by A. R. Taylor
“Right. After flying to Wyoming, almost getting killed.”
“I know.”
Jenna paused, “Wait, how did you know about that?”
Tasha took a sip of her gin and tonic, picking out a slice of lime and chewing on the rind reflectively. “I hear things. Hull told us.”
“Us?”
“Everybody in publicity.”
“From what I’ve seen, I can’t imagine that he likes publicity.”
“Our job is to make sure that nothing personal about him gets reported. He wants a carefully manufactured image for NewsLink, but nothing that will reflect on his own private doings. Even the seventy-five-million-dollar Mark Rothko painting he bought last month he tried to hide, but of course the auction house leaked it. It’s an anti-publicity department, dedicated to personal paranoia and the putting-out of fires. We could craft a fabulous image for him because he is indeed revered for his philanthropy, not only in education, but also his commitment to very important medical research; and yet he won’t let us talk about any of it. He just doesn’t get how a carefully crafted image can overwhelm the modern world and make everyone forget the bad stuff. I should look for another job.”
“Why don’t you?” Jenna almost had to shout over the drinkers and diners.
“There are perks. And I’m very good at what I do.” This lovely woman with the silken brown skin and high cheekbones stared down into the vastness of her drink. Just then two tipsy, well-dressed young men rattled by, stopping suddenly near them, as if hitting a wall.
“Whoa, where have you been since I last came here?” the taller of the two said to Tasha.
“Sitting right here, waiting for you.” She gave Jenna a look.
“What about you, cutie?” The other man was a cheeky fellow sporting a pocket-handkerchief and a polka-dotted tie.
Jenna looked up into some very white teeth and a dazzling smile. “What about me?”
“Are you from around here?” The two men laughed.
“Not really. I’m a visitor from Ohio, just passing through.”
“Thank you for stopping by,” Tasha unexpectedly said and handed the first young man her card. “We’ll see you later,” she added, and he turned away.
“Why did you do that?”
“Just to get rid of him. There was no other way, really. Besides, as I said, you shouldn’t cut yourself off. Working where we do, you can get a weird sense of things. Stuff seems normal that is actually bizarre. You need to be careful. It’s all very seductive.”
Jenna couldn’t tell exactly what she was trying to say, except possibly, “Don’t be swayed by all the luxury.”
“Men know things and do things,” Tasha announced cryptically.
“Really. I thought they just existed to cause pain.”
“Now, now. Spoken like a woman with a past, and you’re too young for that, aren’t you?”
“Even a five-year-old has a past.” At this Tasha looked away, embarrassed at what she pretended not to understand.
Along about her second martini, Jenna focused again on the bar, scanning it more thoroughly than before. To her shock, at the far end right near where all the olives and onions and lemons sat swimming in juice, she spotted none other than Inti Weill, looking extraordinarily handsome and happy. His black hair had grown longer and curled over his ears, and his face seemed fuller. Those lush eyebrows and deep dark eyes made him look exotic, out of another time, like an Edwardian actor, and his longish blue silk shirt hanging over black cords intensified the effect. After a moment he caught sight of Jenna, too, and immediately made his way to their table. “Hello, beautiful.”
“I could have said the same to you. You look great. This is Tasha—”
“I know. We’ve sparred together over what can and cannot be said about the great Vincent Hull.” He saluted her and pulled over a stray chair. Tasha seemed more than pleased to see him, enchanted almost, and asked him right away about his recent move. “Yes, I’ve decamped to the hinterlands, not an entirely unattractive place, though I do come back here for contact with the fashionable world, and with you two, of course. You never call or write, Jenna, what’s up with that?”
“If you’re ignoring this gorgeous man, I might have to step in.” Tasha eyed the young man with such intensity that Jenna herself interrupted.
“I won’t let you. He’s mine, for this moment anyway.”
Inti smiled at her and winked. “I thought you might go off with those two investment-banker type guys.”
“Never. Now tell us about Rye.” Tasha still gazed at him with her full attention.
What Jenna learned that night: Zoning was hell in Rye, history lived in the form of a pumpkin head hurled at Ichabod Crane, someone or something was killing small dogs and cats, and all the locals regarded their specific location in that town as the closest spot to heaven. After that weird evening at Hull’s, she had never contacted him, but he hadn’t called her either, and now she wondered how their uneasy threesome would split apart to get out of there. Fortunately, Tasha took the lead, kissing her on the cheek and patting Inti on the shoulder. “Just keep drinking, people. It’s the only solution.”
Inti stayed seated, looking at her in all his soft receptivity. He had barely glanced at the other woman when she left. “So, what about coming up to Rye?”
“It’s a little far for an evening, isn’t it?”
“Not really. Thirty-six to forty-four minutes on the Metro-North from Grand Central, but who’s counting? Beautiful trip.”
“What would we do up there?” Immediately horrified that somehow or other she was suggesting that only sex would make it worthwhile.
Inti just laughed. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
TWO
Two days later at work, almost six in the evening, Jenna was finishing up the latest of her “dear concerned reader” letters. Jorge made several moves to leave, but then came around to her desk and sat on the edge, looking agitated. “Listen, it’s getting pretty weird around here lately.” He spoke in a low voice because Hull still occupied his office.
