The fling had lasted nearly a year. And then Dorie, who was only twenty, after all, got tired of playing doctor with a thirty-year-old who wanted her to quit her sorority and instead spend weekends hanging out with him at the country club. It wasn’t until years later that she got up the nerve to admit where she’d actually met Howard.
They’d all gone back to the Dunaways’ house after Willa’s bachelorette party; they’d been doing tequila shooters at Spanky’s down on River Street. It was their own version of Truth or Dare. Of course, nobody else had a story near as cool as Dorie’s.
“I went to the student health clinic, you know, to get on the pill, because Bo and I were getting pretty serious, and I thought only sluts used condoms, but I was terrified of getting knocked up,” Dorie had said, giggling nervously. “And anyway, who do you think gave me my first pelvic exam? Howard! And he was really so sweet, so gentle, you know? Afterwards, he called me into his office, and he gave me this very serious talk about the dangers of STDs and all that. I almost died, I was so embarrassed! Then he handed me my prescription and a package with, like, six months’ worth of Ortho-Novum, and he’d written his home phone number on the back of the prescription.”
Howard had been one of the nicer guys in Dorie’s constantly changing constellation of boyfriends. A lot of them had been rats. So when she’d started talking about “the new guy at school”—meaning, Our Lady of Angels, the Catholic girls’ high school they’d all attended, and where Dorie taught English—nobody really thought much of it. Stephen was the girls’ soccer coach, and he taught history. He was lanky and dark haired, with a deliciously dry sense of humor. He wasn’t from Savannah, he’d grown up in Omaha. And he was Catholic, so Dorie’s mother approved. He and Dorie dated for two years before he finally talked her into getting married.
Dr. Dunaway—Dorie’s mom (she had a Ph.D. in English and always insisted that everybody call her “Doctor” instead of “Mrs.”)—had been so relieved that Dorie was finally settling down, she’d even helped Dorie pay for the wedding.
“I still can’t believe how cheap that woman is,” Julia had complained at the reception, where the alcohol had consisted of jug wine and a keg of Natty Lite. “Remember how she used to make Dorie and Willa use their allowances to buy their own shampoo and tampons?”
So Stephen was nice, but he was still a man, and this was supposed to have been a chick trip. Ellis was glad he’d bowed out at the last minute. And she felt guilty for being glad.
“Come on, you guys,” Ellis exclaimed, refusing to look Julia in the eyes for fear of laughing. “It’s hot as hell out here. Let’s get this stuff inside. I want to show you the house.”
“Screw the house,” Julia said dramatically, throwing a garment bag over her shoulder. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m here for the beach. We’ve had a hideous winter in England, and no spring to speak of. Just rain and more rain. So no offense, Ellis, but right now the only thing I want you to show me is the ice, the bourbon, and the beach. In that exact order.”
“You got it,” Ellis said, grabbing a tote bag. “And don’t worry, Dorie. I even bought you your own bottle of tequila. And I brought my blender from home, just in case, which was a good thing, ’cuz there wasn’t one here.”
Dorie wrinkled her nose. “Actually? Right now I’d settle for another big ol’ iced tea.”
Julia stopped in her tracks. “Seriously? Iced tea? Eudora Dunaway is turning down a margarita? Alert the media!”
Dorie gave Julia a playful kick in the pants. “Hey! You make me sound like a falling-down drunk. It just so happens that I had a serious case of tequila poisoning after a friend’s Cinco de Mayo party, and I haven’t been able to look at the stuff ever since.”
“S-u-u-u-r-e,” Julia said. “Dorie is breaking up with Jose Cuervo. You hear that, Ellis?”
Ellis heard, and she saw the barely disguised suspicion in Julia’s eyes, and she thought—just maybe—Julia was onto something. Something about Dorie was … off.
7
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: WTF? Fleas!
Mr. Culpepper, you need to get an exterminator over here ASAP. This place is crawling with fleas. Also ants and mildew. And the kitchen faucet drips. Constantly. And the mattresses suck, bigtime. Your website specifically stated that our house would have a “fully stocked kitchen.” In my mind, a fully stocked kitchen includes items such as a stove with more than one working burner and such basics as saucepans, silverware, and dishes. I do not consider five cracked, chipped, and mismatched plates and a collection of plastic NASCAR go-cups to be “serving-ware for eight.” As this is my third e-mail in the past two days, I’d appreciate it if you would take care of these things, IMMEDIATELY.
