“Also, I need to let my dog out. Where should I do that?” I asked.
“I’ll send someone up for your dog,” the smooth voice said.
“Really?” I exclaimed. “Thanks, that would be very helpful.”
“Of course, madam. May I assist you with anything else?”
“No, that should do it,” I said, smiling into the phone. I went to the window and opened the coral drapes, which color-coordinated with the walls and patterned carpet. Sunshine streamed into the room, and I looked out at my upgraded ocean view. I inhaled deeply and felt my shoulders relax for the first time in weeks. I’d always loved Palm Beach. It was so beautiful, so glamorous. Even the beaches were more luxurious here—the sand was powdery white and the sea was a Caribbean blue, dotted with bursts of white foam.
“You know,” I said conversationally to Harper Lee, “I think it’s going to be a great day.”
Service at The Breakers was a dream. A bellboy came right up to fetch Harper Lee, who was just starting to turn in circles and make her I need to pee face. He whisked her away, and by the time they returned, business completed, our food had arrived. I feasted as though I hadn’t eaten in days. Which, I supposed, I really hadn’t. The omelet was stuffed with shaved ham and oozing cheese, the juice was freshly squeezed, and the basket of muffins and rolls tasted as though they’d come straight from a Parisian bakery. (Or so I imagined, having never been to a real Parisian bakery.) Harper Lee gulped down her scrambled eggs, grunting happily as she ate.
After breakfast, I took a long, hot shower in the luxurious marble bathroom, which was stocked with private-label toiletries. Then I put the courtesy robe back on and got into bed with my book. I would have loved to lounge poolside, sipping a fruity drink, but I was too nervous that someone would recognize me after all of the television coverage. Still, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent an entire morning lounging around in bed. It was deliciously decadent, and I enjoyed every minute. Despite my huge breakfast, I was famished by the early afternoon. I ordered room service again, this time a club sandwich with extra bacon. I gave one quarter of it to Harper Lee, who wolfed it down in one gulp.
“Don’t get too used to it,” I warned her. “We can’t eat like this every day, or we’ll both pork up.”
Harper Lee grinned up at me and rested her paws on my knees. She folded her ears back fetchingly.
“You’re not getting any more of my sandwich,” I told her sternly.
Her little stump of a tail wagged furiously. I relented and handed over another stacked square of the club sandwich. Harper Lee lunged for it, narrowly missing taking a bite out of my hand with her sharp teeth, and retreated to a patch of sunlight by the window to eat her sandwich.
As the afternoon rolled along, I started to get bored and restless. I’d finished rereading Mockingbird and realized I should have packed a longer, denser book. Maybe one of the Russian novels that take weeks to read. I turned on the television and flipped through the channels. Thankfully, the talking heads on the cable news channels weren’t covering the Lottery Seductress story today. Instead, they’d turned their attention to another, more salacious story: an infamous Washington, D.C., madam who was threatening to reveal her client list. Everyone was speculating who the rumored clients were; the madam had hinted that they included several high-powered and well-known politicians.
I turned off the television and laid back in the bed. But now, instead of reveling in this new-found decadence, I noticed that my body ached from lying down for so long. Somehow, I eventually drifted off to sleep. While I napped, I dreamed nonstop. In one, I walked in on Elliott having sex with my sister. And when I asked what the hell they were doing, Emma looked up and began to tell me in excruciating detail about how she was going to have not one but three wedding ceremonies, each in a different country. And the entire time she nattered on about whether she should have the second wedding in Italy or France, Elliott stood there, his face tensed in concentration as he thrust his hips into her. It was an awful dream, and I woke from it with a start. It took me a long, groggy moment to realize someone was knocking on the door.
“Coming,” I said groggily. I stood up, adjusting the robe around me. It’s probably the bellboy, ready to take Harper Lee out again, I thought. Harper Lee clearly had the same thought; she was already by the door when I got there, her tail wagging and her body squirming happily.
