by Roz Bailey
After the coco wicker was unpacked and assembled, Xavier and I spent some time refining the pool side layout while the others prepared dinner. Trevor grilled steaks, Marcella boiled fresh Silver Queen corn and set the bread she’d brought from the Brooklyn Bakery in baskets, and Hailey assembled a salad—her specialty.
As we sat down to dinner, sunlight angled over the north lawn, painting the carpet of flowers with yellow light. The orange marigolds, the colorful impatiens, Mama’s favorite trellis of white roses, and the wall of lilac bushes along the far fence—this garden was one of my father’s favorite sights on earth, and from now on he would be able to enjoy it in comfort and style. Daddy would be so proud of me.
“You never did tell me what brought you guys out here,” I said as we passed the steak platter. “Mama didn’t mention that you were coming.”
Ignoring the serving utensil, Trevor fumbled with a steaming ear of corn. “I didn’t know it myself, until your Aunt Nessie sent me through the roof.”
“Oh? When you’re in trouble, she’s my Aunt Nessie?”
“She’s a nutcase, that’s what. And with the mood I was in today, I knew I had better get the hell out of there before I said something I would live to regret. A man’s got to know his limitations, and I’m not lying when I tell you that today, she pushed me damn close to mine.”
“You could have talked to her,” Xavier said. “She’s a reasonable woman. No reason to fly off the handle and blow out of town like that.”
“Oh, talk to her? Talk to her, bro?” Trevor dismissed him. “Get the hell out of here. I didn’t see you try to do any talking with her.”
“I didn’t have a gripe with her.”
“She always liked you best, X,” I teased, causing Trevor to flick a crumb at me. “How rude.” I glared at him. “Didn’t your mama teach you anything?”
“She taught you to work out your differences,” Xavier said. “But you just ran. Besides, why you gettin’ so upset about a stupid computer program? If the woman wants to keep notes, let her keep notes.”
“She was the one getting upset,” Trevor answered. “Hitting buttons on the computer, then pulling the plug out of the wall. Can you imagine?”
My Aunt Nessie can throw quite a tantrum when she’s upset. “She must’ve really let you have it,” I said.
“I couldn’t stick around there a minute longer. Mama was that crazy.” Trevor rolled his eyes. “She’s all ‘you do this and you do that and you do it now, boy.’ The woman may be a great cook, but she doesn’t know jack about business.”
“Don’t you be talking that way about your mama,” Xavier chastised him. “That woman raised you. Practically raised me, too, and did a damn fine job without a man to support her.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not crazy, though,” Trevor pointed out.
“My parents are totally crazy,” Hailey said. “When they left New York, I think they were legitimately looking for some peace and quiet, a relief from the super-stress, but they went overboard with the no-phone, no-TV thing. I’m surprised they still have electricity, though I’m waiting for the day when Dad starts to worry that he’s picking up signals from Mars through the toaster.”
“Yeah, well, we’re all a little whacked now and then.” Xavier put his fork down on the edge of the plate and put his hands on his lap. “I will never forget the way Nessie took me in. Nearly adopted me when I had nowhere to go.”
“Is that how it happened?” I teased. “And here I thought you came for an overnight with Trev and just never wanted the party to end.” From the old Great Neck days, it was truly the way I remembered it, with Xavier suddenly camped on the bottom bunk in Trevor’s room, Xavier appearing at Sunday suppers, Xavier running through the sprinkler barefoot and soaking his shorts along with the rest of the neighborhood kids on hot summer days. Then, Xavier in a necktie and tight jacket at our Christmas supper—a sacred family tradition—and my surprise and curiosity that there was a package for him under Aunt Nessie’s tree. “You know, I always wondered what happened. The neighborhood story, with the car crash and all.” Local legend being that X’s parents died together in a horrible accident on the Long Island Expressway. “Was it true?”
“Nah.” Xavier lowered his eyes. “It wasn’t that simple. My mother, well, you know, she had her problems. Fell into the heavy stuff, and the cops caught her dealing one day. Before they could send her to prison, she was into the wind. My guess, she tried to get to California, since she always talked about Hollywood. Don’t know if she ever made it, though.”
