Dead In The Hamptons (15 page)

“No, that was Jackson Pollock over in Springs, way back in the Fifties. In that case, Pollock died and the girlfriend lived. Maybe if Oscar had died, his photographs would be world famous now. But then he’d never have gotten clean and sober.”

“What did happen?”

“He turned her on to drugs.”

“She was his girlfriend?”

“Oh, everybody’s Oscar’s girlfriend for at least ten minutes.”

“A townie/summer people thing?”

“Yeah, but more so,” she said, “because of who summer people in the Hamptons tend to be. He ran with a star kind of crowd— of course he was dealing, he had amazing contacts— and he liked having groupies.”

“She was dazzled.” I found it easy to imagine.

“She fell in love with him,” Corky said. “The stupid little twat.”

I detected some strong feeling there. Contempt for the farmer’s daughter? Bitterness about her fate? Protectiveness of Oscar? Identification?

“How did she die?” I asked.

“She OD’d,” Corky said.

“Suicide or accident?”

“They were never sure. Oscar went into a depression, though. It’s not like she was important to him. But he did blame himself. He stopped taking pictures, and he got clean and sober. So I guess it wasn’t a total waste.”

“What was her name?”

“Huh? Oh, the girl. Amalie, Emily, something like that. Amelia.”

“Oscar didn’t tell that story when he qualified.” You weren’t supposed to pretty things up when you shared.

“Sometimes he does.” Corky sprang to his defense. “He twelve-stepped a lot of his old customers to make amends for dealing. It’s not his fault that it was too late for Amelia. Oh, never mind about her. Let me show you the rest of the house. You’ve gotta see the master bedroom, Oscar’s room. It’s got a sunken hot tub.”

I didn’t tell her I’d seen that room before. I’d missed the sunken hot tub. Too busy goggling at the couple in the kingsize bed.

When Corky and I returned to the party, we found Oscar engaged in talking everybody into skinny dipping in the ocean.

“We’ll never have a better night for it,” he said. “The moon is full.”

“The better to see you with, my dear.” Cindy suddenly appeared at my elbow.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for you all evening.”

She flashed the vulpine grin at me.

“Plenty of towels for everybody,” Oscar said.

“I’ve heard that Oscar likes to look at naked ladies,” Cindy said. “I think I’ll pass.”

The clamoring crowd of groupies around Oscar didn’t seem to mind. And a few of the guys joined in, probably because they realized it was their chance to look at naked ladies, too.

I heard a familiar coaxing voice at my back. “Aw, c’mon, Jimmy, it’ll be fun.”

I turned.

“Give it up, Barbara,” I said. “Jimmy wouldn’t go bareass even when he got wasted. If you painted him blue, maybe.”

“Not even then,” Jimmy said firmly. “You heard the man. Stop trying.”

“Then you come with me, Bruce. You can’t both leave me without any moral support.”

“I’m going for a walk with Cindy.” I raised my eyebrows at her. “At least I hope I am.”

“Sure,” she said. “You heard the man. We’ll never have a better night for it.”

“There you go,” I said. “We won’t stub our toes on any driftwood or step on any icky jellyfish.”

“So what are we waiting for?”

“Well, I don’t want to miss it,” I heard Barbara say as we turned away. “Okay, if you don’t want to come and watch, I’ve got another idea.”

Barbara’s always got another idea. I thought of saying so, decided not to. I found I wanted Cindy to think well of Barbara.

“Barbara’s a good friend,” I said.

“She seems to be,” Cindy said. “And Jimmy too. You’re lucky.”

It was only a few steps and down a flight of wooden stairs set into the dunes to the deserted beach. It was almost as bright as day. The skinny dippers dropped their towels and streaked down the beach with whoops and shrieks. Oscar and Corky, in the lead, hit the water with a splash. Others followed. Inevitably, someone called out, “It’s not cold once you get used to it.”

“Famous last words,” I commented. “Want to watch? Or change your mind and go in?”

“No, let’s walk.”

The night was even balmier on the beach than on Oscar’s deck. We took our shoes off and walked almost in the water. Our toes squidged at every step. I rolled up my pants legs. Cindy wore a little black dress so short the hem didn’t even get wet when a breaking wave splashed her legs. The moon spilled a bright trail onto the water and cast our elongated shadows on the sand.

