“Hi, there,” she murmured, feeling the stubble on his jaw scrape against her nose. Her fingers played with the wet hair on the back of his head. “You smell good,” she said, lightly kissing his cheek.
“You smell better,” he whispered.
Her lips traveled down the side of his face, breathing in his salty smell, until he raised his chin and his soft, pillowy lips were finally on hers—
The car behind them honked.
“Move!” yelled the driver, sticking his head out the window. “You gonna sit here all day?”
“Fourth of July,” Mike said. “It brings out the best in everybody.” He put the car in drive and turned out of the Main Beach parking lot. “Stupid weekend people.” Then he grinned at her. “No offense.”
“Uh, don’t worry about it,” she said wryly, taking his hand and squeezing it.
She was starting to love the drive from East Hampton to Montauk. Mike would plug in his iPod and put on Jane’s Addiction, and she’d look out the window at the quaint shops and farm stands of Amagansett, then the roadside seafood shacks painted bright colors with their 1950s era signs, then the lush state parks on either side of the road. With each mile east, the Georgica and her parents and Thayer and Darwin faded farther and farther away.
Except it was becoming harder to lie. So far, her mom had been too busy with paddle tennis to notice when Isabel wasn’t at the club during the day. But this morning, she’d had to make up a story to get out of going to the Georgica for the fireworks.
“The Bayliffs,” she’d said, looking at her mom across the breakfast table. “You know Melissa Bayliff, her parents have a place out in Montauk? They’re having a party.”
“I thought you didn’t see her anymore,” said her mom, stirring her coffee.
“We’ve sort of been in touch. She just invited me.”
Beside her, Connor was quiet as he ate his scrambled eggs.
“Will there be supervision?” her father asked.
Isabel nodded. “Well, it’ll be at their house.”
“That’s not the same thing,” he said.
“Yes, there’ll be supervision. Her parents are the ones throwing it.”
“What’s their number?” her father asked.
Isabel almost laughed. “Seriously? You’re going to call them? How old do you think I am?”
“Larry, I don’t think that’s necessary,” said her mother.
“Fine,” he said, getting to his feet. “Whatever you think is best.” He left the table, whistling loudly.
“He’s in a good mood,” Connor said.
Her mom twisted open one of her bottles of supplements. “He’s just mad at me because I don’t want to sell this house. Go to the party,” she said to Isabel. “Just be safe getting home. There’ll be lots of drunk drivers on the road. Maybe Rory can go with you and take the Prius?”
“Or maybe Rory can come with us to the Georgica,” Connor ventured.
Mrs. Rule tipped some vitamins into her hand and froze. “Why would she do that?”
“Well, because we’re all going tonight and I just thought it would be the nice thing to do,” Connor said.
Isabel realized that this was her cue to leave. She didn’t want to wind up having to ask Rory to a party that didn’t exist. “Can I be excused, please?” she asked, standing up from the table.
“Fine,” her mother said. “You’re excused.”
She left just as her mother began to explain to Connor that Rory would be much happier going out with the staff tonight to Sag Harbor. As Isabel headed back to her room, she rolled her eyes to herself—deep down inside, her mom was such a hypocrite. She didn’t mind having a girl around the house to get her dry cleaning, but she would never actually let her be part of the family.
Now it felt like a lucky escape to be sitting next to Mike in heavy traffic, headed to the very farthest tip of Long Island.
“What do you want to do when we get out there?” he asked. “Hit the waves or hang out?”
She knew what he meant by hang out. They’d been doing a lot of that lately. Possibly too much, she thought. She was going to have to slow it down, even though it never worked. Somehow they always ended up at his place, to have a soda or grab a snack, and then somehow they would wander down the hall to his bedroom. She’d lie down on the creaky bed with its thin burgundy bedspread and he’d turn on the oscillating fan that did nothing to cut the humidity that swept in from the lake. And soon things would get passionately, deliriously out of control, until hours had passed and the light outside had dimmed, and her hair and skin were damp with sweat and she’d know that she’d have to leave.
