Making her way back to her room (through the house that looked exactly as demolished as you’d expect on the last day of a three-day weekend), she knew that in just a few short hours their first weekend would be over and they’d finally be heading home. However, when she crept into bed and sought the sleep her body so desperately craved, she found herself unable to attain it.
Just when she’d reached the brink of frustration, sure that the morning light precluded any possibility of sleep, she drifted off. When she awoke with a start, the two beds across from her were empty, their sheets cast sloppily aside.
She hurried out to find her friends, though what she found instead was tension. Watching hungover groups (whose sole aim over the past three days had been peak inebriation) hauling out luggage with renewed responsibility, Allison could feel the start of the workweek upon them.
Fortunately, not everyone felt this way. Last days in the Hamptons were split down the middle: like a movie-theater crowd, half the people made a run for it before the credits started to roll (hoping to beat the rush), while the other half lingered in their seats passively, clearly in no rush to get anywhere.
Thinking her friends were in the latter category, Allison was just about to reach for the sliding door leading to the pool when someone whooshed it open from the other side.
“Hey,” Josh said warmly, assuming her delayed appearance to be proof she’d really sought sleep and not escape from him. And foiling her plan to avoid him completely. “We called in an order at Goldberg’s. Take a ride with me?” Calling in group orders was one of the first tricks they’d learned that weekend. By doing so, you wouldn’t have to wait on the insanely long line once you got there (or risk having the town’s sole bagel store run out of bagels—something conceivable only in the Hamptons).
“I should probably see what the girls are up to,” she said, afraid her disconcerted expression might give something away.
“They’re just lying out, we’ll be back in five minutes,” he said, tugging at her arm. When she still hesitated, he added, “I got you a toasted poppy seed with that vegetable cream cheese you like.” And with that, Allison supposed she was going to the bagel store.
They could have made it halfway to Manhattan, though, in the amount of time the short ride back took. The trip there had been fine, but heading west, single-laned Route 27 was clogged with luxury vehicles all attempting a mass exodus. Josh had his air going full-blast, but the sunlight beat relentlessly through his windows in way that made Allison unable to stop sweating. And though she knew that there was never a good time to be stuck in standstill traffic, this time felt less ideal than most. To pass the minutes, Josh began talking idly, while Allison’s sweat was dripping, and the noose tightening.
“So what are you doing on Wednesday?” he asked, peering back at the traffic through his mirror.
“Um, working?” she answered, though he’d clearly meant Wednesday night.
He flashed her a look. “No, I mean after. Because you’re not going to believe who’s in town from Chicago.”
Allison wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Who?” she asked, even though she was nearly certain it would be—
“Leslie and David.”
“Oh, wow. Leslie and David?” Allison hated Leslie and David.
“Yeah, I was thinking we should do sushi this time, maybe by my apartment so we can watch Lost after.”
Glancing away, Allison felt the noose tick another notch tighter. “Well, maybe—”
“I know, we usually order in sushi on Sunday. But if we leave here by three to drop the car with my parents, we can have dinner with them on Long Island and catch an eight fourteen back to the city.”
“Tonight?” The sweat was practically seeping through her shirt.
“Yeah, why? Did you want to get back earlier? Because maybe there’s a seven thirty-four we can take. Or else—”
“Josh?”
“Also a six fifty-two. Let me just call my parents to make sure—”
“Wait.”
Unaccustomed to hearing her raise her voice, he turned and stared at her—although now that she actually had his attention, she didn’t know what to say. Finally, glancing out at the traffic that wasn’t going anywhere, beside a guy with whom her future was similarly stagnant, Allison opted not to wait for a crowded share house to face her looming tasks.
“I just don’t think...this is such a good idea,” she said. She spit this out as fast she could, as uneloquently as she feared. The moment she did, though, the moment his deep brown eyes showed confusion rather than warmth, she wished she’d waited. Not because he reacted with rage, but because he failed to react at all. Because his silence instead suggested a delayed reaction—one she dreaded might build with time.
