up and smiling at five sharp and out by eight. No stylishly late arrivals for us and no kicking back with the Colemans after, dishing the other guests and finishing off the wine. When everybody’s seen everybody for two nights running, you just get tired.
Some people went out for fried shrimp and slaw at the Shrimp Tank afterward, but most of us were so worn out by all the work we did on that party and drained by the disaster that we ate all Kara’s hot hors d’oeuvres and went straight home to crackers and cheese, TV in our jammies, early to bed.
Our kids might be out helling around but nobody begrudges them; our good old boys were thinking, shit, it’s their turn. Then they thought, but it’s still my turn! We felt it in the way they shifted in the bed, twitchy as horny high school boys, and we knew what was up front and center in their heads. Then we rolled them over and they forgot.
The sirens woke us up.
We went running out, and everybody that wasn’t within earshot, Cathy or Betsy Cashwell phoned. We have everybody that matters on speed dial. Even Nenna snapped to, although of course by the time she got here there wouldn’t be much left to see – her fault, really, for letting Davis stick her in that corny Venetian knockoff over in Far Acres, where only rich outsiders live.
We ran out in our sweats, shortie gowns, raincoats, kaftans, the first thing we grabbed; lipstick, of course, but no makeup, we barely had time to comb our hair. Half of us look OK when we’re au pretty much naturel, but the other half are a fright – no names, please! Face it, some women should never be seen without a bra, insulting the public with native-lady boobs and bellies rolling out of control, and, you want to know what’s unfair? This is unfair. Except for the stubble and their hair being mussed up, our men looked pretty much the same as they do in the day.
Outside the sky was all the wrong color, talk about your unearthly glow.
Every piece of rolling stock in the city came pouring in to Coral Shores; they rushed down Coral Boulevard like the spray out of a fire hose, cop cars and fire trucks, city cars with giant speakers and ambulances toting machines to restore breathing, or jump-start your heart. Our street looked like a laser tag park, what with all the revolving strobes and all those sirens! Cop cars, yowling like cats in heat. The Bellingers came boiling out of Sallie’s Lexus; naturally they were the first people Betsy phoned. They were first over the bridge after the rescue units passed, too bad they have to live in town, but Grammy Bellinger’s Victorian on Bay Drive is too nice to leave. Poor Chape looked distracted and crazy with worry, and Sallie, my God! She almost got hit by TV Nine. We lit out after the news van, crazy to see what burned. Sallie got up and dove into the mainstream along with us, running down the road to Coral Circle. The night turned orange, what a sight!
God-almighty, the Tills’ house was on fire.
Now, Boyd and Carole Till fly to Paris every spring even though it’s still beautiful down here, and they jet to Maine as soon as they get back from France. With Boyd’s money, everybody could. Easter Monday rain or shine they pull down their teakwood Rolos and arm the alarms and walk away without a care. You can do that in Coral Shores; we are protected. Shoresafe Security is that good.
Besides, we watch out for each other here.
Why, in Coral Shores you can throw a stone in any direction and hit a friend. We all grew up together, like one big family! We learned manners and flirting at the cotillions in junior high; never mind that we smoked grass outside the Malobar at intermission or that in eighth grade, sex disrupted the flirting and we cried all the way home in the car. We’ve been through so much together that whatever happens to you, there isn’t a one of us who can’t sign her sympathy note: Been There.
We live so close that we can walk to our friends’ parties in our Manolos, all silky in the night. At Christmas if it’s cool enough, we throw on our furs that we bought for New York and go house to house. Last year the Tills had a