I opened the door—and saw that it wasn’t the bellboy after all.
“Ta-da!” Hayden cried out. She let go of her wheeled suitcase and threw her arms around me. She still smelled exactly the same as she had in college—a mixture of Fracas perfume and cigarette smoke.
“Happy to see me?” she asked, pulling back from our hug to beam at me. She looked the same too—the glossy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, the chic bangs, the ruby-red lips. She was thinner than she was the last time I saw her, though, and there were faint laugh lines just barely visible at the corners of her slanted, striking green eyes, which lent her a vulnerability she hadn’t had before. It figured: Hayden was exactly the sort of woman who would manage to look even more glamorous as she aged.
“I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life,” I said.
Hayden ordered up Bellinis from room service. “I need a drink after that flight,” she said with a shudder, as she collapsed into a yellow chintz armchair. “There was a baby screaming back in coach the entire flight. Sometimes I think I’d like to have a baby, and then I meet one. Changes my mind every time.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s different when they’re your own,” I said, thinking of Maisie’s twins, sadness suddenly twisting in my heart. I missed Maisie and her boys. I wondered how she’d react when she opened the envelope with the check I’d mailed on my way out of Ocean Falls. I wished I could be there to see her face when Maisie learned that all of her financial problems would be instantly wiped out. She and Joe would finally be able to pay off what they owed and put aside college tuition for the twins. I imagined the tears shining in Maisie’s eyes, gratitude mixing with guilt over having yelled at me during our last conversation.
“You think?” Hayden asked. She shrugged. “At the rate I’m going, I’ll probably never find out.”
“You and me both,” I said, and we fell into a melancholy silence that was broken only when room service arrived with our drinks and a dish of shelled pistachio nuts. The sight of the slender crystal goblets filled with champagne and crushed peaches had an instantly buoying effect on Hayden’s mood.
“I think we should make a rule right here and now: no sulking over men. They’re not worth it. They’re a waste of Kleenex,” she announced.
“Hear, hear,” I said. I raised my champagne flute to her. “Here’s to a man-free life.”
“Unless we’re using them for sex,” Hayden amended as she raised her flute too. We clinked glasses and then drank.
“Oh, my God,” I said. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”
“I know,” Hayden said, tossing a handful of pistachios in her mouth. Harper Lee had jumped into her lap, and Hayden stroked the dog’s head absently. “We need a plan. First things first: We’ll head over to Crane Hill.” She looked me up and down. I was still wearing the hotel robe. “Do you have any clothes?”
“Just what I wore here.”
“Good! I’ll take any excuse to go shopping.”
“You sound like Emma,” I said.
“How is your sister?”
“She’s fine. Well, insane but fine. She’s getting married in February and won’t be content until her wedding rivals Princess Diana’s.”
“Good for her,” Hayden said approvingly. “Although I’m so over weddings. If I ever get married, I’m going to elope.”
“Like to Las Vegas?” I asked. The incongruous picture of the coolly elegant Hayden in a tacky, over-the-top wedding chapel, complete with an Elvis impersonator officiating, amused me.
“No. City hall, I think. I’ll we
ar a vintage Chanel suit and maybe even a little pillbox hat, just like Grace Kelly in one of those old movies from the fifties. Don’t you think that would be sweet?” Hayden mused.
“I thought we were off men,” I said.
“We are. I’m not talking men, I’m talking weddings. Totally different. Anyway, where were we? Oh, right: shopping.”
“Okay. But nothing over the top. All I really need are some jeans, a few tops, a sundress, a bathing suit. Basic stuff. I’m pretty sure I can get it all at the Gap,” I said.
Hayden ignored me. “We’ll go to Neiman and Saks, of course. And there’s a darling boutique on Worth Avenue that carries Tocca dresses. Those would look fabulous on you. And we’ll have to do something about your hair.”
I raised a protective hand to my hair, which was, as usual, rioting out of control.
“What do you want to do to my hair?” I asked nervously.
