Last week Jacqui had gone to Brazil to visit her family, a belated graduation gift from the Perrys. She’d spent the week bonding with her grandmother in São Paulo and her family in Campinas, getting reacquainted with her younger brothers—whom, she thought sadly, she knew less about than Cody and William. It was great of the Perrys to pay for her ticket, but why was it that every time they did something nice for her, there was a catch?
Anna took out her bottle of Vicodin and popped two pills. She’d scheduled a C-section to deliver Eloise and then had liposuction and a tummy tuck (apparently standard procedure with Upper East Side deliveries), but that had been nine months ago and she was still hoovering painkillers. “The fact is, we’re moving to London,” Anna said crisply, taking a sip of water. “Kevin’s opening up a branch of the law firm there, and we’ve got to move immediately. Some big trial or something to do with the royal family and Diana’s butler.” Anna closed the Vicodin container and rolled her eyes, although Jacqui knew there was nothing her employer liked better than to drop (clang!) such big names. “And we’ve been invited to Highgrove for some big dinner—you know, with the Prince of Wales.” This time there was giggling to accompany the name-dropping. “It’s tomorrow night. I wonder if Camilla is as much of a bowwow as she is in pictures?”
“Oh.” Jacqui was startled. “London? Tomorrow?”
“I know, it’s a shock to me too, but Kevin’s already found us the most darling little pad near Hyde Park.” Anna finally noticed the rice cereal Eloise had been throwing and moved the bowl out of her reach. “It’s next to Madonna and Guy!” (Clang! Clang!) She turned to face Jacqui again. “Be a dear and help me with the interviews—you know the kids so well, you can pick a good replacement, can’t you?”
For a moment, Jacqui was too stunned to say anything. She froze, trying to process everything Anna had just said.
“I really am sorry, but it looks like we won’t be needing you this summer after all, especially since we need someone who can stick out the whole year, and with you off to college and all . . .” Anna’s shoulders rose in an exaggerated shrug, and she knit her eyebrows in concern. “But I hope this will cover it. . . .” She fished out an envelope from her red patent leather Jimmy Choo Ramona handbag and extended it toward Jacqui. “It’s not for the whole three months—more like a severance.”
Jacqui automatically stuck out her hand and took the envelope, mumbling, “Thank you.” She stood there numbly, her arm still extended, unable to move.
Anna waved a hand. “And of course we’ll need the keys back to the studio. But take your time. Kevin’s decided to sublet it for the summer, but you can take two weeks to find a new place.” She squeezed Jacqui’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a great reference, and you shouldn’t have a problem finding another family in the city to work for.”
Anna’s cell phone rang, and she smiled at Jacqui and nodded definitively, as if to say, “We’re done here.” She picked up her cell phone and resumed her busy travel arrangements.
Jacqui nodded, her throat dry. Just like that, in one fell swoop, she was unemployed and homeless. What now?
mara finds it’s a lonesome planet indeed
MARA WATERS HUSTLED THROUGH JFK with a brisk, confident step. She’d just finished her first year at Columbia, acing all her finals and scoring an almost perfect GPA. She smiled just thinking about it. Mara had quickly discovered she was one of those girls who were made for college. In high school she’d been “just Mara”—pretty smart, pretty nice, pretty average all around. But with the polish and poise she’d gained from summers in the Hamptons—not to mention discovering the wonders of butterscotch highlights and professional eyebrow tweezing—she had turned into “that Mara.”
As in, that Mara who had thrown the biggest bash the dorm had ever seen (what better training than those numerous Hamptons soirees?). That Mara who had the best clothes of any freshman—hello, her best friend was Eliza Thompson, up-and-coming designer. And that Mara who’d snagged the best internship in the city freshman year. Her old boss from Hamptons magazine had been true to her word and had put her on staff at Metropolitan Circus.
“You got everything?” David’s voice broke into her thoughts. She adjusted the handle on her bag, hoping that it wouldn’t burst open to reveal all of her underwear to the entire airport. “With a bag that overstuffed, I certainly hope so,” he teased, and kept on walking.
