Swan Song

27. Day-Drinking in Denpasar

The next Richardson party is a spur-of-the-moment event. Instead of getting hand-delivered envelopes, those invited receive a text: Day-Drinking in Denpasar! Cocktails and Asian-inspired buffet. See you at 888 Pocomo Road tomorrow at two p.m.

Busy Ambrose is overjoyed. The forecast for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours is driving rain, and Busy dreads nothing more than a summer Sunday at the Field and Oar Club without tennis or sailing. Busy was being pressured to organize a bridge tournament in the ballroom, but now she can delegate that onerous task to Talbot Sweeney because she is going to pull her silk kimono out of mothballs and go to the Richardsons’.

“Day-Drinking in Denpasar,” Delilah says to Jeffrey. It’s ten o’clock on Saturday night and Jeffrey is already under the summer-weight blanket. “Party tomorrow at the Richardsons’.”

“You go,” Jeffrey says. “I don’t do day-drinking.”

“It’s supposed to pour rain,” Delilah says.

“I’m well aware,” Jeffrey says. “I’m a farmer. I’m doing paperwork tomorrow.”

Fine,Delilah thinks. She’ll go alone. She’s been meaning to talk to Leslee anyway. Corwin at the food pantry has not yet received the donation Leslee promised. He doesn’t feel comfortable pestering her, so Delilah volunteered to follow up, which she’d meant to do during pickleball, but last week Leslee had been strangely unavailable, so they’d had to cancel.

Delilah texts Phoebe: Jeffrey not going to 888. Can you pick me up?

Phoebe texts back: We’re Ubering. Followed by the cocktail emoji.

Delilah texts Andrea, who says yes they’re going, Ed will drive, he’s not planning on drinking. Thank god for the Chief, Delilah thinks.

Eric shows the invitation text to Avalon, who still isn’t feeling well. (“It’s like I got bitten by a tsetse fly,” she said, whatever that means.) “Do you want to try to go to this?” he asks.

“Hell no,” she says. “Why is that woman still inviting us to things? Can she not take a hint?”

Eddie calls out to Grace, who is in the bathroom brushing her teeth, “We got invited to another Richardson party tomorrow. The theme is Day-Drinking in Denpasar.” He pauses. “What’s Denpasar?”

Grace pokes her head out. “The capital of Bali.”

“Really?” Eddie says. “How did you know that? Did you just google it?”

“No, I didn’t just google it,” Grace says. “I’m brushing my teeth.” She flashes Eddie her pearly whites. “I read Eat, Pray, Love.”

Sharon hasn’t heard from Romeo in days, despite the fact that she has called three times, left two voice mails, and sent half a dozen texts, including one with a lengthy apology.

Sharon’s fantasy about reconciling with Walker lasted only a matter of hours. The act he put on inside the Club Car was just that, an act. Once they were out on the cobblestones, Walker’s contrition turned into amusement that Sharon was actually dating Romeo from the Steamship.

“I thought it was a rumor,” Walker said. “I had no idea you were that desperate.”

“Speaking of desperate,” Sharon said, “how’s Bailey from PT?”

Walker spilled the beans: Things with Bailey had been “magical” and “incandescent” until the middle of July, when Bailey left New Canaan for a share house in the Hamptons. “She went to Surf Lodge every night, and some nights I heard from her at three a.m., some nights not at all. I know how much money she makes, and there’s no way she was paying for her own drinks.”

He got dumped,Sharon thought.

If Sharon had been smart, she would have hightailed it back to the Club Car at that point, but she clung to some romantic notion of saving their marriage and returning to their old life. She imagined being able to send a holiday card with the five of them smiling on the front. With this in mind, Sharon drove Walker back to their house, but the whole time in the car, he was texting on his phone.

“Who are you texting?” she asked.

“No one,” he said. “Work.”

Work? At ten o’clock at night? When they got home, Walker tried to kiss her but he was sloppy about it and his breath was sour, and Sharon was distracted by the hairs in his nose and it felt disturbingly like kissing someone she was related to.

