The High Season(26)

“That’s the whole point? He’s meditating or whatever?” She tilted her head and stumbled a bit. Doe realized she was half drunk.

“Hey, I don’t know you.”

“Doe Callender.”

“Doe. As in ‘a deer’? Wow, we both have parents who are seriously bad namers. I’m Lark.”

“Lark is cool.”

“Well, it helps when you’re an apothecary to have a spirit guide.” Doe could tell that this was a line she’d used many times.

“Apothecary?”

“I make potions. Like a witch.”

“A good witch or a bad witch?”

“Which would you prefer?”

Doe hesitated. So they were flirting. “Bad. Definitely.”

“Then I’ll be bad, just for you.” Lark smirked and poured liquid into Doe’s glass. “Boring virgin mojitos.” She leaned in close to Doe and took a sniff. “Nice. I’m going to guess.”

“Guess…”

“What you’re wearing. Your soap or lotion or perfume or whatever. I’m going to guess the dominant note. Can I…?” Lark didn’t wait for an answer but leaned in, and this time her nose touched Doe’s hair and the heat of her breath hit Doe’s earlobe.

“Lemongrass. Am I right?”

“Amazing.” Doe decided not to mention she used soap from the supermarket, soap she chose because it had no scent. “So you make…”

    “Essential oils. Lotions. I had a farm in Vermont where I grew flowers and herbs. My dad was totally not into it. Didn’t get it, whatever. Yale MFA, internship at MoMA, why am I picking daisies? Not daisies, I told him, calendula. For years he tells me to follow my bliss. Now it’s, Get a job. You have no idea.”

Lark stared out at the ocean. She had all the money in the world and the eyes of a broken person. For Doe, always an irresistible combination. She took a tiny sip of her drink. She had a rule about no alcohol at parties.

“So. Truth or dare?” Lark asked.

“Dare.”

“I totally knew you’d say that!” She leaned in closer, lime and rum on her breath.

“Go in and interrupt him? Just get him to drop the hood. I need to talk to him. If you win, you get…you get…uh, me!” Lark clinked her glass against Doe’s. “Dinner at Sant Ambroeus. Here or the city. My treat. Obviously. Or,” she added, reconsidering, “lunch.”

Doe felt the rum hit her almost empty stomach. She bit her bottom lip and squinted. “All I have to do is go in there?”

“And get him to take off the hood.”

Her first rule was No alcohol, and her second rule was Never attract too much attention. But she’d get inside the house. She could get a shot of Daniel Mantis, another one, or maybe a guest in the inner circle, intimate enough to be in the house instead of on the lawn. She didn’t believe for one second that this girl would ever follow through on a lunch date.

Lark grinned and grabbed her hand. She felt a jolt of dangerous attraction at the feel of Lark’s fingers. She allowed herself to be tugged to the side of the house.

What Doe had thought was a floor-to-ceiling window was actually a door. Lark flipped a chrome panel and punched in a number.

    “The white door on the right. Go, Doe.”

Doe heard the hard g and the imprint of tongue on palate on the d. An erotic charge distracted her. For a moment, only a moment, only a flash, she pictured them in bed, Lark whispering.

Go, Doe.

She went.





14


RUTHIE SAT ON the ferry line for forty-five minutes, much of it facing a house that looked like a face with a tongue. She thought of Adeline and Mike and Jem on the launch. Who called a boat a launch? It seemed such a 1920s notion, something that Scott and Zelda would do, take a launch to a party.

She had left Spork as soon as she could, and she knew there would be a ferry line, but it had been a long time (never?) since she’d tried to get to the South Fork on a holiday weekend. There was no way, however, she would miss a Daniel Mantis party. It had been worth it just for the look on Catha’s face when she’d told her she was leaving to go there. Catha had almost swallowed her wineglass.

She knew that the chances of meeting anyone she could woo to the museum were slight. Hamptons were Hamptons, and Daniel Mantis was a shark too big for her net. But she’d parlay this as far as she could, and she would beat back Mindy and her lieutenant Gloria. The problem was, what to do about Catha, who was clearly conspiring for her job? She’d watched Catha work the party, seen her scurry and smile. She had actually scampered to keep up with the interior designer who had that cable show. Usually at events they were partners, making sure things went smoothly. They would meet up, exchange information or a joke, move on.

    This afternoon Catha had never caught her eye. Not once. Her avoidance had been striking. If she was the nail in Ruthie’s coffin, Ruthie wasn’t going to hand her the hammer.

They’d worked closely together for years, their skills congruent. She couldn’t conceive of a person who would put ambition over decency, which meant she’d learned absolutely nothing from working for Peter Clay.



* * *



—