When he still didn’t answer, she turned to him gravely. “I know, this weekend was totally my fault. It was so weird seeing you in the house, and I honestly still care about you. But—”
“Fuck, Allison.” He pounded the dashboard hard with both fists. For a moment she feared he was going to blow up, but he seemed too flustered to even find the words. “You know what, I don’t want to hear it. Just do me a favor and stay the hell away from me.”
From that point onward, it became the longest, most intense car ride ever. “So sushi on Wednesday?” she longed to interject, if only to bring back the amicable vibe. Instead, Josh turned up the radio, at a volume high enough to preclude all conversation. And though the music exploded from speakers near their ears, neither of them could hear it.
When Josh finally pulled back into the driveway (jerking Allison forward with unnecessary roughness), she more or less made a run for it. Josh, on the other hand, merely delivered the huge bag of bagels (a small reward for an hour’s worth of driving) before he and his friend Rich grabbed their things and took off. Upset and dismayed, Allison was hoping she could soon do the same.
However, hurrying up to the pool, she discovered Jamie—whose skin had darkened about five shades since Friday—on a mission to suck up as much sun from the weekend as she possibly could.
Rachel (whom Allison was surprised to see keeping up with Jamie—given her tendency to burn) sat beside her, looking rather flushed and flipping through a thrice-recycled copy of the New York Post. (One that one house resident had purchased, but had gradually made its rounds all over the pool—mostly so everyone could confirm via “Page Six” that it was actually Jessica Simpson who’d been partying beside them at Pink Elephant. Only, in later retellings, someone like Rob would claim she was dancing topless, on guys’ laps, and had tried to take home his friend.)
Allison glanced around and found the scarcely populated pool area stricken of its stick-thin figures and daunting air, a quiet peace taking its place. Perhaps because the overabundance of bodies—all vying for lounge chairs and the attention of the opposite sex—had dwindled, or perhaps because the tumultuous weekend had finally taken its physical toll.
“Hey! Where’ve you been? You’re missing such good sun!” Jamie greeted her, retying the bathing suit straps she’d undone to avoid tan lines. Carefully sitting up, she peered over at Rachel. “Rach, you’re looking kind of red. Maybe you should switch back to your own sunscreen?”
Rachel shook her head disobediently. But both quit joking when Allison sank solemnly onto the end of Rachel’s chair. “What happened?” Rachel asked.
“I went to the bagel store and broke things off with Josh,” Allison answered, all in one breath, as if both events were of equal importance.
“What?” Jamie and Rachel gasped, staring back at her in shock. Then Jamie added, not trying to be funny but coming across that way, “Again?”
At that very moment Craig burst out onto the patio in a small frenzy. They might have been alarmed if Craig didn’t do everything in his life at breakneck speed. “Jamie!” he barked. “If you want a ride to get your car, I have to take you now.” Craig was the type of guy who would bark “I love you” to his girlfriend. Assuming, first, that he had
one.
“Oh, I do!” Jamie said, jumping to her feet. She tied her matching sarong around her waist and slipped her feet into her impractical Prada flip-flops. “Let me just get my keys and I’ll meet you out front.”
Jamie hated to be torn from the sun the way a starving person might from a sandwich. But she was aware that Mark had disappeared and Craig was individually responsible for getting everyone out of there, so she hardly wanted to cause a problem. “As soon as I get back, we’ll make a plan,” she assured her friends, scurrying off.
Taking over Jamie’s chair, Allison stared at her poppy seed bagel (toasted, with that vegetable cream cheese she liked), but couldn’t bring herself to take a single bite. It was just as well, for Jamie rejoined them at the pool in a matter of ten minutes. Which wasn’t just quick—it was too quick. As in, she hadn’t left yet. “Wanna hear something weird?” she called out even before she had fully approached them. “I can’t find my keys.” She paused dramatically for effect before inquiring, “Was anyone else holding them?”
Allison and Rachel both looked at each other with alarm.
