissions office,” Ryan assured her.

  “Another call? Ryan, did you do something?” she asked, finding it difficult to breathe. She was starting to get really angry.

  Earlier that summer, Ryan had offered to ask his dad, a prominent alum, to put in a word for her application—but she had expressly told him not to. Had he ignored her request? How could he not respect her wishes? How could he go behind her back like that?

  “Did you ask your dad to help get me off the wait list at Dartmouth?” she asked, fixing him with a glare.

  “What are you talking about?” Ryan asked, offended. “Of course not. You told me not to.”

  “But you just said you were going to ‘make another call.’ Don’t lie to me, Ryan,” she threatened. “I’d never lie to you.”

  Ryan shook his head. “I only wanted to make sure the two of us could be together. Was that so wrong? Don’t you want to be together? What’s the matter with you?”

  “I can’t believe it,” Mara said. “I just can’t believe you would betray me like that.”

  She stormed out of the cabin. She had to get away from Ryan just then. He had actually called his dad and asked him to pull some strings on her behalf! He’d actually used his connections to get her off the wait list! How could he? He knew she didn’t approve of that—she had wanted to get in on her own, not because her boyfriend’s dad was golfing buddies with the university president. It was all so . . . so . . . wrong.