It Happens in the Hamptons(2)
“You mean it.”
“I do. I really do.” He kissed her neck softly, sexually in that way he did in the dark.
A moment passed. “Well, then I’ll let it settle a little. I promise. A change is not a crazy idea at this point,” she let out in the most noncommittal tone she could. She faced the sun again, wondering if this man was falling for her more than she had understood. Since Huck’s father had skipped town before the kid could even sit up, Katie’s trajectory was her own design. She could say yes and own a new life plan right this minute if she wanted.
“We’ve only known each other for a month,” she reminded George.
And he replied, “Four perfect weekends, why not try a dozen more?”
Chapter Two
Try to Hang on for the Ride Known as Summertime
Anyone could have predicted that the summer’s turmoil would start the moment Kona’s rusty Jeep blasted through the wooden white entry gates that Saturday night. The car skidded around a rare Japanese tree and screeched to a stop. He marveled at the deep tire marks he’d made in the cinnamon pebbles raked like frosting.
Luke stepped out from the passenger side first. He swiped his hands down his black pants and stiffened the collar on his white shirt, his handiwork with the iron now ruined by the ride in Kona’s damp Jeep. His soft, dark eyes itched from a day in the salt water, and a trace of white zinc remained in a small patch of stubble on his handsome jaw. He patted down his shaggy mahogany hair, particularly on that stubborn part on the top. No matter how hard he’d worked, nothing felt right.
The guys were trying their best, but that didn’t extinguish the “fish out of water” neon signs blinking on their foreheads as they entered the fray of the .001 percenters at the Chase estate. The mansion, which they’d only seen from the beach shoreline, bulged with impossible weight over the fragile oceanfront dune. The party above was filled with warlocks who controlled every lever of Manhattan’s industries—from Wall Street and media to advertising, fashion, and the arts.
“You think we’re dressed right?” Luke asked. “Hamptons Festive might mean those pink ties and blazers.”
“Nah. Black and white. Always the safe bet. All good,” answered Kona. Years battling waves and climbing up Hawaiian palm trees to pick coconuts had sculpted his burly frame, now sheathed in a wrinkled white button-down he’d found in the depths of his dresser. Kona had inherited his Nordic father’s bushy blond eyebrows and blue eyes and his Hawaiian mother’s high cheekbones and caramel skin. “When you’re tan and good-looking and not a fat banker, it doesn’t matter what clothes you got on. Fuck these people: we look good. And forget Simone for a night. C’mon. Let’s find you a higher grade woman.”
Luke fist-bumped the young valet parking attendant he recognized from town. “Thanks, man,” he said, as Kona threw the kid his keys in a large arc over the exposed roll bar of his Jeep. “We teach the Chase kids to water-ski and surf; I’m sure little Richie made them invite us.”
Luke didn’t like gaining entry to the Chases’ exclusive party when the twenty-three-year-old parking valet couldn’t get in, and he promised himself he’d sneak him a beer on the way out. He remembered this same kid had dented the shiny right bumper of the owner’s new four-seater Porsche Panamera “family car” when the automatic driveway gates had opened on their own last summer. Jake Chase, the forty-seven-year-old, corpulent owner of the otherwise pristine vehicle, didn’t much mind. He knew he’d simply have someone tell someone to tell someone to repair it.
At the scene of the fender bender, Jake, amazed by his uncanny ability to keep everything so well in perspective, had assured the young man: “It happens, kid. Don’t sweat it. Hell, why should a fifty-thousand-dollar gate function properly when you push a button?”
The legendary Jake Chase was like that, always trying to prove he was on even par with the local guys because he started out driving a laundry truck to get by in college. By the time he was thirty-five, that stint behind the wheel led Jake to create the country’s largest Laundromat chain. Developing entire malls followed, and the cash rolled in with the same certainty as those pounding waves in front of his summer home.
Jake would punch the guys too hard in the upper arm to make sure they were alert when he recounted tales of his career. He’d then throw his balding head back in laughter, hoping deep down in his short, stubby build that they got his inane jokes. Cool is a gift bestowed. Luke and Kona knew one couldn’t buy, rent, borrow, or steal it.