Beach Lane - By Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,7
from the front seat. “No cell phones allowed! Will you please turn that off!” Everyone craned their necks to see who had broken the most august law on the Hampton Jitney. Fifty pairs of irritated, sleep-rumpled eyes glared in Mara’s direction. The clipboard-wielding bus madam who’d already given Mara grief for getting on the bus without a reservation gestured angrily. “You there!”
“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t know!” Mara said, fumbling with her phone. “Hello???” She brushed her long brown bangs off her face with a hurried sweep.
“Mar! It’s me! Hey, I—”
“Jim! I can’t talk now!” she said, snapping the phone shut and cutting him off in mid-protest.
The long-haired Chihuahua in her arms stared her down with an indignant look on its pointy face.
“What’s wrong, pup?” she cooed nervously, holding up the dog close to her. As if in answer, the dog peed in her lap.
“Hey!” Mara yelped.
“Oh. He does that to some people.” Muffy’s owner yawned. “You should really have turned off your phone. Didn’t you see the sign?” she added, motioning to the image of a cell phone inside a circle with an angry red slash drawn across it.
Mara sank lower in her seat. It was going to be a very long ride.
somewhere on the montauk highway: jacqui can really hold her liquor
THE SMARMY MOVIE PRODUCER WAS STARTING TO look very, very attractive, but that was probably Johnny Walker talking, Jacqui thought.
For the most part Rupert had acted the perfect gentleman; in fact, he had barely paid her any attention except to refill her whiskey glass. He had been glued to his cell phone’s wireless earpiece, yelling into the little receiver about some botched film deal. By the time they reached Noyak, Jacqui had already watched three episodes of That 70s Show on the Tivo, played numerous games of Halo on the Xbox, and watched as the landscape out the window changed from crowded metropolis to suburban wasteland to picturesque vineyards.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, taking a moment to squeeze her left knee.
Hmmm. She didn’t know how she felt about that.
Maybe she’d feel better after just one more drink, she thought, reaching over for the crystal decanter. Rupert had said to “help herself,” and she wasn’t one to pass up on the limousine’s amenities. Who knew when she’d ever be in a stretch Hummer again?
Rupert finally put away his phone and turned to her. “Sorry about that. The floozy signed the contract, but now she’s trying to get out of it to do a movie with Tom Cruise. Didn’t mean to be rude.”
Jacqui waved it away, still holding her cocktail glass.
He smirked and poured himself another shot of bourbon.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Sua saúde.” To your health.
They clinked glasses. Rupert took a hearty sip and smacked his lips. “Much better,” he said, unbuttoning the topmost button on his oxford shirt. “So, what are you doing in the Hamptons this summer?” he inquired.
“Au pair,” she said.
“No way. You’re serious? I was sure you were a model or something. And that’s not a line. I see pretty girls in my business every day.”
“Não um modelo.”
“Actress wannabe?”
Jacqui shook her head. She had absolutely no desire to generate even more attention to herself.
“Just a nanny, huh?”
“Au pair,” she corrected.
“Right. Right.” He smiled, revealing a row of yellowish teeth. “Who’s the lucky family?”
She told him about the Perrys and gave him their address on Lily Pond Lane. He looked impressed.
“Perry? Not Kevin Perry?”
She nodded.
“The lucky bastard,” Rupert said, now grinning broadly. “Maxine and I know them,” he said as he put a hand on her knee. “My wife, you know. We just got married last year. It wasn’t my idea,” he added as he ran a hand up her toned thigh, stopping just short of her denim miniskirt. He let his hand rest there—just below—to see what she would do.
It must have been the alcohol because even if she had expected this, Jacqui wasn’t as repulsed as she normally would be.
“We won’t get into East Hampton for another hour with this traffic,” he murmured, leaning in to smell her hair. “What do you say?”
Jacqui giggled into her glass. Really, men were way too predictable. “I don’t know, what do you say?” she asked, finally pushing his hand away.
“Well, I think we should get to know each other a little . . . “he began to suggest when they were both jostled by the limo swerving to miss a red convertible.
Jacqui looked out the window and saw a cute guy giving the limo the finger while a blond