“You can sleep in the guest room,” she said. Before Walker could protest—“A guest in my own home?”—Sharon went into the primary suite and closed the door. And locked it. Still, even then, she thought they might be able to make it work. She would learn to trust him again; she would ask him to tweeze his nose hairs; their sex life would resume. In the morning, Sharon knocked softly on the door of the guest room; she wanted to discuss how they would explain things to the kids.

“Come in,” Walker said.

He was sitting at the desk with Sharon’s laptop open. He was… reading her character study, which Sharon was working on turning into a story. She had the characters down; she just needed a conflict.

“Excuse me,” Sharon said, slamming the laptop shut. “That’s private.”

“Hey, I didn’t get to finish. That was good. You wrote that?”

“I did.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found a little hobby,” he said. “Other than gossiping.”

So many things about this statement offended her, she wasn’t sure where to begin. It’s not “a little hobby,” I’m pursuing a lifelong passion for creative writing. It’s what I plan to do with my one wild and precious life.

What Walker would have her do with her life was cater to him—cook, clean, drive the children around, keep track of Robert’s blood sugar (Walker didn’t even know how to use the Dexcom app), handle the twins’ applications to college. Sharon realized that she gossiped because her own life was so extraordinarily dull and unfulfilling.

Until this summer.

“Wake up the kids and take them to the Downyflake for breakfast,” Sharon said. “After that, I’d like you to leave.”

“Leave?” Walker said.

“It’s over, Walker.” Sharon texted Romeo: It’s over with Walker. He slept in the guest room and will be leaving after breakfast.

There was no response. Sharon called Romeo and was dispatched to his voice mail. She thought she might see him when she drove Walker to the ferry, but Walker insisted on taking the Hy-Line, not the Steamship. “On principle,” he said.

When Sharon gets the invitation to the Richardsons’ day-drinking party—a party Romeo will likely attend—she decides she needs advice, so she calls Heather, who is in the office even though it’s Saturday.

“You’re married to your work,” Sharon says.

“It’s a blissful union,” Heather says. “What’s up?”

Sharon tells Heather how her own blissful union with Romeo was disrupted by a surprise visit from Walker. “He requested ‘Just Like Heaven’ at the Club Car piano bar and dedicated it to me.”

“Dirty pool,” Heather says.

“Now Romeo won’t speak to me and I have to see him at a party tomorrow and I don’t know what my approach should be. Should I plan to arrive right at two so I’m there when Romeo walks in or should I let him arrive first and wonder where I am?”

Heather takes a beat. “Who’s throwing the party?”

Sharon doesn’t like to lie to her sister, but she doesn’t want to admit that she’s still consorting with the Richardsons. “Dr. Andy and Rachel McMann,” she says. “It’s a Preppy Handbook theme.”

“Isn’t that redundant on Nantucket?” Heather says, and she laughs. “My perennial advice is to play hard to get. Show up late. Make an entrance, or as much of an entrance as you can make in a grosgrain headband.”

Coco hates the Richardsons.

She hates Leslee for making Lamont her boy toy, and Bull for casually crushing her life’s dream. She considers quitting her job. She can pack up her things and return to her rental in St. John, but the Caribbean is staring down the barrel of hurricane season, and the Banana Deck is closed, so where would Coco work, and can she walk away from the absurd amount of money she’s making? Can she leave Lamont? Lamont comes to Coco’s apartment at sunrise the day after he gets back from the Vineyard. When he knocks, Coco ignores him, but then she hears a whispery noise. She goes out into the hallway to see that he’s slipped a piece of paper under the door: I’m not leaving until you talk to me.

Coco stares at the door, picturing Lamont’s lean form on the other side, his coppery eyes, his beautiful, strong hands. The truth is, she’s missed him. In her gut, she knows that when Lamont is with Leslee, he’s working. He took Coco to meet his mother for a reason—he wanted her to understand.