“I saw you with that cop the other night,” I said.

“What cop? Oh, you mean Butler. She’s a detective. I didn’t know you saw me. You got a problem?”

“No! No, not at all!” What had I expected? Reassurance? “I just wondered how you knew her.”

“We met out in Montauk a few summers back.”

“Was she one of your housemates?”

“No. She knew people who were.”

“Was it a clean and sober house?”

“No,” she said. “I wasn’t in the program yet.”

“All women?” I knew I should stop asking questions.

“No, only a couple. The rest were a bunch of guys who liked to fish and drink beer.”

It didn’t sound like a gay and lesbian house, but what did I know?

“Look, it’s ancient history. Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Cindy dug her hands deep into the pockets of her white clamdiggers and looked down at her feet.

“Okay, okay.” This was not how I’d hoped our stroll in the moonlight would go. We paced on awkwardly, maintaining a frozen zone of about a foot between us.

“Bruce! Bruce! Wait up!”

Barbara trotted toward us, a towel wrapped around her and wet hair plastered to her head. We stopped and waited for her.

“Sorry to barge in,” Barbara panted, “but I need support.”

“What happened?” Cindy asked.

“Where’s Jimmy?” I asked.

“He went back to the house, our house, I mean, or I wouldn’t have bothered you, I know you wanted some alone time.”

I watched her expressive face as her brain caught up with her tongue a little too late, as usual. Oh, well, the whole evening had already gone down the toilet anyway.

“What happened, Barbara?” I asked.

“That slimy bastard Oscar made a pass at me!”

“Naked? In the water?”

“Yes!” She shook her wet hair out of her eyes and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

I fished in my pocket for a red bandanna.

“Here.”

“Thanks.” Barbara blew her nose with vigor. The towel around her started to slip, and she clutched at it. “Damn!”

“Are you hurt?” Cindy sounded ready to spring into action if necessary.

“No, I’m furious! I’m not exactly an expert on nudism, but I know there are rules! You’re not supposed to come on to someone when you both have no clothes on!”

“Really? I guess it’s an unstated rule, like the alcoholic family rules.”

“Don’t trust, don’t talk, don’t feel,” Cindy supplied. “In this case, don’t touch. What did he grab? Your ass or your breast?”

“He goosed me! And don’t you dare laugh, Bruce! It isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” I protested.

“It’s plain hostile,” Cindy said. “You think sexual violence is always dramatic?”

“This was so invasive. It felt like a mini-rape.”

The two of them glared at me.

I wished they wouldn’t look at me that way. I’d never goosed a woman in my life.

Cindy put her arm around Barbara.

“Come on. Let’s go back to the house. Is Jimmy supposed to come back to pick you up?”

Barbara shook her head as they started walking.

“Then we’ll find ourselves a ride home with one of the women.”

Oh, well. I’d wanted them to bond.

“Just don’t let Oscar get anywhere near me,” Barbara said. “I’d like to break his neck. He started flirting with me the second we got into the water. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

“Couldn’t he take a hint?” Cindy asked. “I assume you blew him off well before the incident.”

“I didn’t handle it all that well.”

“Barbara is incurably honest,” I told Cindy. “It’s one of her most lovable qualities. Can I guess what happened?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Barbara said. “Go ahead.”

“She’s a chronic codependent,” I explained. “She was afraid to hurt his feelings.”

“I didn’t mean to encourage him,” Barbara said, “just keep things from getting sticky. Unfortunately, the situation escalated. In the end, I told him off but good. He got nasty too. I don’t want to see him again this evening. I’m damned if I’ll make amends to that self-satisfied sexist pig.”

We had almost reached the house.

“Look, I didn’t mean to break up your evening,” Barbara said. “I can get myself a lift home. I’m okay, really. You two can go ahead and take your walk anyway.”

“No, that’s okay.” Cindy and I spoke in unison, not looking at each other.

This party was over.

When I staggered out of my room in search of coffee the next morning, I found Jimmy alone in the kitchen. He sat on a high stool at the kitchen counter, his nose in a mug and the Technology section of the
New York Times
spread open in front of him.

“Good morning.” He put down the mug. “How was the rest of the party?”

“Barbara didn’t tell you?” I asked, pouring myself a shot.