“I’m almost positive you didn’t give them back to me,” Allison said, vividly picturing the Tiffany heart key chain. “But I’ll go in and check my bag,” she offered, jumping to her feet.
The three of them charged up the stairs, and Jamie didn’t even flinch when they bumped right into Jeff, luggage in hand—to whom she breezily said good-bye. But time was of the essence since Craig (who was pretty much the last person on earth you’d want to hold up) was waiting in front, and, well, they had much bigger problems to worry about.
“Nope,” Allison concluded, after a quick search confirmed what she already suspected. She looked inquisitively at Jamie. Then she had a scary thought. One so scary she knew it had to be true the second it came to mind. “You did get them back from the valet, right?”
Jamie’s eyes popped out of their sockets. “Shit!” she yelped. And in a single moment, the repercussions of her earlier mistake hit her all at once.
Actually, they hit them all.
“Are you serious?” Rachel exclaimed. “You left your keys with the valet?” she added, shrieking as if Jamie had confessed to having murdered the valet.
“Well, none of you reminded me!” Jamie attested, throwing down her evening bag since searching it was now pointless. “I’m not a driver, I don’t think of these things!”
“But see, you were the driver, and it was your job to think of these things!” Frustrated, Rachel placed a hand to her cheek, which had turned a glowing shade of red. “How does a girl who remembers to bring her full-length mirror forget about her car keys?”
“Please, I was so happy to get there I never wanted to see those keys again!” Jamie argued, immediately defensive. “And we were all wasted by the time we left...and I guess I just wasn’t thinking.”
“Well, now what?” Rachel asked, panicking the way her mother might (Rachel’s mother feared for her daughter’s life if it was scheduled to rain too hard). “What do we do if we can’t get them? I have my sister’s dress fitting tomorrow!”
“Look, getting upset isn’t going to do us any good,” Allison cut in, almost relieved to have a distraction. “Let’s just have Craig take us to Hampton Hall and see if anyone’s there first.”
Once that was decided, the three of them hurried to the front and found an impatient Craig glowering behind the wheel. “What took you so long?” he barked, even harsher because he actually had a real reason to be annoyed.
They looked from one to the other, as if silently debating who was “it.”
Of course, Jamie finally described the dilemma—which was so ridiculous, you couldn’t have made it up if you tried. And boy, did Allison wish they had.
“You forgot your keys!” Craig roared, half in amusement, half rebuke. Comical or not, he was now a party to dealing with it. “How could you forget your keys?” he announced again. “Well, come on, get in.”
After they all hopped into Craig’s car (which was a bit like submitting themselves to Craig’s dictatorial rule) Allison endured the second longest ride of her life—the first, coincidentally, had occurred that morning. Thankfully, this time Craig expertly navigated the back roads, and Allison realized it actually wasn’t that far away. During the ride, no one said so much as a word, all equally anxious (and engaged in silent prayer).
As they pulled into the vacant lot across from Hampton Hall, their worst nightmare was pretty much realized. For starters, Allison had a hard time believing that this desolate building had been up and running in the last month, not to mention the site of last night’s lively party. Gone from the towering edifice were the festive decorations and the glistening lights and the press line of paparazzi, leaving nothing behind but a haunted-house-like monstrosity blanketed by a thin layer of dust.
Getting out and peering around the parking lot, Allison expected to see numerous cars likewise abandoned in the name of partying. Instead, it was almost painful to spot Jamie’s mother’s (filthy) white SUV all by itself, and even more painful when they tried, fruitlessly, to open the doors. However, all was not lost (or vandalized or towed); it was merely locked.
Running up Hampton Hall’s vast steps and approaching the grand doorway, they at first knocked optimistically. Then they pounded. Then they yelled.
This isn’t looking good, Allison thought as she leaned sullenly against one of the tall white columns. Taking the lead, Craig then motioned for them to follow him as he circumnavigated the building, glaring in every window, inspecting every inch. In fact, he knocked harder and yelled louder than all three of them combined (finally, a constructive channel for his abundant intensity). But all the yelling in the world won’t do any good if there is no one there to hear it. Which there wasn’t.