She opens the door and pulls him inside and immediately his mouth is on her neck and she nearly falls to her knees, she wants him so badly. He picks her up and carries her over to the sofa, then lightly tongues her collarbone and starts working his way down, stopping every so often to look up at her. Is this okay? It’s torture; she wants his mouth on her. She begs him and he goes slowly and then faster and faster until she’s screaming, she doesn’t care who hears her.

Later, she asks him, “Do you do this with Leslee?”

“I hope you’re joking.”

“Lamont…”

“Coco,” he says. “I’m just her arm candy.”

But Leslee acts like she wants Lamont to be more than arm candy. Leslee wants what Coco has, and even though Leslee doesn’t know about Coco and Lamont, it still feels like a kind of revenge.

Coco could, she realizes, take her revenge against the Richardsons in other ways. She could poison their food; she could go into Bull’s computer and screw with his emails—maybe alter the Richardsons’ application to the Field and Oar Club—she could take their dry-cleaning bags to the dump or shrink Bull’s suits in the washing machine.

Leslee, she decides, is merely pathetic. Coco doesn’t know much about Leslee’s life growing up, but she can guess—her father was absent or died early, so Leslee never received the right kind of validation from him and has to seek it from every man she comes in contact with.

Coco’s fury at Bull is more complex. He read the screenplay and admired things about it but found it unsuitable to pass on to his contacts in Hollywood. There is no story here, Coco. These are the words that crush her. She handed him a secret piece of herself and it wasn’t enough. It’s too… small. She’s also mortified that she considered propositioning him; she can’t believe she was that desperate. And after all that, he proved to be honorable. She hates Bull, she realizes, because if she doesn’t hate him, she’ll end up hating herself.

Coco gets a text from Kacy: Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a couple days. You okay?

Coco loathes Leslee, despises Bull, is in danger of falling in love with Lamont—but her feelings about Kacy are the ones that trouble her the most. Coco is not only disgusted, she’s hurt. All. Those. Selfies. How can Coco reconcile Kacy’s actions with the smart, thoughtful person she believed Kacy was?

She doesn’t respond to the text.

Bull brings Leslee a sarong from Indonesia. It’s made of the finest silk, Leslee brags to Coco, it’s the highest quality of batik. Coco has to admit the sarong is gorgeous, with swirling shades of green from jade to seafoam. Leslee googles six ways to tie it, all of which look fabulous on her.

But, she complains to Coco, she has nowhere to wear it. This combined with the forecast of rain on Sunday leads to the conception of the Day-Drinking in Denpasar party.

OMG,Coco thinks. She’s throwing another party.

Leslee calls Zoe Alistair: Can she whip up an Indonesian feast for thirty people by Sunday?

Yes! It just so happens that Zoe vacationed on Senggigi Beach in Lombok the winter before. She can definitely make that happen.

Leslee takes the theme and runs with it. She unearths all kinds of treasures Bull has brought back from Southeast Asia over the years—carved masks and shadow puppets from Jakarta, strings of colorful paper lanterns from Hoi An in Vietnam—and she asks Coco to decorate the party room with them. She downloads Balinese gamelan music. She buys enormous bouquets of tropical flowers—birds-of-paradise, frangipani, hibiscus.

When Leslee sees what Coco has done with the party room, she gushes, “You’re a genius!” Coco filled the room with pillar candles, strung the Vietnamese lanterns and Japanese parasols from the ceiling, and created a showpiece of the spirit house that Bull brought back from Bangkok. The spirit house is a small-scale temple intricately carved from teak, and Coco (after considerable research) fills it with traditional Buddhist offerings: incense, a dish of water and of food (Coco cuts up an Amalfi lemon from the brand-new shipment, sorry-not-sorry).

Leslee places a cool hand on Coco’s cheek. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

What is going on here?Coco wonders. Leslee has never said anything like this. Can Leslee read Coco’s mind? Does she know that Coco has contemplated both desertion and murder?

“I want you to enjoy this party,” Leslee says. “The cocktails are going to be extraordinary. Feel free to sample them.”

After her big night out with Kacy, Coco can’t imagine drinking again, but she’s intrigued by this offer. “Should I still wear my uniform?”

