Authors: Sarah Pekkanen
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “He . . . doesn’t know everything about Therese. How bad off she is.”
“I see.” Silence filled the phone line again, and Pauline suspected her mother was doing the exact same calculation Pauline had, before the wedding: Would her sister’s condition have scared off Dwight, made him think they might have an abnormal child? Maybe he would’ve married her anyway, but Pauline didn’t want to take that chance—to alter the dynamic of their relationship. What she brought to their marriage was a kind of ease and grace; she smoothed problems out of Dwight’s way so that his burdens were lessened and he could focus on business. Maybe it was an outdated model for a relationship—the equivalent of a fifties housewife bringing slippers and a pipe to her husband the moment he arrived home—but she didn’t care. It worked for both of them.
“It’s all right,” her mother finally said. “You should be with your husband.”
But even as those words traveled over the line, Pauline knew: She had to go, that very night.
* * *
“Well, that was weird,” Savannah said as she flicked the switch on the margarita machine and watched the ice and tequila mixture churn into a minicyclone.
“She seemed so upset,” Tina said.
“I know,” Savannah said. “It’s only a broken hip.”
“I bet it’s more than that,” Allie said, and Savannah looked up. She’d had the exact same thought. “When things like this happen to a parent, it’s a symbol of their mortality. I bet Pauline’s realizing that her mother is getting older . . .”
Savannah tuned out the psychobabble as she poured the frothy margaritas into salt-rimmed glasses. Sometimes she thought Allie had missed her true calling; she could’ve given Dr. Phil a run for his money.
“To your health,” Tina said, lifting a glass.
“We need a better toast than that,” Savannah said, leaning back against the big granite island. “How about: ‘One drink is good, two at the most, three I’m under the table, four I’m under the host’?”
“Savannah!” Allie shrieked.
Savannah grinned. “I’m paraphrasing Dorothy Parker. But, you know, give me a few more of these . . .”
“You would not,” Tina said, but her voice was laced with a thrill.
“Oh, I don’t know, Tina. It’s kind of your fault, actually. After hearing you talk about what a great kisser Dwight was, he’s looking awfully tempting,” Savannah said.
At the shock on Allie’s face, she added, “I’m not going to throw myself at Dwight while his wife’s away. But I might have some fun dancing with him again tonight.”
Allie drew in an audible breath. “I think that’s really disrespectful,” she said. “Pauline worked hard to give us this nice trip. And now you’re talking about hitting on her husband while she’s away taking care of her injured mother?”
“Whoa, girl, settle down,” Savannah said. What the hell was wrong with Allie? Her cheeks and ears were turning red, and
she was almost shouting. It was one of the few times Savannah could recall seeing Allie mad.
“Allie? What’s going on?” Tina said, putting a hand on Allie’s shoulder. “You know what Savannah’s like. She was just kidding around.”
Allie looked back and forth at the two of them, and then it was as if a switch had been flipped inside of her—all of the anger drained out of her face. “Sorry,” she said. “I just . . . I don’t know what got into me.”
Savannah shrugged. “It’s forgotten.” She meant it; she’d never believed in holding grudges over small infractions. “But Tina’s right, you should know what I’m like by now.” She winked at Tina. “Demure and shy, right? Isn’t that what you meant?”
Tina’s and Allie’s laughter chased the remaining tension out of the room.
“Dwight seems to really love Pauline,” Tina said. “And she’s certainly devoted to him.”
“To each his own,” Savannah said. “I mean, yeah, I appreciate the trip and everything. Don’t get all riled up again, Al. I’m not being bitchy. But she’s kind of . . . stiff. Usually I like things that are stiff, but that’s not a compliment.”
Tina rolled her eyes at Savannah. “I think she must come from a lot of money. I just get that feeling.”
“And I love it that we’re being so pampered here,” Savannah said. “But it would be fun to just kick back and play quarters like we used to and act like idiots, instead of having everything be so fancy. When Gio burped last night, you should’ve seen the look on her face.”
“Well, she said she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night at the earliest. The staff is gone, too,” Tina said. “And I used to be really good at quarters.”
“Is that a challenge, Ms. Antonelli?” Savannah asked.
“No, this is: I’m going to kick your ass in quarters.”
