“Lawyers do know one or two things besides law,” King said, tinkering with the engine again. “My father made me take apart and rebuild the engines of more of his cars than I like to remember.”
“Oh,” Cecile said. Then, nonchalantly, “What does it mean when a boy says a girl is too much work?”
“Ha!” King glanced up at her. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I don’t know.” Cecile shrugged. “The dance?”
“You certainly were around a bunch who’re going to grow up to be a lot of work, in that crowd.”
Cecile slung her arm around one of the poles that held up the roof and leaned away from it like a flag at half mast. “So, what does it mean?”
“It means she’s demanding. Costly to maintain,” said King. “Our old Bentley is too much work. I’m still paying the earth to keep it on the road and it’s old enough to be my father.” King looked up as Cecile circled the pole slowly with it nestled in the crook of her arm and said, “That pole’s riddled with splinters. Creosote-covered ones.”
Cecile stopped and brushed the skin on the inside of her elbow as she said, “So it’s an insult.”
“I guess it is,” said King. “But as you will come to find out, Cecile, if you haven’t already, many girls like expensive jewelry and clothing. When they grow up, their husbands have to pay for manicures and hairdressers and a grand house. It adds up, let me tell you.”
“I’ll never be like that,” Cecile said. “I don’t even like jewelry.”
“No, I don’t think you will.” King tossed the screwdriver into the toolbox and stood up, smiling at her as he brushed off the knees of his slacks. “It’s a good thing, too. As successful as your father is, no man should have to support four demanding women in one family.”
“Four?” Cecile said, counting quickly. “You mean Lucy?” she said, amazed. “You can already tell about Lucy?”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” King tousled her hair as he went past her, heading for the door. “I have to find Mr. Peabody and enlist his help with this blasted thing. Just keep your sense of humor,” he said as Cecile followed him out into the sun. “Boys like a girl with a sense of humor.”
“Not all boys!” Cecile shouted as King bounded up the steps.
“The ones worth running after do,” he called. “Bye, Heathen.”
Jenny was as droopy as Leo when she came down to the dock. She didn’t want to get wet, she said, because she’d only have to dry off, and she insisted on wearing her sandals on the beach. “What’s the point?” she said. “I’m not going to walk barefoot in New York City.”
The only interest she showed in the dance was to ask, “Was it horrible?” When Cecile told her about the first boy she danced with, Jenny said, “I told you to wear a back shield,” in an unsympathetic voice.
“One of them wasn’t too bad,” Cecile said.
“I’m going to a party tonight, but it’s for families.”
“You’ll have to dance with Leo.”
“Don’t make me barf.”
It was a listless sort of morning. A chasm had opened up between them, with the person who was staying on one side against the person who was leaving on the other; there seemed to be no common language. They searched the pools on the rocks for a while, but there wasn’t any excitement in it. Jenny finally had to go home so her mother could curl her hair and spray it. Cecile walked with her up the drive, picturing Jenny in huge pink rollers and afterward, her straight hair marked with ridges.
“Hair spray’s for old ladies,” Cecile told her.
“The curls will fall out in about ten seconds if I don’t,” Jenny said fussily. For the briefest second, she looked like her mother.
Cecile was happy to go back to the house when they parted at the cottage. She stood in the front hall and listened for sounds of life, but it was quiet. Everyone must still be at the club. She went onto the terrace and lay down on Granddad’s chaise under the awning.
The rest of the terrace was baking in the hot sun. Someone had put a vase of roses under the umbrella on the glass-topped table. The striped mallets from the croquet set their father had set up on the lawn stood ready and waiting in their cart. So this is what the day after a party feels like, Cecile thought contentedly as she stretched her legs and wiggled her toes. Maybe she would go upstairs to borrow some of her mother’s nail polish. No, she’d only have to take it off.
She heard voices in the living room. “Who goes there?” Cecile called.
There was a silence before her father opened the screen door and stuck his head out. “What’re you doing out here all by yourself?”
