22. The Annual Furneau Spring Bash
22
THE ANNUAL FURNEAU SPRING BASH
MAL
I’d feel proud to walk anywhere hand-in-hand with Prentice.
But to walk into the stupid spring bash with the North Shore’s golden princess on my arm, not as a co-opted footman to drag up cases of booze from the basement or urns of ice from the kitchen? To not care when discreetly placed trash bags were getting full, and instead to attend as a guest?
Yes. That felt good.
And I truly was with Prentice. Not just dating any longer. Now we were in love. She was my girl. What that meant for the future was unclear. House with a picket fence, two kids, and a dog? Rock-star lifestyle of Learjets and Grammy awards? Who was I to try to predict the future?
But whatever happened, I’d have Prentice’s hand in mine. One way or the other, we’d be together. And that thought—along with walking across the crowded terrace with her—began to heal twenty-seven years of feeling like a second-class citizen. Like a mistake. Like someone who ought to be ignored.
“Look at all these flowers!” Prentice admired the view. “My mother tells me they’re all in honor of Jack’s new conservatory. He imported a hothouse head gardener from the Kew Gardens in London, and I’m guessing that accounts for these epic displays.”
The terrace was huge, stretching almost the length of the house on the side facing the Long Island Sound. From up that high, the view was spectacular. As usual, twenty or thirty tables had been brought out to provide a place for the many guests to have lunch. As usual, the tablecloths were too luxuriously heavy to be bothered by the late-May breezes. The silverware had been polished. The spotless glassware held bright sunlight as well as champagne. A string quartet played only the most civilized Schubert on the band platform.
But the six-foot-tall stone urns that ringed the terrace? Yes, those were new. Mountains of flowers in purple and white cascaded and towered and blossomed and did all those things that made designer-type people coo. The society photographer was asking people to pose in front of the arrangements.
To one side, the new conservatory was open to the eager gaze of the partygoers. If I knew my Furneau parties (and I did), there would be a third bar set up in there, so people could tour the small fountains and immense trees without fear of ever needing to sober up.
I exchanged a low five with Hugo, the footman who’d taught me how to ride a bike long years ago, and waved at Rachel, the head maid.
“Look,” Prentice said. “There’s my mother. Let’s go say hello.”
Bitsy Luce did me a great honor by calling me Mal and not Mr. Becket or Mr. Bleeker or any of the other dismissive titles she’d used in the past. In fact, she spoke to me with what I interpreted as an actual smile.
“I must compliment you on your footwear, Mal. You look very nice today.”
Thanks to the combined advice of Nicky and O’Connor, my look was fully preppy. I wore khakis, brown boat shoes, and a blue blazer with no tie. Even my shirt fit the bill, being a button-down in a shade of pink I wouldn’t have bought if my advisers hadn’t insisted. And they were right. I fit right in.
“Do I assume you didn’t want a repeat of my zebra dancing shoes, Bitsy?”
Her cool, Gracious-Lady smile took on a mischievous glint. “Perhaps I could come to love them if the next time you asked me for a dance, Mal.”
A flash of triumph zipped along my nervous system. Prentice’s mom was doing some extremely gentle flirting. She liked me. More, she approved of me. Her good opinion was a prize I hadn’t even realized I craved until I got it.
I didn’t know what the proper answer was in polite society, but I felt that only a full courtier’s bow would do. “To dance with you would be my greatest honor,” I replied, pretending I had a feathered hat to flourish.
“Oh, you.” Somehow, those two words indicated her approval. I stood, filled with the milk of human kindness. Bitsy had accepted me.
I took Prentice’s hand. Bitsy turned to her daughter. “Prentice, that blush pink is absolutely heavenly on you. You’re enchanting, darling.”
Prentice kissed her mother’s cheek, and they had an incomprehensible conversation about who had made their dresses. We met about a million blue-hairs, and then the entire younger generation had to come up to coo at Prentice. Most of them told me they loved “Street Dancing,” and many had watched bootleg videos of our truck concert at Caumsett. No one asked for an autograph, but most found a reason to take a selfie with me.
Sure. We could pretend it was because we were all such good friends all of a sudden.
Some of the more intelligent ones asked Prentice about The Arts Council, so she was happy when Kimmy and her husband, Carter, arrived.
“My god,” Kimmy whispered to us as we greeted her. “You know a lot of really rich people.”
Prentice laughed. “Let me introduce you to a few of the people who I think you’ll like to know.”
Even when she was talking to people about The Arts Council and I was talking to fans, she held my hand. She didn’t move away. The event got more and more comfortable for me. When I finally spotted my mother, holding a clipboard and speaking into a headset from just inside the main house, I tried to leave Prentice to her friends so I could say hi.
“I’m coming with you,” she said, renewing her clasp on my hand. “I love your mother.”
“Me too.”
