Summer Darlings Page 18

  The carousel slowed to a stop. As Anna and Heddy met Ash and Teddy at the exit gate, across the street, she saw Sullivan closing his car door, and she spun around so her back was to the street. She didn’t want to run into him. How would she introduce Ash and Sullivan to each other? She turned to see if he was coming toward them, but he was quarreling with a pert redhead she didn’t recognize.

  “My horse was faster than yours,” Teddy teased Anna, who stuck out her tongue, then screamed at him to stop.

  “Quiet, children,” Heddy said, separating them.

  Over the din of voices, Ash pulled at his shirt, wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Hot as Hades in here. I need to get home and change. Are you looking for somebody?”

  Heddy whipped her head back to Ash.

  “I thought I saw Ted,” she lied. Ash pulled a second handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing it at her temples, and she’d wanted to close her eyes, feel the pads of his fingertips through the fabric on her face.

  Then Ash said: “Let’s get out of here.” She snuck a glance at Sullivan, who was back in his car. She couldn’t exit, not now, too risky.

  “I just want to see something,” she said, pretending to read the nursery rhymes on the walls. Once Sullivan drove off, she took Anna’s hand.

  “How are you getting back?” Ash asked.

  “I left my bike in Vineyard Haven. Could we pick it up and ask you to drive us home?”

  Ash positioned his fedora on his head, little wisps of hair sticking out the sides. “Only if you come over for a bit. I’d say Jean-Rose’s luncheon should keep her gossiping for a few more hours.”

  They squeezed into the cab of his truck, the children sandwiched between them, and when they pulled up, his cottage looked the same as the last time she was there. The sink piled with dishes, a few gnawed drumsticks on a plate. On the counter, a stack of hardcover library books: New York’s Great Buildings; Gustave Eiffel: The Man; James Michener’s Hawaii. The kids shuffled through the living room, scanning it for toys, settling on the chess game on the kitchen table.

  “Don’t worry—I’m not that smart. I rarely finish a book.” Ash noticed she was looking at the titles and came to stand next to her. “I’m a grazer. I flip through, take what I need.”

  Heddy devoured books like others did chocolate. It was her way of escaping into another place whenever hers was too much to bear. “My favorite book is Jane Eyre.”

  “Pretty depressing, kitty kit. Heathcliff could drive anyone to an insane asylum.”

  “That was Wuthering Heights, silly.” She opened the book with the Empire State Building on the cover.

  “English is my second language. Maybe my third or fourth.” He was in his sunny bedroom, the door half-closed, and he walked past the doorway shirtless, making her look away.

  “I don’t believe that. You have a way with words—it’s like you always know just what to say, no matter who you’re talking to. I would have taken you for debate. Like you trained for law.”

  “Close—I doubled in psychology and criminal justice.” A drawer slammed shut; he chuckled. “Not using either one now. All I really want to do is help put up interesting buildings in cities like New Delhi. Skyscrapers in San Francisco. Palaces in Marrakech.”

  “So why aren’t you?”

  “Because I’m building houses in Florida. We all gotta start somewhere.” Ash emerged barefoot and wearing rose-colored shorts, a clean white T-shirt with a chest pocket. He pulled two glasses out of the kitchen cabinet. Ice cubes cracked onto the counter, the sound of the faucet filling up a glass. He handed her water, and she sipped before putting it down. She thought people like him propelled to the top instead of starting at the bottom. Didn’t family connections do that for someone?

  She turned the pages: one photograph showed the Chrysler Building being built, another was of a brownstone with a bright blue door.

  Heddy looked out at the dunes, the smooth arc they made to the sea. “I’ve always thought that different doors are ways into different lives. Like, what would it be like to walk out one door and into another? I like to imagine the characters who would live in a penthouse, a Cape Cod, a sprawling beach house.”

  He stood beside her, looking at the book. His eyes crinkled. “But what goes on inside those houses, the lives of these characters, is all the same—love, betrayal, sadness, and joy.”

  She looked up at him. “You say it like you know something of it.”