“Not much.” Cecile craned around. “Who’s with you?”
“Everyone. Mom and Natalie went upstairs, and Lucy and Jack are in the kitchen, begging. I’m going up to change.” The door started to swing shut as her father stepped back into the living room. “By the way,” he said, sticking his head out again. “I have a message for you.”
“From who?”
“Whit Riley.”
Cecile sat up and swung around to face him with such a surprised expression on her face that her father laughed. “How do you know Whit?” he said.
Cecile shrugged. “He was one of the boys I danced with. What’d he say?”
“It was very cryptic.” Her father looked amused. “He said, ‘Tell Cecile NMP at eight o’clock tonight.’ You two aren’t spies, by any chance?”
“NMP?” Cecile said, working to keep her face blank. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you don’t know, I don’t know,” her father said. “Whit’s a nice boy. Anyway, that’s the message.”
He let the door slam behind him this time. Cecile lay back down. Nighttime Marco Polo. Whit, inviting her. But how could she get to the club tonight when they’d been there last night? Her parents would never let her go by herself. Maybe she could talk Natalie into it and they could convince the whole family to go. They could say they wanted to have dinner and swim in the pool after dark. Cecile could slip away and join the game. In her bathing suit, yet! Wouldn’t they be surprised.
Imagining the soft night air whispering against her skin as she ran and hid, Cecile shivered. The breath of the panting boys as they chased her would be warm on her neck if she were caught. Then would come the grip of a hand on her arm—
When the screen door slammed, Cecile sat up guiltily. “Granddad’s about to come down, Cecile,” her mother said. “Get up from his chair, would you?”
Her mother’s dark hair was slicked back from her forehead, her face more beautiful for being without makeup. Her sleeveless white dress, falling in elegant folds, was as simple as a sack. A white headband dangled around her neck like a necklace. “Hungry?” she asked invitingly, holding out a platter of cheese and crackers.
“Thanks.” Cecile got up off the chaise and took a piece of cheese. Her mother put the platter on the table and sat down. “What’d you do today?” she asked, girlishly pulling up her legs to rest her heels on the edge of her seat. The polish on her toenails was the faintest pink; even her narrow feet were beautiful.
She looked happy and relaxed; it was the perfect time to ask.
Cecile sat down next to her. “Nothing much,” she said. “I fooled around with Jenny, but it wasn’t much fun. Jenny’s depressed because they’re leaving tomorrow. So’s Leo.”
“It’s been nice for you having her here, hasn’t it?”
“It’s been okay. It’ll be nice having the Island to ourselves again.” Cecile took another piece of cheese. “Where’s Natalie?” she asked.
“Upstairs taking a shower.” Her mother was tou-sling her wet hair with one hand. “She’s going to a party tonight with William.”
Perfect.
“Really? Then can I go to the club after dinner for a while?” Cecile leaned forward. “A bunch of kids I know will be there.”
“Tonight?” Her mother sounded surprised. “You’ve never wanted to go to the club at night before.
What kids?”
“Just some I met at the dance. They’re playing a game.”
“Oh. Well, not tonight. One late night in a weekend is enough at your age.”
“That’s not fair. How come Natalie can go out two nights in a row, and I can’t?”
“I wasn’t going to let her, but William’s mother put in a word for her.” Her mother tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. “Mr. and Mrs. Cahoon are going to be at the same party and Mrs. Cahoon asked because it’s William’s last night.”
“I don’t see why I can’t go if Natalie can.”
“Because I said no.”
“You wouldn’t let her go if you knew the things she and William have been doing together,” Cecile said.
“Cecile Thompson.” Her mother stopped preening and frowned. “You sound like a little prude,” she said coldly.
Her mother meant for it to sting. Cecile felt the unfairness of it in the tightness of her throat.
“For one thing, Natalie’s almost fifteen and you’re twelve,” her mother said. “For another thing, Granddad, Dad, and I are going to the Whites’ for dinner. We are not leaving you at the club, on your own, at night, and that’s final.”
