by Beth Bishop
I invited Colby over and gave him the good news. “Daddy’s little girl is going to New Orleans for a concert,” I told him as he undressed.
“Did you call the man, then?” he asked.
“Yeah, I called Bob. She’s flying out Sunday. She’ll be at the House of Blues Monday night. He’s going to do it, then.” As I knelt on the bed, I waved my lawyer and lover over to me. “With her out of the picture, the money will be mine.”
Colby slid his hands behind my thighs and flipped me on my back. “Ours.”
“Long live the queen,” I said.
Chapter Six
The next morning, I made breakfast for Whit and myself before he left. He’d had a family chef his entire life, but he genuinely enjoyed my cooking. In my opinion, nothing compared to scrambled eggs, bacon, and warm biscuits.
I spent the rest of the morning re-packing my bags. I smiled as I swapped thick sweaters for thinner blouses and T-shirts. Next, I did what was left of my Spring Break homework and googled New Orleans maps to make myself a walking tour. On a whim, I pre-ordered tickets to the aquarium. That would be cool and probably something I could use in my Biology project.
Around six, I took a shower, dried my hair, and got dressed for my “date” with Whit. He hadn’t told me where we were going, so it took me a while to decide what to wear. Eventually, I opted for skinny jeans, a deep V-neck sweater in dark purple, and my black flats. I dusted my face with powder, added a bit of blush and blackberry gloss for color, and even put mascara on my upper eyelashes.
I was ready a full half-hour before I expected Whit, and I paced around the apartment as I waited. I was nervous, and not just because I was going to meet his parents. Every time I thought of Whit, I pictured him in the closet—his T-shirt-tanned arm stretched up, his head thrown back, and his winky sticking out of the fly of my daddy’s boxers.
As promised, he arrived at eight. When I came down to meet him at his car, he came around to my side to open the door for me. He stopped, looked surprised, and then smiled.
“Wow, Skye. You look,” he took a moment to look me up and down, “hot.”
“Um, thanks,” I mumbled and slipped into the car.
Whit took me to a hole-in-the-wall he said had fabulous pizza. The place looked like a bar, but no one carded us. When I sat down on my side of the booth, Whit moved over to join me.
I decided to give him a chance and opened up a little. As we shared a pie, I shared some of my childhood experiences. Little by little, I relaxed, and it made being with him more enjoyable. I found his smiles and interest encouraged me to tell stories of how I spent my summers fishing and swimming in the pond near our old, farmstead house. Whit really had no idea how the other half lived, and my memories were a real revelation for him. While I talked, he listened intently—far better than he ever did when we studied.
When we left the dive around ten, I felt almost light. I was fine when Whit opened the car door for me and drove us out of the city, but the closer to East Hampton we got, the more nervous I grew. It wasn’t that I was afraid of meeting his parents. I expected them to react to me the same way all old money folk did, so their opinion of me was the least of my worries.
The party itself had my stomach twisting. There would be kids from school, in particular Lincoln and Sicily, and kids Whit knew from New York. He was the only one I both knew and trusted, but that trust was fragile. On top of that, I didn’t think Whit would take a shine to me clinging to him like a terrified child.
I wasn’t thrilled about spending the night, either. Whit assured me that his parents would be there, but it was a strange place filled with strangers—not exactly the most restful of circumstances. On top of that, the knowledge that my daddy would’ve flipped out if he had known I planned to spend the night with a boy—parents home or not—gnawed at my conscience.
I glanced over my shoulder. My suitcases were in the trunk, but my overnight bag rode in the backseat. One night, yes. I could do it. I reminded Whit, as much as myself, that I was flying out in the morning.
“I’ll take you to the airport,” he offered.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I want to see you off to Savannah.”
“Ummm…it’s okay, Whit.”
He put his hand on mine where I was wringing them in my lap. “I’m taking you.”
I sighed and let it go. I was glad he assumed I was going straight to Georgia. I had a feeling that he would react to me going to New Orleans about like my daddy would, so for one of the few times since 9/11, I was glad airport security didn’t let people without tickets go past the metal detectors. He would never know which plane I took, and I would avoid a lecture I didn’t want to hear.
Thankfully, he hadn’t offered to come home with me. Introducing my possibly boyfriend to my stepmother was not on my list of things to do during Spring Break.
At ten of eleven, Whit turned onto a hedge-lined drive that led to an ultra-modern, beachfront house. Several cars sat in a small parking lot in front of the house. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. It looked like every light in the house was on, and I said, “Holy crap. Your power bill must be out of this world.”
“I have no idea,” he said. “I bet you find that odd.” Whit lifted my overnight bag from the backseat, got out, and came around to open my door for me. When I got out of the car, he took my hand in his. “Nice bag, by the way.”
“What?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from the house to look at him. “Oh, Lizette got all that luggage for me. I think it looks like I’m trying too hard.”
“Come here.” He stopped walking and tugged me close to him. He kissed me, softly and without tongue. “You taste like pizza, still.” In response, I put my hand over my mouth. “No, that’s not a bad thing. I’m just saying.” We resumed walking toward the house. “Don’t be nervous.”