“Yes, yes!” Leslee says. “Obviously, you’ll still be working.”

The rain starts late Saturday night as forecast and continues into a gray and dreary Sunday, and after a long, hot, humid string of days, it’s the perfect morning to sleep in.

By the time all of us arrive at the Richardsons’ house, the day has deteriorated even further. The sky is filled with ominous clouds, and the wind whips the harbor into a froth. We park our various vehicles along the white-shell driveway and navigate the puddles to the grand entrance of Triple Eight, where we shed our boots and jackets and hand Coco our dripping umbrellas.

“Welcome!” Coco says. “Head upstairs. Your hostess awaits.”

Stepping into the party room is indeed like entering another country,Delilah thinks. The room glows with candlelight and colorful paper lanterns; the air smells of ginger and sandalwood. Lilting gamelan music plays over the speakers. Leslee’s wearing a green batik sarong; she has pearls strung through her hair.

Andrea leans over to Delilah and whispers, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I kind of want pearls in my hair too.”

Delilah agrees. Her only nod to the theme was securing her bun with two takeout chopsticks.

“Selamat sore!”Leslee says. “Welcome, and please help yourself to a drink at the bar.”

There are four large-format cocktails to choose from: lychee mai tais, mint ginger gin fizzes, lemongrass margaritas, and Singapore slings. Delilah wants one of each. It’s better that Jeffrey isn’t here; he can’t monitor her intake, so she can drink as much as she wants, and Ed will drive her home. She starts with a margarita and garnishes it with a stick of lemongrass. She sees Phoebe and Addison arrive, Phoebe in a cute embroidered silk jacket and white palazzo pants. Delilah realizes she should have made more of an effort with her outfit. Busy Ambrose is wearing a kimono and has done something very interesting with her eye makeup.

Romeo from the Steamship joins Delilah in pouring a margarita. “Gotta love self-serve cocktails,” he says with a wink. “I’m about to teach a master class in day-drinking.”

Delilah sees Leslee coming toward them. Delilah should chat with her about the food pantry donation, but it turns out Leslee isn’t interested in Delilah.

“Romeo!” Leslee says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on both cheeks. “I’m so happy you’re here. Where’s Sharon?”

“Sharon and I are no longer a thing,” Romeo says and Delilah thinks, Oh no! They were the cutest match.

“In that case,” Leslee says, “come sit by me.”

Delilah rolls her eyes. Seriously? Delilah is on a mission, however, so she reaches out for Leslee’s arm. “Thank you for the invite,” she says. “Listen, before things get too crazy, I wanted to follow up on—”

“Hey there, Delilah,” Leslee says, then laughs. “That should be a song.” She takes Romeo’s arm and leads him to the sofa, calling over her shoulder, “The buffet will be ready in a little while.”

Blown off in Bali,Delilah thinks. But this might not be a bad thing. Delilah will wait until Leslee’s looser, then ask about the money. Leslee will probably be so embarrassed that she forgot about her pledge, she’ll pull out her checkbook on the spot, and Delilah will call Corwin tomorrow with the news.

Phoebe approaches and gives Delilah the up-down. “You didn’t dress up?”

Delilah turns her head. “I put chopsticks in my bun.”

“Leslee has pearls in her hair, have you seen? So fabulous.” Phoebe helps herself to a lychee mai tai. “I’m definitely having this. What is a lychee, anyway?”

Leslee has done it again,Delilah thinks. By next week, every woman will be wearing pearls in her hair and special-ordering lychees from Pip and Anchor.

Eddie, Addison, and Bull have convened at one end of the Lucite bar, Eddie and Addison with the mint ginger gin fizzes (They go down way too easily, Eddie thinks) and Bull with a Tiger beer. “I can’t handle the hard stuff during the day, especially not as jet-lagged as I am.”

“That’s right,” Addison says. “How was the trip overseas?”

Bull says, “It was mostly business but I did spend an afternoon spearfishing off Nusa Lembongan.”