That Mara was also dating “the David.” As in, the David who was editor in chief of the Spectator, the college newspaper, as well as the David who lived off campus in his own sweet bachelor pad in Trump Place, with a view of the Hudson River from his bedroom window. The David who was president of St. Anthony’s Hall—better known as St. A.’s—the snobbiest and most elite fraternity on campus, with its sprawling mansion on Riverside Drive.
And that Mara and the David made the perfect couple, particularly because they had all of the same interests. David was an aspiring writer as well, and Mara thought that if they ended up together, they could have one of those Joan Didion–John Dunne relationships—editing and critiquing each other’s work while vacationing at the Four Seasons in Maui.
“Wait up! It’s no fair—you’ve got longer legs!” She giggled as she quickened her pace and tried to catch up with him, her rolling suitcase jostling around behind her as she went.
They were off to Brussels, the first stop on their Lonesome Planet agenda. The two of them had been picked to write the latest European edition of the student-friendly travel guidebook, and Mara was looking forward to spending the whole summer in the most romantic places on earth with David—discovering the hidden treasures of Florence, Venice, Paris, London, Prague, and a host of other fabulous cities. She couldn’t wipe the smile from her face when she thought of it: the two of them comparing notes, writing pieces, and sharing everything from croissants to gondola rides. Okay, so maybe the gondolas were a bit of a fantasy—the Lonesome Planet guides were specifically about the cheapest and most out-of-the-way locations, which meant they wouldn’t exactly be splurging on tourist attractions or staying in five-star hotels. But still . . .
“Mar, we have to hurry!” David called back to her as they raced up to the check-in counter. Mara bounded up beside him and he placed their bags on the scale.
“We’re on the ten thirty to Brussels,” Mara said breathlessly. “We have e-tickets.”
The airline employee gave them a brisk nod. “May I see your passports, please?”
David slid his forward while Mara fished in her purse, finally pulling hers out and placing it on the counter with a loud thwack. While the agent looked over their passports David leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, stroking her sleeve.
“This one is fine,” the agent said, handing David’s passport back to him along with a boarding pass. “But this one is expired.” She pointed to Mara’s beaten-up passport, which she’d gotten ages ago but had barely used until the past few years. “Do you have your new one?”
“Oh no!” Mara exclaimed.
“You didn’t!” David’s face fell. “I told you.”
He had. He had left sticky notes all over her dorm room reminding her to make sure her passport was current—with exclamation points and the occasional smiley face. She had used it last during her trip to Cabo with the girls and she’d been sure it was still good and had meant to check, but with finals, and finals parties, and, well . . .
The people in line behind them shuffled their bags forward, antsy to get their boarding passes. “Hey, what’s the holdup?” an angry-looking woman with a mop of frizzy dark hair asked crabbily.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Mara felt herself flush red as she grabbed her bag again and they stepped away from the counter.
“We’re going to miss our flight.” David’s forehead wrinkled in concern.
“Hey.” Mara cupped his face in her hands. “I know it sucks, but it’ll be fine. I’ll get a new one tomorrow, and we’ll only be delayed a day.”
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David smiled and seemed to relax. “You’re right,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the Lonesome Planet office and let them know what happened.” He dialed and placed the phone to his ear. “It’s ringing,” he whispered, cupping a hand over the speaker. “Hi, can I have the assignment office, please? It’s David Preston. Listen, there’s been a little problem. . . .”
He walked away as he talked to their editor, pacing back and forth. Mara thought she heard him raising his voice, but she bit her lip and focused on the departures board, patiently waiting until he came back.
She watched as David snapped the phone shut and walked back to her, his brow wrinkled again. “What did they say?”
“Well, it’s sort of complicated.” David looked down and started to play with the tag on Mara’s luggage. “It’s Saturday, and the post office is closed. So the earliest you can get it renewed is Monday, which means the earliest we can leave is Tuesday. We’re supposed to have covered Brussels and be in Madrid by then.”
