How the Other Half Hamptons

by Jasmin Rosemberg

  Turning and discovering her there, Aaron simply stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. “Oh. I bet you want to talk about what I just said. Honestly, I didn’t mean to offend you...”

  “Actually”—she leaned in closer and went in for the kill— “I’m not so sure I want to talk.”

  It was fair to say that this was the last possible thing he was expecting. And—though this next part happened rather fast—somehow they went from not-kissing to kissing in a matter of seconds. Without a date, without a dinner mention, without a phone call at a reasonable hour. Though, once it had been initiated, it really wasn’t such a big deal. And Rachel found herself loving every minute of it.

  They paused only for a moment, so that Aaron could get up to close and lock the door; a door Rachel suddenly feared people would wonder what was happening behind. But as he sat back on the bed and they picked up where they’d left off, Rachel decided sometimes it was better that people be in the dark.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she giggled, semi-impressed with herself.

  “You can’t believe it? I was totally shocked.” He ran his hand along her neck.

  “Why?” she asked, clearly because she’d been drinking.

  He shrugged. “I guess I thought I ruined things in the beginning, with that text.” Peering out the window, he then returned his focus to her, his earnest brown eyes looking straight into hers. “I was out and didn’t realize it was so late, but I know you were probably annoyed. A different girl might not have been, but...” He paused, unsure of where he was going with this. “I can see how that’s not the best way to build a relationship.”

  Upon hearing this premeditated catchphrase, she eyed him with a flirtatiousness she rarely unleashed. “What makes you think I want a relationship?” she teased.

  Momentarily caught off-guard, he said, “Doesn’t every girl want a relationship?”

  She thought about it, ready to confess how she was exactly that girl. That girl who hated swapping pickup lines, hated long nights of partying at nightclubs, hated public (well, perhaps even private) drunkenness, and most vehemently, hated random hookups. Who hated absolutely everything that characterized a share in the Hamptons—and who, most of all, hated being single.

  But Rachel stopped herself—because she wasn’t “exactly” that girl anymore.

  And so, playing along, she instead replied, “Sometimes all a girl wants from a summer is a good time.”

  It was a joke, of course, but Aaron seemed visibly disappointed, and almost immediately, Rachel feared this might preclude his taking her phone number. “So you’re saying you wouldn’t want to go to dinner sometime?” he asked.

  Rachel smiled. “Well, I can give you my number, just in case.”

  “Actually, you don’t have to. I still have it.” Producing his cell phone from his pocket, he turned the entry around—allowing her to see not just the number, but the name he’d keyed in to precede it.

  And quicker than you could say Patrón, Rachel felt the rush of that tequila shot all over again.

  For perhaps she would watch her beautiful sister float down the aisle while she stood fittingly (and most predictably) on the sideline. Perhaps she would be unengaged, unattached, underappreciated, and alone.

  For now, for tonight, though, RACHEL was the Burstein sister wearing white.

  Only, as Aaron reached over and pulled off her strap, Rachel wasn’t wearing white . . . at the White Party . . . for long.

  But hey—maybe love wasn’t so black and white. Maybe life wasn’t.

  And maybe where guys were concerned, cardinal rules were made to be broken.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Flip went Ilana’s hair, tossed flirtatiously between playful words to Jeff.

  Flip went Jamie’s lid, as she found herself unusually bothered by this.

  Slumping down onto their cushioned booth at Pink Elephant on the last night of Labor Day weekend, the music and lights pounding relentlessly around her, Jamie Kessler allowed herself a moment of frustration. How she’d ever survived a whole summer of this was beyond her.

  True, Jamie hated the restrictiveness of being bound to one person. She hated going out without free rein to do whatever (with whomever) she liked. And she hated everything about the words monotony and monogamy.

  But there was one thing, Jamie was discovering, she hated more than all of these elements combined.

  She hated feeling insecure. Vulnerable. Threatened. Jealous.