“Lately? It seems weird all the time.”
“Shh. Wait.” He pulled her into the hall immediately outside the office suite. “Mr. Hull comes and goes at all hours. Even though he mostly stays in New York now, he only comes into the office really late, like tonight”—he motioned toward the massive closed door—“and he’s buying anything and everything he can lay his hands on. I’ve been watching the man for years. He starts buying stuff when he’s upset.”
“He’s a billionaire, Jorge. Aren’t they always upset? And buying stuff?” Jenna laughed at this and flicked him on the arm.
“How many billionaires have you known?”
She held up one finger, then waggled it at him. “What does he buy?”
“He bought a Porsche Boxster for his older daughter. She’s fourteen now, but he says he’s going to save it and use it as an incentive for good behavior.”
“Oh boy.”
“He bought three Patek Philippe watches, god knows for what.”
“He wants to be on time? Or he wants to calculate everybody else’s time and try to be late? That must be it. Listen, this is way beyond what I understand. I’m just trying to stay here and work. Job retention, the key to my personal happiness, that and getting out of town on the weekends.”
At this moment Hull’s doorway swung open, and the big man stood in its archway, his hands above his head, as if holding the building up. “You two still here?”
They nodded stupidly, but Jorge moved toward his desk, pulling his jacket off the chair, making ready to leave. Hull disappeared back into his office, and Jenna just sat, confused as to whether she should go home. “Maybe you should wait a minute,” Jorge suggested.
“You’re abandoning me.”
“Mother and brother await.”
She waved goodbye to him, opening up yet another demented letter from a reader. She was marveling at the fiery language and the sma
ll, cleverly drawn revolver squiggled just above the name Jared, when Hull buzzed her. She peered at the flashing blue light in alarm, straightening her blouse and pulling on her sweater, preparing herself—for what, she didn’t know—and walked into his office. “Where are you on the art inventory?” He did not even look at her.
“Almost finished. I have all the papers and receipts from Lanai and—”
Hull interrupted her. “Not necessary to go there. Those pictures aren’t worth much anyway, just fill in the blanks or whatever. Sabine picked them out.”
“I still haven’t done anything about Water Mill, because your family stays there almost all the time in the summer, but I definitely need to photograph those pictures, quite valuable I think.” She let this suggestion hang for a moment, nervously, because it was crucial to any plan to leave town in this bright, brutal August. She had nowhere else to go.
“I thought you’d gone out there already?”
“No, how could I have?”
He gave her a stern look, but then his face softened, and for just a moment he seemed human, more than that, in need of something. But what, she couldn’t tell. His deep eyes focused on the street far below. “We’ll have to arrange that, possibly even this weekend might work out. You can call Sabine, and she’ll fix it for you.”
Jenna worried over this at her desk, but since she had to get the work done, she forced herself to call. The soft tones of the Frenchwoman scared her slightly, as if they were just a tiny hint of the screams and screeches yet to come should she upset her, or more likely someone else, like her husband. Fortunately, Mrs. Hull announced that she and her husband, along with the girls, would go out to close up the Wyoming house for the summer, so she should just come ahead next weekend. What? Could this really happen? A fantastic dream rose up before her that involved staying for two and a half days in a lovely small village in the Hamptons, alone in what must be a magnificent residence. Would servants be there, the golden retriever or maybe even more dogs? She was afraid to ask.
Packing for the next weekend with great care, Jenna could just see herself playing mistress of the place, or at least living out some sort of mistress fantasy. Hull had hired a livery car for her since Angelo was otherwise occupied, so she wouldn’t have to take the jitney, which was a bus really, no matter how cute its name. The weather had gone exceptionally steamy in Manhattan, and her roommates had dropped down to mordant sniping about the life she led. They envied her, though they kept advising her that it wasn’t “real.”
“Real enough for a weekend away from the city. I’ll bet they have a pool.” They surely had a pool and much, much more. Jenna did have a pang of guilt about Inti, though. He had called twice, and finally she had had to explain to him her mission in the Hamptons. In his voice she could hear skepticism of some kind, suggestive yes, but finally he told her that the following weekend belonged to the two of them in Rye, and she agreed, overjoyed at two such delectable prospects.
The Hull summer home occupied an acre of land on the edge of Mecox Bay in Water Mill, a hamlet in the town of Southampton, and as the Lincoln Town Car drove up to the front door via the long curving driveway, Jenna could hardly believe that this was what her boss sometimes referred to as the camp or the summer house. Two carved stone pillars framed the front door, and up around the vast structure, trees hid much of the actual shape of the house. Jenna pushed on the brass door-knocker, and a smiling black woman in a white uniform, presumably the housekeeper awaiting her arrival, took her overnight bag in hand and ushered her up an elegant, carpeted staircase into a bedroom with a window overlooking the lawn. Her room had a stone fireplace, exposed brick walls lined with dark wooden bookshelves, austere and grand, but, by way of contrast, there was a low, Chinese-style bed covered in painted yellow silk. Several grinning Chinese Buddhas sat on a chest at its foot. Jenna pulled up the bamboo shades and looked out at the bay across the lawn.
