after Joy delivered my “hot” version of a café pousson cocktail to the “hottie” actor, the fireworks began.
I always was a sucker for July Fourth displays. When my ex and I had been happily married—for a few years there, when Joy was still very young and things hadn’t gone totally to hell yet—we would put Joy in a stroller and go over to the FDR drive in Manhattan. The city closed the highway off so residents could line the East River from Harlem to the South Street Seaport and watch the most spectacular fireworks display in the country. The rockets would shoot off from barges floating in the river. Ice cream, hot dog, and shish-kabob vendors would supply the crowd with delicious street fare, and portable radios would provide broadcasts of synchronized music.
I remember Joy clapping happily in her stroller, Matt putting his big, strong arms around me and telling me to just lean into him. If only we could have stayed that way, never left the FDR, kept the fireworks going forever.
Tonight’s display had been privately arranged by David, who was a newcomer to East Hampton. This was only his third annual Fourth party. Two brothers from Manhattan’s Chinatown, who had long ago worked out the pile of permits needed from the local authorities to create private fireworks for Hamptons parties, set their rockets up down the beach and angled them to fall over the ocean.
Now colors bloomed in the evening sky, painting the starry canvas with flickering lights that trailed like wet diamonds down to the black surf. We all stopped to watch the spectacle, then the party cranked up again, one last burst of energy before the guests, like the flickering lights of the expended rockets, trailed off into the night.
The fairly speedy exit of the partygoers was not surprising. Clouds were moving in fast from over the ocean—a flash of distant lightning and a rumble of thunder had been the equivalent of a Broadway curtain call. With smiles and waves, and calls goodnight to each other, the friendly, happy throng filed into the mansion and out the front door like a human commuter train.
As the last of the guests trailed off, I quickly directed Joy and Graydon Faas in a cleanup detail on the large outdoor deck. There were cups, cocktail glasses, and napkins all over the joint. Lounge chairs, antique benches, and other furniture had been scattered across the deck and lawn as well. And with the storm moving in, all of us had to work fast to get the valuable pieces inside before the skies opened up.
“Clare, what do I do with these fabulous strawberries?” Madame asked me as I moved the espresso machine back onto the kitchen counter. “There’s not one egg of caviar left and the prawns are long gone, but I have about ten quarts of fresh strawberries left over here. I can package them up for the restaurant or place them in bowls for David’s personal use.”
Even after a long night, Madame was looking as put-together as ever. Her blunt-cut, shoulder-length gray hair, dyed sleekly silver, had been twisted into a neat chignon and her sleeveless fuchsia blouse and black summer-weight slacks were protected from spills by a still nearly-spotless white chef ’s apron.
“I think David better make the decision on the strawberries,” I said, snatching a plump one to nibble on. “Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him since before the fireworks.”
Joy overheard us. “Maybe he’s out front with the last of the guests.”
“No, no. He wasn’t feeling well earlier,” said Madame. “He mentioned to me that he had a migraine coming on with a vengeance, said it felt like a food allergy reaction, although he was certain he hadn’t eaten anything to induce it. In any event, he went upstairs for some medicine and to lie down. He asked me to make his apologies to any guests that might leave before he came down again. Do you think he’s fallen asleep?”
I checked my watch. “If he took migraine medication, I’m betting the man’s down for the count.”
“Perhaps you better check on him,” Madame suggested. “See if he needs anything.”
“Good idea.”
“Oh,” she called after me. “If you see that young man Treat, would you send him my way? That boy went off to find a free bathroom some time ago—the first floor bathrooms were constantly in use all night—and I believe he’s been shirking work every since!”
I raised an eyebrow at that. It wasn’t like Treat Mazzelli to