14. Party Animal
We show up wearing flamingo, blush, salmon, magenta, fuchsia, and rose gold. We wear pearl, blanched almond, alabaster, polar ice cap, and cloud. Fast Eddie is in a pink-and-white seersucker suit—is this too much? Apparently not, because the dentist Andy McMann wears a neon-pink top hat and his wife, Rachel, is in swan feathers. Even Romeo from the Steamship has cleaned up his act: He’s wearing a Bazooka-gum-pink bow tie and has traded in his usual cargo shorts for a pair of pink madras pants.
We park along the Richardsons’ white-shell driveway and note that all the hydrangea bushes are pink.
“Yes,” we overhear Benton Coe say. “Leslee wanted the hydrangeas pink, so I put lime around the bases.”
Whatever Leslee wants, Leslee gets,Blond Sharon thinks.
Sharon picks up her pace, even though she’s in heels, to meet up with Romeo. “You look dashing tonight,” she says.
Romeo notices Sharon teeter as she crunches through the shells in her stilettos. Impractical, he thinks, though they make her legs look a mile long. “Can I offer you my arm?”
“Thank you.” Sharon is grateful to Romeo, not only for his steadying presence but also because now she won’t be entering the party alone. She imagines Walker hearing that she and Romeo from the Steamship were looking cozy together at the Richardsons’ party. Ha! It would serve him right.
On Nantucket, the prevailing aesthetic for everything—even parties—is understatement. The old society matrons pretend to go to no effort when they entertain (and some of them aren’t even pretending). One infamous hostess sends out invitations on index cards that read, simply, Drinks, 6:00 p.m. Another hostess serves only two snacks: ham and butter sandwiches on postage stamps of Wonder bread and spears of pickled asparagus.
We’re elated to find that the Richardsons’ party gives maximum effort. The entrance is a soaring arch of Juliet roses. (Members of the Nantucket Garden Club inform us that Juliets are among the most expensive flowers in the world and to have such a profusion of them is unheard of. We pose for pictures under the arch—this is something our friends on Facebook have to see!) On the far side of the arch, servers hold trays of drinks: flutes of Laurent-Perrier rosé champagne, a cocktail called the pink lady—made with Triple Eight vodka, of course—and pink lemonade for the teetotalers.
We saunter onto the front lawn, where a pink-and-white-striped tent shades a full bar, a huge grazing board, and the guitar player, Sean Lee, who at the moment is playing “Pretty in Pink” by the Psychedelic Furs.
The Richardsons are leaning into the theme, we see.
The entire harbor is spread out before us like a banquet. The water is spangled with golden coins of sunlight; we see the church steeples of town in the distance; and the Richardsons’ yacht, Hedonism, cuts an impressive silhouette against the horizon. In the center of the lawn, halfway between the tent and the beach, Leslee Richardson receives her guests. She’s wearing a vintage Hervé Léger bandage dress in pink ombré stripes and pink metallic platform sandals; her makeup includes pink eye crystals.
Hello, thank you for coming, so lovely to see you.Most of us have to introduce ourselves because we’ve never actually met the Richardsons.
Blond Sharon and Romeo are standing with Fast Eddie and his wife, Grace. Sharon’s heels are chewing into the Richardsons’ lawn and she regrets not wearing flats. Sharon knows every single person at this party except for the people throwing it. A moment ago, she shook Leslee’s hand and said, “I’m Sharon, thank you for having me.”
“Nice to meet you,” Leslee said. (Immediately, Sharon caught a waft of Leslee’s vanilla perfume. Delilah was right; Leslee smelled as delicious as a French bakery.) “I’ve been told to stay on your good side.”
Sharon laughed in the moment, although now she wonders if she has an intimidating reputation. (Would this be a good thing or a bad thing?) Well, Sharon won’t worry about it tonight. Leslee probably meant that Sharon knows everything about everyone and isn’t afraid to share.