Ellis tapped the “send” button and scratched her right knee absentmindedly. Both of her ankles, her calves, and the backs of her knees were dotted with angry red flea bites. She had flea bites underneath her breasts, and flea bites on the back of her neck.
Julia had only a couple of bites, on her ankles, and Dorie didn’t have a single one. But the fleas must have made Ellis’s bedroom their home office, because that first morning at Ebbtide she woke up scratching like a maniac. She’d stared down at the white sheet on her bed, and had been horrified to see a semimicroscopic insect hopping around. “Fleas!” she’d screeched.
She’d stripped her bed of all the linens, taken every stitch of clothing out of her suitcases, even picked up the throw rug on the floor, and washed and bleached the daylights out of everything. But the fleas didn’t care.
When she’d gone downstairs that first morning, Julia and Dorie were already sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee.
“Ellis,” Julia said, pointing at the Kaper chart on the kitchen wall. “You’re not really serious about this thing—right?”
Ellis got herself a glass of orange juice and settled at the kitchen table. “Well, now that Stephen and Willa aren’t coming, I guess I’ll have to redo it, but I still don’t think it’ll be too much trouble, not if everybody pitches in.”
Julia stood and pointed at the first line of the chart with her half-eaten piece of toast. She read aloud in a high-pitched schoolmarm voice: “Monday: Julia cooks breakfast. Dorie does dishes. Willa sweeps sand from floors. Stephen takes out trash. Ellis does laundry.”
Dorie pressed her napkin to her lips to suppress a giggle, but after Ellis glared at her, she looked down innocently at her cereal bowl.
“Ellis, honey,” Julia said, nibbling at her toast. “I’m sorry. It’s ludicrous. It really is. This chart thing … what did they call it back in Girl Scouts?”
“A Kaper chart,” Ellis said quietly.
“Oh yes, Kaper.” Julia nodded. “Excellent for eight-year-olds who have to be reminded to scrub their teeth and gather wood for the campfire. But for the love of God! We’re grown women here. I’m thirty-five years old. I don’t need a chart to tell me to hang up a wet towel.”
Ellis felt her face go pink. “I just thought … well, I thought it might help the month go smoother, if things were sort of organized. Unlike you guys, I’m used to living alone and doing everything myself. I thought the chart would be kind of fun, but obviously I was wrong.” She pulled the whiteboard off the wall and walked rapidly out of the room, her back stiff. A moment later, she was back, but only to pick up her empty juice glass, rinse it out, and place it on the drainboard. Then she stalked out of the room. Dorie and Julia heard the screen door open and then slam shut.
* * *
“Shit.” Julia tossed the toast crust onto her plate. “I’d forgotten how prickly our girl can be. But really, Dorie, it had to be said.”
Dorie picked up both their plates and coffee cups and put them into the sink full of soapy water. “It could have been said nicer. Ellis isn’t like you, Julia. She didn’t grow up fighting and fussing with a bunch of brothers. You really hurt her feelings. And after all the work she did putting th
is together for all of us. It wouldn’t hurt to go along with her. At least for the first week or so.”
Julia sighed. “Now you’re gonna make me play nice, aren’t you?”
Dorie grinned. “Either that, or you pick up your Tinkertoys and go home.”
Dorie walked out to the front porch, with Julia trailing reluctantly behind. They stopped at the front door and peeked out. The whiteboard was poking out of the top of the trash can at the edge of the driveway, and its creator, Ellis, was sitting on one of the porch chairs, rocking rapidly to and fro, staring off into space. It was a gorgeous summer morning, sunny, not too humid, with banks of high, puffy white clouds overhead.
It was the second day of August, and already they’d started to bicker.
“Come on, Ellis,” Dorie coaxed. “Don’t be mad. Julia didn’t mean anything by it.” She turned and glared at Julia. “Did you, Julia?”