“Cut it. Something short and choppy, I think.”
“My hair doesn’t do short and choppy. You see these curls?” I held up a fistful of ringlets to demonstrate. “If you cut them short, they stand straight up, afro-style.”
“You worry too much,” Hayden said, with a dismissive flap of her hand. “You have to trust me.”
“I do,” I said. And I did trust Hayden; she had fabulous taste. But she was also naturally gorgeous. Unlike me.
“Maybe just a few inches,” I said cautiously, touching my curls again. “And I’ve always wanted to try highlights.”
Hayden shook her head dismissively. “Your hair is too distinctive. You’ve been all over the news, remember? You’re the—what’s that they’re calling you?”
“The Lottery Seductress,” I said miserably.
“Right. Well, everyone knows that the Lottery Seductress has distinctive brown curly hair. If you’re ever going to be able to go out in public again, we’re going to have to get you a new look. One no one will recognize.”
I had to admit, this was sound reasoning.
“Maybe you’re right,” I conceded.
“Maybe? Please. I’m always right,” Hayden said, giving me a saucy wink. She downed the rest of her Bellini. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We have much to do!”
The sun was starting to sink down in the sky by the time we got to Crane Hill. Like many of the estates on Palm Beach, a tall, manicured privacy hedge surrounded the property. Hayden had rented a little red coupe at the airport, and she drove up to the front gate, leaned out the window, and keyed a four-digit code into the touch pad mounted there.
“Zero-four-two-three,” she told me. “The birthday of Dad’s favorite dog. Remember Pepper?”
I did. Pepper was a black standard poodle, with dark intelligent eyes. He died when we were in college; Hayden had cried for weeks. “Wasn’t there a Salt too?”
“Yeah, but she was a submissive pee-er and had panic attacks whenever it thundered out, so everyone preferred Pepper.”
“Poor Salt.”
Hayden shrugged as if to say, That’s life. The gates swung open slowly, allowing the red car to pass through. The driveway curved around in a circle under a portico, and just beyond was Crane Hill. The house was a sweeping two-story structure with a central building and two symmetrical wings. It had white stone walls, a classic red tile roof, and three grand archways over the front steps. Every time I saw it, I was newly impressed by the sheer grandeur of the place.
“It’s smaller than I remember,” I said dryly.
Hayden gave a snort of derision. “My parents have never believed in subtlety,” she said. She parked the car and threw open her door. With a swing of long legs, which were still sporting the last traces of a summer tan, she was out of the car. I moved a little slower, making sure Harper Lee’s leash was on before we got out of the car. In my faded black T-shirt and decidedly unhip black pants, I felt underdressed just to stand in the driveway.
As if she was reading my thoughts, Hayden glanced over at me and said, “It’s going to be just us. I didn’t even call the housekeeping service to let them know we’d be here,” she said. “Is that okay?”
“Can I live without a maid, you mean?” I asked. I shook my head with faux regret; after all, my minuscule teacher’s salary had never exactly stretched to include domestic help. When my toilet needed scrubbing, I was the one to do it. “I guess I’ll have to find a way to manage.”
Hayden ignored me. She was, oddly enough, crouching down behind the purple flowering bougainvillea bushes that bordered the front door; she appeared to be searching for something.
“What are you doing?” I asked, coming up behind her and peering over her shoulder. The only thing I saw was a long lizard scuttling along the white pebbled ground.
“Here!” Hayden said triumphantly. She seized one of the larger rocks and shook it once before holding it up to show me. “Ta-da! The key!”
“What, in there?” I asked.
But even as I spoke, Hayden had turned the fake rock over, popped off a plastic panel set in the bottom, and extracted a silver house key.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked incredulously.
“What? It’s a key holder.”
“I know what it is. I’m just stunned that anyone who owns a multimillion-dollar waterfront Palm Beach estate would hide the door key in a fake rock in the front garden,” I said.
