Postcards From Last Summer

by Roz Bailey

  “That’s a crock!” Elle picked up a pillow and flung it toward my bed.

  Fending it off, I knew I’d hit a nerve.

  “How could you even think something so stupid?” Elle insisted. “Take that ridiculous idea and just, like, fling it out the window or flush it down the toilet or something.”

  But I just shook my head. “You’ll see.” Elle and Darcy were smart enough; with any luck, one day they would both figure it out.

  26

  Tara

  “The most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen was over the hills in Thailand.” Charlie spoke quietly, holding their attention so rapt that so far no one had even tasted the pear torte that Tara and her mother had passed out. “Orange, purple, and red. I had the sensation of being on a different planet, millions of miles closer to the sun.”

  Tara smiled, loving this man. She wanted to slip her slender sandal off and rub his foot under the table, but she still wouldn’t chance contact in her parents’ home. Tonight, it was progress enough that her parents seemed interested in what Charlie had to say, accepting of his experiences overseas.

  “Sounds like you’ve made the most of your travels with the military, Charlie.” Her father lifted his fork and cut into the torte.

  “And Thailand sounds like a fascinating country,” Serena Washington said. “Did you ever go there, Wayne?”

  Tara wanted to groan. Somehow her mother always managed to swing attention back to Wayne, the favored son.

  “Mama, I figure I’m doing enough travel just getting myself over to Korea. Besides, I like to dink around on my days off. That computer system they’ve got on base, it’s prehistoric. Better now that I’ve worked it over, but there’s always files to update and viruses to kill. You wouldn’t believe the stuff people download without thinking. And then they bellyache when their files are corrupt.” Wayne stabbed at a piece of torte with his fork. “I got my hands full over there.”

  Just then the phone rang, and when Dad started to answer, Mama shook her head. “Let it go, Larry. If it’s important they’ll leave a message.”

  But Dad pressed his napkin to his lips, dropped it to the table, and crossed the room. “Very few people have the number here, Reenie. It must be important.”

  Dad’s deep voice sounded from the kitchen, and Tara dared a secret smile for Charlie. Dinner had gone well tonight; Mama and Dad seemed to be accepting Charlie for who he was, gaining little glimmers of insight into his life.

  “The torte is delicious, Mrs. Washington,” Charlie said. “Not too sweet.”

  Mama smiled, but it was back to the church-social smile. “Thank you, Charlie. I always hate that cloying sweetness of some desserts. Lemon is the key.”

  Dad crossed through the dining room and started opening the built-in armoire in the adjoining living room.

  “What is it, dear?” Mom seemed concerned.

  “Breaking news upstate.” He clicked the remote, surfing to find a news channel. “Alleged beating of a black man in custody. Apparently there’s a videotape. I’ll need to head up there tonight.”

  “But it’s the start of your vacation! Can’t someone else take the case?”

  Wayne and Tara exchanged a quick look of “not again . . .” They’d witnessed this argument plenty of times before.

  “Anyone want the last torte?” Wayne asked, knowing that no one would even answer. He stabbed it from the platter as Serena left the table to stand in front of the television and express her concerns to their father.

  Tara twisted in her chair as the news channel switched to a reporter on the scene in Apple Junction, a small town in upstate New York where the incident had taken place. Her stomach began to ache as the reporter spoke quickly, emphasizing words like “brutalized” and “abuse” and “actual footage.” Apparently, this was a juicy story.

  Turning back to the table, Tara pushed her dessert away and listened as some of the details of the story spilled out. The suspect, an African American named Clarence Dumont, was wanted for armed bank robbery. He had been shooting at police officers when taken into custody. One of his bullets had struck an officer, who was currently being treated in a critical care unit.

  “The man’s got to be defended,” her father argued, his voice slightly muted.

  “I understand that, but there are other partners in the firm. You just started your vacation. Here it is August and you haven’t even spent a full week here at the beach.”

  “I don’t think Mr. Dumont can wait while we sit on the beach and take a vacation, Reenie.” And with that, her father was down the hall, packing his things to head back to Manhattan.