  And while she and Jeff had made no claims of exclusivity, perhaps a few ground rules were as ideal a resolution as any.

  Staring around at the hordes of gyrating partygoers (who instantly became cheesy again the moment she stopped being one of them), Jamie couldn’t believe this was how she was spending her very last night in the Hamptons. Her very last night of the entire summer. And, from the unpromising looks of things, the very last night of her and Jeff’s entire...-interaction (to use the word relationship would be overly glamorizing things). Why, Jamie might have been appalled—if first she could shatter her utter disbelief.

  But what the hell was going on here? She felt as if she were trapped in a dream from which she couldn’t wake up, a ghost-like spectator forced to watch a scene from the outskirts. It just didn’t make any sense—unless she’d suddenly turned invisible and Ilana had suddenly turned into a different person. Because up until five minutes ago, Jamie was certain she was a million times more pretty, exuberant, interesting, and fun. Really, all Ilana was, was a whiny, generic, scowling girl!

  Although, come to think of it, Ilana was currently laughing and flirting, and the only girl with a scowl on her face at this moment was Jamie.

  “Are you okay?” Allison asked, her face emerging through the mass of bodies surrounding the bottle-bearing table like a defensive line.

  Jamie nodded, wondering if she wore her dissatisfaction as flamboyantly as her wardrobe. Though, given that she was accustomed to either (a) standing on the benches shaking her ass for hours on end, or (b) doing lap after lap around the club and chatting with as many different people as possible, sitting down (something other people did regularly) was Jamie’s equivalent of throwing in the towel.

  Fearful that others were noticing this, Jamie quickly mustered all the energy she had in her to rise to her feet. Forging a smile, she resolved then and there to (at least pretend to) enjoy herself—harping on guys was to her the epitome of female weakness.

  Good thing she was such a capable actress. For the drumbeats that normally took strong possession of her now sounded like a five-year-old banging haphazardly on pots. And each time she attempted to shake her body to them, this dorky guy—who was a friend of a friend of someone in their share house—began grinding up against her. Plus, as if she had up and disappeared into thin air, Jeff remained continually engrossed in Ilana (not that Jamie was continually looking). Instead, she merely peered around determinedly, attempting to locate any good-looking guys in the crowd, but couldn’t spot a single one. Who were all these random holiday people anyway? How was it Pink Elephant was so uncharacteristically bad? Why, if this night weren’t their final one (and Mark hadn’t been so kind as to comp their entire party), Jamie hardly believed it worth it to stay out here at all! Seriously, she’d rather be...

  “Shot?” Brian asked, returning from the bar with Rob in tow, and (not before receiving an annoyed looked from his girlfriend) passing out the numerous shot glasses they could barely hold in their hands.

  Jamie mechanically took one, but for reasons unbeknownst to her, she just as mechanically passed it on. Surely it wasn’t wise to risk a hangover when, after observing Jeff and Ilana, she already felt nauseated.

  Watching her housemates pound back the shots, Jamie found it quite ironic that she was painstakingly (and unprecedently) sober—on a night she anticipated being trashed beyond belief! At least, that had been her intention some hours ago at the house, when she’d looked on sentimentally during their final game of flip cup. W
hen she’d celebrated getting ready in a share house for the final time (it never did get any easier, even if she had gotten used to it). When she’d posed with everyone on the deck for some final group pictures (to make up for not having taken any all summer long, and to be used in the Ofoto album that would be instrumental in luring candidates for next summer).

  Catching Mark’s eye and feeling guilty that he’d seen her sulking, Jamie really did want to be enjoying herself. Though it hardly felt that way at the moment, this would be their last time all occupying a booth together as 1088 Montauk, in the way they’d been doing for the past three months—in the way she would so fondly picture them whenever she later thought of the summer. Suddenly it all felt so fleeting, and Jamie felt like she should somehow be trying to prolong it, trying to mentally capture it like a photograph. But instead she was only letting the songs play, letting the seconds pass, letting it all slip away like sand through open fingers.