“Julia’s a bitch,” Julia whispered loudly, poking her head out the door. She tiptoed onto the porch and stood behind Ellis’s chair. “And just for that, Julia’s going to have to clean the latrines for the whole month, right, Dorie?”
Dorie sat down on the rocker next to Ellis’s. “Absolutely. And she gets no s’mores. Ever.”
Julia knelt down on the floor on the other side of Ellis. She wrapped her arms around her friend’s waist and laid her head on Ellis’s lap. “Julia’s sorry,” she said in a little tiny mouse voice. “She loves Ellie-Belly and doesn’t ever want to hurt her friend’s feelings.”
Ellis suppressed a smile. She patted Julia’s head and then gave it a sharp thump. “Get up, you nutjob. And don’t think you’re going to get out of cooking my dinner tonight, either.”
Julia groaned. “Thank God. My knees are killing me.” She flopped down into the other rocking chair. “So what should we do today? Our first whole day at the beach? Bike ride? Shopping? Hang gliding over at Jockey’s Ridge? I saw a brochure for the most marvelous-looking school where they actually teach you to hang glide. Remember that time we all went bungee jumping at Myrtle Beach?”
“You and Dorie went bungee jumping,” Ellis corrected. “I couldn’t even watch. I was petrified you’d be killed, and I’d have to explain to your mothers what happened.”
“Nah, you were just scared if we got killed you’d have to go home alone and drive over the Talmadge bridge all by yourself,” Julia taunted.
“True,” Ellis admitted.
“Why don’t we just hang at the beach here?” Dorie asked.
The others turned to look at her in surprise. Dorie had never been one to pass up an adventure.
“What?” she said innocently, catching their meaning. “Why do we have to do anything at all? I’m just enjoying being here, spending time with you guys. Anyway, hang gliding is expensive. You forget, I’m living on a schoolteacher’s salary. A private school too—which doesn’t pay diddly, I might add.”
Ellis jumped to her feet. “Dorie’s right,” she said. “This is perfect beach weather. I’m gonna go put on my suit. If nothing else, maybe the saltwater will heal my flea bites.”
Julia looked at Ellis’s outstretched legs. “Eww! Disgusting! Have you contacted our landlord?”
“Mr. Culpepper? Repeatedly,” Ellis said. “I sent him another e-mail just before I came downstairs. If I don’t hear from him by lunchtime, I’m going to just find an exterminator in the phone book and tell Culpepper I’m going to deduct it from the rest of our rent. And I told him how unhappy we are about the mildew and the ants.”
“And the crappy mattresses, I hope,” Julia added. “I haven’t slept on a bed that lumpy since I went hosteling in Belgium after high school. We’re paying enough rent for this dump that we should at least be able to expect a decent bed.”
“About the rent,” Dorie said hesitantly. “I really think Willa should offer to go ahead and pay her share, even though she did cancel.”
“Did she offer to reimuburse us?” Julia asked.
“Not yet,” Dorie admitted.
“Well, I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for her to offer,” Julia said. “Even though good old Arthur is swimming in dough. It wouldn’t occur to darling Willa that the rest of us might be out-of-pocket because of her.”
“I could ask her,” Dorie volunteered. “But you know Willa.”
“We do,” Ellis said briskly. “So we won’t count on her chipping in. If she does, that would be great; if not, no biggie. Like I said, I’m seriously thinking of renegotiating our lease on Ebbtide. The place is totally not what he advertised.”
“I think it’s kinda sweet,” Dorie said. “Did you know, in the daylight, you can look through the cracks in the floorboards in that bathroom under the stairs and see little fiddler crabs crawling around in the sand under the house?”
“Sweet Jesus!” Julia said. “I am never using that bathroom again.”
“Oh, Julia, quit being so damned British,” Dorie said impishly. “You grew up in Savannah, Georgia, just like the rest of us. It’s not like you never saw a fiddler crab before. Or a cockroach or an ant.”
Julia stuck her tongue out at Dorie. “Screw you. I might have grown up living around creepy-crawlies, but that doesn’t mean I want to live with ’em as a grown-up.”