  When she heard her mother’s car pull into the driveway some time later, having dropped Daddy off for the last train back to Manhattan, Tara braced herself against the kitchen counter, wondering if she could dart off to her room and escape a confrontation with her mother before Serena made it up the stairs. The dishwasher was loaded, the counters all wiped down so Mom wouldn’t have anything to complain about there, but from past experience Tara knew the extent of her mother’s disappointment when Dad blew off vacation or a special occasion to work a case. Mom was not going to be perky, and considering her own issues with the nature of Dad’s work, Tara just wanted to escape.

  “I’m beat,” Tara called down as her mother climbed the stairs. “Off to bed.”

  “Tara, it’s not even eight o’clock.”

  Caught, she froze.

  “Are you feeling sick?”

  “I’m okay. Maybe I’ll read in bed.”

  “What’s the matter, honey?” Serena paused on the landing and touched her daughter’s shoulder gently.

  Maybe it was Mama’s sweet tone, or the fact that her mother had actually touched her for the first time in years, but the gentleness pushed Tara to open up. “I just hate it when Dad takes on these high-profile cases without having the facts. Dad’s turning into a civil-rights ambulance chaser, always defending the black brothers even if those defendants are in the wrong. It’s an embarrassment.”

  “You’re talking about your father’s vocation.” Her mother’s eyes flashed with indignation, and Tara could see that she’d made a mistake confiding her true feelings. “Your father defends who we are.”

  “No, ma’am. He defends criminals. Those people aren’t you and I.”

  “He is out there trying to protect the rights of African American men and women, and you of all people, with your sights set on law school, should understand the importance of that mission.”

  Tara stepped back against the pillar of the spiral staircase and closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear. “I know it’s important, Mama. I just wish it didn’t have to be my father looking like a cartoon character . . . a buffoon. Do you know they did a comedy sketch about him on Saturday Night Live during the Hunnicutt case? Did you see it?”

  Serena turned away, her heels clicking on the kitchen floor as she tucked the car keys into their compartment in the drawer. “I heard.”

  “And you’re not embarrassed?”

  “I support your father because this is what he has chosen to do, and it is the right thing, Tara. He believes in his work; we both do. If we don’t constantly reinforce our civil rights, people will backslide, and I’d hate for you to ever know the way it used to be with racism and discrimination.”

  Oh, I’ve known discrimination, Tara thought, recalling how her aunties pushed her to take bigger portions and get rid of that “white-girl’s ass,” how darker-skinned girls at school steered clear of her because they thought she was either white or of mixed race; how her own parents didn’t want to acknowledge that Charlie might be a possible boyfriend because he was the wrong race for an upstanding African American family like the Washingtons.

  “I’m going to have a cup of coffee, decaf of course.” Serena turned on the tap and started filling the glass carafe. “Would you like some? Maybe we can interest your brother and Charlie in a game of Scrabble.”

  “No, thanks.” Normally Ta
ra would jump at the chance to mix Charlie into the family social milieu, but not tonight.

  Tonight she was going to turn on the television in her room, lose herself in a mindless sitcom, and imagine what it would be like to be born in a wacky family that wasn’t all wrapped up in thorny issues of race.

  27

  Darcy

  Darcy leaned onto her windowsill and met her reflection in the glass, diamonds winking in the grandiose splayed setting of the Cortez necklace, the gems shimmering like icicles above the swell of her breasts barely covered by a hot pink bikini. If she looked up she could see Andre’s naked chest as he leaned over her and tentatively touched her shoulders. Beautiful Andre . . . sexy, gorgeous, and a little too naïve for Darcy’s tastes.

  But the diamonds were thrilling—stunning—far more exciting than jewelry-store-heir Andre, a Great Egg boy she’d sought out after her life came crashing down at her feet with the end of the Kevin and Darcy Bliss Package. He’d been involved with another Great Egg girl, some simple Sara whom Darcy had seen around the ritzy neighborhood, a high school lacrosse player. Not too hard to bump out of the picture, when Darcy put her mind to it. But it had been a shallow victory, wrangling Andre, bringing him out here to show off like a tournament trophy. She’d even talked him into finagling the necklace, a loaner from one of his father’s stores, thinking that possession of the fine gems would bring their relationship to a new height of passion.