  From a distance, Jamie noticed Ilana lean over and give Jeff a joking shove.

  She decided to close her fingers. He wasn’t gone yet.

  “How’s it going?” Jamie said, walking over and immediately feeling like she was interrupting something.

  “Hey,” Jeff said, momentarily turning but not really looking at her. In a way Jamie had never before seen—in a way alcohol couldn’t entirely excuse—he appeared in some kind of trance that even her presence couldn’t fully abort. Finally, in a delayed reaction of sorts, he seemed to will his eyes to meet hers, a half smile on his face. But it was the kind of smile that clearly wasn’t intended for Jamie, but left over from whatever thought it was he’d just been entertaining. He was giving her Ilana’s smile.

  “Turns out Ilana’s cousin just moved into my building,” he said, as if that could possibly justify their hour-long conversation. They were flirting in a way Jamie could clearly see, but would feel stupid calling to his attention without some kind of proof.

  “Oh, that’s so funny,” Jamie answered, her patience wearing thin. But just as she was about to suggest going over to the bar for a vodka soda...

  “Wait, I forgot to tell you!” Ilana exclaimed, leaning in close to his ear like the club’s noise level left her no choice (even though everyone at 1088 Montauk knew what tremendous volume Ilana’s voice was capable of). And that’s when Jamie’d had enough.

  She knew she couldn’t get upset with him—not when they hadn’t set any kind of boundaries, established any kind of rules, professed to be anything other than two single shareholders seeking innocent fun. The problem was, while she couldn’t put a finger on when it had happened, Jamie wasn’t exactly having fun anymore. And perhaps because the summer was ending, perhaps because they were coming to a crossroads, perhaps because, for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure she could get what she wanted, Jamie found herself needing some definition. Needing to know what would come next.

  Then, before she knew what she was even doing, before she really took the time to think about it, she tapped Jeff on the shoulder pointedly. “Listen, I think we need to talk,” she snapped, hardly recognizing her own voice attached to the nagging, girlfriend-ish words.

  To that, Jeff and Ilana exchanged a telling look. Jamie instantly hated that she had triggered it.

  And in that moment, Jamie could hear it.

  The sound of the tables going flip.

  If only because he’d have looked uncooperative otherwise, Jeff followed her outside onto the patio, which was littered with partygoers and smokers and couples seeking intimacy for more scandalous reasons. In utter silence, Jamie led their way through the crowd on the narrow wooden planks, concentrating on not falling into the sand or catching her heel in a crack, and losing more of her nerve with every step. Debating how to express the sentiments she’d for weeks now been holding in. Once she’d settled on the words, and they’d settled on a bench, her mind promptly went blank.

  “So,” she said, gazing around shyly. (Was it just her imagination, or were those girls in the corner glaring?) “Last night here.”

  “Yup. Crazy,” he said, seeming more concerned with her cleavage than with where she was going with this.

  Unsure of how to broach the topic casually, she decided to just put it out there. “Well, I was thinking. I know neither of us was looking for anything serious”—she shot him a quick glance to ensure his reaction corroborated this—“but maybe when we get back to the city next week, we can step it up a little. Like do something other than just meet up at your apartment late-night. Like maybe...dinner.” As if she’d just hit on a buzzword, the light in his formerly iridescent eyes extinguished. “Not that I don’t like drunk text-messaging at two AM,” she quickly followed with a tense smile.

  “Are you trying to tell me you don’t like my texts?” he said, presumably a joke, but pronounced with a perfectly straight face (making it difficult to tell if he was actually joking). He seized her then with his innocent blue eyes—eyes that, when focused on her, could seemingly do no wrong.

  “I live for your texts,” she said, a sarcastic statement that carried more truth than she’d have cared to admit. “It’s just...some girls might be offended if you only called them when you’re drunk and want to hook up.”

  And by some girls, she most of all meant herself.

