“Hello?”
“Hey, what’s up.” The voice on the phone didn’t belong to either Jacqui or Eliza—it was Ryan’s. “I’m out by the beach right now. Can you hang out?”
That was kind of a shock. Other than their über-competitive golf date, she’d only run into Ryan in passing. It made her kind of sad, actually. This summer was so different from years past. “Um, sure. I have to throw something into the dryer first, but then I’ll come meet you.”
“Glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight, Mar.”
“Shut up. See you soon.” She grinned as she hung up the phone. At least he’d stopped calling her “Waters” or “dude,” but really—what was this all about?
* * *
She walked the short distance to the Perry house and found Ryan waiting for her, sitting on a fallen log, not far from where he’d surprised her when she was skinny-dipping earlier that summer. Come to think of it, it was the very spot where they’d first slept side by side in sleeping bags. She wondered if all those old memories flooded him when he came here too but shook off the thought.
“So, how’s it going?” Mara asked, feeling shy all of a sudden. They hadn’t been alone together since the start of the summer, and she still wasn’t quite sure how to act around him. She sat down on the log beside him, the bark scraping her ankles.
“Good.” Ryan nodded. “You?”
“Things are okay,” Mara said tentatively. She was about to launch into the positives in her life—how much the kids had been improving, how glad she was to have David back—when she realized she could tell him what had really been on her mind. “I had a big fight with the girls last week, actually,” she admitted quietly. “I haven’t spoken to either Jacqui or Eliza since. Which is pretty impressive considering we all live in the same house.” It felt so good to get it off her chest. She hadn’t even told David about it—she was afraid he’d never like her friends again if she told him everything they’d said.
“Oh, man. You all right?” Ryan asked.
“I will be.” Mara sighed. She reached down and grabbed a handful of sand, opening her hand again and letting the grains fall softly down onto the ground. “The fight was sort of a long time coming, I guess.”
“Some things are like that,” Ryan said with a small smile. He looked out to the water, and his eyes were distant. Mara glanced at him curiously, wondering what he was thinking about.
“I broke up with Tinker the other day,” he said quietly.
“What? Why?” Mara blurted. She was shocked. They’d seemed so happy together. What could two people who were so much alike possibly find to disagree about?
He shrugged. “I guess I was just starting to feel like I was with her because I felt like I should be, not because I wanted to be.” He looked out to the water again. The waves were crashing angrily against the shore. “I’m sure you know what that feels like,” he added softly.
“Um, no . . . ,” Mara said slowly. Was he implying what she thought he was?
Ryan turned to face her on the log, his green-blue eyes filled with concern. “Oh come on, Mar. I know David’s a writer too, but really . . . He’s totally not right for you.”
Mara felt herself stiffening. She knew Ryan was upset about his breakup with Tinker, but why did he have to bring David into this?
“You deserve better,” he added, almost as an afterthought, but she was too incensed to notice.
“You don’t even know David,” Mara said hotly, the color coming to her face. Was this why Ryan had called her? To pick a fight? He was clearly upset about his own breakup, but that wasn’t her problem. Well, she wasn’t going to let him drag her into it.
“I know enough,” Ryan mumbled, looking down at the ground and kicking up a little sand with his foot.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Mara, he’s just . . . he seems like the kind of guy who’s always looking out for himself.” He paused. “And not after you,” he finally finished, looking down and kicking the log with his heel.
She sat there, for a moment too shocked to speak. “You’re one to talk,” she said angrily, her eyes flashing. “You were so considerate of my feelings all summer—hardly acknowledging my existence, making out with your stupid happy-go-lucky Buddhist girlfriend all over the place, and being so freaking smug about it,” she spat. She felt bad about dragging Tinker into this, since she really had been sweet to Mara. So much for inner peace. But all was fair in love and war, right?
“Whatever, Mara.” Ryan shook his head disappointedly and stood up. “I was just trying to help,” he added.
She sat there bristling, but before she could say anything more, he turned and walked back inside his house, not looking back at her once.
www.blogspot/hamptonsaupair1
Sorry I haven’t been blogging for a while. I heard that’s a blogger’s cliché—apologizing for not posting to your readers. :) So I doubly apologize. Things have been hectic over here. D. and I are going to New York this weekend, and I’m so looking forward to getting back to civilization. Don’t get me wrong, the Hamptons are civilization too, but the Hamptons are like Gaul to New York’s Rome. The weather is better, the food is great, but ultimately, you want to be back where the action is, and I miss the city.
How are the kids? Well, thanks. Violet has talked to a boy! Sure, it was just the hot dog vendor on Sag Harbor, but still. Logan and Jackson have received their GREs and are contemplating colleges. They’ll probably get into a better one than mine. Cassidy is walking already! And Wyatt has learned how to tie his shoes.
As for J. and E. I wouldn’t know . . . and I don’t care. Much.
Till next time,
hamptonsaupair1
eliza finds an aussie band-aid can’t quite heal her all-american broken heart
“IS IT TRUE?” MIDAS ASKED the Second Eliza walked in the door of the temporary Vogue offices. He and Marcus had chosen the photographs that were going to be in the spread, and she was dying to see the final edited collection. “You and Mr. Right—it’s off?”