  But it wasn’t working. The only sparkle in this room was coming from the Cortez necklace. The Cortez heir was definitely lacking in glamor, and as Darcy stared out past her own reflection, she had to admit that she wasn’t happy.

  It just hurt too much, losing Kevin.

  After the incident of the rocking van, Darcy had retreated back to Great Egg, where she’d holed up in her bedroom, turned off her cell, and slept for most of the next day. When she woke up, her mother confronted her, annoyed by Kevin’s incessant calls and a bit put out by Darcy’s sudden appearance. Meaning, having Darcy in the Great Egg house obviously put a damper on Melanie’s social schedule, cutting into quality time with the hunky tennis pro. So Darcy used her father’s secretary to book a suite at the Plaza in Manhattan, then drove in for a few days of shopping and spa treatments at Elizabeth Arden.

  She’d been in the middle of a cucumber facial when the attendant in pink begged her pardon and an irate Lindsay burst into the room, grabbing a towel to mop sweat from her brow. “Christ, what’s the deal with these people? I thought this was a spa, not a maximum-security facility.”

  Darcy had lifted the pads from her eyes with a gasp. “What are you doing here?”

  “You’ve had me so worried! When your mother told me you left the house I rode in on the Hamptons Jitney to track you down.”

  “Linds, that is so sweet.” Darcy nodded at the attendant. “Giselle, can you get my friend Lindsay some water, please, and add her on for my one-thirty pedicure.”

  “Of course, Ms. Love.” Giselle poured water from a pitcher floating with ice and lemons, handed it to Lindsay, and exited to make the appointment.

  Darcy stretched like a cat under her pink robe. “We’ll get our toes done together, then I’ll take you to Balthazar’s for a late lunch. My treat.”

  “Sounds nice, though it’s so hot in the city I think my toenails are even sweating. And when you hear what I have to say, you might want to shoot the messenger. Kevin is getting desperate. He’s stopped into Old Towne Pizza every day since you left the Hamptons, and he just sits there at the counter with a Coke and begs for my help getting you back. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Pathetic.” Darcy felt a tremor of relief that he was suffering, too, but there was no forgiving what he’d done, screwing around with her archenemy. In Darcy’s book, just fucking around with someone else would have been reason to cut him off flat, but Kevin had taken it all to a new level of treason.

  “And then, last night, he actually came to my house and said he wasn’t going to leave until I got you on the phone.”

  “No! What did you do?” She shot a look at the door. “You didn’t! Tell me he’s not outside!”

  Lindsay lifted a heavy clump of hair from the back of her neck and shook her head. “He would be if I’d let him. The poor guy doesn’t know what to do without you. All those years you could barely get him to look at you, and now he seems to think you’re his lifeline.”

  “How did you get rid of him last night?”

  “Mary Grace McCorkle to the rescue. Ma sat him down, served him tea and snack cakes, listened to his tales of woe, and told him how it was when she was a kid. That took, oh, I don’t know . . . about ninety hours.”

  “Well, thank God for your mother,” Darcy said, wishing for the zillionth time that she had just one parent with a protective bone in their body.

  “He’s serious about getting you back, Darce. I don’t even think he’s drinking anymore. I mean, every time I’ve seen him he’s been on soft drinks and tea. Not like the old Kevin at all.”

  “Really?” It was all intriguing, but still, there was no going back with him. He’d crushed her dream, smashed it beyond repair. Darcy leaned back on the pillow and replaced the cool cucumber-scented pads on her eyes. “Maybe he can sober up and really feel the pain.”

  “Darcy! That’s just rotten.”

  “And what he did to me . . . with Elle!” She ripped off the pads again. “Whom you’re still aiding and abetting, I take it?”