  “I do.” He passed her another book: Great Estates of New England. “Houses are symbols, kitty kit. They mean something to us because we build lives inside them. My childhood home is the keeper of so many of my best memories: the doorway where dad marked the date every time I grew an inch, the banister I’d slide my hand down as I ran to the living room on Christmas morning. I mourn that house like I would a relative; it was a part of me.”

  She took in his boyish profile, his clear eyes, the way his fingers rested on the counter, like he was the most relaxed person in the world. “I don’t need a big house,” she said. “Just a cozy one. A fireplace in the living room, those two little square windows on either side.”

  He laughed. “But that might change. Houses make us feel things they didn’t at first, whether it’s purpose or restlessness, success or failure. A man writes a million-dollar check for an estate because it makes him feel like he has a reason to get up in the morning. A woman may love her house, then begin to resent her husband’s inability to fix it up, resenting him as well. People are always thinking about houses, like a better one will make them happier. But people believe in houses too much, actually—they think the exterior offers some outward picture of what goes on inside. Beautiful house, beautiful family.”

  She closed the book. “But you don’t think that’s true?”

  “Not always.”

  It certainly wasn’t true of Jean-Rose, Heddy thought, and yet the perfectly trimmed hedges implied otherwise. “And yet, you’re letting your parents’ house consume you. Why not just let go?”

  “Because it was taken from us,” he sighed. “It wasn’t right.”

  “I’m sorry.” She nodded, turning the page to a pristine Tudor. “You know, I hate when people say money doesn’t mean anything. Money is survival. Pure survival.”

  “You’re right,” he turned to her, surprised. “Money is everything. Look what happened to my mother’s house.”

  “And my mother, too. She’s struggled to make money, enough of it, her whole life.”

  They stared at each other knowingly, until Teddy, bored with their exchange, kicked Anna, and Anna kicked back harder. Heddy separated the children.

  “Anyway, that’s not why I want to build skyscrapers,” Ash said. She and the kids followed him onto the patio, Teddy clutching the chess set. “That’s more about ego and wanting to make a mark. I can’t draw them, but I can raise funds, hire the architect, pore over the plans until that glittery piece of art is added to the city skyline.”

  She could see him already: a smart suit, pushing through the revolving door, strangers thanking him for the stunning structure. He wasn’t a dreamer, she thought. No, that was Sullivan. Ash was practical, a man who knew what had to get done and did it. She liked that he knew what it meant to struggle.

  He relaxed into his director’s chair and put his hands behind his head. “What are you majoring in?”

  “English. I want to write a screenplay.”

  “Kids, your babysitter is one of the most ambitious women I’ve ever met.” Anna smiled, while Teddy ignored him. “Have you written one yet?”

  “I have some pages, but it’s mostly plot notes.” Heddy shrugged. “I study strangers, like I do doors”—she laughed—“and I make up stories about their lives, like where they’re going, what they’re worried about, their dreams. Then I turn them upside down looking for the story.”

  “I do that with airplanes. When you see one flying overhead, don’t you wish you knew where it was going? Are they on their way to a Cubs
game, or heading to the Galápagos to photograph sea turtles?”

  “Or to reunite with family.”

  “Or to see someone they’re falling for,” he said.

  She felt her breath catch in her throat, keeping her eyes on the kids, the chessboard. They knocked all the pieces over, and Anna threw one at Teddy. “I want to travel like that,” she said, reprimanding Anna.

  “If you could go anywhere, where would it be?” His eyes twinkled.

  She considered it. “Top three: Los Angeles, Los Angeles, Los Angeles.”

  “We could sip Bellinis at the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel.” He laughed.

  She rested her chin in her hand, grinning. “And I’d cast actors for my movie.”

  “When do you finish school?” he asked. He was pretending to write down the details in a notebook on the table, like they were planning a trip.

  “One year left.”

  Ash scratched his head. “We have a problem.”

  She looked at him.

  “You need to write a screenplay,” he said.

  “Yes, that would help.” They smiled at each other.

  Teddy begged Ash to show him how to play chess. “Teach me, teach me,” Heddy teased.