Xavier’s mother had always frightened me a little, with her red leather gloves and tight cornrows and cold stare. Once when she yelled at me for pushing my cousin Dan-Dan away from my tricycle, I ran into my mama’s skirt, crying from the unfairness of it all.
“Yeah, you got a bad shake, bro.” Trevor tore a piece of bread in half and slathered it with butter. “Things might have turned out different if your mama hadn’t pushed your daddy out.”
“Another one of those ‘what ifs’ that we can’t control.” Xavier took a long draw on his water glass as knives clinked against plates and Hailey passed the salad down the table. The dining went on, but we all seemed to know that the moment belonged to Xavier, that it was his time to trip back to the past. “My old man, he meant well. He tried to make things work, tried to do right. Drove a truck, hauling things cross-country. My mom hated that schedule. Began to hate him. Last time I saw him, he’d brought me a baseball glove. I remember it, ’cause I was five and the glove was so big on my hand, I could shove most of my fingers into one section.” He swiped a hand over his jaw, his eyes distant, far away. “Man, I loved that glove. The day he gave it to me, my Dad cried. His eyes were so wet, he made my shirt soggy when he hugged me. I didn’t get it, didn’t understand why he was so sad, why it was different from any other time when he came by to visit. It wasn’t till years down the road that I put it all together, that it was the last time I ever saw him. He must have known that at the time.”
It was such an unusually introspective moment for X that everyone at the table was quiet for a minute; just the bittersweet strains of Lenny Kravitz and the spring breeze moved through the atrium. It was that time of day when the cool breeze stirred the warmth from the earth, mixing the smells of soil and concrete, grass and ocean salt in a pleasing swirl.
I put my corncob down and licked some butter from my lips, suddenly feeling a twinge of sympathy for Xavier. Somehow I’d never put it all together—that he was living with Trevor and Aunt Nessie because he had nowhere else to go. Damn. That explained some things. It also made me feel like a selfish jerk, treating him like a leech all those years.
Well, maybe not all those years.
I admit, there had been a few stages in adolescence when Xavier was my crush. Really, who can resist the boy who appears in every theater production at the high school, the guy who wins the talent show because he can crack up even the stone-faced principal. Xavier had a presence, a bright light around him, and for a time I longed to be in that light. I had wanted to be his girl.
But I was just Trevor’s cousin, like family. From his end, it wasn’t going to happen.
“Let’s clear this stuff away, and I’ll make some coffee,” Marcella said as the moment passed. “I’m stuffed, but I brought the most delicious dessert from this bakery in Brooklyn. They make the best cannolis.”
“Cannolis? Damn!” Trevor dropped his corncob and wiped his hands on a napkin. “What’s a hot Latin lady like yourself doing with those sugary Italian weenies?”
“Oh, honey, you’d be surprised.” Marcella grabbed a stack of plates and disappeared into the kitchen.
I picked up two bowls and followed her, leaving X still staring off toward the tulips and impatiens and lilac bushes, their glow growing softer in the dying light. Maybe I didn’t hate him so much anymore, after thinking about all the stuff he’d gone through. After all, he wasn’t a bad person.
Just bad for me.
/> 27
Hailey
“Can we go?” I called impatiently through the screen door, then paced some more on the wooden porch. I usually don’t worry about being on time, but I was supposed to meet Antonio at the East Hampton club in twenty minutes, and I had no idea how far it was or if the guys would ever finish getting ready.
I was nervous.
And what if I was late?
What if he left?
What if he thought I stood him up?
“What’s with the ants in your pants, girl?” Alana stepped out on the porch, her dark skin gleaming against a ruby red bustier that she wore over a loose print skirt. She slipped into a short-cut jacket and checked her watch. “Oh, shit! You’ve got to meet Antonio! Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want to rush everyone.” My right hand flew to my mouth, and I tugged it down before I could nibble on the tips of my nails. Bad, Hailey! Down, girl, down!