“Goddammit!” Jamie yelled, kicking the dirt (and then dusting off her flip-flops).
They all lingered another moment in silence, and Allison was shocked that Craig hadn’t complained yet. Surprisingly, something about this scenario made him oddly sympathetic. “Come on, there’s nothing else we can do here,” he said, in what was clearly not a bark. “You might as well try to call from the house.” And so, just as empty-handed as they’d started, they mournfully headed back. No one said much during this ride, either, though their anger had shifted to disappointment, their anxiety to fear.
“Sorry,” Craig said while they emptied from his car, as if this misfortune was something that had befallen them instead of something they’d foolishly incurred.
“No, thanks for your help,” Jamie said, and the other girls echoed her. But back in their room, all hell broke loose.
“We’re stranded!” Rachel screamed, her words all the more emphatic coming from a flaming-red face. “How are we going to get home?”
“How could I have been so stupid?” Jamie shrieked, pacing wildly.
“How could we have let you be so stupid?” Then Rachel stole a glance in the full-length mirror, the delayed reaction to her own mistake staring her in the face. “How did I get so sunburned?”
“How did I forget the keys!” Jamie bellowed. And to that, there was no argument.
Each comment they shouted upped the previous one in desperation and volume, prompting Brian to warily poke his head in from the hallway.
“Why are you so quiet in here?” he asked, looking roused from the dead. Though it was almost one in the afternoon, he was one of those guys who was more than capable of sleeping the day away.
“I left my car keys with the valet!” Jamie cried at the same time Rachel burst out, “We’re stranded in the Hamptons!”
This chaos was clearly too much for someone just meeting the day. “What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and looking to Allison for clarification.
“You guys, we’re not stranded,” she said, taking the opportunity to set the facts straight. And thinking that Brian looked charmingly boyish in his Maryland basketball shorts. “Worst-case scenario, we can try to get a ride, or w
e could always take the Jitney back.”
“No one’s stranded, you’ll come with me,” Brian stated, shooing the idea with his hand like an invisible fly, even before he fully understood the situation.
“Well, we still haven’t tried everything,” Jamie said, calm for perhaps the first time all morning. “I’m going to call everyone at my firm and see if we can track down someone who can help.”
And that’s what they did, for the next hour or so, Brian’s lingering presence calming them. They tried every owner, every manager, and every contact. Unfortunately, most calls went straight to voice mail, and most people’s mailboxes were so full they couldn’t even record a message. And all the while, the share house continued to clear out.
As the girls watched group after group pile into cars, they couldn’t believe they were so envious of the others for simply being able to leave. Thoughtfully, numerous people poked in their heads to offer assistance (or to confirm the rumor that they’d actually left the keys with the valet). Just as he promised, Brian shipped his previous passengers Rob and Dave off elsewhere, making good on his pledge to stick it out with them till the end.
Allison felt somewhat guilty that he was hanging around, since he’d already gone above and beyond the call of duty. But something about his presence was particularly comforting. Maybe it was the fact that he was taking control of things and keeping them calm. Maybe it was the fact that he was thirty, and could offer physical and financial support beyond that of guys their age. Or maybe it was the fact that Allison felt like she was starting to like him.
When Jamie—suspecting this—slipped away to apply aloe to Rachel’s face, Allison found herself suddenly uncomfortable being left alone with him.
She shouldn’t have been, for both outwardly and inwardly Brian reminded her of a teddy bear. Outwardly, because he was a larger guy with a more generous build—neither muscle nor flab, but something seemingly pokeable, like the Pillsbury Doughboy. And inwardly, because contrary to his size was his propensity for emotion, a sensitivity he streamlined into hazel-colored eyes. When Allison looked into them, it felt like she was looking straight into his heart.
How the Other Half Hamptons Page 12
