The High Season(23)
“I hear the pedicure place is great,” Ruthie said.
Mindy shot her an incandescent look of rage.
“Mindy tells us that Adeline Clay is renting your house,” Nan said.
“Let me have Catha introduce you, Mom,” Mindy said, turning her back on Ruthie.
Oh, hell, thought Ruthie, I’m losing my job.
12
“WHAT A SHITSTORM!” Gus Romany said. Taco breath bathed her ear in heat as he kissed her. “What can I say? My father was a chicken farmer. Beat the shit out of me. It was my big Freudian fuck you. I can’t believe those bastards found it!” For the first time since she’d known him, Gus looked old. His Hawaiian shirt was speckled with salsa.
“What bastards?”
“The bastards who find things and put them on the Internet! Ask the bastards if they ever ate a chicken! What I can’t figure out is who got hold of it.”
“Don’t worry about it, Gus,” Ruthie said. His face had gone red. His thick fingers picked restlessly at the buttons on his shirt, dislodging a small bit of tomato.
“Somebody told me I’m trending on Twitter,” he said. “Some pretty young person who then patiently explained what Twitter was, like I was already dead. I’m sorry about the damn chicken, okay?”
“I know.”
“Come and see me, Ruthie, I’m doing new work.”
“I’ll text you.”
“Fuck you, text me, pick up the fucking phone and speak like a human.”
“Okay, I’ll pick up the fucking phone.”
“You won’t. You think my best days are behind me.”
“Gus—”
“It doesn’t matter. I like you anyway. I’m going to get myself another taco. I think there’s part of this shirt that hasn’t been stained yet.”
* * *
—
MIKE STOOD APART, nursing a beer. It was his party stance, amiable, ready to chat, but you had to come to him. Why did that suddenly bother her? Or maybe it always had.
Ruthie walked up in her silk and heels, tossing her newly tousled hair just a little bit.
“You look tired,” he said.
“That’s because I’ve just lived through a work saga. Thanks for bringing Adeline.”
“Wasn’t easy,” he said. “Catha freaked her out with cheese and exclamation points. Adeline asked why someone she didn’t know sent her such a haunch of manchego. And she has another party to go to. But she came.”
“Did you fix the step?”
“Yeah, but she found a couple of other things so I’ll be there next week. Don’t worry, nothing major, let me handle it, okay?”
“Catha took the credit for Adeline coming.”
“Shocker.”
“You don’t like Catha, either?”
“This is a thing with you. I never liked Catha and you always made us have dinner with her and Larry.”
“Oh, come on, just because she said she strives to live counterintuitively that one time, you decided she was an ass.”
“All that cultural omnivorousness. Did I hear the latest Moth podcast? Did I read the article on Gober in The New Yorker? Art passes through her like an enema. She doesn’t absorb anything. She’s a cultural high colonic.”
“Hey, watch what you say around a taco truck.”
“And don’t get me started on Larry,” Mike continued. “What a misanthrope. It physically pains him to be pleasant. Every word is a turd he has to strain to squeeze out.”
“He’s married to a cultural laxative. There you go. Jack Sprat.” Ruthie hesitated. “The thing is, I think she might be after my job.”
“What? That’s crazy. She’s your friend. And everybody loves you.”
“Not everybody. They’re really leaning on me. I’ll tell you about it at dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Tonight. The Drift?”
“Oh, shit.”
“You forgot?”
“I didn’t forget, I just…Adeline invited us to this party. I was just going to tell you. It’s in the Hamptons. Roberta Verona is going to be there, and Jem’s dying to meet her.”
“Oh.”
Jem ran up, her face alight. “Did Daddy tell you? Can I go? Adeline said she’d introduce me to Roberta Verona! Is it okay what I’m wearing? Adeline said it was fine.”
Smiling, Adeline walked up behind Jem. She put a casual hand on Jem’s shoulder. “Ruthie, I’m not kidnapping your daughter. You should come, too. It’s my friend Daniel, he’s sending a launch so we don’t have to take the ferry.”
“It sounds great, but I can’t leave Spork until it’s over.”
“Well, think about it. You can come when you’re done here. I’ll text you the address and leave word at the gate.”
A party in the Hamptons. With a gate. And could “Daniel” be Daniel Mantis?
“I might be able to get away,” she said.
“Marvelous,” said Adeline.
13
DOE CRUISED DOWN the side street in Greenport and pulled into the ferry line. It was long, stretching into a residential neighborhood, but she’d expected it. You couldn’t make reservations, and locals knew better than to cross on a holiday weekend. She had no choice, and she had patience.