It Happens in the Hamptons(21)

“Mom, c’mon, let’s go. You said candy, too. Please?” Huck yanked her to the cash register.

Despite this man’s allure and the NO STRINGS rumpled paper napkin document, Katie defaulted on the flirtation match. She paid quickly, deciding it was better to put the hormones on ice.

Katie stepped onto the sidewalk, lined with folded beach chairs and plastic baskets of primary-colored shovel sets. She couldn’t help herself: she smiled back at the man who couldn’t take his eyes off her, no matter how hard he tried.





Interlude: Memorial Day




The man with the pink-and-yellow gardenia lining inside his blazer needed a little more action before he faced a week of work. That young store employee with the gargantuan tits entered his mind. She was a local girl, surely not thinking of college, trying her best to advance herself in a life of retail at the Club Monaco shop off Main Street.

She wouldn’t make it at the more exclusive Ralph Lauren down the block with her pale blue eye shadow and generic bracelets from a shopping mall that, frankly, advertised middle class. She was a woman who knew her limits. But he could change her life. Up to a point, of course. But, then, he was that way. He was generous. Not only with career guidance, but in the sack, too.

He parked behind the store and used the back door. Inside, he marveled at the all-white clever branding: spiffy floors, white orchids in little white pails, white sofas, white cotton throws. Good value clothes for Manhattan housewives here, always something they could buy to throw on for a lobster bake where one got messy anyway. And local women could find a suitable blouse for an interview or event, posing as if they’d been raised in a hydrangea-filled summer estate.

Diana Doherty was standing at the counter, stuffing crisp Oxford shirts into a bag. “Sixty-nine dollars retail, but only forty-eight dollars today on the holiday sale, that’s a savings of 30 percent.”

She was competent, self-reliant, he noted, could do math in her head. She’d never want anything from him. Feminism was a great thing!

“Take a break now,” he whispered at her, while he considered a big table of coffee table books near the back of the registers. Her looked over at her tending to customers and tried to decide if her calves were a tad full. Good ankles, though, that saved her. Townie girls let themselves go a little more, ate too many cheeseburgers, fried what-have-you, with beer.

Maybe the calves were easier to hang onto when he’d fold her in two. It was fine, he’d only see those thick legs flailing around in the dark. It’s not as if he’d take her anywhere in broad daylight. Flipping through a fancy book on outdoor entertaining in the Hamptons, he instructed her, “I’ll meet you in the back storage closet.”

“I can’t.” She smiled, relieved he’d come in. “Not again. C’mon.” She motioned her hand at a short line before the counter. She’d checked her phone about seven thousand times since last week when they’d had the bedroom to themselves. He hadn’t called or texted once. She knew she should give him a hard time, but he might take it like she was clingy, and then he might never . . .

“You can. Take a break, tell the manager something, uh, came up . . .”

She loved his persistence, even his stupid jokes. Maybe they’d get together for dinner that night. There was a lovely spot on the bay with fish tacos she’d wanted to try. He would consider her in the know, even elegant, for suggesting it.

Nine minutes later, they were tussling on a huge pile of sweaters in plastic bags used as cushions in the dark storeroom. She’d locked it of course, but didn’t tell him other salesgirls and the manager had keys. She unbuckled his belt and rather aggressively yanked his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs, knowing it pleased him when she seemed all excited before they’d even started.

However, happy to see him, hoping they’d actually go on a date that night was different from wet-in-her-panties turned on. She pretended to moan a little.

And, though he was older, he was hot in his own way. If only he had a nice convertible. It would be so awesome to drive around with the roof down, with some cool new sunglasses on. Maybe Neil, who’d just dumped her, would see them.

As she wriggled and writhed beneath him, she heard footsteps in the hallway. He was too occupied between her breasts now to hear. God, she thought, this would really be bad if her manager came in. If she lost her job, he’d have to realize it was his fault, and that he’d made her leave the register.

But it’d be worth it, especially if he set her up in an apartment, maybe got her a cute little MINI Cooper convertible. If they got really serious by next Easter, he’d surprise her with a pale pink one or something thoughtful like that.