by Lily Foster
I would not be permitted to make a bad choice.
Vincent Cole, my mother reminded me at regular intervals, would one day be at the helm of a very powerful, successful company. He was so handsome, wasn’t he? An accomplished sailor, a top student—as we speak he’s preparing for a semester abroad in France, he’s fluent after all.
She forgot to list womanizing gigolo on his dossier.
It’s not like I followed his every move, but I did listen with interest whenever his name came up. I hadn’t seen a whole lot of Vince in the past three years. He was older. Family vacations and parties were traded for summer backpacking trips through Europe and college semesters spent in Virginia as well as abroad. But I was a part of the same set, so I’d hear bits and pieces. And from what I’d heard, Juliet was one in what became a long list of conquests. At twenty, it was common knowledge that he was linked with girls he could go to jail for “knowing,” as well as women who had graduated from college years before. There was even a rumor circulating that he’d had a steamy affair with one of his married professors. I believed it. But when I finally saw him again, it was hard to reconcile the person before me with the legend.
I’d just finished my junior year of high school. I was seventeen and excited to leave on a two-week trip to Spain with Millie and my best friend from school, Madeline Paulson. The trip was touted as a gift from my parents and would be my first time leaving home unchaperoned. Why my parents trusted three teenage girls traipsing around Europe without any adult supervision, I’ll never know, but this type of trip was not unusual. To keep up appearances, my grandparents had shelled out for the best hotels, deluxe transportation between cities, and tickets to a range of cultural events. They also gave me plenty of spending cash, knowing we would need some money to get up to no good in proper fashion.
A few days before we were scheduled to leave, the Daltons had a get together at their place in Southampton. My father would bitch and moan every time we had a function out this way. Fearful of flying unless the plane was heading to Reno or Vegas, my father would not take a helicopter or small plane out east like everyone else did. No, we were stuck in traffic the entire ride out on the Long Island Expressway. For over four hours I listened to my parents bicker as Todd stared out the window absently.
I was worried about him. My bubbly, sometimes hyperactive little brother had become quiet and introverted since I’d left for boarding school. When I was home, which was now rarely, I noticed he spent hours on end alone, playing video games. Occasionally I’d join him, trying to take some interest in Super Mario Brothers, but it was so inane and pointless. I’d tell my mother they shouldn’t let him space out alone all day playing that nonsense, but I think she was happy to have him occupied, no matter that he was turning into a zombie right before their eyes. Two more years and he’d be shipped off to Exeter. While I liked the idea of Todd being pulled from this self-imposed exile he was currently in, I worried about him in that environment too. The boys at those prep schools were like Vince for the most part: accomplished, confident, popular and athletic. Todd was none of those things and I feared he’d be eaten alive by those future masters of the universe. But I didn’t really dwell on it too often, though, or give him the attention he deserved. I was seventeen and selfish to a certain extent, consumed with the minutia of my own life.
Millie squealed happily when we finally arrived, dragging me to her room to show me the skimpy dresses she’d bought for the trip, going on about all the clubs and parties we were going to hit in Ibiza and Valencia. We made our way back downstairs eventually, chatting with the other kids who came along with their parents. It was a small gathering. I was happy to see Todd off playing with Juliet’s brother, and more thankful that she was nowhere to be seen. Vince’s parents were here, but no sign of him.
Vince’s mom, Catherine, was simply beautiful. My mother was attractive and very well preserved, don’t get me wrong, but Catherine Cole was otherworldly. She had sunshine-kissed blonde hair, blue eyes, and dewy skin that looked as if it belonged on a woman a full decade younger. She was slender, but not in the way the other women were. My mother and the others were bony and pale, looking as if they subsisted on nothing more than grapefruit, iceberg lettuce salads and vodka. I knew my mother was also a fan of the newest craze: monthly colonics. Gross. Catherine was different. Her trim waist and defined arms were evidence of her daily yoga practice and afternoons spent mucking out the stalls in her stable.
“Margot, sometimes I have to remind myself that you’re not a little girl anymore. Look at this figure! And so tall…You’re stunning.”
I truly loved Catherine Cole. Unlike my mother, who lived to point out my flaws, Catherine seemed to notice only my good qualities.
She squeezed my hand. “I saw you ride at Fieldstone in June. How’s that going? Are you planning to ride in college?”
“I’m not sure, but I really have to make a decision soon. Part of me wants a city campus experience and riding won’t fit in with that.”
Total bullshit.
The only reason I was looking at schools without an equestrian program was that finances had become tight as of late in the Clarke household. Boarding horses was outrageously expensive. Add to that the riding wardrobe, trainers, competition entry fees, veterinary bills—the list of expenses was endless. Our money came from my mother’s side, and last year my grandparents had essentially cut my mother off. My grandparents weren’t cruel, though, so we never presented to the outside world as penniless. Todd and I still attended schools that cost quite a lot of money, and people were falsely led to believe that my parents were more than comfortable when, for example, they were able to treat me and two friends to an extravagant holiday for my seventeenth birthday. But I was well aware of the financial strain. And my mother was in quite a pickle. She couldn’t rein my father in. His gambling habit was out of control, if you believed what my grandparents were saying, and his penchant for upscale Vegas call girls was another expensive and embarrassing problem. But divorce him? It just wasn’t done. And when he was around, even though I was growing to loathe the man, I’ll admit he was a charming companion who doted on my mother in front of their friends. Apparently, that was all that mattered.