“You get to go out. And I won’t be alone. Other people will be there.”
“Stop it.” Her mother was done talking. “You can go another night, unless you keep at it, and then you can’t go at all.”
“There may not be another night!”
It could have been Natalie speaking; her mother was as shocked as Cecile. If it hadn’t been for Granddad coming onto the terrace, Cecile didn’t know what either one of them would have said next.
“Well, well, well…what have we here?” Granddad said as he came toward them, resplendent in a madras jacket, white pants, and red bow tie, and rested his hand on the top of Cecile’s head. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked, looking into his daughter’s dissatisfied face.
“Of course not, Dad. Everything’s fine.” Her mother’s face cleared; she smiled up at him. “Cecile was asking if she could go to the club tonight and I told her we’re going out to dinner, so she can’t. Cecile understands she’ll have to go another night, right, Cecile?”
Cecile returned her mother’s level look. “Right,” she said.
Her mother’s brow became as smooth and clear as a baby’s. “Run and tell Sheba we’re ready for cocktails, that’s a good girl,” she said. She put her hand over her father’s where he’d rested it on her shoulder and nuzzled it with her chin. “You might want to help her by bringing out the ice bucket,” she called as Cecile opened the screen door.
And I might not. Cecile let the door swing noisily shut. Everything wasn’t fine, either. Just because her mother wanted it to be that way didn’t mean that it was. Not this time, she thought as she went past the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. Maybe never again.
Chapter Thirteen
The movie she was watching ended. Cecile got up from the couch, turned off the TV, and walked into the front hall. “I’m going to the dock!” she called in a hushed voice.
The door of the upstairs study opened quietly. Sheba leaned over the banister and looked down.
“You are, huh?”
Cecile couldn’t read the expression on Sheba’s dark face. “It’s only nine o’clock,” she said. “The Rammer came in before dinner. There’ll be plenty of people there, maybe even King. I want to see what’s going on.”
“You’ve been seeing what’s going on all day long.”
Sheba’s quiet watchfulness grated on Cecile’s nerves. “Mom would let me,” she said defensively. “I won’t go anywhere else.”
“I never thought you would, but I’m gonna hold you to that.” Sheba straightened up and turned back toward the study where she was reading a book to Jack.
What’s the big deal? Cecile thought, challenging her reflection in the mirror over the table. All I’m doing is going to the dock.
Two limousines were waiting in the parking area. The dock was lit up for a party, tiny lights on wires, looped between the pilings. Music from the Rammer floated over the water. Cecile climbed onto a piling near the boathouse to watch.
Everyone was at a party except her. And Lucy and Jack, and they were babies. Cecile took a strand of hair and chewed on the end, watching as women in colorful summer dresses threw back their heads and laughed and men with tanned faces slouched as they talked, their drinks conveniently replenished by a bartender who came up from the cabin, again and again.
It was too much to expect that she would be content to sit, all night, and do nothing. Not when the music was making her blood dance in time to the reflection of the lights sparkling on the water. I may not be fourteen, Cecile told herself as she jumped back off the piling, but I’m not a baby, either.
At the sound of footsteps, she turned. Stefan was coming toward her carrying a tray. He wore a white shirt, black pants, and a black bow tie. His long hair shone under the lanterns that had been placed on top of the tall poles lining the dock.
“Hello, Stefan,” Cecile said, leaning on his name, daring and reckless.
He looked at her without a spark of recognition. Insulted, she refused to back down. He had to say something to her—they were the only two people here, and Cecile lived on the Island while he worked for King. The bare truth of it shocked her. She lifted her chin, defiant and proud.
Then another voice called out from near the cabanas, another imperious voice, and Cecile felt ashamed.
“Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.” A tall, large-boned blond woman wearing very high heels teetered toward them. Sparkling earrings drooped from her ears; her mouth was scarlet, her teeth white, her dress cut so low, Cecile saw the white line of her tan across generous cleavage.