As if her breakup with Jeremy wasn’t difficult enough on its own, the papers had had a field day with the disintegration of Jereliza, and it seemed that every conversation she’d had for the last week had begun with that sentiment—“It’s really over?” Eliza had drunkenly confessed about their breakup to a gossipy friend at a bar, and the next day it was everywhere. Luckily for her, two days after that, Chauncey Raven had gotten back together with her loser ex-husband, despite the fact that he’d once cheated on her with a nineteen-year-old, and everyone forgot about the Greyson heir and his designer girlfriend again.
Eliza nodded. “It is.” It was bizarre to say it, much less to think about it. She and Jeremy were no longer a couple. She felt too shocked to be sad. She was merely numb.
When she left him that night in a fit of melodrama, she had assumed that he would immediately come after her and demand that she change her mind. But he hadn’t. And now that a week had gone by without her hearing from him, she’d realized that he probably never would. How could they ever get back together after she’d shattered his dreams like that and strung him along so cruelly the whole summer? She couldn’t blame him for giving up on her.
“I offer my condolences,” Midas said softly. “To the poor bastard.”
“Excuse me?” She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly.
“What I meant to say is, fancy having dinner with me tonight?” Midas said a bit more loudly, his blue eyes sparkling and a wide smile on his face.
“Sure.” She nodded. Having not spoken to Mara and Jacqui in a week, she could certainly use a sympathetic ear. “Dinner sounds great.”
“Splendid. I’ll pick you up at eight.” He closed the portfolio, handing it to her. “I’ve got another meeting, so I’m afraid I have to run, but I’ll see you later.”
Eliza stood up, taking her things. Wait. What just happened here? Had they planned a friendly dinner, or had she just agreed to go out
with Midas on a date?
* * *
JLX Bistro was more crowded than it had been in a while, filled with the late-August flood of now-or-never vacationers. There were lawyers and bankers who put in hundred-hour weeks and didn’t see their families all summer until the very end, as well as the Hollywood crowd who breezed into the Hamptons to catch the last round of parties and premieres of the season.
Eliza was surprised that they were still given a choice seat out on the patio with a view of the ocean, what with all the famous faces surrounding them. But she shouldn’t have been. When it came to connections, fashion people always did well for themselves, and Midas was given a bear hug by the owner of the establishment as soon as they arrived. Hollywood actresses might come and go, but the style pack had been summering in the Hamptons forever.
Midas was in top form at dinner, regaling Eliza with stories about growing up in Sydney and hanging out in Bondi Beach. She had been to Sydney once, so they chatted about bars and restaurants and where to get the best beer. Midas was being his usual funny and charming self, but as was the way with her lately, Eliza found she could hardly concentrate on his words, and her mind kept drifting off.
“You should show at Sydney Fashion Week.” Midas’s voice broke into her thoughts. “The field is growing and Aussies are mad for fashion.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Eliza nodded, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her zoning out there for a bit. “Are you going?”
“Not this year,” Midas said. “I’ll be working on a documentary, actually.”
“Something fashion related?” Eliza asked, idly playing with her cell phone and wondering what Jeremy was doing right then. Did he even miss her?
“Nope. The fashion world’s just a stepping-stone. I want to be a real artist, maybe pull a David LaChapelle,” he confessed, suddenly looking a bit shy.
“Really?” David LaChapelle had started out shooting fashion spreads for avant-garde magazines like The Face and Black Book, then pervy-cool portraits of Pamela Anderson and Paris Hilton for Vanity Fair, and had recently directed a well-received documentary on inner-city kids. “So what’s your film about?”
“Carnies,” he said with a grin. “After Paris, Marcus and I are traveling around the world documenting the carnival underground. It’s wild.”
“That does sound wild.” Eliza smiled. It seemed strange to trade in the fun, fabulous world of fashion for a chance to hang out with circus freaks, but she understood Midas’s desire to branch out into something different and acquire a bit of art-world credibility. Though she knew with Midas it wasn’t about anything snobby—it was about trying something new and being his own boss rather than having to pander to the fashion world’s finicky tastes.
But wait. Did he say he and Marcus were traveling together after Paris? Where did that leave Jacqui? “You and your brother are so close,” Eliza observed, hoping to get more information out of him.
“He’s a good mate,” Midas said simply. “Although he can be a bit of a wolf with the girls.” He grabbed one of his fries and dipped it in ketchup, wolfing down the bite as if to emphasize his point.
“Really,” Eliza drawled. She hated to be right about things like this.
“Like a cat around the birds, that one.” Midas took a sip of his drink. “I hope your friend can take care of herself.”
“She’s a big girl,” Eliza said, though she wasn’t so sure. Even though they were fighting, she wanted to look out for her friend. Especially if Jacqui was ready to throw everything away for the chance to live in Paris with a guy who would be out the door in a month.
“And you? Are you a big girl too?” Midas teased.
