Eliza froze. “Your mom? Margot Whitman? But she wasn’t on the list!” she explained in her defense. “And you said—”
Alan’s features relaxed. “She wasn’t on the list? Well, in that case . . . hold on . . . Ma! You didn’t RSVP!” he yelled into his wireless receiver. “How many times do I have to tell you, you gotta RSVP?! No, I can’t do it for you! I am a very, very busy man! Why don’t you ever listen to me? You don’t get in if you’re not on the list! Twenty-four hours of labor? C’mon, I run a business here!” Walking away, he patted Eliza on the shoulder, mouthing, “Good job.”
never trust a seven-year-old to keep a secret
ANNA PERRY FINALLY SHOWED UP FOR A WEEKLY PROGRESS meeting the next day. It was the Friday before the Fourth of July weekend, and she was taking the kids to Nantucket to visit their grandparents. Unfortunately for Anna, Kevin’s family didn’t believe in help, and so the au pairs were granted a holiday break as well.
“Oh, hello, Mara,” Anna said, actually standing up to kiss Mara on both cheeks.
Mara responded graciously, oblivious to Jacqui’s puzzled look.
Before heading to Seventh Circle last night, Mara and Garrett had bumped into Anna at the Boys & Girls Club annual harbor fireworks benefit, and Anna had noticed Mara chatting with Jessica Seinfeld. A dinner invitation to the Seinfelds’ was the Hamptons biggest “get,” and Anna had yet to score one.
“How is everyone today?” Anna asked, looking around the table pleasantly.
Philippe smirked and sat with his feet on top of the table, but Jacqui squirmed in her chair beside him. She was certain they were going to be fired after being caught fooling around in the game room by Zoë. Since then, she had stayed as far away from him as possible, rebuffing all his attempts to pick up where they’d left off. Jacqui was certain Anna was just relishing the moment before swinging the ax.
Anna went through the progress reports, which were more tragic than usual, even for the Perry kids. Dr. Abraham had reported that William was now showing signs of bipolar disorder on top of ADHD and that he and Cody—who was possibly schizophrenic—would have to be constantly monitored. Zoë still couldn’t recognize the Cyrillic alphabet (although she had memorized a Marie Claire article on how to find your G-spot—Zoë thought it was in her elbow), but Anna was strangely ebullient regardless.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day, now was it?” she asked, winking at Philippe while dispensing three cash-filled envelopes. “Jacqui darling, can you stay a bit?” she asked, as they filed out of the room.
“Sure,” Jacqui nodded, settling back into her seat apprehensively. Mara gave Jacqui a questioning look as she walked out, but Jacqui pretended not to see it. She hadn’t told Mara about Philippe, since she was well aware she’d broken her rule and she didn’t want to be lectured about it. She felt stupid enough already.
“First of all, Philippe has told me everything,” Anna said, once everyone had left and the door was closed.
This is it. I’m fired, Jacqui thought. Good-bye, East Hampton. Good-bye, New York. Hello, retail and sales, for the rest of my life.
“And I think it’s an excellent idea.” Anna nodded crisply, stuffing her papers into her handbag.
“Desculpe-me . . . er . . . pardon?”
“You, staying with us in New York for the year.” Anna smiled. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
“So you can finish your senior year in the city. That was the plan, wasn’t it? To attend Stuyvesant so you can apply to NYU?”
Jacqui nodded, speechless. Philippe had told Anna about that? Why? And why was Anna looking so happy about it?
“I think that can definitely be arranged,” Anna nodded thoughtfully. She blew her nose daintily on a pink tissue. “Nanny will be back, but she’ll need an assistant. The kids are getting so out of hand lately. Of course, you’ll have to work very hard.”
“Of course,” Jacqui said, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“And have absolutely no distractions,” Anna said meaningfully. “I have to insist on that. If you’re going to be working for us during the school year, I expect you to be above reproach this summer.” Anna glanced toward the door. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I see.” It slowly dawned on Jacqui what Anna was expecting from her in exchange for the job next year: Philippe.
“One other thing. I’ve decided to move Philippe into the main house. Zoë mentioned something about a particularly interesting game of pool she walked in on, and I really don’t think we can have that kind of behavior around the children. Understood?”