“Phoebe and I love Bali,” Addison says. “People say Ubud is overrun but we can’t get enough.”

“My trip this past week was a little more bare-bones—I didn’t want to run up the expense account or set off alarms with the IRS,” Bull says. “But if you ever get a chance to stay at the Amandari, it will not disappoint.”

Eddie has no frame of reference for any of this. Last September, he and Grace went to Italy. Grace pulled their entire itinerary off Instagram, which meant a lot of preposterously expensive alfresco lunches under grape arbors overlooking the Mediterranean and a lot of Italians giggling at Eddie’s long, baggy swim trunks, but sorry, he wasn’t about to wear a banana hammock. What the pictures didn’t show was the stress Eddie felt about spending so much money and Grace’s whining at the end of the week because she’d gained ten pounds.

Thanks to this trip, Eddie considers travel overrated, although he wishes he could contribute something to this douchey conversation. He finishes his gin fizz and says, “Addison tells me you priced off-island contractors for our project. I know they’re less expensive, but for cost-value, the guys we use here on Nantucket are better.”

Bull dead-eyes him. “Come on, mate, it’s a party,” he says. “Let’s not talk business.” Just as Eddie is feeling like a squid—it’s a terrible habit of his to talk business wherever he goes—someone across the room snags Bull’s attention. “I can’t believe that bastard had the nerve to show his face here,” Bull says. Eddie turns around to see none other than Benton Coe walk into the party room. The first person Benton greets (with a longer-than-necessary hug) is Grace. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Bull says. “That bastard isn’t getting a step further until I have a little chat with him.”

Eddie watches Bull clamp a hand on Benton’s shoulder and lead him out of the room. The sight fills Eddie with glee. Throw him out! “What’s all that about?” Eddie asks Addison.

“They’re having a circular garden built,” Addison says. “I guess Leslee custom-ordered an octagonal hot tub, and Benton hasn’t shown up in weeks.”

Addison certainly knows the particulars of Bull’s life,Eddie thinks, but he pretends not to care.

Bull and Benton Coe leave the party room and thunder down the stairs, Bull saying, “I need a moment of your time in my office so we can review expectations,” and Benton responding, “I asked for a deposit check. Leslee assured me she sent it, but I haven’t gotten it.” They pass Blond Sharon, who’s standing at the bottom of the steps, wishing the house had an elevator. It took her a full fifteen minutes to reach the house from the car (thank god for her golf umbrella). The skirt of Sharon’s red embroidered silk dress is so tight, she can take only mincing steps. How is she going to make it up the stairs? If she were still with Romeo, she thinks, he would offer to carry her.

She manages to hike the skirt, the hem of which is soaked from the rain, to mid-shin, then ascends one step at a time. When she reaches the top, she arranges herself. Her hair is in a chignon; her face is powdered; she’s done a bright red lip. She enters the party room and hears a wolf whistle—it’s Fast Eddie. Sharon beams. She can always count on Eddie.

In an instant, she’s surrounded by Andrea, Phoebe, and Delilah. They love her dress! She looks a-maze-ing! They admire the cloisonné bracelets that Walker bought her when they were dating (she’s pretty sure he got them from a street vendor in Chinatown). Sharon enjoys being the center of attention, though she doesn’t quite get it. The dress is cute—she bought it on Amazon for a Chinese New Year party years earlier—but other people have dressed up. Busy Ambrose is in a kimono, Phoebe wears a silk jacket.

Delilah hands Sharon a cocktail. “This is a Singapore sling,” she says. “You drink gin, right?”

“I do,” Sharon says. Everyone is being so nice to her; she’s been low-key fantasizing about something like this for years. “I should find Leslee to say hello.”

An uncomfortable silence follows.

The room is lit only by candles and colorful lanterns, so it takes Sharon a few moments of shuffling and squinting to find Leslee. And then it all makes sense. Leslee is on the sofa, sitting close—too close—to Romeo. She has her hand on his thigh; her head rests on his shoulder.

