Mish shrugged. “Sort of. But they’re all seniors and all they talk about is college.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m, like, this idiot, and they’re all so fucking smart it’s annoying. Doesn’t matter. All Brooks cares about is making out.”
“Um, gross,” said Leo, cracking up.
Mish made kissy-faces and noises and they laughed even harder. It was difficult to hold grudges against a friend like that.
They arrived at the mall and had to walk the length of the parking lot to get to the entrance, trudging through the rain. It was deliciously warm and smelled like cinnamon rolls once they got inside. Leo felt a little self-conscious in her old parka and combat boots. Like she had POOR stamped on her forehead. Her hair had frizzed and they didn’t have umbrellas, so they probably looked like two wet dogs. Mish laughed as she shook out her hair and droplets fell on the marble floor. “It’s your birthday!” she squealed, jumping up in the air. “YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!”
People turned around and stared. Mish was always making a spectacle of herself. Wanted people to notice her. Leo pulled her down mid-jump. “STOP!” she said, laughing. “SHUT UP! OH MY GOD! You’re crazy!”
“I’m CRAZY FOR YOU!!!” Mish yelled. Her cheeks were bright pink and she really was so pretty and doll-like. No wonder Brooks had chosen her. She grabbed Leo’s hand and they ran through all the cheerful stay-at-home moms in their puffer vests and white button-downs, holding Williams-Sonoma shopping bags, their daughters in rugby shirts and pristine white Tretorn sneakers.
They stared at the two wet girls.
But for once, Leo didn’t care. Mish’s joy was infectious, and it was a kind of defiant, dare-you-to-tell-us-to-shut-up kind of joy, because no matter what, they knew that the crowd was also staring at them because they were young, and they were beautiful, glittering, maybe even the most beautiful they would ever be, at this moment, rain-wet and makeup-running as they hoofed it to the store.
FIVE
Early Arrivals
October 19
The Present
6:00 P.M.
The doorbell rang again, and when Ellie opened the door, she decided to keep it unlatched so that the next guests would be able to saunter inside without having to wait. She usually did that for a party, but the fight with Todd, plus Sam’s unexpected arrival, had thrown her off her game. Why was Sam here? School had just started. Something must have happened at school. She hoped it wasn’t anything too disastrous; Sam tended to be overdramatic and sensitive. Just like her mother, Ellie couldn’t help but think, having little patience for the self-pitying drama both Montserrat and Sam created. She was forever telling her kids to “buck up” or her husband to “man up” or her employees to “just fucking deal with it already!”
After all, look at her. She came from nothing to forge this amazing life they had. If she could do it, anyone could. Todd always complained she had no sympathy for weakness or vulnerability, and he was right about that. She had survived the apocalypse that was her childhood to live in paradise. Why couldn’t everyone else do the same, when their lives were so much softer than hers used to be?
Anyway, her assistant, Nathaniel, was late as usual (she’d forgotten she’d sent him to get sunflowers), and so there was no one to open the door and take the ladies’ purses and put them away in the coat closet, or take the proffered hostess and/or birthday gifts and display them on the gift table. She tried to force her face into a friendly smile and opened the door with a flourish.
“DARLING!” Sterling Burwell bellowed. He was her best friend in Palm Springs, the guy who’d found and sold her this house. Her realtor. He was dressed in a white suit with a lavender shirt and pocket square, and his voice had the rich, dulcet tones of the mayor of a small Southern (Suhthun) town in Virginia, which is where he was from. Ellie, who had only been to Miami and otherwise avoided the South, once asked him if he was from an old Yankee family, and Sterling had reeled. He’d put a hand to his heart and, with his most patrician accent, explained that he was from Vuh-ginny-yuh, and his family roots went back further than those arrivistes from the Mayflower.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DOLL!” he said, giving her a dramatic double-cheek air-kiss and presenting a jeroboam of champagne. “Don’t drink it all at once, or maybe we should,” he giggled.
“Thank god it’s just you,” she said, staggering under the weight of the giant bottle. “I was worried it was a guest.”