A heavy, tension-filled silence settled on the room. Anna’s laptop computer was the only sound for several seconds. Jacqui’s mind raced with the implications of Anna’s offer. On the one hand, Anna was offering her everything she was working toward that summer: a job, a place to stay, an opportunity to better herself. Yet on the other hand . . . there was Philippe. Philippe, with his sardonic grin, his angelic face, his bronzed, diesel-cut body. Philippe, the only guy since Luca who had set her blood pounding.
“Do you think you’ll be able to manage?”
It was a bribe. An out-and-out bribe. All right, Jacqui thought grimly. If that was what it took, that was what it took. She would stop seeing Philippe. Never kiss him again. Never run her fingers through his soft hair. But, hey, there were other guys, right? One hot French guy wasn’t worth her dream of moving to New York and going to college. No guy was worth her future.
She nodded. “Of course.”
Anna Perry smiled. “I knew I could trust you.”
the best things in life are free?
WORKING AT A NIGHTCLUB WAS NOWHERE NEAR AS glamorous as Eliza had expected it to be. Somehow even the ego stroke of deciding who was going to get in and who was going to have to call it a night didn’t make up for all the humiliations that catering to the celebrity and wannabe-celebrity clientele entailed. The other night she’d had to spritz a famous actress’s face with Evian mist every fifteen minutes, since the actress didn’t want her skin to dehydrate while she downed magnums of champagne.
And it was the opposite of glamorous when she’d opened her pay envelope and found out how much, exactly, she was actually making while working at Seventh Circle. She had stormed into Alan’s office, insisting that a mistake had been made. Alan glanced at her check. It appeared there had been a mistake—they hadn’t taken FICA taxes out, and the amount should have been even less. Eliza did the math and realized she was barely clearing minimum wage. When she complained to Kit, he told her that when he’d interned at Rolling Stone one semester after school, he hadn’t been paid a dime. It was a prestige job, not a paying one. Eliza was privileged enough to work at Seventh Circle, and surely, since her parents were doing better, she didn’t really need the money, right?
Except that she kind of did. Her parents had been generous enough to provide her the use of a MasterCard again, but after several trips to Calypso, Tracy Feith, and Georgina, she’d already maxed it out. She had to find a different stylish and sexy outfit to wear to work every night, and that was getting hard to do on a limited budget.
The job at Seventh Circle was supposed to be her entrée back into the good life, but instead of becoming an important fixture on the scene, like a junior Mitzi Goober, Eliza found herself catering to her former friends instead. The other day, she’d had to arrange for Sugar to bungee-jump off the top of the liquor cabinet—to the delight of her camera crew—and then sweep up the broken bottles she’d sent smashing to the floor.
Eliza arrived at the au pair cottage just in time to catch Mara and Jacqui counting the money in their pay envelopes. Philippe had already left for the weekend, citing an invitation from friends in Sag Harbor. Eliza felt a little ill seeing all that cash.
“Can we go to the bank?” Mara asked happily. If she spent one more summer working for the Perrys, she would have her entire college contribution covered.
Jacqui stuck her pay
envelope into her bureau drawer carelessly, taking out several hundred-dollar bills just in case they went anywhere fun. She planned to use most of the money to pay for her SAT class, which was expensive but would hopefully be worth it.
“What’s all this?” Eliza asked, noticing two rolling racks of clothes jammed in the corner. “Oh my God—are those the Sally Hershberger jeans?” Eliza squealed, pouncing on a pair of distressed denim jeans that retailed for one thousand dollars. “I want these,” Eliza said covetously, holding the jeans up to the light and examining them closely. “How on earth did you get them?” she asked Mara.
“Mara’s famous,” Jacqui teased, rifling through the shopping bags and finding a pretty psychedelic Pucci scarf. It was true. Garrett Reynolds was the heir to a billion-dollar fortune, and the papers chronicled his love life with the same zeal with which they documented the spiraling construction costs of the Reynolds Castle. (The blueprints had recently been leaked to the press, revealing the home’s thirty-five bathrooms.) Garrett’s former girlfriends included actresses like Kate Bosworth and rock royalty like Keith Richards’s model daughter Theodora. Mara’s relatively obscure background made her even more of a choice subject to the press, especially Lucky Yap, who loved to run photos of the very public, very attractive couple. Page Six had nicknamed them “Beauty and the Billionaire Boy.”