Sharon wants to leave, but no, she won’t. She walked out on Romeo, left him at the bar by himself when they were in the midst of a lovely evening, and this is her karmic payback.

She approaches the two of them. “Hello! Leslee, thanks for having me. Romeo, it’s nice to see you.”

Has she spoken? At first she isn’t sure because neither Leslee nor Romeo look up; they’re too focused on each other. Half a second later, Coco appears in her pink shirt and white shorts and says, “Leslee, the buffet is ready.”

Leslee rises. She’s wearing a green batik sarong and has seed pearls strung through the front pieces of her hair. She looks like a glamorous mermaid—her tanned shoulders are bare, her long legs peek through the folds of the sarong. Sharon missed the mark with her outfit; it’s uncomfortable and overwrought. Why didn’t she think of a sarong?

“Let’s eat!” Leslee says. “Then we’ll turn up the music and get this party started!”

Leslee told Coco to enjoy herself, so Coco does. She sneaks into the party closet, which is where they keep surplus liquor, table linens, cocktail napkins, toothpicks, drink charms, the box of pink wigs, rows of martini glasses, copper mule mugs, margarita glasses, milkshake glasses, pilsners, beer mugs, champagne flutes and coupes, bamboo utensils and plates. The best thing about this closet is that it locks from the inside. Coco lures Lamont in on the pretext that she needs him to help her find paper umbrellas for the drinks, but instead, she turns off the light and they make out. It’s hot and sexy because it’s so risky—kissing inside Triple Eight with everyone around. When they emerge with their lips swollen and red, their breathing shallow, they bump smack into Kacy.

“Hey, you guys,” Kacy says, her eyes flicking back and forth between Coco and Lamont, no doubt registering their ravished appearance, their emergence from a dark closet. “What’s going on?” She focuses on Coco. “I sent you a text a few days ago, did you not see it?”

The time has come,Coco thinks. “Can you help me with ice?” she asks.

“Of course,” Kacy says.

Coco leads Kacy downstairs to the laundry room.

“Are there buckets for the ice or a cooler?” Kacy asks.

“Forget the ice. I want to talk about a couple of things.” Coco lowers her voice. “First of all, Lamont and I are sneaky-linking.”

Kacy nods. “I mean, yeah, I figured.”

“Nobody knows and nobody can know,” Coco says. “Leslee has a rule about her employees dating. We’ll both get fired.”

“So why do it?” Kacy asks. “Do you like him?”

“A lot,” Coco says. “I think…”

“What? That you’re in love with him?” Kacy asks.

Coco bites her bottom lip. “I’m not sure. Maybe. But, Kacy, you can’t tell anyone—not Eric, not Avalon, not your mom, not Delilah or Phoebe.” Coco holds Kacy’s gaze. “And there’s something else. When we were at the Box and I had your phone, I saw that you’ve been sending our selfies to Isla.”

Kacy’s mouth drops. “Oh my god. I am so mortified.”

“You sent her every single picture,” Coco says. “I thought you were documenting our summer together so you could make me a photo album, but really, you were using me as ammunition.”

Ammunition?Kacy thinks. She has messed this up so badly. “First of all, yes, I sent the selfies to Isla, and yes, I did it to make her jealous, and although I never specifically said we were together, that’s what I implied.” Kacy’s eyes are glassy with tears. “Because I’m in love with her and she promised me… then didn’t… but that doesn’t make any difference. I shouldn’t have used our pictures that way. It was gross, and I totally get it if you never want to hang with me again. I just need you to hear me say that I do genuinely care about you. You’re the best friend I’ve had this summer, the only friend I’ve had. Sending the pictures wasn’t calculated, Coco, I swear. It was something I did late at night during some desperate moments, and then, when it elicited the response from Isla that I wanted, I kept doing it.” Kacy feels physically sick. It is absolutely the most hideous feeling, fighting with your best friend. She wipes at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Coco. I hope you can forgive me.”

Coco isn’t sure what to say. She’s been away from the party too long; any second now, Leslee is going to text and ask where she is. “I have to go back upstairs,” she says. And she does.