“Tell me what? I was asleep when she came in, and she was gone when I woke up this morning. I know she was there because her side of the bed was still warm and my pillow had migrated out from under my head, but we haven’t had a chance to talk yet. Did I miss something?”

“Nothing too dramatic.” I didn’t want to make too much of it. “I’ll let Barbara tell you.”

“How about you, dude? How did it go with Cinderella?”

I took a sip of coffee.

“It was going fine until she turned into a pumpkin.” I didn’t want to blame Barbara. Certainly not to Jimmy. “Just a setback, not a permanent bust.” As I said it, I was relieved to find I believed it. There was no reason for Cindy to write me off just because Oscar behaved like a scuzzbag. On the contrary, maybe. That felt good. During the last year or two of my drinking, I had trouble comparing myself favorably to anyone. “Why did you leave, anyhow?”

“I am
not
addicted to the Internet.”

I laughed. “Right, bro. Now write that a hundred times.”

“If I lie, may I be attacked by nuns with rulers. Look, I’m even reading the
Times
in hard copy. I was getting bored, I don’t dance, and I didn’t want to see that bunch in their skin.” He shuddered.

“You had that right.”

He lowered his voice. “Phil’s been at my computer again.”

“Not last night. He was at the party.”

“Earlier yesterday, then. I didn’t get back online between coming back from the beach and party time.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

“Oh, yeah. He left footprints.”

I must have looked blank.

“Electronic footprints. Delete doesn’t always mean delete.”

“Gambling again? Did he win this time?”

“What do you think?”

“Sarcasm? That’s more my department.”

“I don’t like anyone fooling with my computer.”

“He’d be broke by now if you went to the beach more often.”

“I doubt he’s grateful. But enough about that.” He’d seen the door behind me open. I heard the creak and turned. It was Stewie, clad only in Hawaiian-print boxer shorts. He looked disheveled and coffee-deprived.

“Good mooooorning,” he said on a jaw-cracking yawn. “Did you have a good time last night?”

“Did you?” I asked. I had seen him dancing up a storm with about six of the women.

“Not bad for a party with girls,” Stewie admitted. “At least I wasn’t tempted to break my abstinence.”

Thank you for sharing
, I thought. Oh, what was the use?

The telephone rang.

I was the nearest. I picked it up.

“Yeah.”

“Bruce? Is that you?” I barely recognized the squeaky voice as Barbara’s. “Is Jimmy up? I need him.”

“He’s right here. What’s up? Where are you?”

“I’m at Oscar’s, oh God, can you both come right away?”

Jimmy looked up from his paper.

“Is it Barbara?”

“Where’s Jimmy?” she gabbled. “I need to talk to Jimmy.”

He saw my face and put down his coffee mug so fast it bounced as he reached for the phone.

As I passed him the receiver, we both heard her squawk, “Oscar’s dead! I found him on the beach just like Clea.”

“Now, hold on, petunia,” Jimmy said. “Take a deep breath, say the Serenity Prayer, and then tell me what happened.”

Recovering alcoholics! Jimmy meant it about the Serenity Prayer. I danced with impatience as he soothed Barbara and made encouraging noises into the phone. Then I realized I’d be better occupied in throwing on my pants, some shoes, and a sweatshirt. When I returned, he was saying, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get somebody to drive us. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

More squawking.

“If they tape up the car, we’ll deal with it. And if they won’t let us in, we’ll be right outside. Don’t worry, peach. We’ll get onto the beach somehow. Just sit tight. If they get there first, we’ll be right behind them. Hang in there, pet. Just tell them what you saw. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“What?”

“What happened?”

“What’s going on?”

Jimmy had acquired an audience. The whole house sat or stood in various states of undress, waiting for him to finish. I eyed Cindy, who looked fetching in a pink sleep shirt. I hoped she had forgiven me overnight for our bungled walk in the moonlight.

Hanging up the phone, Jimmy shook his head.

“Bad news,” he said. “Oscar is dead. Barbara found him at the foot of the steps leading down to the beach from his house.”

They all clamored for details, shouting questions at him like a bunch of news reporters on TV. He answered Cindy’s first.

“No, the police aren’t there yet. But she called them first.”

“What was she doing there?”

“She’d gone for a run along the beach. She took our car. She said she parked at Dedhampton Beach and ran from there.” He added, “I don’t know why she didn’t park at Oscar’s.”