Mara blushed and explained in an apologetic tone that they were “gifts” from designers to wear around town.
“You mean these are free?” Eliza gasped. No wonder Mara had looked so good the other night at Seventh Circle. Eliza’s eyes widened as she pawed through the loot. The leopard-print Shoshanna cape! The latest Alvin Valley leather-band trousers! The turquoise-encrusted Marni dress! The two-thousand-dollar Devi Kroell python clutch!
“Wow, that is crazy,” Eliza said. “I can’t believe you have all these!”
The Sally Hershberger jeans! She’d been lusting for a pair ever since she read about them in Vogue. They were supposed to be the best jeans on earth, the softest, rarest European and Japanese denim cut by the hand by Sally Hershberger—the Hollywood stylist who charged six hundred dollars for a haircut.
“Do you think I could borrow them? We’re the same size, right?” Eliza asked, pulling the jeans out and pressing them against her legs.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mara said nervously. “I had to sign all these responsibility forms.”
Eliza pouted. “That’s only a formality. They really won’t want these back ever. Right, Jac?”
Jacqui shrugged. “They usually let you keep them, but it depends, I guess.”
Eliza had already stepped out of her cargos and zipped up the jeans. “They look amazing! I can’t believe they sent them to you!” She said.
“Why not?” Mara asked, feeling a little hurt. Eliza hadn’t come over to hang out with them all summer and now that she was here, she didn’t seem to think Mara deserved the free clothes from Mitzi.
Eliza didn’t answer. She was too excited to be wearing the jeans. “Can I borrow them? Please, please, please? With sugar on top?”
“Oh, all right,” Mara said, caving in. “But if anything happens to them . . . !” she raked her thumb across her neck.
Eliza squealed and hugged Mara tightly. “I owe you!”
Mara still didn’t feel it was totally right to lend Eliza clothes that weren’t hers, but she didn’t feel like she could really say no.
“So what’s going on with you and Garrett?” Eliza asked, changing back into her own clothes. Jacqui handed Eliza a shopping bag for the jeans.
“I like him,” Mara said hesitantly. “He’s a cool guy. I thought he was just some obnoxious rich kid, but he’s not.”
“What about Ryan?” Jacqui asked.
“He doesn’t even remember that I’m alive,” Mara shrugged. The new, aloof Ryan was sure not the sweet boy she remembered from last summer. “So, I don’t know. Who cares about him, right?”
Eliza felt relieved. It looked like she could stop worrying about Palm Beach. If Mara had moved on from Ryan, then who cared? Even Jacqui had stopped thinking it was a big deal. Like everyone else in the Hamptons, she’d started to think of Mara as Garrett Reynolds’s new girlfriend.
* * *
Mara found an outpost of her bank, and after depositing her money met Eliza and Jacqui at the Neiman Marcus Last Call store at the outlet mall, where they were browsing through the discounted designer offerings. The place was famous for selling glamorous duds from seasons past at fire-sale prices. Price tags were stamped with color-coded stickers according to date, and the longer they remained unsold, the cheaper they became.
“Check it out!” Eliza giggled, holding up a minuscule orange tube top with a busy multicolored print. “Do you think it’s too much?”
“It’s definitely loud,” Mara agreed.
“But it’s Missoni,” Eliza said reverently. “And in my size. I’m getting it. It’s going to look great with my new jeans,” she said, already feeling possessive of the Hershberger denim. She found several other choice pieces—a nifty little white Balenciaga coat dress that didn’t look too last-season, and a Yves Saint Laurent lipstick-print skirt with a small black smudge that Eliza was sure a good dry cleaner could get out. Jacqui found a gray Narciso Rodriguez shift and a pair of Christian Dior sunglasses, both at less than half price.
“You’re not getting anything?” Eliza asked Mara, as they walked up to the counter. “Did you see the Marc Jacobs flats back there?”