We moved easily through the crowd, and Mama saw us coming. She smiled, and everything finally clicked into the proper groove. I was in exactly the right place at the right time. This was a moment of pure rightness.
I took my mother in my arms and kissed her forehead. “Prentice and I are in love,” I told her. It was as simple as saying, “Hello, Mama.” It was my truth, and I needed her to know it.
Prentice laughed in surprise, and Mama gasped, astonished. Then she hugged Prentice and hugged me. “I’m so glad!” she said. “Blessings upon you both, meine lieben Kinder !” She pulled back and wiped at her tears. She took Prentice’s hand, the one I wasn’t holding. “He needs someone like you, my dear. He deserves it.”
“He does,” Prentice agreed. “I’m going to help you take care of him.”
“My dear!” Her headset squawked and she blinked, recovering her focus. “Confirmed, Ormonde. Ten minutes.” She turned back to us. “We’re about to serve the lunch. Go and sit. You’re at table seven. It’s right up front. You darlings. Ich liebe dich , Malcolm.”
“I love you back, Mama.”
“You’ll come to dinner tonight. I’m so happy for both of you. Go on. Go now.”
She pushed us away and went back to organizing the event. Prentice looked at me, starry-eyed. “We’re telling mothers now? Do I have to tell Bitsy?”
I shuddered at the thought. “Let’s not press our luck. She finally likes me a little. Table it until this event is over?”
I looked down at her, and she looked up at me, and I was helpless. I had to lean in for a sweet, soft kiss.
“God, Prentice.” The arch voice came from behind us. “Still slumming? What is Johnston going to say?”
We turned and saw Liz, Liz, Liz, and Liz. Prentice faced them with squared shoulders. “Hello, Elizabeth, Liz, Wizzy, Melissa. How nice to see you.”
Wizzy returned a wave and Melissa smiled an apology at me, but Liz, at the shoulder of tall, blonde Elizabeth, was wearing her “I smell something nasty” face.
“Nice to see you ,” Elizabeth said, her intonation making it clear that she didn’t include me in the sentiment. “Where are you seated, Prentice dear?”
“I believe we’re at table seven.”
“Oh. Seven. I’m at table two. With Johnston.”
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy there.”
“I’m at table twelve,” Melissa said brightly, but no one acknowledged her.
“That’s nice,” I said to her, which made Elizabeth turn on her heel and grab Melissa’s arm.
“Let’s let Prentice get to her seat. Come on, girls.” She stalked off with her entourage.
“What is the deal with her? What does she want exactly?” I asked as we watched them weave through the tables.
“I always assumed she wanted Johnston. And she can have him. Come on. Look, we’ve got Kimmy and Carter at our table.”
The people at our table were all perfectly pleasant. Of course, Prentice knew them all and she made sure to introduce me. One of the guys turned out to have been a contestant in the sailboat race.
“I was a little worried about you, Prentice,” he said. He was a fatherly guy named Charlie. “We lost you pretty quickly.”
“The spinnaker’s pin went as soon as the wind hit the sail. We limped back to port on nothing but a main and a jib.”
“I’m so sorry! It was an excellent sail.” He dropped his voice and leaned in. “Even if some of the elements would have been challenged in any other race.” He nodded significantly at Prentice and she nodded back. So did most of the people around the table. “I mean, hiring that master sailor to crew for him . . . that alone shows a shocking lack of sportsmanship.”
Charlie’s voice was low, but the table was in accord. We all agreed. Yes, indeed. Shocking lack of sportsmanship.
“If he doesn’t donate the whole purse to your charity, Prentice, the boys and I are going to make up the difference. He never should have won that race, and everyone knows it.”
I scanned the faces bent conspiratorially over their lobster salad. Yes, everyone knew Johnston won by cheating, but no one was willing to say his name out loud.
“You’re an absolute love, Charlie—you and the boys. Kimmy and I will pay an official call on you no matter the outcome.”
“Of course you will, of course you will. I’ll see what I can do about getting some of the others to come up to scratch as well. Always liked you, Prentice. Your father is a tremendous golfer.”
This was, apparently, a sterling endorsement. We all sat back in our seats, pleased with the assessment of Thomas Luce. I’d met him briefly. He seemed a perfectly nice man who loved his daughter and didn’t hold the same extraordinary standards as his wife. All I’d have to do was be willing to take up golf, and he’d be my best friend forever.
There were no more conspiracies at lunch, which seemed a shame. They were so entertaining.
Full props to the kitchen—the lunch was delicious and ended with perfect chocolate mousse in small china cups. I knew Ormonde, the cook, called it a pot de crème , and I’d licked many a mixing blade when he’d made it in the past. It was just as thick and luscious when eaten with a silver spoon on the terrace.
The gathering came to attention when Jack Furneau moved to the podium. It was set up between two of the massive floral arrangements with a view of the Sound behind him. He hadn’t said a word, and already I loathed him for his master-of-the-universe attitude. Smug shithead bastard father.