Sterling didn’t seem to mind the almost-insult and began to inspect the house while she handed off the gift to one of the cater-waiters.
“You got rid of the Liberace chandeliers,” he said, looking up at the simple Jasper Morrison Glo-Balls her contractor had hastily installed in the entrance hall ceiling just last week. “Good choice.”
“Yeah, we ditched the infinity mirrors too. I mean, right? It’s not Versailles.” She would save Versailles for her fiftieth, she promised. Private party in the ballroom, duh!
Sterling fanned himself with the birthday card he’d brought. He was in his late seventies, a “young buck” according to, well, himself. (“You know what they say. It’s the gay nineties in Palm Springs; everyone’s gay and ninety.”)
When Ellie thought of Palm Springs, she thought of Coachella, the music festival held every spring just a few miles away, of starlets in crochet bikini tops and short shorts, making peace signs and wearing flower crowns. Palm Springs meant hipsters on mopeds heading to the Ace Hotel to drink tiki cocktails. Palm Springs was young, and hip, and cool. Or so the marketing for the new hotels downtown wanted you to believe.
Sterling was a throwback. A dying breed. (Pun definitely intended.) Ellie was starting to suspect there were more of them—gay retirees—than she was first led to believe. She and Todd had had several dinners at the country club across the way, packing the kids in the golf cart and zooming across the trails, and everyone there was geriatric. Ancient as the menu, which served oysters Rockefeller and steak Diane. Ten-year-old Giggy asked if there were any vegan entrées and the waiter had just looked confused.
This whole desert adventure was unraveling, just like when they bought the house in Park City a few years ago because it seemed like such a fun, buzzy town. There were parties every night and the bars were packed. Turned out it was only that way because they were there during Sundance. The rest of the time, it was a sleepy hamlet full of Mormons who skied. Had she made the same mistake buying this white elephant in the desert?
Sterling had introduced her to all the aging celebrities, aka “the stars of yesteryear,” who lived in her neighborhood, including Barry Manilow and Suzanne Somers. They were both invited tonight, of course. Ellie would much rather have had Sofia Coppola and Leonardo DiCaprio, but apparently, Sofia had sold her Palm Springs house years ago (who knew?) and Leo was at the Venice Film Festival. Not that she knew Leo. But still. Supposedly, Anne Hathaway had just bought a house in the desert, or was it Jennifer Aniston? Barack and Michelle were supposed to have bought that house in Rancho Mirage, but no one ever saw them anywhere. And god knows Ellie had tried.
“Where’s Howie?” she asked, meaning Sterling’s husband, who was a mortgage broker and a spry sixty-eight.
“He’s coming later,” he said dismissively, waltzing up to the outdoor bar and eyeing the handsome bartender. “What’s yummy other than you?”
“Uh, Sterling, stop. Leave the boy alone,” she said, pursing her lips in a frown. She made a conciliatory gesture to Victor, a young Australian actor whom they hired to work all their parties. He’d once been on a show Todd had green-lit, but when Castmembers! was canceled after one season, he needed to supplement his income. In all honesty, the man could not craft a decent cocktail to save his life—they were either way too strong or far too sweet, and never quite right—but nevertheless everyone adored him. Beauty went far (she should know), and more often than not, they would find Victor downing shots and taking selfies with the guests. He often posted
photos from their parties on his social media and drank as much as anyone at the party.
“All good, mate,” said Victor, giving the cocktail jug a good shake. “We’ve got a forty-deuce and a cuarenta caliente,” he said. “Basically, a cosmopolitan with white raspberry juice and a ‘skinny’ margarita.”
“White cranberry juice?” asked Sterling.
“No colored drinks!” Ellie explained, motioning to the snow-white Minotti couch that took up two walls in the living room.
Sterling nodded in approval. “I’ll just have a vodka on the rocks. You have Tito’s?” Of course they did.
“The usual for me, Vic,” she said.
They were served. Sterling’s pinky pointed up in the air as he raised his drink to his lips. “The flowers are wilting.”