“I have the new ones,” Mara said, wiggling her toes in a pair of the designer’s bubble-gum-colored open-toed shoes.
“Oh,” Eliza said, feeling a little strange that Mara of all people would be the one with the latest “it” garments. She had thought all along that being associated with Seventh Circle would bring her those kinds of perks, but so far, the only bounty she’d scored was a free movie pass to a screening Kartik wasn’t interested in.
“I just have so many clothes at home that I haven’t even worn yet,” Mara sighed as she absently picked up an open perfume bottle near the counter and took a big sniff.
Did Mara not hear how snotty she sounded? “Yeah, I forgot, you’re like, the Julia Roberts of the Hamptons,” Eliza grumbled, even more ticked when her total at the cash register was more than what was left on her card. “Jac, do you think I could borrow a fifty?”
Jacqui shook her head while handing Eliza the money. Eliza would never change. Give the girl a million bucks and she would still be broke by midweek. Apparently looking like a million cost that much too. Unless you were Mara Waters, of course.
the world looks better from atop a pedestal (or a table)
“CAN WE GET ONE OF MARA ONLY?” THE PHOTOGRAPHERS demanded when Garrett and Mara stepped out of the Maybach at the entrance to Seventh Circle late on a Saturday night. Since the Fourth of July, which they’d spent together on the Reynoldses’ boat watching fireworks burst above the Atlantic, the two of them had been inseparable.
“Be my guest,” Garrett bowed, stepping aside. “She’s something else, isn’t she?” he asked, as Mara was blinded by flashbulbs.
“You are such a star,” he growled in her ear as they settled into their usual table. Even though she’d initially gone out with Garrett only to make Ryan jealous, Mara couldn’t help but enjoy his company.
He swung an arm around the back of the booth and put his hand possessively on her shoulder. She snuggled underneath his armpit, liking the feel of his heavy hand on her bare skin. Garrett leaned over for a kiss, settling in to nuzzle his cheek against her neck at the same moment she looked up from the table, straight into the eyes of Ryan Perry. He was standing next to Allison, who was waving to Garrett.
Garrett disengaged from Mara’s cleavage. “Perry!” he said, throwing out a hand. “Hey, Ali. What are you doing with this bozo?” he joked.
Ryan shook Garrett’s hand grimly. “Hi, Garrett. Mara.”
“Hey,” she said back. It was the most Ryan had said to her all wee
k. Usually he’d just nod at her curtly if she bumped into him at the house.
Garrett stood up to kiss Allison on the cheek. “Sit down with us, c’mon.”
Ryan raised his eyebrow to Allison, who shrugged and returned Garrett’s smile. “Sure,” she said, taking the seat next to Garrett.
Ryan was wearing a loose-fitting guayabera shirt and faded blue jeans, what he used to joke was “surfer black-tie.” Garrett suddenly looked overdressed in his Dolce & Gabbana French-cuffed dress shirt and starchy dark denim jeans.
Mara disengaged herself from Garrett, but Ryan turned around and started talking only to Allison, who was giggling at something Garrett was whispering in her other ear. Garrett explained that he and Allison went to the same prep school back in New York, and soon, the three of them began talking about kids they knew in common.
“Did you hear about Fence Preston? He’s about to blow up, for sure,” Garrett was saying.
“You’re so much cuter,” Allison said, poking Ryan in the nose affectionately.
Mara, who had no idea who or what a Fence Preston was, felt nervous and neglected. But Garrett made sure to refill her glass whenever it was half-empty, and she began downing drinks with a vengeance.
“Let’s do shots,” Garrett suggested.
“Sure,” Mara agreed.
Garrett ordered a bottle of Goldschläger and poured the clear liquid with golden sparkles into four glasses.
“This stuff is gross,” Allison said daintily, taking a small sip and making a face.
Ryan grimly knocked his back. Mara, wanting desperately to impress him, did the same with hers. “Let’s do another!” Garrett howled, and the three of them pounded back a few more.
It was right about the time that all four shots hit Mara that the DJ played his nightly remix of Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.” Seventh Circle regulars like Garrett and Mara recognized it as the Seventh Circle anthem. It was the song that officially kicked off the evening and was guaranteed to get the celebrities dancing on the tables.
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