  “If you love people,” he told Heddy, “you’ll love chess. It’s about reading motives.”

  She sat with the children and listened to him explain the significance of a rook, a pawn, a bishop, a queen. Every piece had a purpose, every move was a decision that led a player to loss or victory. She watched him use the bishop to take Teddy’s queen on a diagonal, then the rook, who swept a forgotten pawn.

  Ash tapped his rook on the square. “Don’t get trapped in zugzwang. It’s when you get stuck in a position where any move you make is a bad one.”

  “How does that happen?” It sounded a lot like life.

  “Mostly in the end, when you’ve got fewer pieces, and fewer options,” he said.

  “I bet you know all the right moves.” She cupped her chin in her hands, smiled broadly, and Ash chuckled. Heddy instructed Teddy to use his king to take one of Ash’s rooks, but then Ash cornered their king.

  “Checkmate.” He winked at her, and she punched his arm playfully.

  “Sorry, kitty kit. You made it too easy.”

  Heddy could see her whole summer on that chessboard. Jean-Rose and Ted might think her a pawn, but she was a rook. She wasn’t as powerful as the queen, but a rook could jump over anything standing in its way. A rook didn’t have to capture anyone to win. It could simply leap.

  Heddy was ready to leap.

  FIFTEEN

  Heddy hadn’t even knocked on the door when it opened. Five days before the party, and she’d been waiting for this: a chance to hear how a true-to-life movie star got the guy.

  “You’re late.” Gigi was wearing her big Italian sunglasses and a slouchy, striped sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder, revealing the ties of a black bikini about her neck. Several silver bangles on her wrist jingled as she pushed by her.

  Heddy checked her watch: “Barely a minute.” She’d dropped the kids at camp, and stopped at the grocer and post office for Jean-Rose.

  Heddy followed Gigi under an arbor with bunches of wisteria twisting through it, the purple flowers dangling like grapes, coming to a stone path to the beach. The actress moved like a gazelle, swiftly stepping one bare foot in front of the other, her toenails painted the color of beach roses.

  Heddy struggled to keep up with her, quickening her pace. “Ms. McCabe, why are we rushing?”

  Gigi swung around. “Call me Gigi! And if you must know, I’m having a bit of a day. Brando dropped out of the movie, so the studio is hemming and hawing about the start date, and I’ve had it up to here.” She held her hand up to her neck, like a guillotine ready to slice into her. They crossed the large expanse of lawn in bare feet, having left their shoes at the arbor, and the grass was wet from the sprinklers. “Anyway, I’m sorry. You arrived just as I was hanging up.”

  Heddy sped up. “We can do this another day.”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s a lot to cover. And my party is Saturday. I want you ready.” Gigi pulled her by the arm to a pier, really a private dock, long enough one could pull a boat up to it.

  The dock creaked with their footsteps, the gentle slap of waves rippling under them. At the end were two fishing poles, each one with a colorful feather lure at the end of the line. Gigi bent down to sit, taking off her sweatshirt and dangling her feet off the side—the jingle of her bracelets announcing her every move. Heddy scooted next to her, dipping her toes into the cool water.

  “Your posture. It’s all wrong.” Gigi accused. The movie star was leaning backward on the palms of her hands, shoulders back, bosom forward, the pose of a pinup girl.

  “Excuse me?” Hyperaware now of her own stance, Heddy pushed her spine up like a broom pole.

  “That didn’t come out right.” Gigi patted Heddy on the back like an obedient puppy. “What I mean to say is, I used to stand against a wall with my shoulders back for fifteen minutes a day, a requirement of Miss Lilliana’s Manners School. I think you’d benefit from the same. Your posture is the only unattractive thing about you.”

  Heddy took off her shirt so she was sitting in her bathing suit. “Is that all you got?”

  “Well, you’re a cute girl. That doe look. A softness in your manner that disarms people. The boys I knew in high school would want to bring home a girl like you. So what’s bugging you, pussycat? Are you sad? You know, men can sniff out sadness as easily as they can seduction.”