“Tell me about it,” she said, taking a sip from her own cocktail. She suppressed a grimace. Way too strong, as usual.
“Not your fault. Lordy, it is hot.”
“But dry,” she reminded him, which was something the good citizens of Palm Springs said to each other all the time. That it wasn’t so terrible since it was a dry heat. Sure, like being roasted slowly in the oven. Make sure it’s a Viking.
“As dry as a . . .” began Sterling. But before he could finish his metaphor, Todd joined them, suave and friendly. He’d showered and changed and was wearing a crisp white Oxford and the linen pants she’d bought him from Italy last year. He gave Sterling a hug and Sterling beamed. That was one good thing about Todd; he liked her friends. What other wife could say the same of her husband? As much as they fought, they also socialized together. She never went anywhere without him if she could help it.
The three of them walked over to the edge of the pool overlooking the golf course, the San Jacinto Mountains turning pink in the sunset. With cocktails in hand and Sterling’s jaunty attire, they made a tableau similar to the Slim Aarons photograph of a poolside party at the Kaufmann house, which was hanging in the family room. From across the way, they could see the fountains of the golf club, catching the light just so and creating a rainbow. Ellie took another glug of her vodka martini. It was growing on her. So what if it was too strong. It was also ice-cold and salty, just the way she liked it.
Yeah, it was hot. What did you expect? It was the desert. She was content, maybe even happy. Sterling always put her in a good mood. Especially now that they were having cocktails and she was over the fight with Todd. It was just nerves. The weekend had been a success so far. This was forty. This was as good as it ever got. The photographer from Vanity Fair was supposed to arrive later. She hoped her makeup would hold.
“So how’s business?” Todd asked, a hand in his pocket. “This house going to hold its value?”
Sterling chuckled. “You guys got a great deal. No one buys in Palm Springs in August.”
“Only my wife,” said Todd, and for a moment they were dangerously close to bickering again, but Ellie chose to let it go.
“Listen to the man, we got a bargain!” she hooted.
“When do they buy in the desert?” Todd asked, curious.
“November to May mostly. High season. They get out here, it’s January, and eighty degrees, and everywhere else it’s below zero. I almost can’t keep up with demand. But then summer comes and it scares everyone away.”
Like most of their neighbors, Sterling and Howie lived in the desert only part-time. During the low season, they absconded to their home in Hawaii. Ellie pictured a cute modern tree house in Honolulu; they seemed the type. When they weren’t in the islands or in the desert, they traveled extensively, Ellie knew, because she’d been in their house several times, and in the den, there was a framed map of the world with pushpins, and every pushpin was a place they had been. At the top of the map, someone had scrawled in capital letters: STERLING AND HOWIE’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURES! Ellie had tried not to cringe, but she supposed cheesiness came with age. When she and Todd were that old and creaky, they’d probably do the same. Except hers would read WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE ELLIE AND TODD?!
They continued to admire the sunset, which never failed to please, all glorious scarlet and gold hues over the mountains, although Ellie preferred the sunrise, the softer pink of dawn, which greeted her from her east-facing bedroom.
“You know why Palm Springs became so popular with Hollywood, don’t you?” asked Sterling. They shook their heads. “The studios used to have a clause that the actors couldn’t be farther away than eighty miles at all times. They had to be able to get on set if needed. And Palm Springs was just exactly eighty miles away, so it was a perfect getaway.”
That led to the usual Palm Springs chitchat, about how Clark Gable’s old house was now a restaurant, and how Frank Sinatra’s old estate—complete with his old recording studio—was available for rent. Sterling told them about how Bob Hope and his family used to move his entire court out to the desert during the high season, traveling like King Louis from Paris to Versailles, with all their servants and their china. The Hope caravan heralded the season of golf and parties. Ellie nodded; she’d seen the photos—of Nancy and Ronald Reagan, Betsy Bloomingdale, all the old eighties icons yukking it up.
