The High Season(87)
Arms slipped around her from behind. “Why are you hiding?” Lark asked in her ear.
“I don’t recognize anyone. And you gave me the night off, remember?”
“Daddy hired the photographers so that you wouldn’t have to work. He can be sweet, you know. In the last two days I think he invited everyone he ever ran into in his life. As usual, it’s his party. Help me face it. You look positively gorg, by the way.”
Doe had allowed Lark to buy her the dress. They’d searched and searched in the shops of East Hampton until Lark was satisfied. She pronounced the color exquisite—somewhere between iced butter and crème fra?che, she said. It fit Doe perfectly, having been altered by Lark’s tailor. A fifties look, very Audrey in Sabrina, a tight bodice and a full skirt with hidden pockets in the folds. Lark had the tailor add them, remembering that Doe had said a dress with pockets was her ideal.
Doe allowed herself to be tugged. They walked out onto the lawn, arms around each other’s waists, and waded into the crowd of posing people having the last fun of summer. So many photo ops for her Instagram. Not tonight. She would not take out her phone, not once, no matter who showed up.
“Oh my God, Alec Baldwin is here,” Lark said.
“Lark!” Daniel beckoned.
“Oh, shit, the summons,” Lark said. “Let’s get it over with.”
Catha had joined Mindy and Gloria, leaving Awful Husband to go back for seconds. Mindy had a look of concentration on her face that probably had to do with holding her stomach in.
Doe enjoyed the start of surprise on Catha’s face when she saw her, arms linked with Lark. Mindy looked displeased, and Gloria, teeth clenched with the effort of being amusing, didn’t notice anything at all.
This was enjoyable, more than enjoyable, an actual high, having board members focus on her as more than an afterthought, having them wonder why her arm was through Lark’s, why Daniel knew her so well.
“Look around at this party,” Daniel said. “Amazing. You can see that Lark is a visionary. I think she’s going to do incredible things.”
“Incredible,” Mindy echoed. “The Belfry is transformed! It’s like a breath of fresh air!”
If there was a cliché floating by, Mindy would always spear it and serve it up on a platter.
In her pocket, in an organza bag with a silver ribbon, she had the perfect present. She was waiting until the end to give it to Lark. How funny it was that she’d had it all along. My father’s watch, she would say. Sorry I don’t have the box.
56
RUTHIE AND JEM lurked at the edges of the party. They had underdressed. Beautiful young women and men drifted by in silky fabrics the color of moonlight on water, or a heat wave white-blue sky. Ruthie piled up the metaphors in her head as Jem seethed next to her, because Ruthie had forgotten the whole “dress code empyrean” thing, and Jem was wearing her Isabel Marant blue sweater. Ruthie herself was in a black tank and black capris, which unfortunately and exactly matched the wait staff uniforms. Three men had already handed her an empty glass. If it happened again she’d either throw it against a wall or bring it to the kitchen.
No one talked to them except Dodge, cheerful about the exalted response to his crazy menagerie and on his way to another party on Shelter Island. Ruthie glimpsed Daniel Mantis chatting with Mindy and Catha and stayed on the other side of the party, back under the trees. She hoped they would never know she was here. Tobie had gotten her in, saying no problem, she was going to get fired anyway.
Here they were, but where was Lucas?
The Peter Clay—her Peter Clay—was dramatically lit, visible in the closed museum. She watched the valets, lounging now. Everyone had arrived, even latecomers, and there was already a trickle of people leaving.
Jem scanned the crowd but did not move. Ruthie wondered why she had wanted so badly to come. She had suggested that Jem take a selfie she could Instagram at least, but Jem had vehemently snapped “Not yet” at the suggestion.
It must be a boy. Why else would Jem be here, taut and expectant, scanning the guests? Was it that boy who made her laugh? The one she had never mentioned again? Maybe one of the servers? Ruthie wanted to snatch Jem’s phone, where all the answers lay. If only parents could get over this ethical thing and spy like a government.
Ruthie remembered that—to be fifteen, to be so intent on desire that you could believe with all your heart that just being seen by the object of your crush would be enough. Enough for everything else to fall away.
Just as she had felt, seeing Joe at Daniel Mantis’s party at the beginning of summer.
She wasn’t fifteen. It was no longer possible to be engulfed in desire, to be luminous with it, to use it as a beacon to draw your lover.
“Who is it?” Ruthie finally asked, unable to keep quiet. “Who are you looking for?”
“Nobody,” Jem said. “God.”
“You’re looking for God?”
“Mom, stop.”
Suddenly Lucas was there, fuming behind the wheel as the valet took too long to run up to his car. The valet opened the door and a blond woman in a flowered print dress got out.
“Somebody else didn’t get the memo,” Ruthie said, nudging Jem. Then she recognized the perfect pair of breasts, the tan. Doe’s mother…Sherry? Shari. It didn’t seem like Lucas to be kind enough to escort a mom to a party. She remembered back at the coffee shop, she’d left Lucas alone with Shari and sped to her car. Lucas had offered to buy Shari a muffin…