  “I’m not sad.” Heddy pulled her feet out of the water and sat cross-legged on the dock. A ball caught in her throat as she tried to figure out how to explain how she was feeling. But Gigi made her so nervous—she felt nauseated, like she did on the Tilt ride—because she couldn’t think of what to say.

  “You realize marriage is a bit of a drag.”

  Gigi might be right; it certainly didn’t seem easy for Jean-Rose and Ted. She seemed to fear him more than she loved him, and yet, even without a perfect union, Heddy believed they were better together than they would be apart. “That’s for me to decide.”

  A flock of seagulls flew overhead, squawking to the scattered clouds. Gigi followed them with her glittery eyes. “Here’s the truth: no one is going to love you if you don’t love yourself. I know, it’s dime-store phooey. But a therapist in the Hollywood Hills told me that years ago, and you know what? He was right.”

  Heddy followed the curve of Gigi’s back. “I’m just, well, finding my way. Do you remember what it was like to be twenty-one?”

  “I was in a picture at twenty, my breakout role in Streets of San Francisco. I was right where I wanted to be.” Gigi lay back on her elbows, pleased at the memory. “You don’t feel the same, I gather?”

  Heddy covered her face with folded arms. “Not so much.”

  “So what’s with all this husband-snagging stuff? I thought you were a Wellesley girl trying to pave your way with your own gold.”

  “I’m the first in my family to go to college.” Heddy thought back to the day she got her acceptance letter, how she’d sat at the kitchen table turning the thick cream envelope over in her hands before getting the courage to open it.

  “Well, I was the tenth in my family who didn’t go to college.” A throaty laugh. “So what if you’re the first? Be proud. Move on.”

  Heddy scratched at a mosquito bite on her arm. “I just need some insurance.”

  “What kind of insurance?” Gigi shot back. “Does this have to do with that letter you had me sign?”

  “Maybe. Look, I just need a guarantee I’ll be okay, even if I don’t get my degree.”

  Without replying, or even indicating she’d heard, Gigi climbed down the ladder at the end of the dock and dove into the sea. Then she was back on the dock, water dripping off her curves, her red lipstick unchanged.

  “Didn’t you say you grew up in the city?”

  A vigorous nod. “
Brooklyn.”

  “Mother?”

  Heddy nodded some more.

  “Father?”

  Knees to her chest, and a whisper. “Not really.”

  “Oh God, so that’s why you like Ted Williams. Classic daddy issues.” Gigi gave her a knowing look, like she’d heard it all before. “Anyway, you and your mother struggled to make ends meet. You bury your nose in school. You fight hard to get out. But it feels like you’ll never win the battle, unless you marry the right man.”

  “Something like that.” Heddy was stunned at how easily Gigi summed her up, how it caused all those layers of muscle around her heart to ache.

  “And you think this works against you because…” A Boston whaler sped by, the driver waving. Heddy and Gigi watched him pass.

  “Because my mother wants me to marry someone back home. ‘My people,’ she says. You know, the ones who work in the shipyards.” Heddy didn’t want to cry. It was silly to cry at a detail like that—it was love that mattered, right? And maybe she could fall in love with a neighborhood boy, regardless.

  “First off, don’t listen to your mother. You have nothing in common with those men.” Gigi pointed her toes like a dancer. “They’re not looking for a wife who can argue the virtues of Lady Macbeth in Act Three. School changed you, and that’s okay. Hollywood changed me.”

  Heddy felt the lifting of a weight, the leather book bag she shuttled her textbooks to and from class, suddenly lighter. Being at Wellesley showed her that there was more to life than Atlantic Avenue. She left home with one identity, but while away, she dared to step into another one. But it left her feeling lost, since she wasn’t firmly planted in the upper-crust circles at school or the working-class neighborhood back home. She was somehow both, teetering between the two worlds, lost in a way no one else she knew was.

  Gigi stretched her slender arms up overhead in that elegant way gorgeous women do. “Not having a father made you hungry, and that’s what sets you apart. It doesn’t matter that you grew up with nothing.” She fished around in her bag, pulling out a green leather notebook and tossing it to Heddy. “Write that one down.”