Sharon soon discovers that Romeo has never met the Richardsons, and Eddie and Grace know them only slightly. Sharon’s antennae rise. The Richardsons don’t know, but they do know, she thinks as she scans the crowd. This is more than just a party to meet the neighbors. Everyone here is a Nantucket someone. How did the Richardsons figure out whom to invite? She watches Delilah Drake enter the party in a white halter and pink pants with pom-poms on the hems, and Sharon relaxes. If Delilah has given the Richardsons the benefit of the doubt, then Sharon will too.
Sean Lee segues into “Who Knew” by Pink. Okay, we get it, Sharon thinks with a bit of an eye roll. But she’s delighted when the food starts to appear. There will be no white bread or stale cashews here—Zoe Alistair is catering! Her servers pass immaculately constructed bites, from tiny chicken and waffles that Sharon dips in maple syrup to vodka-spiked cherry tomatoes rolled in basil salt.
Romeo sees that Sharon’s champagne flute is empty and procures her a full one, then they wander over to the raw bar. “Where’s your husband tonight?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Sharon says. “He left me for his physical therapist. We’re getting divorced.”
“What an idiot,” Romeo says. He has never understood men who leave their wives for younger women. Romeo believes women get funnier, wiser, and, yes, sexier as they get older. He would never ask Sharon how old she is but he’s guessing they’re within a couple of years of each other. He likes her smile and her energy. She engages in life. Romeo bets she’s dynamite in bed.
Sharon helps herself to an oyster with mignonette while Romeo chooses a cherrystone. When they both reach for a plump pink shrimp, their fingers brush.
“Allow me,” Romeo says. He dips the shrimp in cocktail sauce and feeds it to Sharon while holding a napkin under her chin.
Is everyone at the party watching?Sharon wonders. Oh, she hopes so.
The Chief is wary of big parties like this—so many things could go sideways. For starters, every single car lined up along that driveway will presumably be driven home tonight, and from the looks of things, designated drivers will be scarce. Where there is drinking, there are accidents; someone could fall off the octagonal balcony or drown in the harbor. Then there are dangers of the emotional sort—arguments, fistfights, hurt feelings, affairs. The Chief has seen it all.
But it’s a stunning evening, the most glorious of the year so far, and they’re in a spot that’s extraordinary even by Nantucket standards. In the car on the way here, Andrea praised the Chief for all the progress he’s made with his health. That morning, he jogged three miles and did ten full minutes of meditation. “You deserve a night out,” she said.
He does, he thinks. It’s his last summer on the job; they’ve narrowed the search for a new chief down to two people—a young guy from Brockton and a woman from Oak Bluffs—and the Chief feels the heavy mantle of responsibility he’s worn for the past thirty-five years lighten a bit. Enough for him to have a real drink, anyway. He chooses the pink lady.
Coco stays upstairs at Triple Eight, checking in with the catering staff and prepping all the surprises in the party room until the guests start to arrive, then she hurries outside. Kacy glides in under the flower arch with her brother, Eric, and his girlfriend, Avalon. (Coco had called Avalon earlier that day because Leslee wanted her to do an at-home massage—throwing the party stressed her out. Avalon said, “I don’t think Leslee and I are a good match, but here are a couple of other names.”)
Kacy comes over, glass of rosé champagne in hand, and gives Coco a hug. “This is un-freaking-believable.”
Well, yes,Coco thinks. Nothing in Rosebush, Arkansas, or the barefoot paradise of St. John has prepared her for this kind of glamour. There’s a lot more to come, though she’s been sworn to secrecy.
“You look pretty,” Coco says. Kacy is in a pink floral prairie dress, and Coco feels like a douche-noodle in her uniform. She wants to know why she has to wear it while Lamont, the only other Richardson employee, is allowed to wear his own clothes—a pink oxford and a pair of white duck pants.
“Thanks,” Kacy says. “Can you hang, or…”
“I’m on the clock,” Coco says.
“Maybe when the party ends, we can go into town?” Kacy says.