“So . . . what does that mean exactly?” Mara wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“The three days throw off their schedule completely. Everything’s already pre-booked. And they’ve got someone who can cover for you. She’s already in Brussels.” David put a hand on her arm. “Mara, I’m sorry, but . . . they fired you.”
Mara felt the tears start to bubble up in her eyes. He brought her in for a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.
“How could they?” she whispered, nuzzling David’s shoulder. She stepped back and shook her shoulders, trying to regroup. They could still have a great summer. They were together, and that was all that mattered. “Well, it’s not the end of the world. . . . We can still travel Europe together . . . and now we don’t have to stay in all those dumpy hostels!” She looked up at David, hoping to find him smiling.
Instead, he looked worried. He glanced down at his watch.
“You can’t be serious,” she said flatly, realizing there was only one reason he’d be checking the time.
“Mar—”
“I mean, you’re still thinking of going? After they fired me for a tiny little mistake?” She felt herself go pale with shock.
“I mean . . . it’s sort of a big mistake, Mar. And I did remind you to get your passport renewed,” he pointed out. “About a hundred times.”
“You know how busy I was!” Mara heard herself start to whine. “I had that story due for the magazine and my dinosaurs final!” Like many English majors, Mara was fulfilling Columbia’s two-semester science requirement by taking a class on prehistoric reptiles. So far she’d only used the course information to compare her college acquaintances to the various species of dinosaurs. Her professor was a total stegosaurus—hunchbacked and scaly.
“Mar, I’m really sorry. But you know this is a huge opportunity for me. . . . If I want to get a job at the Times after graduation, they’re really going to look at what I did with my summers. I’d be writing a whole book!”
“It’s a guidebook,” Mara corrected, feeling herself start to pout.
“It’s a start.” He checked his watch again. “Look, if I don’t go now, I’ll miss my flight.”
“It was our flight just a few seconds ago,” Mara said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“I know this totally blows, but I swear, if you were in the same position, I would understand. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on this chance.” He grabbed her hand, his eyes pleading. “Please, Mara. It’s something I really feel I need to do.”
“If it were me, you’d just let me go?” Mara asked skeptically.
David shrugged. “I would never get in the way of your dreams.” He looked down at the floor again. “You know, maybe part of you just didn’t want this that much. I mean, if you had, you would have remembered to renew your passport, right?” He looked up and into her eyes, and she watched him transform from loving boyfriend to ambitious young writer. “This is a job, Mara, not a vacation. Maybe you’re just . . . not cut out to be a journalist.”
Mara was speechless. Didn’t want this that much? She was the one who had found the listing on the college job board! The one who had hounded the two of them to apply! She was the one who’d never been to Europe before!
David rocked back and forth on his New Balance sneakers, waiting for her to say something.
She sighed. “Go,” she said finally.
“Yeah?” He tilted his head and looked into her eyes. “You’re okay, right?”
“Just go, David.” She nodded, a defeated half smile curving her lips. He was right. She didn’t want to stand in the way of his dreams, and it was her fault for not being more responsible. It was totally unfair that one little mistake would cost her an entire summer, but Mara had lived long enough to realize that sometimes, the Rolling Stones were right on the money—you can’t always get what you want.
He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “You’re the best. I’ll call you from the hostel. Love you.” With that, he turned and raced off to the gate.
Mara stared at his retreating back, still clutching her expired passport. A few minutes ago, she’d been ready to board a plane to Europe, but now her perfect summer—not to mention her perfect boyfriend—was vanishing right before her eyes.
au pair means “extra set of hands” in french. so why not have two?
“AND THIS”—ELIZA POSED DRAMATICALLY in the shop window—“is where the cotton candy machine is going.”
“The cotton candy machine?” Jeremy chuckled, shaking his head.
“It’s edible pink!” Eliza squealed. She ducked her head so she wouldn’t hit the ceiling and climbed off the ledge in front of the shop window, making sure not to topple over on her four-inch Yves Saint Laurent platforms. “Isn’t that such a great idea? It’s going to be like a carnival of pink in here!”