“I’d about given up on you,” the woman said as she came up to Stefan. “As soon as we finish our cocktails, we’re going into town. Mmm…these look luscious.” Putting a hand on Stefan’s shoulder, she moved her other hand in the air above the hors d’oeuvres, trying to make up her mind. Her hand dropped and two perfectly manicured fingers, like the talons of a hawk, closed around a stuffed clam. She bit into it, smiling into Stefan’s face as she chewed.
Cecile could have reached out and touched them, she was so close; the woman never even looked at her. The woman licked one finger and then the other before she said, “We’d better go before I eat them all,” and she and Stefan turned and walked toward the Rammer, the woman keeping her hand on Stefan’s shoulder as they walked. Cecile willed Stefan to turn around and look at her, but he didn’t.
Luscious, she mouthed cattily; she stuck out her tongue. And you, Stefan, letting a woman make eyes at you when she’s old enough to be your mother. Fine. Cecile’s mind was made up with a toss of her head. Since no one cares that I’m here, I’ll go someplace where they do care.
The idea must have been lurking in the back of her mind all night. It burst into flame and blazed as bright and clear as a bonfire as she ran up the steps. She knew the way, she would walk. Down the driveway, turn right, along the road half a mile, turn left at the pillared entrance. So what if there were no street lights? She’d driven the road a million times.
She flitted past Granddad’s house with its front porch lit up by huge lanterns, skimmed past the driveways to the cottage and the caretaker’s house, and arrived at the straightaway to the bridge. It stretched ahead of her like a shiny ribbon in the light of the half moon, calling, Follow me, follow me! Cecile was surprised to discover she was breathing heavily.
She walked along the bridge slowly until she got to the middle and leaned over the railing. The breeze was warm on her face. Sparks ricocheted off the surface of the water as it gurgled under her feet. The sharp smell of salt water seemed thick enough to eat.
How strange, to be in this spot, by herself, at night. It had never happened to her before. There were no streetlights lining the road, no other houses showing their lights through the trees. No hu
man sounds disturbed the silence, not even those she knew were being made at the dock. There was only the wind in her ears and the ripple of the water under the bridge.
The road to the club was dark. Cecile imagined the feel of it under her bare feet; the grass on the golf course would be damp and cold. How amazing it would be, to slip onto the green without the boys seeing her and join in the game, unannounced. Imagine the shock for the first boy who put his hands on her.
The breeze was suddenly cool. Cecile shivered and rubbed her arms, thinking about the long walk back. The dark road would be black by then; the driveway, silent and lonely. What if her parents were waiting for her, stony-faced, in the front hall? What then? Or even worse, what if the house itself was dark, the doors securely locked, everyone blissfully asleep in their beds, believing that Cecile was asleep, too, safe and warm.
Cecile looked back. The flag was still up in front of the house. The spotlight on the pole in front of Granddad’s house showed it drooping by itself in the night. Forgotten.
That never would have happened when they were little. They’d all begged to be the one to take it down every night. Granddad had had to make a rule that they’d rotate in order from the oldest to the youngest. Now nobody seemed to care except for Jack, who needed help to do it. Even Cecile had only taken it down once in all the days they’d been here.
She still cared, even if no one else did. She’d go back and take the flag down, fold it the proper way, and then go into the house and find something good to eat. Maybe she’d curl up on the couch and watch TV until Natalie came home. “Marco! Polo!” she called softly as she walked back up the drive. “Marco!”
A car coming around the corner on the bay road made a wet swishing sound. It slowed as it approached the island and suddenly turned, its headlights sweeping across the drive to light up the bridge. Cecile leaped into the grass and ducked down as the car’s tires rumbled on the wooden slats. When it rolled slowly past, she saw Natalie in the front seat, looking straight ahead. She heard the rhythmic thump of music.
The Lucky Ones Page 13