He was smiling at her over his steak frites, and Eliza couldn’t help but smile back. Midas was so unbelievably charming. With his piercing blue eyes and messy, tousled, David Beckham–like hair (not to mention his toned David Beckham–like bod), he was by far the best-looking guy in the restaurant—everyone had turned to look at them when they’d entered. As they well should—they looked great together. And now she was free to date him. So why didn’t she feel more excited?
Looking around her, Eliza realized with a hollow thud that she was sitting on the very same patio where she and Jeremy had had that awkward date earlier in the summer, that fateful night when neither of them had the chance to say what they were really thinking and feeling about their relationship.
If only they had really talked about what the ring meant when he put it on her finger. If only she had told him then what she had been truly feeling instead of being too scared to hurt him. Maybe if she’d just laughed and told him he was being silly, he would have put the ring away and they would have waited to talk about marriage again when they were ready, years down the line. Instead, she’d hurt him in the deepest way possible.
Lucky Yap chanced by and, seeing Eliza and Midas together, promptly snapped a photo. “It’ll be in Hamptons next week,” he told them gaily. “Elidas,” he added to himself with a grin.
Eliza flashed a smile at Midas but shuddered to think what Jeremy would feel when the picture was published, seeing her on a date with someone else so soon after they had broken up. It hurt just to think about it.
Gotcha.
“chick lit” is not a four-letter word
LATE AUGUST IN NEW YORK city meant heat compounded by sweltering humidity, but the day Mara and David returned to Manhattan was one of the rare, extremely pleasant late-summer days. A breeze blew across the Central Park trees, the air was cool and refreshing, and everyone on the street was in a good mood, from the Wall Street types with their folded-up sleeves, to the girls in billowy white sundresses and flip-flops who hurried between shops, to the hot dog vendors and the falafel guys.
They spent a wonderful day together, stopping at the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see the new Rembrandt exhibit, watching Shakespeare in the Park in the afternoon, and grabbing coffee at David’s favorite bookstore on Madison Avenue. Mara’s head was dizzy from all the cultural activities and deep conversations. After a summer spent changing diapers and stopping by the occasional Hamptons glitz fest, she’d forgotten what a day with David in New York was like—stimulating and full.
His childhood bedroom at the Dakota was wall-to-wall bookshelves, and she was gratified to see that they owned a lot of the same books. She fixed her makeup in the tiny mirror on his desk, making sure not to get lipstick on her teeth. They had fifteen minutes before they had to meet his mother at Daniel.
“You look great—don’t stress,” David assured her from the bathroom, where he was fixing his tie.
Mara nodded and smoothed down the folds of her skirt. She’d chosen a pretty Diane von Furstenberg shirtwaist, a crisp black cotton dress that she hoped said “serious writer.” “So, how many pages of the blog should I bring?” she asked, kneeling down and unzipping her suitcase to show him the printout of all the posts she’d done. It was a hefty stack of paper. “Do you think the first fifty are enough?”
“Don’t worry about that; you can just leave it here.” David waved his hand as if it were a silly suggestion as he pulled his tie into a knot with a definitive tug.
“I shouldn’t bring it?” Mara asked, surprised. She put on her best heels—the silver Manolo Blahnik rhinestone sandals she’d gotten for free one summer. If the dress was meant to communicate her serious ambitions, the shoes were to remind everyone she had glamorous aspirations as well. “But what will your mom look at?”
“You’re so cute.” He came back into the room to kiss her on the head. He stroked her hair, petting her like a puppy. “She’ll look at you.” He shook his head as he moved over to the dresser, slipping into his navy blazer.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean. . . . It’s all about fitting a marketing profile.” He buttoned his gold cuff links and shrugged. “Young, cute, perky blogger girl writes a chick-lit book; publishers will salivate at the sight of your author shot alone,” he finished, putting on his
horn-rimmed glasses and smiling at her. “I’d drool at your author shot,” he added huskily, with a wink.
Her author shot? Mara’s face fell. “But you said it was funny. . . .”
“You are funny,” David assured her. “You’re a very entertaining writer.” She knew he meant it as a compliment, but “entertaining” sounded a lot like “dumb” to Mara’s ears.
He grabbed a pair of argyle socks from his drawer and slipped them on his feet. “It’s the reality of the market these days. It never matters what the writing is like anymore; it’s the concept of the thing. My mom just sold some memoir from twin seven-year-olds. I’m sure it’s awful, but who can resist precocious young kids writing a book?” He shrugged and grabbed his wallet from his desk, sticking it in his pants pocket.
Mara stopped putting on her shoes and sat down on the bed, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy. “So what exactly is my hook?”
“You know, cute au pair lit. Chick lit with the nanny angle. From the cutest au pair of all.” He came and sat down beside her on the bed, smiling. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t writing Remembrance of Things Past here, but she’d worked hard on that blog. She slaved over every sentence. It was very difficult to make writing look effortless.
“Seriously, are you okay?” David asked, leaning over and putting a hand on her face to check her temperature.
Mara couldn’t look at him. All this time, she’d thought David was interested in her writing, but he was really just being condescending.
“So you don’t think my writing’s any good.”
“Mara, I just told you,” he said, looking exasperated. “It’s not about that. Your writing isn’t what’s going to sell your book.”