The Lies They Tell(38)
“You think? What’s his issue with Akil?”
“He doesn’t even know Akil. It’s not about him.” As she said it, she realized that she didn’t understand what it was about, not really. Surely not just seeing her sit with the boys in Dark Brew one time; not just members on one side, staff on the other. “Be right back.”
She grabbed her bag and went to the ladies’ room, hoping she wouldn’t run into Akil and Hadley, but there was no sign of them; they must’ve gone to the lobby restroom. Pearl sat on the bench in the small restroom entryway, digging through her bag for the tin of ibuprofen she carried with her. She swallowed two dry and leaned back against the wall, trying to relax her shoulders.
What would it be like, if Meriwether really fired Reese? How would she work the dining room without him? She’d done it before he moved here, but that seemed like forever ago, a colorless memory compared to the past year and a half, when she’d looked forward to every shift they shared, every random text she got from him. If Reese was fired now, they might never have the chance to make up.
Around the corner, where the sinks and stalls were, women’s voices rose and fell. Pearl was aware of stockinged legs whispering by, the door opening and closing. She leaned her head back, enjoying near invisibility here, tucked away at the extreme edge of the door.
Running water, the occasional click of a high heel. One conversation eventually rose above: “—nice touch. The board’s been planning it for a year. There was some talk of making it a masquerade. Thank God they changed their minds.”
“Sweating your makeup off under a half mask all night? No, thank you.” The second woman paused, maybe reapplying lipstick or powder. “I love the black-and-white thing. So sixties-Capote-New York, don’t you think?”
“You know whose idea the color scheme was.” A pause. “Sloane’s.”
Pearl sat up slowly, opening her eyes.
“No.”
“Mm-hmm. She was on the planning committee.” A faucet went on and off. “You have to admit, she had a talent for decor.”
“No, I don’t.” A shared, hushed laugh. “I’m sorry, that’s awful, but . . . Susan and Bill went through with the divorce, did you hear? Their Harbor house is sitting empty this summer. It’s such a waste.”
“And they’re not the only ones.” A deliberate pause, voice dropping to a whisper. “Tanya walked in on Sloane and Coralee’s husband at some soiree two years ago.”
“Stop. How did I not hear about this?”
“She said they were right up against the guest bathroom wall. Tanya was so humiliated she couldn’t bring herself to say anything to Coralee, but I gather she found out somehow, because last I heard, she and Seth were taking separate vacations, if you know what I mean.”
A soft exclamation. “That woman had serious issues.”
“With a husband like that, you almost couldn’t blame her. Can you imagine? I’ve heard he scheduled their day. This is including Sloane. All summer he had those kids putting in something like three or four hours of work on their music, sports, whatever. Some vacation. The whole family was scared to death of him. Total control freak.”
“You don’t mean he ever—” A group of women came through the door, and the conversation froze for a moment. Pearl had to strain to hear what was said next over locking stall doors and rustling undergarments. “I mean, not with his fists?”
A hesitation. “Honestly? Nothing would surprise me with David.” A final zip of a handbag, and Pearl flattened herself back, studying the floor tiles as the two women, both of whom she recognized well as part of the Garrisons’ inner circle, returned to the party.
When Pearl followed a couple of minutes later, the painkillers had started to kick in. Steve Mills was singing “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” to a nearly full dance floor. She started making her way back over to the table, but stopped when someone came up beside her, touching her elbow.
“There you are.” Bridges’s expression was uncertain. “I was afraid maybe you’d crawled out a window or something.”
“Thought about it.”
“We were being assholes, huh?” He studied her face. “Yeah. We were. Sorry. I guess I thought that guy was dumping on you.”
Her head was so full of what she’d just overheard that she didn’t have it in her to debate. “It’s over. Don’t worry about it.”
“Want to dance? I’ll make you look good. Two left feet.”
For once, she didn’t try to beg off, even though she’d never danced to a slow song outside of a middle school gym before.
Nothing to it, as it turned out. Let the boy lead. Let him hold you so close that he moves for you both, threads his fingers through yours and guides you through the slow spins. Pearl’s gaze roamed the ballroom, the indistinct faces of the people sitting at the tables, ordering drinks from servers. “So, after.” Bridges spoke softly. “You could come back to the cottage. Hang out for a while.”
Pearl brushed close to the couple dancing behind them, pulling her body in, conscious of her chest pressed against his. “Doesn’t your grandfather care if you have girls down there?”
“Gramps doesn’t spend a lot of time worrying about what I do. He’s cool like that.” He brushed a strand of hair off her brow. “It’s pretty nice in the cottage at night. Turn off the AC, open the windows, and the waves put you to sleep.”