“If Leslee has her way, this party isn’t going to end,” Coco says. She eyes the champagne flute in Kacy’s hand with longing. She should have sneaked a glass while Leslee was in the bedroom curling her hair, but instead Coco was running through her checklist. She turned off the alarms—fire, flood, the chime announcing visitors—then set a reminder to turn the alarms back on in the morning. She was in charge of the tent guys, the caterers, the various musicians throughout the night. There had been no time for champagne.
Lamont approaches and gives Kacy a kiss on the cheek, but his eyes are fastened on Coco. “Do you need help with anything?” he asks her. “I feel like a squid out here schmoozing while you break your ass.”
“It’s fine,” Coco says. This is how Leslee wants it: Lamont schmoozing, Coco breaking her ass. At that moment, Coco’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Leslee: ICE!!!! One of Coco’s duties is to replenish the ice at each of the bars and in the enormo wheelbarrow where they’re chilling the champagne. Leslee is obsessed with the temperature of the champagne. This is what she wants people to be talking about tomorrow, apparently: The champagne was so cold!
Coco hurries to the ice maker, which is in the laundry room, to transfer the ice to crystal buckets. The ice has to make its own stylish entrance to the party.
When Coco enters the laundry room, she gasps. There’s a man standing in front of the washing machine in his boxer shorts.
He turns around. “Hey, how ya goin’,” he says.
It’s Bull. Of course it’s Bull, this is his house, and yet Coco is surprised. Bull was in Indonesia on business and was due back yesterday, but his meeting in Jakarta ran long and he missed his flight to San Francisco and the connecting flight to Boston. Coco knows all this because Leslee had become completely unzipped about Bull missing the party. I’ve invited all these people! I need him here!
“You made it back,” Coco says now.
“A few minutes ago,” Bull says. “I’m not going to lie, all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for three days.”
“I bet.” Bull’s suitcase gapes open at his feet and the suit he must have been wearing is in a charcoal heap on the laundry-room floor. Coco immediately goes into concierge mode. “I’ll unpack your suitcase, separate laundry from dry cleaning, and put your toiletries away,” she says. “You should get dressed and join the party. Does Leslee know you’re here?”
“Not yet,” Bull says. “What am I supposed to wear to this thing?”
“Pink and white,” Coco says. She only now processes that Bull is nearly naked in front of her. He’s a big guy, so although he has a bit of a belly, he can pull it off; his shoulders are well defined, and he has just a shadow of silver hair across his chest. Ordinarily she might feel uncomfortable being so close to Bull when he’s undressed, but he looks so exhausted, she feels sorry for him.
“Would you please help me pick something out?” he says. “I’m color-blind.”
“Leslee left your clothes on the bed in case you got here on time,” Coco says.
He laughs. “Of course she did.” He gives Coco’s outfit an assessing eye. “I can’t believe she’s making you wear a uniform.”
“Oh.” Coco nearly says, She told me you were the one who insisted on the uniform. But it must have been Leslee’s idea; she just blamed it on Bull. “She thinks it looks more professional.”
He shakes his head. “Would you please get me a bourbon? There’s a Pappy thirty in the bar in the library.”
“Happy to,” Coco says. She didn’t notice a bar in the library before; all she remembers are the shelves of books, the seashell fireplace, the escritoire. But behind the desk, Coco finds a tall cabinet, and in the cabinet is a cache of really expensive bourbon: Gentleman Jack, Buffalo Trace, Pappy Van Winkle 13, Pappy 20, Pappy 30. Coco pours two fingers of the Pappy 30 into a crystal highball, then makes her way to the Richardsons’ bedroom. She finds Bull in the dressing room wearing Nantucket Reds and a white button-down. He’s combed his hair and applied an aftershave that smells peppery.
“Here you go,” Coco says, handing him the bourbon.
“You’re an angel.” Bull downs the entire drink in one swallow and gives Coco the empty glass. “If Leslee ever gives you trouble, if she makes you… uncomfortable in any way, I want you to come to me. Do you understand?”