Jeremy smiled. “Except for the clothes, of course.” He turned to marvel at the racks of clothing neatly lined up by the wall, still wrapped in dry-cleaning plastic.
“Of course.” Eliza flicked her wrist in mock-diva fashion. “I mean, please, no one actually wears pink. It’s cute, but strictly for babies.” Eliza’s summer collection was completely monochromatic—just as everything in her fall collection had been black, for summer everything in the store would be white: white bikinis, white sundresses, white capri pants, white jeans, white caftans, the perfect white button-down shirts. It was a perfectly Hamptons-pleasing collection. Eliza knew lots of girls who never wore any other hue for all three months—in fact, she was one of them. With the all-pink walls, the handful of pink Pucci chairs, the aquarium filled with pink tropical fish, and the pink cotton candy machine, the white clothes would stand out all the more, practically screaming for attention.
“And we’ll put the mannequin here—the one based on Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch.” Eliza giggled, standing in front of the fan and trying to keep her skirt down, just like her idol once had on top of a subway grate. “I mean, that is the most iconic white dress in history.”
“You’re nuts,” Jeremy said fondly, coming up to stroke her hair. “But you’re my nut.”
“Can you believe I have this store? I had to raid my trust fund to do it, but whatever.” Eliza whooped. “This is huge, J. I mean, this is, like, so scary, but so exciting.”
“Speaking of exciting,” he said, sweeping her into his arms. “I wanted to tell you about what happened to me today. . . .”
Before he could finish his sentence, the front door whipped open with a clang, and a harassed-looking Swedish girl tumbled in.
“Is this Eliza Thompson shop?” the girl asked.
“Yes, it is,” Eliza said, untangling herself from Jeremy’s embrace. “But I’m afraid we’re not open for business yet.”
From behind the girl, Suzy’s wunderkids from earlier that morning appeared, fanning out inside the store. Violet started gently fingering the clothing, as if afraid it might jump up and bite her, while the litt
le boys dispersed in every direction.
“Are those fighting fish?” Logan asked, coming up to the aquarium and pressing his nose against the glass. The startled fish fled from his magnified face, scattering throughout the tank.
“This is crooked.” Jackson straightened a framed photograph of Marlene Dietrich in a white tuxedo that was hung low by the sweater table, getting fingerprints all over the carefully buffed frame.
Wyatt came up to Eliza and tapped her on her shin. “I have to pee,” he whispered, cupping a hand over his mouth as if he were sharing a big secret.
“Yes, they’re fighting fish,” Eliza told Logan as she began to steer Wyatt toward the bathroom. They were perfectly sweet kids, but really, what were they doing in her store?
“This is silk? Where is it made?” Violet held up a white pareo, reading the tag as if it were an information plaque at a museum.
“Actually, the silk comes from a farm in Thailand where the silkworms only eat organic leaves.” Eliza smiled, feeling a small surge of pride. She turned to the Swedish girl. “What’s going on?”
“I leaving. I get modeling contract. Miss Suzy said Mr. Thompson say you will deal with children—you were also au pair.”
“My father said what?” Eliza felt herself turning red. Of course her father would assume she had nothing better to do than babysit his girlfriend’s children—he’d never really taken her fashion design career seriously. He’d been totally miffed when she postponed Princeton for Parsons.
“I leaving,” the girl said again, removing the Björn carrier from her chest and handing the baby to Eliza.
Eliza looked down, completely perplexed. How had she wound up with a six-month-old in her arms? Cassidy cooed and gurgled, and she felt her heart melting at the sight of him. But really—she had no time for child care this summer. She had a business to run. “Hey, you can’t just—wait!” she called after the Swedish au pair, but the girl was already out the door.
Eliza turned to find Jeremy giving Wyatt a piggyback ride from the bathroom, while Logan and Jackson each clung to one of his knees, mirror images of each other. He approached Violet, who was standing by one of the racks of clothing, looking like she didn’t know what to do with herself. “You want to try on some clothes later? When everything’s all set up?” he asked.