“Huh, you say that like I have a choice.”
We walked through the front doors of the house to find several teenagers grouped in the middle of a large, open room. Here and there were small clusters of sofas and/or chairs that through shape and color reminded me of ocean waves.
There was art everywhere-paintings on the walls, sculptures standing around the room, and on surfaces. I felt like I was in a gallery, not a home. As for the people, I recognized two of the guys, including Lincoln, and three of the girls, including Sicily. I had never met the other five teens. With them stood who I assumed were Whit’s parents.
“Whit,” Lincoln called when he looked over someone’s shoulder to see who came through the door. When his eyes moved from Whit’s face to mine, his grin shifted from excited to devious. His eyes absorbed me. “Well how-dee-doo, Skye,” he drawled. “Have you and Whit been studying?”
“No, I took her to dinner,” Whit said. His parents turned toward us, and I saw that Whit took after his father in looks and coloring. “Skye Daniels, meet my parents, McKinley and Mary Katherine Hastings.”
“Hello,” I said in a friendly tone and gave them a smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
Whit’s mother returned my smile and said, “It’s good to meet you, Skye.”
“Yes, Whit’s told us quite a bit about you,” Mister Hastings said. “I’ve read about your father. He’s a sharp businessman.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
He smiled at me, and then I knew where Whit got his charm. “I hope my son isn’t giving you too much trouble with the tutoring.”
“No, sir.” I looked at Whit. “He’s smart when he feels like it.” Whit’s hand still held mine, and he squeezed me just a little.
“Whit says you’re flying to Savannah tomorrow.”
“Yes, my father had an emergency business meeting in Japan. He asked me not to stay in the city alone.”
“Taking Cluck Moo global?” Lincoln ask
ed.
“It’s a smart move for sure,” Mister Hastings said. “Please, young lady. Be welcome in our home.” He took my free hand, the one his son wasn’t holding, in his and patted the back of it. “We’re glad to have you, tonight. If you change your mind about going to Savannah, feel free to stay longer.”
“Whit, honey, take her overnight bag to the second guest room and come talk to us for a bit,” Mrs. Hastings said. “Lincoln can introduce Skye around. You kids stay in here or in the pool house. Don’t drive or get too loud,” she admonished.
Whit’s parents chatted a bit longer with a few of the kids I didn’t know. Then, they bid us good night and walked toward a doorway off the dining room.
Whit waited until we heard a door close, and then he said, “Don’t be a jackass.” He pointed his finger at Linc and eyed him.
“Sure thing, bro,” Lincoln promised. Whit released my hand, and Linc watched him as he walked across the room, went up the staircase to the second floor, and disappeared down a hallway. “Skye,” he drew out my name as he dragged his eyes to mine, “you know Mike, Kelsey, Lindsey, and Sicily from school.” I glanced in their direction to find them staring blankly at me. I nodded. He plopped his arm over my shoulders, almost making my knees buckle. “The rest are the New York gang Whit and I grew up with. We went our separate ways when we started high school, but we stay in touch.” He looked at one of the guys. “Pool house or big house?”
The guy grinned and said, “Pool house.”
Without taking his arm off my shoulders, Lincoln lifted his hand and waved toward the large, glass doors on the back of the house. “Ladies,” he said cordially.
I started to follow them, but Lincoln held me closer and in place while the girls exited the house. He waved the guys on after that. Then, we were alone. I felt twitchy. I didn’t know what to expect. This guy had beamed me in the head with a hacky sack and teased me incessantly, but now he had his arm around me in a somewhat friendly manner. After a several beats, he urged me toward the doors.
As we passed through them, he said, “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you dressed and made-up for having a good time. Are you having a good time, Skye?”
“Not really.”
“Well, I hope we can change that.”
Outside, there was a large patio dotted with lounge chairs and tables around a kidney-shaped pool. The pool house, which was larger than the house I grew up in, sat off to the right. It was two stories and lit up like the big house. Someone turned on a radio.
Before we went inside, Lincoln stopped me and asked, “Why does Whit like you so much?”
“I don’t know, Lincoln. Why did you kick a hacky sack into my head?”
He shrugged and flipped his dark, shaggy hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “Because I think you’re cute, and I have a ten-year-old boy’s reaction to cute girls.”
My right lower eyelid squinted a bit. “I think you have a ten-year-old boy’s reaction to your friend liking me.”
Being mid-April, it was still rather chilly. I hadn’t intended to be outside for long, so I hadn’t worn a coat. My sweater was tighter and thinner than my usual choice of casual wear—that being my Irstwitch sweats—and it didn’t keep the chill off me. I rubbed my arms to try to work some warmth into them.
“Cute and smart. Man, your daddy sure grew a fine Georgia peach.” I scowled at him and shrugged his arm off my shoulders. To that, he smiled. “Maybe, I want to be your friend. Call me Linc, okay?” He bit his lower lip and looked down from my face to my chest. When I chanced a look, I noticed my nipples were poking against my sweater and crossed my arms over my chest to cover them. Linc resumed eye contact. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know why he likes you. You must like him.”
“He has a certain charm,” I mumbled.
