The High Season(64)

“Did you know Ruth Beamish quit a few days ago?”

“No,” Doe said, startled. She didn’t think it could happen that fast. “Why do you?”

The front door of the museum flew open. Catha stalked out.

“Who’s that?”

“Catha Lugner. Deputy director.”

“You like her?”

“Do I have to?”

Visibly upset, Catha jumped into her car and started the engine. She hit the gas and reversed without looking, straight into Daniel’s rear bumper.

“What the fuck!” Daniel twisted the rearview mirror. “I think I bit my tongue!”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Doe said, shouldering open the door.

Catha stumbled out of her car. “Oh my God oh my God!” she wailed. “Shit!”

Doe slammed the car door. “Catha? What was that?”

Catha rubbed her cheek. “I don’t know! I didn’t see you! Shit! You’re in a red zone, you know!” Tears began spilling from her eyes. “I deserve this. I did terrible things! I deserve what I get.”

“Chill, we’re not hurt,” Doe said. “What terrible things?”

Catha glanced over. “Wait, that’s not your car. Who is that?”

“Daniel Mantis. What did you mean, terrible things?”

Color drained from her face. “Are you serious?” she whispered. “What are you doing with Daniel Mantis?” Catha tucked her hair behind her ears several times. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

    Daniel exited the car. He strolled back to the rear bumper and inspected it. “Just a scratch,” he said.

“Mr. Mantis, I’m so sorry,” Catha said. Her lips stretched over her teeth, trying and failing to swap warmth for panic. “I don’t know what to say. I had a moment of…inattention. My foot just…slipped. Naturally I’ll pay for any damage.”

“Twenty-five thousand should do it,” Daniel said.

“I…”

“Relax, I’m kidding,” he said. “You were in quite a hurry.”

“But this is actually great, I mean, not the car, but to meet you. I’m Catha Shand-Lugner. Acting director.”

“What?” Doe asked.

Mindy’s SUV drove in. She craned her neck, saw Daniel, and almost crashed into a tree.

“You gals could use some driving lessons,” Daniel remarked.

Mindy scrambled out of the car, all fluster and activated antiperspirant. “Daniel! You’re here! You’re naughty, not giving us notice!”

Daniel knew Mindy?

Doe watched the dance. Daniel in his shorts and sneakers, hands in his pockets, back on his heels, accepting the courtship. Mindy, groping for lines of flattery she could employ, and settling on seeing his “fabulous” house in Architectural Digest. They were listing toward him as though on the deck of a boat. They were so obvious, so bad at this. Would he like some coffee? Or juice? Mindy suggested. “Are you a juicer?” she asked in that way she had, injecting a jolly archness to her tone that only smelled like the left-out girl in middle school, desperate to be liked.

Poor Mindy. Doe could almost feel sorry for her, if she didn’t also know what a complete bitch she was.

“Do you have mangoes?” Daniel asked. Turning just a fraction, he winked at Doe.

“I don’t know,” Catha said.

    “We could send someone out,” Mindy said. “Doe?”

“Never mind. I’d love a tour, though,” Daniel said.

“I’d be glad to do it,” Mindy said. “I was an art history major at Smith.”

“Good for you.”

Daniel turned companionably toward the entrance. Mindy gave a little skip to keep up with him.

Doe’s phone buzzed, and she almost didn’t check it.

But it was Lark.


Just waking up and missing u


U Doe

I go to the U of Doe



She felt the warm pleasant music of Lark’s morning, the slow waking, the texting, the sliding downstairs in a silk wrapper and bare feet, where chef James would be slicing a peach for her smoothie. Or a mango, if she wanted one. No doubt some specialty food store somewhere on the Hamptons would deliver one piece of fruit. She pictured it, perfect and plump, nestled in a little wooden box. For a princess with a taste for it.



* * *



—

HE FOUND HER later, after the tour, after the glass of springwater, after the chat. He loomed over her desk.

“I’ll have your car driven over.”

“Thanks.”

He crouched down. Now they were eye level. Close enough where she saw how soft and pampered his skin was, with the plump tight look of injections. She pressed her knees together to stop herself from leaning back.

“These people are idiots,” he said.

“I know.”

    “The historic collection is a joke. Buttons. They should be auctioned, raise some money. They belong in a museum.”

“This is a museum.”

“Lark could be a change agent, isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes. But I didn’t mean this. She wouldn’t want this. Did you meet with Mindy before this? Did you push Ruthie out?”