“Hello, and welcome to the annual spring bash!” The sophisticated sound system carried his words clearly. He sounded jolly and welcoming, which I knew was a voice he could put on like a hat.
I’d discovered a downside to being Prentice’s boyfriend. Whenever I’d worked at the spring bash before, I’d always managed to leave during his speeches. Now I was trapped. I couldn’t stand and walk out without shaming her.
So sit and take it, Mal. Be a big boy.
“Since my great-great uncle bought this land in 1837, the Furneau family has always celebrated the coming of spring. It’s our privilege to welcome this wonderful community to such an ancient and august tradition. I’m proud to host you all.”
The community dutifully applauded him and themselves. I pretended to clap so I wouldn’t look ill-mannered in front of Prentice’s friends.
“I hope you’ve all had a chance to enjoy the new conservatory. If you’re interested, I believe the architect and the British company who made it for me are here somewhere—Maechen? Carroll? Wave your hands. Ah, there they are. If you want any information on adding a greenhouse to your home, do seek them out. I wouldn’t say it’s a frugal purchase, but it will certainly increase the selling price when you retire to your home in the islands.”
We all had a jolly laugh about that. Our home in the islands. I knew it would do no good to ask which islands. To these people, all islands were theirs to buy.
“Now, I believe my son has an announcement and a sailing cup to award. Is that right, Johnston?”
Full of bluster and arrogance, Johnston swaggered up to the podium. I controlled my sneer. His father stood back, a pose that might have looked supportive to anyone who didn’t know the man as I did. To me, it looked threatening.
“That’s right, Father. And if you’ve had a chance to look at the conservatory, then come on over to my place after lunch, just through the trees there. See the path? It’s not quite as traditional as this old heap of stones, ha-ha!”
“Johnston.”
“Right, right. Well, the sailing race! As you know, I generously put up a hundred-thousand-dollar cup for the little sailing race I created, with half the cup being donated to The Arts Foundation, which was created by my girl here, Prentice Luce. Stand up, honey. Prentice, let them all see how pretty you look today!”
I held my hands out to Prentice. What did she want me to do to help?
She gritted her teeth and shook her head at me. Nothing. She stood and called out clearly, “That’s The Arts Council, I didn’t found it, and I’m not your girl, Johnston.” She sat immediately.
“Right, right!” He laughed as if it was a big joke. “That dress is a lot better than your usual pants, sweetie. You really look like a lady today! I do like to see those legs.”
Prentice crossed her arms and looked down at the demitasse of coffee in front of her.
“So let’s see now . . . who won that race? I can’t quite remember. There were twelve of us this Wednesday, and the winner . . . I just can’t remember!”
The frat boy at table two acted as Johnston’s straight man. He’d been the one at the gala who’d been all excited about Aftermath until Johnston called him off. “You did, man! By a mile!”
“Oh. Oh, did I? Yes, that’s right. I did win, didn’t I?”
Johnston was smirking in false humility, and it didn’t play well at our table. Charlie muttered, “Broke the starting line,” and his wife’s under-her-breath comment definitely included the word Australian .
“I’ve decided.” Johnston’s voice cut through the murmur of whispered conversation. “See, I could split the spot with myself as the winner. Including the ten-thousand-dollar buy-in to join the race, the total amount is $220,000. Almost a quarter of a million. Not bad, right, sweetie? Prentice? That’s a pretty nice donation to your little charity, isn’t it?”
Prentice was nothing but a quivering muscle next to me, but she held on to her manners when she called out a falsely cheerful, “Sure is, Johnston.”
“That’s my girl. Like I said, the deal was we’d split the pot with the winner. So that ought to be a $110,000 to me, and the same to you, Prentice.”
“To The Arts Council,” she said.
“The Arts Council.”
Charlie was no slouch in the math department. “He pledged a hundred thou, he’s getting back a hundred and ten. He’s making money on this deal—on my ten-thousand-dollar buy-in.”
Johnston was still speaking. “I think everyone here knows why you’re getting the money, Prentice, but if you want to believe it’s for your cause, then fine. But here’s what I’m thinking. The full amount sure would be a nice gift to your orphaned children, wouldn’t it?”
“Arts programs. After-school arts programs,” Prentice called. She was holding on to her temper, but I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to.
“Arts programs. Absolutely. And a quarter mil would go a long way, am I right?” Prentice refused to engage any further, so he went on, “And I’ll give you the full amount. I’ve got a check right here. I mean, what do I care? This is a little less than my quarterly bonus last month, so what’s it to me, you know?”
He tossed his head arrogantly. The mutters got louder from the tables.
“And all it will cost you, Prentice,” he said, “is one little kiss. You kiss me, honey, like you should be. Right now. Right here. That, and you’ll admit you’re finished dating the help.”