Coco blinks. This isn’t the guy she remembers from the Banana Deck; that guy was all bluster and baloney, all Look at how rich and important I am. This Bull is stripped down, travel-weary, and way more human. It sounds like he wants to be her ally, which is exactly what Coco hoped for. She wants him to like her, to care about her enough to champion her script. But Coco has learned that in this life, nothing worth having comes easily. This feels too easy.
She nods. “I understand.” At that second, her phone buzzes. ICE! Where are u???
“I have to go,” Coco says.
“I’ll go with you,” Bull says.
“I have to get the ice.”
“Let me help,” Bull says. He follows Coco to the laundry room and together they scoop ice into the crystal buckets. It’s a pleasant moment—the ice cubes clink against the glass, there’s a smell of detergent and dryer sheets in the air, and it’s nice to have help, however unnecessary.
“How was your trip?” Coco asks. “Did everything go okay with the meeting in Jakarta?”
Bull looks up. “Leslee told you?”
Oops,she thinks. She’s not sure how to backtrack.
Bull whistles out a breath. “Yeah, it’s bad. I have to downplay it for Leslee because she immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario and we’re living in a van down by the river.” His phone dings. He checks the screen, then sighs. “I’ve been found out.” He sets his shoulders back and says, “How do I look?”
Coco is close enough to pin a boutonniere on him.
“You look very handsome,” she says truthfully, patting the front of his shirt.
He eyes her mischievously for a second. “I’m tempted to change into some blue and orange. That would make Leslee spit the dummy.”
“Yes, it would, mate,” Coco says.
Bull chuckles. “You’re okay by me, Coco.” He disappears down the hall.
Coco takes an ice cube and rubs it against her forehead. Her phone dings: ICE!!!
A spoon chimes against the side of a glass and we gravitate to the pink-and-white-striped tent, where the grazing board has been replaced by a dinner buffet: pyramids of lobster rolls and beef tenderloin sandwiches, platters of fried chicken, a colorful assortment of fresh salads. Standing before the food is Bull Richardson. Where did he come from? Has he been here all along?
He waits for us to quiet, then says, “Leslee and I would like to thank you all for coming to our new home. We look forward to making… well, at least a few summers’ worth of memories before this place falls into the sea.”
We laugh—the forbidden topic has been addressed. As the sun sets over the water and the waves lap up onto the Richardsons’ sugar-cookie beach, as we reach for our second (or third) cocktail or bite into buttery lobster rolls while Sean Lee serenades us with “Pink Houses,” even those of us who thought that buying the place was foolish have to admit that, on a night like tonight, it feels priceless.
Fast Eddie has been wondering all evening how he and Addison are going to manage to get a moment with Bull Richardson to discuss the Jackson property without anyone else around (for Eddie, anyone else means Grace). But Eddie needn’t have worried. Addison Wheeler, whose nickname has long been “Wheeler Dealer,” is as smooth as they come. He approaches Grace and Eddie just as they finish eating, puts a hand on Eddie’s back, and says to Grace, “Can I borrow your boyfriend for a moment?”
“Of course!” Grace says. A flush the same color as her Laurent-Perrier rosé starts on her cheeks and cascades down her neck into the cleavage displayed by her dress. “I’ve been wanting to mingle.” Grace heads over to the table where the landscape architect Benton Coe is sitting. Normally this would send Eddie into an apoplectic fit of jealousy because of Grace and Benton’s long-ago affair, but tonight, this is exactly what he needs. Grace will be occupied long enough for Addison and Eddie to talk to Bull.
There’s more good luck—when Bull sees them coming, he excuses himself from a conversation with his boat captain, Lamont Oakley.
“Hello, gentlemen, good to see you,” Bull says. They all shake hands and pound backs, and Addison comments on how beautiful the spot is, incomparable, really. Then, wasting no time, Addison goes on to say that Bull obviously recognizes a good business deal when he sees one, which is why he and Eddie are coming to him with an opportunity that recently fell into their laps: six waterfront acres on the southeast shore, the last parcel of its kind, and the owner is fine with dividing it into three lots.