Savannah laughed and took another sip of margarita. She was already a little buzzed from the pineapple drink by the pool and all the wine with dinner, but she’d always had a high tolerance. Lately she’d been anesthetizing herself with a couple of drinks at the end of the day, but she was confident it was a temporary routine: If having your husband dump you for a big-assed, jailbait nurse wasn’t enough to justify tossing back a few, then what was?
“Let’s get the guys,” Savannah said. “Where are they, anyway?”
“The game room, probably,” Allie said.
“Someone go get a quarter,” Savannah said as she poured the rest of the margaritas into a pitcher and Tina scurried off to find her purse. “It’s party time, ladies.”
Downstairs, they found Gio bent over the pinball machine, hitting the flippers with more force than was necessary.
“Damn it,” he said, smacking the side of the machine with an open hand.
“You okay, honey?” Tina asked.
“Crap!” Gio jerked away from the machine. He didn’t answer Tina. “You’re up, D-man.”
He reached for his beer and swigged while Dwight took his place at the game’s controls. The machine pinged and lit up and shook as the numbers rolled forward: 3,450; 5,200; 8,500 . . .
Savannah glanced at Gio’s score: 1,250.
Men,
she thought. Gio was getting all pouty, crossing his arms and glaring as Dwight trounced him in a ridiculous game meant for junior high school boys, and Ryan looked half-asleep as he watched a baseball game on the big-screen TV. This wouldn’t do at all.
She reached over and flicked on the iPod attached to speakers. Dwight had already downloaded the CD she’d made him
onto the iPod, and she blasted the first song: Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”
“Hey,” Ryan shouted as she reached past him and grabbed the clicker. “Be careful with that man-tool!” She ignored him and turned off the television, then hid the clicker behind a sofa cushion.
“Dwight, that’s your last ball,” Savannah shouted. “It’s time for quarters!”
She saw Tina approach Gio, put a hand on his arm, and whisper something in his ear. He pulled away and shook his head.
Somebody give that big baby a pacifier,
Savannah thought. At least Ryan was getting up off the couch and Dwight was clearing the glasses off the bamboo bar.
“Here are the rules, in case you old fogies forgot,” Savannah said, sharply clapping her hands so everyone would listen. “The quarter has to bounce once before landing in the cup. The cup starts half-full of beer, and we add an inch every time someone misses.”
“Who’s first?” Tina asked.
“You’re holding the quarter, so you are, hot mama,” Savannah said.
Tina missed the cup completely, as did Allie. Dwight tapped the rim on his turn, but the quarter fell back onto the table. By now the cup was almost completely full of foamy beer.
“Not off to the best start.” Savannah flicked the quarter against the table, and it splashed into the beer. “Allie,” she said.
“Me!” Allie squealed. “Why are you picking on me?”
“You just seemed a little tense earlier in the kitchen, like you needed a drink.” Savannah winked.
“You mean other than the margarita I’m holding?” Allie laughed, but she still picked up the cup and chugged.
“That’s my girl,” Savannah said. She took aim as Allie refilled the cup, and the quarter plopped in again.
“Christ,” Ryan said. “I think she’s a ringer.”
“Sorry, Ry, I didn’t catch that. Did you say you were thirsty?” Savannah asked, handing him the cup.
Savannah glanced at Gio, who was leaning against the back of the couch, watching the game. He was still smoldering as intently as if he was posing for a Calvin Klein ad. Why had Tina let him get away with dismissing her? Savannah wondered. She wouldn’t have put a meek little hand on his arm. Guys like Gio didn’t respond to that sort of thing. How come Tina didn’t know that, after all those years of being with Gio?
She took aim at the cup a third time, but she made sure to look up at Gio just before she released the quarter. She heard the gentle plop that told her the coin had landed in liquid, and she reached for the beer, still holding Gio’s gaze.
“Let’s see . . .” she said. “I think a caveman type might need a drink. I wonder where I can find one?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Gio’s mouth.
Savannah danced across the room until she was directly in front of Gio. “You must be parched,” she said, handing him the cup.
He made her wait a few seconds, then he took the cup and swallowed the beer in one gulp.
“Now get your ass over here,” Savannah told him. “These amateurs are boring me. You’re the only one of this group who could ever play quarters.”
Gio shrugged and followed her back to the bar. But instead of walking around it to stand next to Tina, he squeezed in next to Savannah.