“Rich people get locked out too,” Hayden said. “Besides, the house also has a state-of-the-art alarm system. This is just to get through the front door.”
She stood, dusting off the skirt of her immaculate white sundress, and headed to the door. I followed behind her, pulling the suitcase she’d abandoned in the driveway. Hayden unlocked the door and then hurried through it to turn off the now-beeping alarm.
“It’s the same code as the gate,” she called back over her shoulder to me.
“Pepper’s birthday.”
“Right. Well, don’t just stand out there—come on in!”
The front door opened onto a vast airy foyer with a vaulted frescoed ceiling, black-and-white-checked marble floor, and a huge round table in the middle. The last time I’d been here, there had been an enormous arrangement of pink and white roses displayed on the table; now there was only an empty crystal vase.
Hayden and I took a quick house tour. There was the living room, with the pale-blue silk couches and wing chairs; the cozier wood-paneled den, featuring a built-in bar and a flat-screen television; the modern kitchen with slate-tile floors, granite countertops, and stainless-steel Sub-Zero fridge; and my favorite feature of the house: the back lanai, which curved around a huge kidney-shaped pool and had a breathtaking view of the ocean. The lanai was scattered with teak lounge chairs outfitted with teal cushions that exactly matched the color of the pool tile.
I breathed in deeply, relaxing fully as I looked out at the ocean. The water was calm as it rippled up toward the sandy beach. Even though the sun was setting behind us, the sky over the water was a glorious pink and ribboned with clouds.
“Wow,” I said softly.
“I know. This is exactly what I needed,” Hayden said, sighing deeply. “Do you want to go for a swim?”
“I don’t have a suit,” I said. I let Harper Lee off her leash, and she made herself at home, settling in on one of the chaise lounges.
“Go look in the cabana. There are usually extra suits in there,” Hayden said, nodding to a pool house that was about as big as my actual house back in Ocean Falls.
But even as I headed off to change, Hayden just stripped off her dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra; just the smallest wisp of a thong, which she stepped out of. Naked, she looked even thinner. I could see her ribs standing out prominently under her pale skin. But her small breasts were high and taut over a nipped-in waist and rounded hips. I couldn’t help noticing that she had waxed away most of her pubic hair, leaving behind only a narrow strip. Hayden didn’t seem at all self-conscious of her nudity. She strode casually to the edge of the pool, raised her arms overhead, and dov
e in. I wondered what it must be like to go through life so confident, so self-assured.
“How’s the water?” I asked, when she’d resurfaced.
“Amazing,” she said, dipping her hair back into the water, away from her face. “Absolutely perfect.”
“I’ll be right in,” I said, as I ducked into the cabana. It was possibly the prettiest room I had ever seen. The walls were painted a soft azure blue, and a pair of identical sofas covered in white linen faced each other. A canopy bed that arched up like a birdcage was framed with frothy white panels and piled high with a fluffy snowy-white duvet and pillows. I felt an impulse to jump in it and burrow down under the pristine bedding. If I could have any bedroom in the world, this would be it, I thought.
I opened a huge armoire with intricately carved doors and inside found an armful of towels and a dozen bathing suits in various sizes, all with the tags still on. I tried not to gape at the prices, which were each over a hundred dollars. And for guest-room bathing suits! I bought my bathing suits at Target, and even then I usually waited for a sale.
I found a suit in my size—a one-piece in cherry red cut much lower in front and higher in the legs than I would ever have picked out for myself—and put it on. Then I grabbed a few towels and went back out to the pool, where Hayden was now swimming laps, her long legs scissoring effortlessly through the water. She looked up when I approached and smiled approvingly at me.
“That suit is hot,” she said. “Red is definitely your color.”
“Really?” I looked down at myself. “I never wear it.”
“Well, you should. You coming in?”
“Yes.” Instead of diving in, as Hayden had, I walked around the shallow end and slowly descended the tiled stairs. “Brrr! It’s freezing! I thought you said it was nice.”
Good Luck Page 12