“Let’s go to the beach,” she said. That was safer. She’d still need to go to his house to pick up her wet suit, but she knew he’d stay in the car.
“Cool,” he said. “And then after, we could meet Gordy and those guys. They’re going to the Ripcurl to see the fireworks.”
She’d met Gordy a few days earlier at a party at Mike’s house. He’d gone to high school with Mike. He was loud, abrasive, and weathered-looking. Isabel had instantly disliked him. “Okay. Will I be able to get in?”
“Leelee works there. She’ll make sure you don’t get carded.”
She still remembered the way Leelee had looked at Mike that first night a few weeks back—like he was number one on her list of prey. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I thought you hated places like that.”
“If it’s lame, we don’t have to stay,” said Mike. “It’s either we go there or we do the lighthouse, which is even more of a scene.” He looked over at her from behind the wheel. “You are so beautiful.”
“Liar,” she said, and then leaned over and kissed him.
The waves were almost blown out by the time they got to Ditch Plains, but there was just enough curl for them to paddle out. She was getting more confident on the board in front of Mike, though it was still hard to keep her mind on the waves. They surfed until the sunlight turned golden, and when they walked back to the car, she felt exhausted and content in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child.
She changed out of her bikini in the car and pulled on a tunic dress. She’d forgotten to bring a comb, but hopefully her hair would dry in nice waves from the salt water. “Wow,” Mike said as they got inside the car. “You really do look gorgeous.”
They drove through town and then toward Lake Montauk, turning into a driveway that led to a low white-shingled building.
“Check out the line to get in,” said Mike, pointing to the people waiting along the porch and down the steps onto the driveway. Luxury cars idled in the drive. “It’s already douchey.”
A valet dressed in surfing trunks and an aloha shirt came out to take their car. “Welcome to the Ripcurl Lounge,” he said to Mike, handing him a ticket. “Aloha.”
“Aloha,” Mike said back to him. “If this place is lame, we’re leaving,” he said to her under his breath.
“Good plan,” she said, and got out of the car.
They walked in front of the line to the door.
“Hey, we’re friends with Leelee,” Mike said, and the bouncer opened the door without a word.
“Aloha,” he said once more, and Isabel couldn’t help but giggle.
Inside, the decor was both retro and sleek: tables whittled from driftwood, pink love seats and couches with rattan frames, whitewashed brick walls, black-and-white photographs of surfers from the 1960s. The crowd looked to be in their late twenties and professional. These were people who worked in the city, made good money, and wanted to feel like they were at a club in the Meatpacking District when they came out here. It wasn’t her scene. And she knew that it wasn’t Mike’s, either.
“Hey, you made it!” Leelee walked over to them dressed in a pair of teeny-tiny shorts and a white shirt knotted at the waist. Isabel watched her balance a tray of drinks on one hand as she kissed Mike on the cheek.
“Cool place here,” Mike fibbed. He threw an arm around Isabel. “You remember Isabel.”
“Oh, right,” she said. Her smile was subtle to the point of nonexistent.
“Hi,” Isabel said.
“Gordy and those guys are over there,” Leelee said, pointing. “Make sure they don’t get totally smashed, okay? I still want to have a job tomorrow.”
Isabel looked over and saw Gordy holding court on two sofas with a few guys and girls. She’d never seen the girls before. They sat at the end, having their own conversation over what looked like strawberry daiquiris. They looked like they were in their early twenties. Great, she thought. I’m the youngest person here, again.
“And what can I get you guys to drink?” Leelee asked.
“I’ll have a beer,” Mike said. “Isabel, you want a beer?”
“Does she have ID?” Leelee asked, pointing at her.
Mike looked at Isabel, unsure how to respond.
“I don’t,” Isabel said.