I’m thinking Catherine Cole, as my mother’s one and only true friend, was privy to all this.
“I can understand that, Margot. And look at Vincent…I was certain he would pick a school where he could sail, but he seems quite content landlocked in Virginia.”
“How is Vince? I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“He’s busy, that’s for sure. His father has him by his side during every school break, getting him ready to take on Cole Industries.” She smiled wistfully. “Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. I’m not ready for him to be all grown up, to not need me anymore. And I worry that it’s all so much pressure.”
“Vince seems like he can handle anything.”
I blushed after I said that, but I meant it. In my eyes, Vince was intelligent and sure of himself. I imagined his transition from college boy to corporate leader would be seamless.
“He does,” she said, “but mothers just can’t help but worry. You’ll see for yourself one day.”
Mrs. Hastings sidled up to us, giving me a passing glance while saving her beaming, enthusiastic suck-up smile for Catherine. “So I hear Vince enjoyed his semester in Paris. Juliet was so happy to meet up with him.”
Catherine’s look turned slightly glacial. “I didn’t know Juliet was in Europe last semester.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure I mentioned it. My brother and his wife are in London so that’s been her base, but she’s been all over the continent this year having a fabulous time.”
“Just…living it up? You mean she’s not in school?”
Juliet’s mom stiffened. “She’s taking a gap year. Bryn Mawr didn’t really live up to her expectations.”
I wanted to snicker. Anything that required mental effort wouldn’t be Juliet’s cup o
f tea. Juliet was a social animal who preferred to devote her time and efforts to shopping, perfecting her tan and partying like she was in training for the Olympics. And Catherine’s reaction filled me with a certain kind of evil glee. Girls like Juliet weren’t up to snuff as far as the Coles were concerned. She was wealthy beyond measure but she was vapid. I don’t know about Vince, but his parents certainly wanted better for him.
I piped up. “Where is Juliet now?”
“Oh! You might just run into her. I hear you’ll be heading to Spain with Mildred.”
If Millie overheard, I think she would have accidentally on purpose spilled a drink on Mrs. Hastings. Mildred—who on Earth would name a child Mildred? Millie had taken to telling people her name was short for Milan. She said she’d rather be taken for a pole dancer than a crusty gal who wore granny panties.
“Yes, Mildred and I are leaving on Wednesday,” I answered loud enough so that Millie could hear. I saw her face scrunch up from the corner of my eye and I smiled, knowing there would be payback for that later on.
“Well, you’ll have to meet up with Juliet,” she said, dismissing me as she turned back to Catherine. “And where is Vince? I haven’t seen that darling boy in months.”
Catherine looked to me when she answered, “I’m hoping he’ll pop in tonight. He’s out east visiting with a friend in Montauk.”
“Montauk…Might as well be Timbuktu. To me, the Vineyard is so much more enjoyable. All this traffic…It will take Vince an hour to make his way here from Montauk. And I’m sorry, but I’m just not crazy about the crowd out here.”
Millie’s mom, Martha, was now standing with us, her face tight as she took in the insult. “My family has been coming here for three generations now. It’s home to me.”
Mrs. Hastings tilted her head, smiling. “Of course it’s just fabulous here, Martha. I just mean that to me it’s not as quiet and peaceful as the Vineyard.”
“I love it here,” Catherine said. “And I love that I can actually swim in the ocean before Labor Day. The water is always so dreadfully cold in New England.”
Mrs. Hastings looked positively perplexed. “I haven’t been in the ocean since I was twelve.”
It was nearly eleven by the time Vince sauntered into the backyard with a friend. Tan, muscles well formed from days spent surfing and sailing, casually dressed in khaki shorts and polo shirts—they both looked as if they’d just walked off the pages of a Ralph Lauren advertisement.
I watched as he surprised his mother, lifting her off the floor into a bear hug, the smiles that passed between the two of them proof of the close bond they shared. The other mothers fawned over Vince like they always did. He was the golden boy of our crowd. I watched as he chatted up the ladies, charming them. He was like a politician, turning from one to the next, flashing each a smile, laughing at their comments. He popped from the ladies over to his father and the other men, accepting the congratulatory pats on the back, conversing with ease and confidence. Was he aware that everyone seemed to bask in the glow of his presence?
And I couldn’t help it, when he finally made his way over to me I felt grateful to be acknowledged.
I’d purposely moved off to the side when I first saw him. I wasn’t going to stand there as if I was on some damn receiving line like the rest of those girls, waiting like puppies for Vince to pat them on the head. My back was turned to him as I pretended to look on with interest while Todd and his friend climbed a tree. I could feel him as he approached.
“Margot?”
I turned and gave him my carefully thought-out and practiced greeting. The one that told him I was happy to see him, but not too concerned about him one way or the other.