Alana opened the screen door and cupped her hands to her face. “Trevor! Xavier! Cut the primping and get your sorry asses down here or you’re driving yourselves.” The door bounced against her bottom, and she stepped away to let it shut. “Marcella is just finishing up with her sister.” Once again, she shouted inside, “Marcella!”
Our red-headed friend appeared, waving her hands to shut up Alana, her headset clipped on like a switchboard operator. “Would you just listen to me, because I am telling you that you got to sit him up and let him digest or it’s gonna burn like a motherfucker. Babies can’t just eat lying down and go to sleep. Did you even try to burp him?”
She nodded and sighed as the answer seemed to come through. “I know. I know you’re trying, honey. You can only do your best, but in the future, don’t give him his bottle lying down. You wouldn’t eat chicken fricasee in bed, would you?”
I turned to Alana as Marcella headed out to the car. “Marcella has a baby?”
“It’s her nephew, but her sister’s a nervous wreck ... a young mother, and the baby has colic.”
Climbing in the car, I eavesdropped on Marcella’s advice and marveled at how the woman exuded calm and control. Maybe I should have asked her about my choice of wardrobe tonight. I was wearing tapered jeans with a Hugo Boss tailored shirt—gray with white pinstripes and three-quarter sleeves. The daring part about it was that I wore nothing underneath it and it was unbuttoned to the bottom of my rib cage. The gray was severe and serious, my hair was wild and loose, and the amount of skin and cleavage revealed was daring and so seductive that I had felt a sting of embarrassment when I first faced the mirror.
I’d thought about changing, even went back to my suitcase, but I wanted to do this. I wanted to try a sexier look. This was my chance with Antonio Lopez, and if I didn’t give a clear message now, he wouldn’t be waiting around for a PS.
By the time X turned on to Main Street in East Hampton, I was a nervous wreck, a knee-wiggling, lip-biting wreck. “We’re late,” I said. “He’s already been there for ten minutes.”
“Who’s been there?” Trevor turned around from the passenger seat. “Who’s been where?”
“Antonio,” I said. “Are we almost there?”
“It’s just up ahead,” Xavier said. “But who knew all these people would be out here partying before the season has even started.”
“Antonio who?” Trevor asked. “What’s happening?”
“Antonio Lopez, you dillhole,” Alana snapped. “She was supposed to meet him ten minutes ago, and she would’ve been on time if you two would’ve paid attention.”
Trevor held up his hands. “I didn’t know! Antonio Lopez ... mmm-mmm. The hot Latin lover. Is he really that hot in person?” he asked me.
“Hotter,” I said.
“What about on the show? You think he’s gonna find the serial killer terrorizing Indigo Hills? Or is he next on the killer’s list?”
“She doesn’t know that!” Alana snapped. “Would you get us to the club already?”
“I have to give you credit, Trevor,” I told him. “I can tell you’ve been watching our show. Catching up on the serial killer plot.”
“Yeah, well, there’s nothing else to do while I’m waiting around for Mama to update her records on that goddamned clipboard.”
The car lurched to a stop and Xavier hit the horn. “Goddamn! Did you see that? He stole my spot!”
“Just park,” I said desperately.
“There’s nowhere to go. The lot’s packed to the gills.”
“Then pull up by the door. Now!” Alana demanded.
X spun the car round to the door of the club.
Marcella was the first out of the backseat. “Don’t worry, honey,” she told me, “it’s better to be late and make an entrance.”
I was such a bundle of nerves, I began to wonder why I was here. “Why am I doing this? Antonio is out of my league.”
Alana spun around and grabbed me by the arms. “Get a grip, girl! There’s a gorgeous specimen of man waiting in there, and he wants you. Now get your butt in there and grab his ass before some other sister does it for you!”
She really didn’t leave me much choice. With a deep breath, I flicked my hair back over one shoulder and pushed through the door.
The dance floor was dark, lit mostly by a revolving disco ball, and the dance music boomed with that throbbing beat that guaranteed a headache within the hour. What was I doing here? I’m so bad at clubs—especially disco-type places where it’s all about body language and not at all about real language. If I had to dance my way into a relationship, I’d still be sleeping in my little twin bed back in Wisconsin.