“Then sorry,” Leelee said flatly. “I can’t. A bunch of other clubs have been busted for underage drinking.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Isabel wanted to ask Leelee if Mike would have been barred from having a drink here a few weeks ago, when he was still technically underage, but she let it go. “I’ll just take water, then,” she said.
“Coming right up,” Leelee said with an arctic smile, and walked away.
Isabel gazed out at the crowd, too embarrassed to look Mike in the eye. “So, this place is okay,” she said vaguely.
“We won’t stay long,” Mike said. “Sorry they’re such hard-asses about the beer.”
“That’s okay.”
“Let’s go say hi to Gordy. We’ll only stay for a bit.”
They headed over to Gordy’s table. From the number of beer bottles on the table, it looked like he and his friends had been celebrating for a while.
“Hey, Gordy, what’s up?” Mike said as they approached.
“Castelloni!” Gordy cried out. “You made it! How’s it hanging, guy?”
Isabel put on her best fake smile. Gordy could be a little lame.
“Everything’s good, man. You remember Isabel, right?” Mike asked, putting his hand on her back.
“Oh, yeah, hey,” Gordy said. “Sit down, you guys. Everyone, scoot over for Mike.”
Mike squeezed in next to Gordy. Isabel sat down between Mike and the girls. The one on her right had bleach-blond hair that fell in winged pieces on either side of her face, like an updated Farrah Fawcett do, and she seemed to be the ringleader. The other two hung on to her every word. One of the girls, a skinny brunette, had a nose ring. The other girl had obviously dyed red hair and very green eye shadow. They all briefly looked at Isabel as she sat down, and kept talking.
“So, can you believe this place?” Gordy asked, turning to Mike. “Ten-dollar Coronas.”
“Admit it, G,” Mike said. “You love these kinds of places.”
“Yeah, you got me there,” Gordy said. “I really need to spend twenty bucks on a burger to feel like a man.”
Leelee reappeared and placed something that looked like a Slurpee topped with an umbrella on the table in front of Mike. “Here’s our house specialty. The Hot Lava. Compliments of Leelee.” She winked.
“Thanks,” Mike said.
“And for you?” Leelee said, placing a glass of clear fizzy liquid and ice on the table. “A Seven-Up.”
“I didn’t ask for this. I asked for water,” Isabel said, feeling everyone’s eyes on her.
“Not drinking tonight?” Gordy asked her.
“She can’t,” Leelee said sharply. “Underage.” She looked back at Isabel. “Sorry about that. I’ll bring you a water.”
Isabel quietly seethed as Gordy started telling Mike about someone he’d run into from high school. That had been such a deliberate move, Isabel thought. Maybe Leelee really did like Mike. Well, she wasn’t going to let her win. No way.
Suddenly, Farrah Fawcett leaned over and said, “Hey. How old are you?”
There was no use in lying. “Seventeen,” Isabel said.
“And you and Mike met… how?” she asked.
“In the water. He was surfing in front of my club.”
“Oh, wait, wait, we heard about you!” The brunette with the nose ring leaned closer. “You’re from the city, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But we didn’t know you were in high school.”
“Well, I am,” Isabel said.
“Sorry, it’s just… well, considering who Mike normally dates,” said Farrah Fawcett. “He’s always dated older people. His last girlfriend was, like, twenty-five.”
Isabel felt her stomach plummet to the floor.
“Oh yeah, Nicollette,” chimed in Nose Ring. “I think I just saw her in a Ralph Lauren ad.”
“What?” Isabel asked.
“She was a model,” said Farrah. “They dated a long time. Lots of drama.”
“Yeah, I heard it was pretty steamy,” said Nose Ring.
As the word steamy hung in the air, Leelee returned and placed a glass of water in front of her. “Anything else?” she asked in a bossy voice.
Isabel shook her head. Her heart was galloping in her chest.
“I’ll be right back,” Isabel said, getting up. As she waded into the crowd, she felt like she’d just been punched. All this time, she’d suspected that Mike had been comparing her to other girls who could stay out all night and order a beer at a bar. But to be compared to a girl who was paid to look beautiful and travel the world and get her picture put on ads in magazines, and who could provide him with a relationship that was steamy—she’d never felt so small before.