“She’s priced the lots ridiculously low,” Eddie says. “We were going to advise her to raise the price—”
“But then we thought we’d buy them ourselves, build, flip, and make buckets of money,” Addison says. “Now, we could go to the bank—”
“Or I could be the bank?” Bull says. His tone of voice and facial expression are inscrutable and Eddie worries they’ve come on too strong. But it turns out there’s no such thing with the Richardsons, because Bull says, “The idea intrigues me. Let’s talk on Monday, shall we? Come up with a plan of attack?”
Yes!Eddie thinks. He practically skips back to the party, where people have started dancing. Eddie finds Grace still at Benton’s side.
Eddie says, “Hate to interrupt, but I’d like to dance with my wife.”
As Eddie leads Grace on to the dance floor, he says, “What did you and Benton talk about?”
“Oh,” Grace says. “Nothing, really. What did you and Addison and Bull talk about?”
“Oh,” Eddie says. “Nothing, really.”
When Sean Lee slows things down and plays “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd, Romeo asks Sharon to dance. He’s been by her side most of the night and she’s learned a lot about him. Such as he was in the Merchant Marine for twenty years before coming to Nantucket to work for the Steamship Authority. He’s never been married though he does have one son, age twenty-five, who works on one of those fishing boats in Alaska that you see on the reality shows. Sharon is intrigued; everyone in her hometown of New Canaan worked in tech, VC, or private equity. It’s arousing to talk to a man who knows about engines and water draw and weather patterns. He considers himself an amateur psychologist—half the battle of loading and unloading cars from the Steamship is dealing with the personalities behind the wheels.
Romeo is also an entrepreneur; he owns a whale-watching charter business up in Provincetown. It has made him enough money that he was able to buy his own twenty-two-foot Grady-White.
“It’s nothing like that sexy beast,” he says, pointing to the Richardsons’ speedboat, Decadence, which has been hiding behind Hedonism. “But I’d love to take you out for a boat day sometime.”
“Anytime!” Sharon says. “I’m free as a bird this summer.”
Romeo spins her around—on top of all his other charms, he’s a skilled dancer—and Sharon is left literally and figuratively breathless.
When Lee finishes the song, he says, “That’s a wrap for me for tonight, folks. The Richardsons would like everyone to enter the door of the summer porch and head upstairs to the party room for dessert and dancing.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd as we gather our things; it’s time to see the inside of Triple Eight.
Sharon is tempted to whip out her phone and take a video for TikTok, but she won’t be that person. (Someone who is that person, however, is Dr. Andy’s wife, Rachel. She has her phone out and is narrating: “A rare peek inside Triple Eight Pocomo.”) Sharon and Romeo move around Rachel, enter the octagonal screened-in porch, go down a hallway with a black-and-white floor, and walk up one side of a grand double staircase.
The party room is bathed in pink light. Glass canisters filled with pink candy are lined up along the Lucite bar. There’s a pink-chocolate fountain with strawberries for dipping, and servers pass cones of pink cotton candy.
Sharon notices there are fewer guests; the people still here are those who like to have fun. DJ Billy Voss has set up in the corner and he’s brought his drummer, Joe, with him; Joe will play along with every song, making it feel like there’s a live band in the room. The first song is “Crazy in Love,” and all the women—and Romeo—hit the dance floor. Sharon loves that Romeo is secure enough in his masculinity to dance to Beyoncé.
Just then, Sharon’s watch sounds an alert. It’s her Dexcom app, which monitors her son Robert’s glucose levels. Robert’s blood sugar is spiking.
No!Sharon thinks. Robert is, unfortunately, spending the night at Baxter Morse’s house, and although Robert knows better, he’s probably had not only soda but candy. Baxter’s mother, Celadon, keeps baskets of Snickers and Twix around the house as though every day is Halloween.
Sharon sends Robert a text: Your sugar! He may have to give himself an insulin shot, something he hates doing.