Kacy has to decide: Stay or go? Her parents are her ride, so she’d have to call an Uber and wait for it in the pouring rain. To leave the party, she feels, would be running away. She heads back upstairs to sit in her discomfort.

Kacy bumps into Leslee, who says, “The buffet is ready, please start.” Kacy would really like another drink but Leslee ushers her into the dining room. There’s a tower of glistening golden spring rolls; there are platters of satay—beef, chicken, pork—with velvety peanut dipping sauce; there are individual cast-iron skillets of nasi goreng, each topped with a fried egg; there are rows of Chinese takeout boxes containing lobster dan dan noodles; and there’s a pyramid of shrimp burgers with sriracha mayo. The food is set up in tiers on top of banana leaves and garnished with tropical fruits and flowers, and all the guests start snapping pictures. Kacy would take pictures too except she’s decided she’s never taking pictures again.

She fills a plate and chooses a spot by herself on the curvy white sofa. A second later, Busy Ambrose plops down next to her.

“There you are, Kacy,” she says. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Busy Ambrose has been looking for her? Kacy barely knows the woman. They were introduced once by Phoebe, though of course Kacy knows who Busy is because everyone on the island knows who Busy is.

“You have?” Kacy says.

“My daughter, Stacy?” Busy says. She winds noodles around her chopsticks like a pro, and Kacy has to admit, she’s impressed. Kacy herself took a fork.

Kacy bites into a crispy spring roll. “Mmm-hmm?”

“She’s gay.” Busy whispers this like it’s a secret. Maybe it is a secret; Kacy isn’t sure how homosexuality is perceived at the Field and Oar Club. “And she’s coming for a visit next week. I thought maybe you two could meet.”

Kacy coughs. Her spring roll went down the wrong pipe. Is Busy Ambrose trying to set Kacy up with her daughter? Clearly she is. Then Kacy wonders: Is this such a bad thing? Kacy is presently low on friends, and sending the selfies to Isla, in the end, wasn’t that effective. Kacy hasn’t heard from Isla since the text saying there was something going on with Rondo.

Maybe Kacy should meet Stacy. Kacy and Stacy—they’d be such a meme.

Kacy says, “Here, take my number.” Then she excuses herself for the bar.

Delilah cleans her plate and considers going back for seconds. “Would anyone like more?” she asks.

Ed says, “I shouldn’t.”

“None of this food has any calories, Ed,” she says.

“I’ll have one more spring roll,” Andrea says. “Actually, maybe another cocktail instead.”

Ed clears his throat. He’s such a police chief.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Andrea says. “You’re driving!”

Across the room, Delilah sees Leslee with Phoebe and Busy Ambrose. Now is the time, she thinks. She heads over. “Hello, ladies.”

“Hi, honey,” Phoebe says. “We were just taking about you.”

There’s no way they were saying anything good. But then, why would Phoebe bring it up? “Oh, really?”

Leslee says, “I was telling them how much I enjoyed meeting Corwin and spending time with the two of you at the food pantry.”

Ahh! This is going to be easier than Delilah thought—and what a relief! Delilah can admit now that broaching the topic of money with Leslee at her own party felt a little tacky.

“But I’m afraid my support for your cause is going to have to wait a year or two,” Leslee goes on. “I’m sending significant donations to Tiffin Academy”—here, Leslee beams at Phoebe—“and to the scholarship fund at Harvard that Busy established in her late husband’s name.”

“The Francis Ambrose Memorial Scholarship,” Busy says, tightening the kimono over her bosom.

“Lovely!” Delilah says. In her mind, every strand of her hair is standing on end in horror. Leslee sent the money she pledged to the food pantry elsewhere? To Busy’s husband’s scholarship fund at Harvard? (Doesn’t Harvard have enough money?) And to Tiffin Academy? Delilah stares hard at Phoebe. There’s no way Phoebe asked Leslee to do this. Leslee must have offered to grease the wheels so that Reed could glide through the admissions process.