“Hey, Vince, how are you?”
He didn’t say anything back for a full minute. Count it out, sixty seconds—it’s actually an agonizingly long stretch of time. He spent that time taking me in from head to toe.
“Wow,” he said to no one in particular. Then he gifted me with the softest smile. “You’re beautiful, Margot.”
I looked down at my feet, not knowing what to do with that, and then crossed my arms over my chest when I could feel my body responding to him. You’re beautiful, Margot. All my false bravado washed away by those three words.
“And that sweet blush makes you even more beautiful,” he said as he gently coaxed my chin with his finger, forcing me to look at him.
“C’mon, Cole, we’ve put in our time. Let’s go.”
Vince’s friend was rude—good looking but rude. He didn’t even introduce himself, just stared at my chest as he spoke to Vince. It was clear from his tone that he found his current surroundings tiresome and boring.
“Gimme a minute, Carter.”
Carter threw his head back, exasperated. “It’s another half-hour to the Drift. If we don’t get there soon, we’re gonna be waiting on a fucking line with those townie losers.”
Vince rolled his eyes. “We won’t be stuck on line. Wait for me outside.”
“Hurry up,” Carter said as he started walking, “I don’t want to leave those dirty Quogue girls waiting.”
Vince laughed and then called after him, “And don’t light up, asshole…You’re driving.” He reassured me when he took in my wide eyes. “Don’t worry, we’re not driving back out to Montauk tonight. We’ll find a place to crash.”
He didn’t understand; I was still stuck on the dirty girl comment.
“So, Mother mentioned you’re heading over to Ibiza?”
Calm, cool Margot was replaced by a teenager excited to go on her first unchaperoned adventure. “I’m so excited! Have you been there, Vince?”
“Yeah, a few times,” he answered offhandedly. “Listen,” he said as he took my hands in his, “just be careful.”
My pulse was hammering as I nodded absently. “I will.”
His look was suddenly stern, threatening even. “I mean it, Margot. It can get out of control. And some of the guys,” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I heard Reginald Pierce is going to be there with a few of his buddies?”
I was confused by his tone. “Yes, he called me last week. We’re planning to meet up.”
“He’s a sick fuck, Margot. You’re not meeting up with him.”
With anyone else I would have argued or laughed in their face. I did not like being told what to do. But for some reason when Vince spoke, I listened, nodding my head like an obedient child.
“Promise me,” he demanded.
“I promise.”
“Good.” He moved in closer, so that his chest grazed mine. Vince leaned down, just barely touching his lips to a spot on my neck right underneath my ear when he whispered, “I don’t want him or anyone else touching you.”
Oh.
My body was frozen in place but burning up on the inside.
“No one touches you,” he said before he backed up a step.
“Vince!” Carter called from the road.
His smile was soft again. “I gotta go.”
I stayed there off to the side, partially hidden, needing some time to regain my marbles.
Was I under his spell?
Yes and no.
Vince was always somewhere, lingering in the periphery of my consciousness. The memory of his lips on my neck, and those possessive lines whispered in my ear were replayed many nights as I lie in bed alone. But he wasn’t around. More than another year passed before I even saw him again.
At nineteen, a college freshman, I was now fully on the young socialite circuit. But even though I was entering adulthood, I was still firmly under the heel of my mother. The Junior League Winter Ball, the Young Frick Fellows Ball—didn’t matter if I had a massive paper due or I was in the middle of finals. I was to come home, don whatever couture get-up my mother had hand-picked for me, and then I was expected to be fabulous. To see and be seen.
At school, though, I had my own life.
I had a boyfriend.
Mother didn’t know about him.
He didn’
t understand these mandatory social obligations and thankfully, had no interest in joining me. That was for the best. He’d mock everyone decked out in their tuxes and couture dresses, snorting lines in the bathroom—all in the name of raising money for homeless people, starving artists or some other worthy cause. I felt like a hypocrite when the pictures were printed in the Times for all to see, with me mugging it up for the cameras along with the rest of them. Wearing twice as much make-up as I normally would, my high heels and shimmery dresses in stark contrast to the unassuming jeans and tees I wore on campus.
Jesse. Even his name was cool. He was a singer, a songwriter and a musician—double helping on the cool. And he loved me. He played guitar and fronted a local alternative rock band, but the first time I heard him sing was in Church. The Sunday night Mass held on campus was informal, led by Father Tim, who could not have been a day over thirty. We were encouraged to call out our intentions during the Prayer of the Faithful, and hugs were given to every other person in the basement chapel when the Sign of Peace was offered. The first time I heard Jesse sing, it was a soulful rendition of O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go. If he asked me to go skydiving without a parachute as he played the closing chords of that song, I would have dropped everything and followed him. He was gorgeous, passionate, so intelligent that it floored me, and he was comfortable in his own skin.
Less than one month after that night in Church, I was head over heels in love with him. I spent entire weekends naked in his bed. I happily swayed front-row in small, smoky clubs as he played songs written just for me. I held on for dear life, laughing as we sped along on his vintage Triumph with the wind whipping my hair. I dreamed of our future.