“I have to call my son!” Sharon shouts to Romeo over the music. She twirls her finger. “I’ll be right back!”
Romeo follows Sharon outside to the octagonal deck. It’s quiet here, and cool, with a breeze coming in off the water. There’s a crescent moon in the sky. It would be the most romantic spot on earth if Sharon’s son weren’t in the middle of an urgent health situation.
When she calls Robert, it goes straight to voice mail. Next, she calls Celadon. Voice mail. Robert’s blood sugar is at 280; Sharon won’t be able to relax until she talks to him.
“I’m afraid I have to go,” she tells Romeo. “My son has type one diabetes, he’s at a sleepover, his blood sugar is through the roof—”
“I’ll go with you,” Romeo says. “Let me drive. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Sharon knows she should decline this offer. Surely Romeo wants to stay—this is the party of the summer and it’s just getting started! But he looks at her earnestly, and before she can say, It’s fine, I’ll go alone, he’s made a decision. “We’re leaving right now.”
On the other side of the deck, Sharon sees Kacy Kapenash, Lamont Oakley, and that girl, Coco, who works for the Richardsons. Sharon approaches them and tells Coco, “Would you please tell the Richardsons that Sharon and Romeo had to leave but that we loved every second of this grand soirée and we’re so grateful to have been included.”
“I’ll tell them,” Coco says. “And don’t worry. There will be a lot of parties this summer.”
A few of us notice Sharon and Romeo leaving and we think, Sharon, what are you doing? The best is yet to come! Sharon bumps into Rachel McMann on the stairs and explains about Robert’s blood sugar. Of course we understand, and we think how sweet it is that Romeo is going with her. We’ve never thought of him as a lover before—but then again, his name is Romeo.
When DJ Billy Voss plays “Hot in Herre,” Leslee makes her entrance. She’s wearing a new outfit: a skintight metallic-pink jumpsuit and a pink wig. We all scream our delight, then notice Leslee’s personal concierge, Coco, handing out pink wigs. In the next moment, Coco steps behind the bar and starts mixing up shots of something called tickled pink. Those of us who throw the shots back wonder if there’s something in them other than alcohol because suddenly we’re at an eleven on the dance floor. “Stacy’s Mom” comes on, and Busy Ambrose, the Field and Oar’s commodore and one of the most staid and proper women we know, is in the center of the dance floor, pink wig atop her matronly bob, shaking her booty because she has a daughter named Stacy and she has always secretly believed this song to be about her.
Fast Eddie throws back not one but two tickled pink shots and he doesn’t protest when Grace fits a pink wig over his head, not even when he sees Rachel McMann taking videos of everyone on the dance floor. Eddie and Grace sing out to Icona Pop, “I don’t care! I love it!” They’re pogoing around like a couple of crazy kids in a mosh pit. This is exactly what their marriage needed and they didn’t even know it.
The Chief lets Andrea pull him onto the dance floor when Billy Voss switches to an ’80s medley, though he turns down the offer of a tickled pink shot (he’s the chief of police, after all) and he will not wear a wig. Addison is wearing a wig; he’s always been the life of the party. Jeffrey, however, is stuck to the curvy white sofa like a straight pin in a cushion; he’s drinking ice water and probably thinking of how he has to get up in six hours and tend the fields. Phoebe is smack in the middle of the dance floor, her long pink wig swaying as she dances with Leslee Richardson. The Chief blinks—Phoebe is wearing a new outfit as well, a white leather minidress. When did she change? Billy Voss plays “American Girl” by Tom Petty. Phoebe and Leslee shriek and throw their arms around each other. Another woman in a pink wig—the Chief belatedly realizes it’s Delilah—storms off the dance floor. Or maybe she needs the ladies’ room.
Delilah rips off her wig and tosses it down the stairwell. Her head instantly cools (wigs aren’t meant for people with as much hair as she has) but her temper is still blazing. She slams into the Richardsons’ powder room, irate at how fabulous it is (dove-gray wallpaper patterned with pussy willows; a silver glass column sink that glows from within), and collapses on the toilet.