The evening air felt blissfully silky and full, at least inside, perhaps the result of whisper-soft air conditioning. She threw her bag into the closet, deciding to go to work, clipboard in hand, to check out the paintings. She crept down the immense staircase and determined that she would start in the living room. Almost eight by now, an evening summer glow filled the room, intensified by the blown-glass chandelier that swayed overhead, and she found herself surrounded by more exposed brick and great stretches of distressed wood, like a hideout of some sort, insistently masculine. Jenna didn’t consciously set out to snoop, since there might be security cameras or possibly the housekeeper would be keeping tabs on her, but she wanted to see everything and learn all she could about this potentate’s world. Descending three steps into the living room, she spotted a large square painting by the French doors leading outside. A presumably naked young woman stood submerged in a pool of water, her shoulders visible, her head turned away, a strong hand clasping a wet handful of hair, so wet that it looked real. Only a slight swell of breasts underwater indicated the rest of her body. She looked for the artist’s signature and could make out M. Bélange in the left hand corner, someone she had never heard of.
Jenna found her quite beautiful, frozen as she was in her contemplative pose, but she quickly got distracted. When she looked out the floor-to-ceiling window before her, at once she knew she had to feel the soles of her feet sinking into that luxurious expanse of lawn. Outside, the wind brushed the trees like a hot sigh. Fortunately, she had worn a short cotton dress, and she could fan herself with the skirt. Jenna could glimpse parts of other nearby houses, one with a dock and a small boat, another incongruously rising up like a modern castle. She stepped onto the grass and heard something slap the water rhythmically. Walking farther down toward the water, she could see a lone kayaker flailing his way past her, and he waved. She waved back.
Overwhelmed with a sense of luxury and calm, she sank down onto the grass, watching as a runner passed by on the driveway of the house next door. She saw several children playing outside, barely visible but definitely audible, kicking a soccer ball, and here and now she applauded the life of the rich, even if only as an onlooker. Still, she had to work and started back toward the other side of the house.
But she stopped about halfway. Before her she could just barely make out a small infinity pool rippling in the distance, and upon closer examination, she saw that the bottom was black, so it resembled a spring flowing up out of the ground. It seemed almost menacing in the shadows, and yet she sat down on the side and dangled her feet in the cool water. “Don’t worry,” she said out loud. “A big hairy monster isn’t going to come and get you.” All around her the steamy air seemed to quiver, and sweat ran down her neck. She looked back toward the children—they must have gone inside, and she could no longer see anyone else out in the bay.
Without a thought, Jenna stripped off her dress, her panties and bra, throwing them over a lounge chair, and slid slowly into the blissful water. So good it felt, silky warm and smooth, but still she splashed around in what looked like a bottomless pond. Weren’t there lights somewhere? In the darkness she could see a chunky steel box, and she swam over to it, spotting three square knobs. Would one sink her to the bottom? She laughed at herself. Only the Irish could think such things, so taking her life in her hands, she pushed the first knob, and behold, lights turned on all around her under the water. She swam now in a sea of shimmering light, and when she lay back, her white legs glistened, her recently painted red toes pointed up toward the sky, and she squealed in delight. Floating on her back for a time, she looked up at the stars.
Within her reverie, though, she heard a strange sound. Could it be, what, footsteps in the grass? No, not possible, but maybe the housekeeper had come looking for her? She straightened up and began to tread water, glancing feverishly about. Out of the darkness a tall figure strode down from the house toward her, a determined man, the one who owned this place, Vincent Macklin Hull. Panicked, she swam to the side toward her clothes, but then she would have to get out of the pool, naked as she
came into this world, so improvising, she sank down to her chin, in a vain attempt to hide herself. Horrible man, always inserting himself into the lives of others. This was meant to be her own little weekend in the paradise of the Hamptons, but instantly she kicked her right leg against her left shin for being a fool and awaited with certainty the end of her time as a moocher off the privileged and the great.
Hull was dressed in khakis and an open shirt, holding a drink, and he looked more youthful in the dark, while Jenna’s naked limbs glistened as if in klieg lights. She couldn’t possibly hide them. As she held her breath, Hull, now directly above her at the side of the pool, began to laugh. In response, Jenna slid lower and lower, so deep she swallowed water, until at last the man spoke. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Summoning up what little dignity she could muster, she kicked herself upward and sang out, “Your wife told me you would both be in Wyoming this weekend.” At that she dropped back down into the water.
“Change of plans. How’s the inventory going?”
“Great.”
He really laughed now, as Jenna sank again, getting another big gulp of chlorine. When she popped up for air, he was stretched across one of the lounge chairs on the pool deck, taking another swig out of his glass. “I changed my mind at the last minute about going. Too much to do here. I don’t know, I don’t know anymore.”
Given her own family’s fondness for situations, Jenna knew right away that she faced one now, hers quite obvious, his not so clear. He raised his head, angrily almost. “Anything to say?”
“I’m just visiting, the house I mean.” I feel out of place and prune-y, she wanted to add, but already she looked ridiculous and could not foresee any way to get out of that pool, like forever. “It’s so damned hot outside.”