The food pantry provides twenty thousand bags of groceries to families with food insecurity, but that’s not important to Leslee. Or rather, Delilah isn’t important to Leslee.

“Lovely!” Has Delilah said this already? Her vision blurs with tears but no one notices. They’re back to talking about a lunch at the Field and Oar Club that Busy wants to host in Leslee’s honor. “We’ll invite Talbot Sweeney,” Busy says. “Talbot can be an old stick-in-the-mud, but you do need him on your side.”

Of course,Delilah thinks. The Field and Oar Club. That’s why Leslee donated to causes for Phoebe and Busy. They both sit on the membership committee.

At that moment, the room grows a shade darker. Outside, a mass of black clouds rolls in. Rain pelts the window, and a bolt of lightning splits the sky in front of them. As if this is a dramatic production Leslee has arranged, the dance music begins: “Knock on Wood” by Amii Stewart. Leslee pulls Phoebe onto the dance floor.

That’s it,Delilah thinks. She’s leaving. Can she persuade Ed and Andrea to go? Nope; Andrea is dragging Ed out onto the dance floor. Delilah will have to call an Uber.

She grabs two takeout boxes filled with lobster noodles—it’s all going to waste anyway—and notices that dessert has been set out: coconut cupcakes and mango with sticky rice. Both look delicious, but nothing can make her stay in this godforsaken house one minute longer. What is this party but a gross example of cultural appropriation? Delilah pulls the chopsticks from her bun and stabs them through two of the cupcakes. One of the chopsticks trails a strand of Delilah’s hair. Even better.

At the top of the stairs, Delilah bumps into Blond Sharon. “Are you leaving?” Sharon says.

“Yes,” Delilah says. “You?”

“I can’t get out of here fast enough,” Sharon says.

This makes Delilah smile. Sharon has been an unlikely ally this summer.

“Would you mind if I held on to you so I don’t take a nosedive down the stairs?” Sharon asks.

“Please do,” Delilah says, and she offers an arm.

Coco hears the pop of a champagne cork and sees Addison Wheeler standing on the bar spraying a bottle of Laurent-Perrier all over the dancing crowd. Everyone cheers; they’re jumping up and down chanting along to ABBA: “Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight!”

Addison passes the bottle to Leslee, who tips her head back and drinks; champagne flows out the sides of her mouth and down her neck, dousing her sarong. Phoebe takes the bottle and drinks next. Addison pops another bottle—more spray. Outside, lightning flashes.

The song changes to “September” by Earth, Wind, and Fire, and Leslee grabs Romeo’s waist from behind and urges him to start a conga line. Coco stands well out of the way. She dreads nothing more than a conga line.

Romeo leads everyone around the party room—across the dance floor, past the jukebox, around the pool table, then out the door to the landing. If he goes into the kitchen, Zoe’s staff will be pissed, Coco thinks. But Romeo turns the other way and leads the line out onto the octagonal deck. In the pouring rain. Does anyone balk or protest? No! Everyone looks deliriously happy, raising their faces to the sky, drinking in the natural wonder that is a summer thunderstorm.

Coco sighs and heads downstairs to get towels.

Delilah and Sharon can hear the music as they make their escape; there are outdoor speakers all over the property.

“I’ll drive you home,” Sharon says. Sharon is holding her golf umbrella, which is keeping Delilah and her boxes of noodles dry.

As they approach the garage, Delilah notices the door of the left bay isn’t closed all the way. She gets an idea. “Hold on.” She looks at Sharon. “Are you up for a little mischief?”

“I am today,” Sharon says.

Delilah pushes on the bottom of the garage door and it slides right up. There sits Leslee’s G-Wagon, gleaming like Darth Vader’s helmet. Leslee’s driver-side window is half open. Because she’s a smoker, Delilah thinks.

Delilah turns to Sharon. “Trust me when I say she deserves this.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Sharon says.

Delilah opens the takeout containers and dumps the lobster noodles all over the buttery leather of the driver’s seat. Then she joins Sharon under the umbrella and the two of them splash in the puddles all the way back to Sharon’s car.