I searched the crowd—a succession of very young faces, most devoid of the artistry of plastic surgery.
“Looks like frat night,” Alana said. “I guess most of the colleges are out already.”
Someone banged into me, and I fell against a table. “Where is he?” Panic. “He’s not here.”
“It’s early, and it’s a big place. Marcella went to look in the other room. We’ll find him.”
Not tonight, I thought. It was silly of me to think this could work, that Antonio might actually ...
And there he was, cutting through the crowd, his eyes locked on me. Behind him, Marcella waved and pointed. Found him! She was beaming.
I nearly choked on my own breath. He was smiling at me with such an amazing look, like I was the most precious gem he’d ever seen.
“Hilly! You made it. I’m so happy you’re here. Would you like to dance?” As he spoke he took me by the hand, pulled me close, and kissed me once on both cheeks.
“Not just yet,” I managed to say.
“Good. I have a table in the other room, a little more quiet. Would your friends like to join us?”
I snapped out of the spell to look for them. Alana was already talking and strutting with some guy on the dance floor. Marcella stood near the door with Trevor and X, but when I caught her attention she mouthed “bye-bye” and waved.
“We can hook up with them later,” I told Antonio, who slid one arm over my shoulders and ushered me up the steps and past the bar.
In the attached room, dark wood tables and tall booths were the haven for people who wanted to talk. I could barely take in the people or the atmosphere in the glow of Antonio. His touch lit my nerve endings, his killer smile was blinding. And as we crossed the room, I just knew that everyone was watching us ... eyes on us, Antonio and his girl. The couple. Antonio Lopez and Hailey Starrett.
Hailey Starrett-Lopez. Hailey Lopez? No ... Hailey Starrett-Lopez.
And there in the corner was a dark booth, our spot. He gestured for me to slide in, then he sat beside me, dropping his hand on my knee with a natural, easy warmth.
“Is sherry OK?” he asked. “It’s a personal favorite. The best ones are made in my country, but I find that so few Americans appreciate its lush, sweet qualities.”
I told him that sherry was fine. His hand remained on my thigh as we talked, and I found myself wishing it would s
lip lower, travel down to the inseam, grab a handful of thigh. I was surprised at myself, having such a case of ants in my pants, but I wanted to be with Antonio in the worst way, and part of me just wanted to have that initiation over so that we could move on to the less jittery, more chummy stage of the relationship.
We chatted about the show: the camera crew, the writers, the new caterer in craft services. Antonio told me a little about his background in Argentina, about the early days when he modeled for shaving-cream ads. He talked about nosy photographers, adding that the Hamptons were a hot spot for pesky media. But more than anything, he loved his fans. Soap opera fans were so loyal, so loving, so devoted.
I made up a story about being the child of reclusive artists in the Midwest. I figured that the pertinent facts were true; he didn’t need to know that my parents’ “art” was blackberry jam.
When the conversation hit a quiet spot, he turned to me and dropped his head to my shoulder. “Oh, Hilly,” he said in a tone that squeezed my heart like a sponge. “I have a confession to make.” He lifted his head so that his smoky eyes met mine.
My heart thudded hard, rising up to my throat. “What’s that?” I nearly wept.
“You are so beautiful,” he said. “I want to have you.” With that, he reached a hand right into my blouse and cupped one breast.
I nearly choked at the sensation of his warm palm, so quick and intimate, pulling me into a dark, delicious passion. His lips pressed against mine, nipping lightly as his hand tested the fullness of my breast. Sighing, I dropped a hand to his jeans and loved the bulge I felt there. Oh, yes, he did want me. I was tickled. I’d never made love to a celebrity before, and somehow, his fame made each sensation that much more titillating.
He undid the next button on my blouse and lodged his face inside to suck on my nipple. I was afraid someone would notice, but it was dim and we were in the corner and it felt so good, I had to close my eyes and stop worrying. When he’d sucked me to a frenzy there was more kissing, more groping, including an awkward unzip of his pants so I could reciprocate. With his pants open, I felt free to explore the playground, my hand gliding over the smooth, bulbous head, down the shaft.