She’s drunk, yes, but that’s not the problem. The problem is that Phoebe has become Leslee Richardson’s… groupie! At dinner, Delilah, Andrea, and Phoebe were looking for a place to sit, but then Phoebe peeled off and took the open seat next to Leslee. When everyone else went upstairs to the party room to dance, Leslee invited Phoebe—and only Phoebe—downstairs to the primary suite to, she said, “change.” When Phoebe reappeared, she was wearing a dress she’d borrowed from Leslee and she stank of weed.
“Were you smoking down there?” Delilah sounded judgy, but in reality, she was jealous.
Phoebe giggled and followed Leslee onto the dance floor.
Then “American Girl” came on, and, while it might sound juvenile, that had long been Phoebe and Delilah’s song. Delilah went looking for Phoebe so they could dance and found her basically making out with Leslee.
As Delilah sits on the toilet with her face in her hands, there’s a knock on the door. She hears Jeffrey say, “Delilah, let’s just go home.”
But Delilah doesn’t want to go home. This is, hands down, the best party she’s ever been to.
She exits the powder room, sidesteps Jeffrey, says, “Let’s stay for one more quick drink, babe,” and heads to the bar. Coco is nowhere to be found, so Delilah fills a rocks glass with club soda. She pours the entire thing into the pot holding a pink-and-white orchid in the dining room. It’s a silent revenge; the worst thing you can do to orchids is overwater them. Delilah feels a little better.
“Okay,” she says when she finds Jeffrey morosely skulking in the doorway, watching Dr. Andy and Rachel McMann bump and grind. “We can go.”
Billy Voss ends his set at one in the morning with “Last Dance” by Donna Summer.
The room is still pretty full and Coco is impressed—these old people can hang!—though she’s relieved it’s over. Everyone will go home now, right?
She’s a little confused because there are still delicious aromas coming from the kitchen, Zoe Alistair’s staff are somehow still here, and at that moment, a gentleman in a tuxedo comes walking up the stairs. His hair is slicked back; he has blue eyes.
“Party room?” he asks.
“Who are you?” Coco asks.
“Frank Sinatra,” he says.
The Chief and Andrea are back out on the dance floor swaying to “You Make Me Feel So Young.” The Chief realizes he must be either dreaming or drunk because it appears to be Frank Sinatra who’s singing. Ol’ Blue Eyes! He’s not only still alive, he’s here at Triple Eight!
Whose idea is it to go skinny-dipping? Some might say it’s a natural next step. The after-party singer finishes; the caterers pass around cheeseburger sliders and paper cones of hot, crispy French fries that we scarf down like we’re drunk high-schoolers at the McDonald’s drive-through.
It’s nearly three in the morning. Coco has been on the clock for nineteen hours and this, she decides, is enough. She follows everyone else down the stairs and out the doors of the screened-in porch. People are stripping off their clothes all over the lawn, and because Coco is still in concierge mode, she pulls a stack of beach towels from the porch closet.
She reaches the beach in time to see Leslee, naked, dive into the water, followed by her new sidekick, Phoebe, also naked. Eddie the real estate dude is there; he goes into the water in his boxers, but his wife goes in naked, and so does Benton Coe the landscaper, still in his pink wig. Coco averts her eyes.
Kacy comes up behind her. “Come on, let’s go in.” She’s fiddling with the side zip of her dress.
Coco was already planning on it. She shucks off her polo and her shorts—it feels good to be out of her uniform—then her bra and her underwear, and she and Kacy charge into the water. This is far from the first time Coco has gone skinny-dipping—it was a full-moon tradition at Hawksnest Beach on St. John—but it’s the first time she’s done it sober. The water shocks her weary brain and bones into alertness, clarity. The crescent moon vamps above them.
“Thanks for everything tonight,” Coco says. Kacy had helped clear the abandoned drinks; she collected the crumpled napkins, replenished the strawberries for the chocolate fountain, and fetched more tequila for the tickled pink shots. She took a selfie of the two of them on the deck with the Richardsons’ yacht behind them and one of the two of them in the kitchen stuffing leftover lobster rolls into their mouths.