She found the ladies’ room and locked herself in a stall. Outside, she heard girls chatting happily at the sinks about the guys they were with or the guys they were trying to be with. Girls who were older, who wouldn’t understand or even relate to what she was going through. Girls who lived on their own. Girls for whom sex was just part of having a boyfriend. Maybe sex was actually less of a big thing than she’d thought. Maybe if she just had sex with Mike, she’d see that it wasn’t worth all this worry and concern and feeling bad about herself. It was probably like getting your driver’s license—something that felt like a big deal at first, but then would become as routine and ordinary as anything else.
She missed Rory. There was something about how levelheaded she was, how immune she was to the highs and lows that Isabel had always known. Rory would help her feel better. What was she doing tonight? Anything? She couldn’t remember. Now she wished she had invited her along. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, but the small upside-down cone at the top of the screen was gone. No service. She’d have to call her outside.
When the other girls left the sinks, she unlocked the stall and opened the door. In the mirror, she saw that her hair had dried into soft, tousled waves and her face had just the softest bit of color from the sun. But all she could see was that other girl Mike had dated—whoever she was, whatever she looked like—posed in a field, wearing a black ball gown and a pair of galoshes, looking gorgeous and unattainable and more beautiful than Isabel would ever be.
When she walked back into the lounge, Mike was talking to another waitress, who Isabel suspected was Leelee’s friend. “Hey, babe,” he said. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. There was something about the way he was standing next to the waitress. So close. “I don’t feel so well. I think I’d like to go.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she walked out the doors, past the line that still waited along the porch and that the bouncers still attempted to control. The air was thick and humid, and as she skipped down the steps into the gathering dark, away from the club, she could hear a chorus of bullfrog calls from deep in the bushes.
“Isabel? What’s wrong?” Mike asked, following her.
She turned around. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ex-girlfriend?” she asked, barely able to look at him.
“What?” he said.
“The Ralph Lauren model. Who’s twenty-five. Or was twenty-five. What is she, thirty now?”
“Why are you getting so mad? I don’t ask about your old boyfriends.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
He stepped toward her. “Why is that so important?”
“Because I would want to know.”
“Fine, yeah, I dated a girl who’s a model and who’s twenty-five. And yes, I’ve had some older girlfriends. Who the hell cares?”
“I do! I care!” she yelled. “If all you want to date are models, then what are you doing with me? What are you getting out of this?”
He backed away. “You’re being a little bit crazy, okay?”
“I just need to know what you’re doing with someone who’s gonna get carded, and who can’t drive, and who needs to be home by midnight. When you can obviously just go off with some model to Paris or whatever. Is this about seducing the rich girl from Lily Pond Lane? Is that what this is?”
He flinched, as if she’d held up her arm to punch him. From the look on his face, she knew that she’d said too much.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” he finally said.
“What?”
“I don’t want to date someone who doesn’t know why I’m with them,” he said. “Or who thinks that all I want is someone who doesn’t get carded.” He turned and began to walk back toward the building.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” she said, going after him. She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m just having a freak-out. Don’t go, okay?”
He kept walking, refusing to look her in the eye. A breeze rustled the leaves.
She stepped in front of him. “Hey. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m not used to feeling like this.”
He looked down at the gravel, and then finally she felt him squeeze her hand. Then he drew her into his arms and held her without a word.
She buried her face into his shoulder and then reached up to cradle the back of his head with her palm. “Let’s go home,” she said as meaningfully as she could. “Right now.” She hoped that he knew what she meant.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his hand kneading her shoulder. “I don’t want you to do anything that you’re not sure about.”
She raised her head. Those liquid brown eyes seemed to see the most hidden parts of her. And she realized that she was helpless against them. There was no use in fighting it anymore.
“I’m sure,” she said. “Let’s go.”