  Lindsay took a long sip of water, her eyes on Darcy.

  “Now that’s just twisted. I’d think that now, finally, everyone in the world would recognize how crazy she truly is.”

  “You don’t know what she’s like now, everything she’s been through.” Lindsay went to the counter and poured herself some more lemon water. “Besides, I like crazy. I’m friends with you, aren’t I?”

  Back in her bedroom, Andre leaned up against her, rubbing his hands over her perfect body as if he’d just discovered a hidden art treasure. Could he tell she wasn’t into it? She shifted her shoulders and the diamonds shimmered, sunshine on the ocean. So beautiful. All dressed up and nowhere to go. Of course, she had made a point of taking Andre around the Hamptons, to the beach and a few restaurants and clubs, just enough to get the word out that Darcy Love had bounced back, that she was still on top of her game, that neither Kevin nor that bitch Elle could put a ripple in her happiness for long.

  But honestly, she didn’t feel comfortable taking him everywhere. For a Great Egg boy he was a bit of a bumpkin, and she didn’t want too many people to hear him talking about Mommy and Daddy, and his only other girlfriend, Sara, and—God forbid—his dog Florence.

  Although hooking up with Andre and the diamond dynasty had helped her save face, it couldn’t ease the swelling of her heart, the bad feeling that she’d lost the one thing that mattered so much, the family of two she’d worked so hard to create for herself. Andre was young and a little naive, easily bruised by her sarcasm and so grateful for sex that she could only guess Sara the lacrosse player had kept her legs la-crossed.

  Ironic that here she was, decked in diamonds on a beautiful August night in the Hamptons and she couldn’t even keep her mind on her new boyfriend, who was trying so hard to please her.

  “How’s that?” he asked, flicking his fingers lightly over her nipples.

  “That’s great, but I’ve got a few other moves you might like to try by the pool.” She turned in his arms, noticing his excitement as she pressed against him. Beautiful Andre, the boy with a diamond factory. So young and . . . unformed. Very nice to look at, but the thought of educating Andre made her feel weary.

  He pulled her close, breathing heavy, and squeezed her butt so hard it was painful.

  She pushed him away, extracting herself. “Stop doing that.” Was that too cold? She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, something she’d never really had to worry about with Kevin. “Let’s go down to the hot tub.”

  “Do we need clothes, or can we go naked
?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Whatever. Nessie had seen worse.

  And nothing seemed too important these days. Hot-tubbing with Andre today, get a hot-stone massage tomorrow; did any of it really matter?

  28

  Lindsay

  Although it was late in the season for fireworks, I fully expected a sonic blast once Elle and I stepped inside the Salt Pond Inn. If everything went according to plan, in about five minutes an unsuspecting Darcy would enter the restaurant with Tara, who was bringing her here under the pretense of having lunch. Once Darcy spotted Elle, all bets were off. I sank behind a white linen tablecloth and adjusted the display of fresh lilies on the table so that they’d block the immediate view of Elle from the door.

  “Clever,” Elle said. “You don’t happen to have a fake mustache in your purse, do you?”

  As the Salt Pond was this summer’s place to see and be seen, more than half the tables were taken, some with recognizable celebrities. Beside us the anchorwoman for a national morning show shared a table with her two children and husband. They were relatively quiet compared to the polo players at the big round table, lifting pints of ale and shouting rejoinders to each other. The quiet table in the corner was dominated by power brokers of film, two mighty producers, an actor turned director, and an actor who was so recognizable on the streets of New York he didn’t even try to hide behind sunglasses or a hat. And those were just the players I recognized.

  “Typical Hamptons.” I shook my head. “You go for a low-key lunch and you walk onto the set of Entertainment Tonight.”

  “Beg pardon? I’m sorry, but just seeing foie gras on the menu makes me salivate—even if I am nervous about Darcy. You don’t think she’d kill me in front of all these people, do you?”

  “Relax. She won’t draw blood in front of a celebrity crowd like this.”

  Elle’s eyes shifted curiously. “Who? Where?”