“I can’t believe how crazy this party is,” Kacy says. “Leslee is Her.”
Coco understands how Kacy might think that, especially after Leslee reentered the party in her second outfit of the evening, a jumpsuit so tight you could see her religion.
Kacy gazes over at the other guests, who are swimming at the opposite end of the beach. “But ugh… I did not need undeniable proof that Addison has a flat ass.”
Coco laughs and floats on her back, nipples pointing to the sky. This is how people drown, she thinks. Swimming when they’re as tired as she is.
There’s a disturbance in the water and Coco freezes, thinking it’s a fish (or a shark!). A head breaks through the surface right next to her and she shrieks.
It’s Lamont.
He laughs. Coco splashes him, and soon they’re tussling. He grabs her ankle and pulls her under; she surfaces and jumps on his back and—what possesses her?—nibbles on his ear. He responds by reaching around underwater and grabbing her ass cheek (out of Kacy’s line of sight), and Coco feels a surge of desire. She wraps her thighs around him. If Kacy weren’t here, they would start making out. Coco would stroke his erection and get him up to her apartment as fast as she could. She doesn’t care about Leslee’s stupid rule.
How,she wonders, can they get rid of Kacy? Will Kacy pick up on the nature of their roughhousing and head for shore? She will not. When Coco turns, she sees Kacy only a few feet away, treading water.
Shit,Coco thinks. Whenever she bumps into Lamont around the Richardson compound, he’s polite and friendly but nothing more. Leslee has clearly given him the lecture: No dating the other staff member or you’ll both be replaced like that. Snap. But right now they have a chance to sneaky-link. Who knows when another opportunity like this will come along?
A voice cuts through the inky air. “Lamont!”
Coco looks in the direction of the voice and sees Leslee in all her daily yoga-practice perfection on the bow of Hedonism, windmilling an arm. Leslee is Her, Coco thinks unhappily.
Lamont loosens his grip on Coco, dumping her back into the water. He starts swimming toward the boat. “Have a good night, ladies.”
The Chief is still dancing to Frank Sinatra, who’s currently singing “The Way You Look Tonight.” This is the song he and Andrea danced to at their wedding. Andrea comes from a large Italian family; her uncles had approved. In the next instant, Frank Sinatra has changed his outfit (that seems to be a trend tonight). Instead of a black tuxedo, he’s now wearing a pink velvet tuxedo. Ed is about to ask Andrea if she noticed this—except it isn’t Andrea he’s dancing with, it’s Leslee Richardson.
The Chief startles awake. He’s lying on the curvy white sofa in the Richardsons’ party room. Andrea is next to him. The Chief looks around—everyone else is naked, or nearly so. What is going on? Addison wears only a towel; Phoebe is snoring under a throw blanket. Eddie Pancik is wearing boxer shorts and a pink wig. Busy Ambrose from the Field and Oar Club is lying on the floor, her head on a turquoise pillow. She isn’t wearing a stitch of clothing—and neither are Dr. Andy and Rachel McMann. (The Chief can’t unsee a naked Dr. Andy; he may have to change dentists.)
There’s pearly light coming through the windows; the birds are singing. Ed checks his phone; the battery is at 3 percent, but there are no missed calls, no texts. There were apparently no party-related crimes or misdemeanors last night, which is a darn good thing since the Chief was dead to the world and couldn’t have responded. It’s a quarter past four in the morning. His head aches.
Gently, he nudges Andrea. Her eyelids flutter open and she too gazes around the room like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Was there some kind of orgy that they missed—or (god forbid) took part in?
Delilah and Jeffrey are nowhere to be found; they probably acted like responsible adults and left when people started taking their clothes off. Ed gets to his feet. He considers waking Addison but decides it’s better to make a clean getaway.
He offers Andrea his hand. “Let’s go,” he whispers. “Party’s over.”