The city had a storied and glamorous past, but Ellie didn’t want to live in the past, she wanted it to matter now, and it was one of those things she and Todd constantly argued about. Whether they—or she, since she had bought the house without consulting him—had made a mistake by buying out here. What if they had been sold an empty bill of goods? What if the only people who came out here were dying? They couldn’t make another bad investment.
“Remember, when you sell it, call me,” said Sterling. “I’ve flipped a dozen of these.”
“Good, we just might,” said Todd meaningfully, catching her eye.
“Honey!” said Ellie. “We just bought the house. Can’t we enjoy it first?”
“If we can afford it,” said Todd grumpily.
Ellie rolled her eyes at him and there was a strained silence that Sterling pretended not to notice. “Where is everyone?” he asked, looking around and realizing he was the only one at the party who wasn’t working it other than the hosts.
“The party bus is picking up people from the Parker around now,” Ellie explained. “They should be here soon. Then everyone else is driving over or Ubering, I guess.”
But the happy buzz she’d felt at her first sip of alcohol had dissipated with Todd’s insistence on bringing up money and investments. It sent a cold shiver down her spine. Couldn’t he talk about something else? Couldn’t she have one night when they didn’t have to worry about the bills?
She just wanted to have this. One night. But since he’d broached the topic of money, she could exact revenge by needling him about his daughter. “You spoke to Sam, right?” she asked, assuming that of course Todd had seen his daughter had arrived for the party.
“Sam’s home? I didn’t see her!” said Todd. “How’d she even know we were out here and not in LA?”
“I don’t know. I thought she came home as a surprise for my birthday, that you two had cooked it up,” said Ellie. “But that’s okay, she told me it wasn’t that.”
Todd looked flustered. “Oh, ah, well . . .”
Ellie sighed. It’s not like she expected her husband to try to do nice things for her; it’s just that he never did. Like it seriously didn’t occur to him that it might be nice for the whole family to be together for her fortieth?
“I mean, she’s busy at school,” said Todd defensively. “And it seemed like this party was for your friends.”
“My friends? What does that mean?” asked Ellie, annoyed. If they were only her friends, then it was sad, for it meant Todd didn’t have any friends of his own.
“Nothing,” he said tersely. “Drop it.”
“It’s fine,” she said dismissively. “Well, she’s here now.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know; she won’t tell me.”
“I’ll talk to her,” he said grimly.
“You do that,” she said through gritted teeth, her goodwill toward Todd now completely gone.
They eyed each other warily, then Todd shrugged, as if he didn’t have the energy for another fight. “Come on, Sterling, let me show you what we did with the bathrooms,” he said, heading toward the sliding door.
“You already remodeled the bathrooms?”
“You don’t know my wife, do you?” said Todd.
They walked off, leaving Ellie in front of the pool. Calm, she told herself. Breathe. Use the “breathing tool” they taught the kids at their school. Some kind of progressive mindfulness education that cost fifty Gs a year. “Mama, breathe,” Giggy liked to say when she saw Ellie was losing it.
Ellie closed her eyes. She just wanted to get through this party and have it be a success. Wanted everyone to see how well she was doing, how big she had made it, how beautiful her family was, how much love and money she had won in life.
There was a small tap on her shoulder. “What?” she asked, thinking it was Todd, or Sterling. It was neither.
It was Nathaniel, who looked gray, and he was distinctly not carrying armfuls of new hydrangeas, or sunflowers, or whatever she had ordered him to procure. “I came straight from the office,” he said.
“Okay.”
“And, um . . .”
“What?”
“Mr. Kim called. He said he needs you to call him immediately.”
“What? Why?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
Harry Kim was her Korean investor. She was selling half of her company to him to get an infusion of cash. That’s how she pictured it—that his cash was going to be injected directly into her bloodstream. She needed it, that’s for sure. Wild & West was deeply in debt, huge debt, and if she didn’t get this deal finalized and funded, she would be late on her warehouse payments, late on her shipping orders, and late on her mortgages on her three houses. Not to mention late on four tuitions, and payroll . . .
The Birthday Girl Page 4