* * *
Ty had been watching the waves off and on since sunrise. They weren’t really that big, but it was a break—he’d been sitting at his computer for the past twenty-four hours, researching cholesterol and statin fighters in every online medical journal he could find. He was no scientist—hell, he’d barely passed high school chemistry—but this new drug Hodarthe had come up with sounded like it could be a winner.
He’d done well the previous day with a start-up company in California that was doing interesting things using recycled glass in commercial concrete applications, so he had some funds, and he was poised to take a position with Hodarthe. But damned if he hadn’t just received another e-mail from Ellis Sullivan.
He chuckled to himself as he reread her latest missive. “WTF? Fleas!” Little old Ellis was turning out to be a real ballbuster. He found himself scratching at a phantom flea bite even as he read. She was right, though. He did have to do something about the fleas. If they got too out of hand, he’d never get rid of ’em, and they might just chase away Ellis and her girlfriends. He couldn’t afford to lose a month’s rent.
Much as he hated to, he picked up the phone and called an old high school buddy, Frank, who had gone into his father’s pest control business over in Elizabeth City. After some idle chatter about prospects for Carolina football (sorry) and the economy (way sorrier), Frank promised to head over to Ebbtide for a little bug-bombing session that afternoon. They even worked out a trade: Frank would provide pest control services for three months in return for a week’s vacation at Ebbtide.
Ty didn’t have to tell Frank money was tight; Frank knew about the jam he’d gotten himself into. Hell, everybody on the Outer Banks knew that Ty Bazemore was in a world of hurt. The first foreclosure notice for Ebbtide had been published in the newspaper in July, and every week since, the notice had run in the paper’s legal ads, rubbing salt into his already wounded ego. Six weeks. That’s how much time he had to pull off a miracle. Until then, he needed to keep his tenants happy and, somehow, raise enough money to catch up on six months’ worth of missed house payments and back taxes.
But it wouldn’t do to let Ellis Sullivan get the upper hand. So he fired off a missive of his own.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Alleged fleas.
Ms. Sullivan, if the house has fleas, you must have brought them with you. Likewise the ants. I’ve never had complaints before, about bugs or the mattresses. But Frank from Bug-Off Pest Control will be out today, after 2 pm. You’ll have to vacate the premises for at least two hours, unless you enjoy inhaling toxic fumes. If you don’t like my dishes, there’s a Walmart in Kitty Hawk. I’ll send somebody to take a look at the faucet. H
appy?
Through the open door, he could hear the waves rolling into shore. He could stand it no more. He got up and strolled out to the porch.
The women of Ebbtide had pitched camp on a stretch of sand directly below. They had a jaunty striped pink-and-yellow umbrella, three lounge chairs, and a large cooler. The brunette, Ellis, and a tall, elegant blonde were playing Pro Kadima, inexpertly slapping the little rubber ball around, dashing back and forth in the sand, laughing hysterically.
The blonde was a knockout, with long, slender bronzed legs and a bright orange bikini that left little to the imagination.
The third woman was a petite strawberry blonde. She was stretched out in her chair, a pair of sunglasses perched on her little snub nose, reading a magazine. Even the loose-fitting sleeveless cover-up she wore over her swimsuit couldn’t disguise a body that was luscious—and that was a word Ty didn’t just throw around. Her pale, freckled skin was already turning pink, and it wasn’t yet noon.
But it was Ellis, pain-in-the-ass Ellis, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of. She’d knotted her long hair in a goofy ponytail on top of her head, emphasizing the graceful curve of her long neck. Her modest, black one-piece bathing suit should not have been alluring, but somehow it was—the high cut legs showed off her great butt, the scoop neckline revealed a promising amount of creamy cleavage. And when she ran, as she was doing now, looking like a total klutz, the suit rode up in the back and down in the front, giving him a rewarding view.
Ellis Sullivan was not by any means the hottest thing he’d ever seen on this stretch of beach. That honor, he thought, ironically, would have to go to Kendra, whom he’d first spotted the summer they were fifteen, as she did a slow, taunting stroll past him while he painted his grandmother’s Adirondack chairs on this same deck. He found himself scowling at the memory of that day.
Summer Rental Page 5