“Are you guys dating?”
“Uh, this was our first dinner. I don’t know if it’s dating.”
“Yeah, I definitely know why he likes you.” I gave him a questioning look, and he wiggled a finger at the door to the pool house. “If Whit took any of those girls out to dinner, they would tell everyone that they were dating him. In fact, until you came in with him, Sicily was pretty sure she was his girlfriend.”
I had overheard Sicily and some of the other girls in our dorm talk about making out with Whit, so Linc’s statement didn’t surprise me. Especially when I took into account the whole chicken bone thing. Still, if I continued to see Whit, it would be good to know exactly what he had done and with whom. In that vein, I asked, “Oh, did they go out?”
“I don’t know if they went out, but he fucked her. She’s not fond of you right now.” I frowned, thinking that she was never fond of me before, so nothing had really changed. Linc re-hooked his arm over my shoulders and steered me toward the pool house. He politely opened the door for me. Then, he impolitely asked, “Did he fuck you, too?”
When we entered, one of the guys handed him a glass of Coke. The scent wafted over to me, and I could tell it was spiked. Linc took a big gulp of it, and when he exhaled, bourbon fumes blew in my direction. “Well?” His eyebrows lifted.
“No. I’m not easy.”
“Look at your face turn red,” Linc teased. “So adorable.” He hugged me closer and walked further into the room. “I didn’t think you would be.”
“Adorable?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“No,” he took another sip and smiled, “easy, in any respect.” There was a pool table in the center of the room, a bar along the left wall, and a den to the right. “The stairs,” Linc pointed to them where they rose beside the bar, “go to the bedrooms. You know, in case you get sleepy or something.” His eyebrow wiggled suggestively. “The hallway under the stairs goes to a bathroom and the kitchen.”
Mike racked the pool balls while the guy who had given Linc the drink chose his cue stick. Sicily and Kelsey sat on bar stools, smoking, and the other five people lounged on the three sofas and watched TV. All of them had glasses like Linc’s.
Waving it at me, Linc asked, “You want a drink?”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Okay. Well, can you play pool?” He dropped his arm from my shoulders and, without sloshing his drink, caught the cue stick the other guy tossed to him.
I wasn’t a pro or anything, but I could play. “Sure,” I said.
“Cool.” At Linc’s nod, the guy took down another cue stick and tossed it to me. I caught it.
“Good hands, Skye. Want to play with us?”
“Only if you promise to keep the euphemisms to a minimum,” I smirked.
All three guys smiled. Linc lifted his chin at me. “You’re on my team. You want to break?”
“Nah.” I waved at him and shifted out of the way. “Go ahead.”
Linc chalked his cue and broke. He sunk a solid. “Don’t make me sorry I picked you,” he joked.
I rolled my eyes at him and sunk my first shot. “You’re up, partner.”
He took a sip of his drink, eyeing me over the rim of the glass. “I like the sound of that.” He leaned down and slid his stick between his fingers more times than was necessary. When he finally made his shot, he sunk another solid but scratched.
“You’re too forceful,” I said, eyeing him meaningfully.
“When you say things like that, it’s going to be hard to behave,” Kelsey coughed and said something under her breath. Linc turned to look at her. “Shut up, Kells. You wish.”
I stepped back from the table to give Mike room to maneuver and placed myself as far away as I could from any group of people. My back was to the door, and I wondered what was keeping Whit for so long. His mother wanted to talk to him, which worried me. Then, I wondered why I would think people were talking about me. It was self-centered and paranoid.
As Mike prepared for his shot, Linc came over t
o stand beside me. “They’re just jealous.”
“I don’t know why, and more importantly, I don’t care.” I held the cue stick with both hands in front of me and stared at the tip.
“That’s obvious. Just like it’s obvious you don’t want to be here.”
“Yeah, either be at my daddy’s,” I said as I swiveled my cue stick to the left, “or in a hive of hornets.” I swiveled my cue to the right. “It’s a real no-brainer.”
Linc laughed. “I like that. It’s fitting.” I sighed out a laugh and closed my eyes briefly. By all appearances, he was trying to be nice to me. Given how much he teased me, it made no sense. Linc recaptured my attention by hunching and bumping my shoulder with his. “So, why did you let Whit talk you into coming?” He took another sip of his bourbon and Coke.
“He didn’t want me staying by myself, and he already had this party planned.”
“So, staying the night and then flying home to Suh-van-uh? You should just stay here for the week. It’ll be fun.”
“For whom?”
One corner of Linc’s mouth curled up. “Exactly.”
“Hey, asshole. You’re up,” the other guy called to Linc.
“Blow me, Derrick.”
I focused on the game, using strategy and physics to block out my discomfort. No further snide remarks were made, and Linc and I were winning. Some of my tension eased, and then Whit joined us.
“You’re playing pool with the guys?” he asked, smiling and palming the end of my cue stick.
“Why not? The girls hate me,” which reminded me what Linc said about Sicily. “How many of them have you dated?”
“Sicily and Mary Beth,” he said, pointing my cue stick toward a blonde girl on the nearest sofa. “Does that make you feel awkward?”