“Hurry up and miss,” he said. “It’s my turn next, and I think you’re about three drinks behind everyone else.”
“Oh, I’ll catch up.” Savannah laughed.
“Go ahead, Van,” Tina said. “It’s your turn.”
This time Savannah missed, but Gio didn’t. Not the next
two times, either. And all three times, he made Savannah drink.
“Remind me again why I made you join us?” Savannah said as she reached for the cup again. She swallowed the beer—she’d never really liked the taste of it, so she always drank as quickly as possible—and felt warmth spread throughout her body. Screw Gary. She was having an amazing week, and she’d managed to make plans with the crewman from the catamaran, whose name she couldn’t remember. He was going away on a chartered trip, but when he got back on Wednesday night, they were going to meet on the beach. She might not even say a single word to him. Maybe she’d just reach for his red bathing suit—she imagined he’d be wearing it, and absolutely nothing else—and slowly tug it down over that brown, muscular stomach . . .
Ryan made his shot and handed the cup to Tina, who gulped it down, then Dwight got one in and made Allie drink.
The iPod changed to a new song—“3 AM” by Matchbox Twenty—and Savannah began dancing to the music. Tina came around from the other side of the bar and joined her.
“Not bad, Ms. Antonelli,” Savannah said. At first they were just swaying back and forth, but Tina began getting into it, shaking her hips and dropping to the floor, then swiveling back up.
“You took one of those pole-dancing exercise classes, didn’t you?” Savannah asked.
Tina shook her head. “Video,” she gasped. “I only did it once, though.”
“Nice!” Savannah said. “I took the class. Want to see the Fireman?”
Without waiting for an answer, she wrapped her hands around an imaginary pole and mimicked sliding down it. She could feel her dress hiking up as she tossed back her hair. None of the guys were playing quarters anymore.
“Show me that move!” Tina shouted.
“It’s all in the hips, baby,” Savannah said. “Watch me.”
Tina tried to twist around the imaginary pole and promptly fell over. “Oh, God,” she said. “I’m drunk. I haven’t been drunk in forever! I love being drunk!”
Savannah reached down to help her up. “That’s because you’ve been either pregnant or nursing for the past fifty years.”
“True,” Tina gasped. “Once I was pregnant
and
nursing. Can we dance on the beach? Please?”
“Sure,” Savannah said. “Who’s up for it?”
“Everyone grab a drink or three,” Gio said, “and let’s go.”
“Let’s make another round of margaritas first,” Savannah said. “Is there any more mix under the bar? We finished off the one we had in the kitchen.”
Gio opened a cabinet and peered inside. “Yup.” He tucked two bottles under his arms and handed the third to Savannah. “Let’s hit it, Red. Follow me to the kitchen.”
“Meet you on the beach!” Allie called.
Savannah could hear Allie and Tina giggling as they stumbled past the kitchen to the outdoor stairs leading down to the water, with Dwight and Ryan right behind them. “God, I hope the girls don’t fall,” Savannah said. “It’s a long way down.”
“They probably wouldn’t even feel it,” Gio said. He pulled the ice maker’s bucket out of the freezer and dumped the cubes into the blender while Savannah added the tequila mix.
“I’m sure Pauline has a doctor on standby anyway, circling the house just in case she summons,” Savannah said.
“You’re wicked,” Gio said with a laugh. He flicked the switch on the margarita machine as Savannah hoisted herself up to sit on a counter. She caught Gio glancing at her and realized the strap of her dress had slipped off one shoulder. She didn’t fix it; she wanted to feel his eyes on her. She’d never do anything with a friend’s husband—well, technically she’d kissed the spouse of
one at a party, but she hadn’t known that woman nearly as well as she knew Tina. But a little flirting with Gio was definitely allowable. It wasn’t as if it was the first time; she’d sensed a little heat between them in the past.
Her eyelids felt heavy from the alcohol and the sexual tension suddenly infusing the room. She gazed at Gio, watching the muscles flex in his arms as he turned off the machine and reached for her glass. Their fingertips brushed as she handed it to him.
He filled their glasses and reached out a hand to help her down from the counter.
“Gary has no idea what he’s missing,” he said all of a sudden, still holding her hand. Savannah looked at him out of the corner of her eye. What did he mean? That Gary was missing out on Jamaica . . . or missing out on
her
?