The Identicals(58)

But… they will also see Caylee in white AG Stilts, a brightly patterned off-the-shoulder Rebecca Taylor blouse, and a great pair of wedge sandals, her long hair loose and flowing with one tiny braid off to the side for whimsy… and all of them will want to be just like her: beautiful, smiling, carefree.

Maybe Caylee can save them.



When Caylee hands Harper a cup of the punch, she takes a sip, but her stomach rears up in protest; it’s probably best she stay sober anyway. She joins Ainsley and Meghan in pouring herself a cup of sparkling water. At five minutes to four, Harper ties a navy bandanna around Fish’s neck and puts out the balloons. Caylee turns up the music.

Meghan drops her head into her hands with a groan, and Harper knows she’s thinking about what Tabitha would say if she were here.

But, Harper thinks as she sips her water, Tabitha isn’t here.



By quarter after four, there are twenty-five people in the store, half of them either trying on clothes or waiting for a dressing room. And people keep pouring in. Caylee is handing out punch left and right while Ainsley does the hand-selling.

“You want the sophistication of an LBD, but you’re a redhead, so you should try forest green,” Ainsley says. She holds up a silky slip dress that is actually an ERF style Eleanor designed right after her divorce. Meghan told Harper that she and Tabitha have nicknamed the dress the Midlife Crisis. It’s popular with newly single women and women who have just discovered a husband’s infidelity. (“Tabitha knows how to spot these women in an instant,” Meghan said. “I’m sure she does,” Harper said.)

Now Meghan is behind the cash register ringing up sales, and with each transaction she grows incrementally less morose. “This is working,” she says. “I can’t believe it.”

People keep coming. Some of them are friends of Caylee’s—they shriek when they see her, hug her, and announce how much they miss her at the Straight Wharf (“The new guy is such a dud. He needs more cowbell!”). They tell her how much they love her top, her pants, her shoes.

“We sell them all here,” Caylee says.

The crowd begets a bigger crowd; everyone wants to be where the action is. Fish gamely accepts pats on his head and rubs on his back. His tail, curled up and over his hindquarters like a plume, wags for every new customer. He loves the spotlight. Someone feeds him a handful of popcorn; someone else slips him an avocado toast. He’ll be sick later, of this Harper is certain, but his appeal is undeniable. Joan Osborne sings “Midnight Train to Georgia,” and some of the women sing along.

“Great party!” a man’s voice says. Harper spins around; it’s Ramsay. He’s dressed like a Kennedy cousin, as always: blue striped shirt turned back neatly at the cuffs; navy tie printed with beach balls; khakis; Gucci loafers without socks. He grins. “I’ve never seen the store this crowded. Ever. Not even close.” He looks over Harper’s shoulder at Meghan. “What do you say, Meg? Maximum number of shoppers at one time before today: five?”

“Four,” Meghan says. “And even those instances I can count on one hand.”

“Well, it’s all thanks to Caylee,” Harper says. “Thank you for suggesting her. This party was her idea, and as you can see she’s the belle of the ball.” Together Harper and Ramsay look upon the cluster of beautiful young ladies surrounding Caylee in obvious worship. Harper feels a twinge of jealousy—not for herself but for Tabitha. Even if Tabitha was the one who broke up with Ramsay, it couldn’t have been easy to see him start dating someone as young and magnetic as Caylee.

“Caylee is a good kid,” Ramsay says. Both his tone of voice and his gaze are avuncular. “I thought it would be a playboy fantasy, dating someone who’s twenty-two. Plus, I wanted to piss off your sister…”

“Yeah,” Harper says.

“But it was more like babysitting. She cries when she’s drunk.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Harper says.

“And I had to explain things,” Ramsay says. “She didn’t know who Van Morrison was. She didn’t know who Bob Dole was. And why would she? She was an infant when he ran for president.”

“Right,” Harper says, thinking of Drew—poor Drew, who had professed his love for her and changed his Facebook status to “in a relationship.” “Well, this boutique needs her youthful energy, her fresh ideas.”

“I’m glad it’s working out,” Ramsay says. “I just stopped by to lend my support and to remind you about the beach on Sunday. I’ll swing by at noon to pick you and Ainsley up.”

“Oh,” Harper says. She still feels uneasy about the beach date, but she can’t come up with an excuse that will get her out of it. “Okay.”

Ramsay blows Ainsley a kiss on his way out. “See you Sunday.”



Ramsay isn’t the only man at the party. As they move into the five o’clock hour, all kinds of men wander in. Some of them are servers at restaurants, already wearing white shirts and black aprons knotted at their waists, but there are also guys just off fishing boats and off the golf course. There’s a clean-cut kid in a shirt and tie who looks like he stepped out of Ramsay’s office. These men shyly accept punch from Caylee, then self-consciously browse for something they might buy for their girlfriends. Most are clueless. What size should I get? They hold up a skirt in a size 14, shoes in a 5?. Ainsley tries to help, as does Caylee—she knows some of these guys and their significant others—and Meghan facilitates the impulse buys at the register. They start out with a huge glass jar filled with Hanky Panky lace thongs; Meghan sells at least one pair to every single man who walks out of the store.