  He didn’t say anything, so Jamie went on. “I have to work a screening on Tuesday, but what are you doing Wednesday? Or Thursday?”

  He let out a long sigh, perhaps to buy himself some time. “Next week is going to suck at work,” he said, looking strangely uncomfortable (and not looking anywhere near the vicinity of her cleavage). “Why don’t we just play things by ear?”

  Jamie frowned. She was all too familiar with the not-wanting-to-be-pinned-down-with-a-day spiel. Heck, it used to be her mantra! “Why don’t you not call me again until you know when you’re free?” she said, not realizing until after she said it that it sounded a hell of a lot like a rule. Like an ultimatum, even.

  And she certainly didn’t realize the consequences that would follow.

  His eyes wandered around the pool dismissively before finally finding hers again. Though, when they did, she immediately felt a difference. A coldness. He was looking at her now not as the pretty girl—like he always had—but as the annoying one who’d just pressed him for more than he wanted to give. And as Jamie knew from her dealings with guys, a clingy person who sought a relationship instantly lost all attraction. No matter how beautiful at the outset, once this motive was exposed, the person instantly turned ugly. “Look, I would never want to hurt you or anything,” he began, the word hurt hurting her most of all. “But I told you from the beginning. I’m only twenty-nine. I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.”

  Jamie was stunned—less at the prospect of being refused than at his accusation that she actually wanted something. Or perhaps at the realization that a small part of her did. That even though she’d always preferred to keep things casual and physical (between the sheets as much as during the nighttime hours), this share house had eased them involuntarily into daybreak, into being not just sexual partners but hang-out-all-day friends, into a whole new level of intimacy that Jamie met with less repugnance—less fear—than she’d initially thought. And now that it’d been forced upon her, Jamie didn’t want to give it up.

  But even if she was surprisingly open to a relationship, Jeff had just made it clear that he wasn’t. And at this point, why should he be? Why would a guy (of only twenty-nine, God forbid!) want to operate in reverse? She was already giving him something for nothing—allowing him to have his cake and eat it, too! What incentive had he to pay for it now?

  “I’m not looking for anything serious,” Jamie said, mostly because it was the only thing she could get out.

  “Well, either way. If you’re not happy, you shouldn’t have to put up with this,” he continued. He put his hand on her shoulder, more the way a brother might. “Jame, I think you’re a beautiful, smart girl, and I have a really good
time with you. But you deserve to be with someone who can give you what you want.”

  Suddenly feeling the night chill, the only thing Jamie wanted at this moment was to get the hell off the patio. That, and to as quickly as possible make him eat his words (which she was nonetheless certain in an hour or so he would do). Crossing her arms around her chest, she rose to her feet. “It’s freezing. I’m going back inside.” And without waiting to see if he was going to follow her, she darted away from him.

  Winding through the maze of people, Jamie was practically fuming. She was beyond furious at Jeff, of course, but—recalling Rachel’s frequent claim that “drunken hookups never lead to relationships”—she couldn’t help but also point the finger at herself. As much as she’d always ridiculed Rachel for her rules, her friend would never be caught in such a dead-end situation. Maybe there was something to be said for driving with directions, looking farther ahead than your headlights, following your head instead of your heart (or, worse yet, your hormones).

  Or maybe that wouldn’t have changed anything at all.

  When Jamie finally made it back inside, Allison (who was standing as far as she could away from Brian, all the way across the table) came over to her. “You’ll never believe the text message I just got,” she said, turning around her phone.

  Left with Aaron. C U at the house ;)

  Rachel

  Sun, Sept 3, 1:02 am

  Jamie had to smile. “Finally!” she said. “I knew that Patrón was the right move.” She also knew it was time to put an end to her own pathetic pity party.

  Climbing up top one of the benches, she grabbed Allison’s hand and yanked her up onto another one. Shaking her ass (like everyone was watching), Jamie reveled in the music and attention that instantly turned her mood, and swore to herself she wasn’t going down without a fight.