It Happens in the Hamptons(6)
“Sure.” Kona slowly lumbered up as if he didn’t really need to meet anyone, because, well, he was fitting in just fine.
But before they could take the seven steps over to her, Julia had turned away to infiltrate another group of men and women who would rather swallow an orange beach ball than talk to someone who wouldn’t advance them socially or professionally.
At this point, Luke and Kona only wanted another free shot of expensive Patron tequila, or three . . . and hopefully to embarrass the pervert in the brush, when a young woman appeared and said, “Hey, guys! It’s so cool you showed.”
Neither Luke nor Kona could respond at first—they were both so alarmed by the transformation that a year could inflict on a teenage girl. They remembered Alexa Chase, their camper for four summers, as the girl with braces, teeny little budding breasts, and twig legs.
“What happened to you? You look so, well, so different, Alexa,” sputtered Luke, still struggling to accept this woman with rambling curves was the skinny girl who acted as DJ on his water-ski boat instead of getting in the water like the rest of the campers.
“What is it?” she asked with faux naiveté.
“You look like you grew up five years. I swear if any tenth-grade boys get . . .” Luke stammered, his paternal instincts kicking into turbo gear.
“What? I’m sixteen. You guys are acting silly. There are no boys. I just gained like twenty pounds this year.” Alexa swiveled her butt around and grabbed a chunk of flesh.
Both guys looked up at the sky, their cheeks flushing red.
“So this summer I swear I’m going to get in the water more to work it off.”
Kona ruffled her hair like she was his kid sister and put his arm around her. “We’re glad to see you,” he said. “But Luke’s right. Look at you! What are you wearing, honey? How short is that? Did your parents okay your outfit?”
Alexa twirled around for them, her curly ponytail whipping around her head. She took off her long sweater and fidgeted with the straps of her silky orange romper. Just then, in the exact same millisecond of the exact same infinitesimal tilt of the Earth’s axis, Kona’s and Luke’s faces turned as white as the plush loungers behind them.
“What is it?” she asked, smiling.
“Uh, nothing . . . it’s just . . .” Luke said, trying hard to delete the image of the man getting pleasured in the sea grass.
“You guys are being weird. Go get a drink or something, I’m not checking my outfits with my mom!”
Alexa strutted toward the Beluga caviar tapas bar as if she were on a catwalk.
“I can’t handle this; she’s so young still,” said Kona.
“She’s sixteen years old. The guy was like forty. In her parents’ home, or near it?” said Luke. His eyes glazed, colorful humans, drinks, and pillows now blurring together.
Like twins in their monochrome black pants and white collared shirts, Kona and Luke stood there dumbstruck one moment too long.
Just then, a man dressed in Pepto-Bismol-colored pants shoved his empty highball glass in Kona’s one hand, mushed a pesto marinade–covered napkin and shell-encrusted toothpick in the other and said, “Waiter. Be so kind. Fetch me two gin and tonics.”
Chapter Five
An Innocent Stroll
Sunday, May 28
Katie and Huck waited in line at a deli positioned between a Chinese take-out spot and a carpet chain in a small shopping strip before the town of Southampton. She studied the six or eight men around her wearing Timberland boots, worn work pants, and utility vests. They grabbed BBQ-flavored chips and Arizona iced tea in big cans on a ninety-nine cents special while they waited for their chicken Parmesan and meatball heroes. Katie’s two turkey and American cheese sandwiches, Snapples, and potato chips cost nineteen dollars, which she didn’t find expensive. A young teen helped his father wrap up a bagel at the counter. The man kissed the top of his son’s head while he counted out change for the customer ahead. Nice people around here, she thought.
That morning, after organizing their clothes in the small Porter family cottage, Katie wanted to take Huck to explore the town. They’d spent their first day napping and getting used to the creaks in the house where they would spend the twelve weeks of summer.
George wouldn’t be out for seven more days, and Katie was relieved to discover the Hamptons first on her own terms, not as a beholden tourist, with him playing the role of insider guide. He had left her an old pale green Volvo station wagon in the driveway, cautioning against driving it on a highway or at any speed over fifty miles per hour. That sounded good to Katie. Slowing down was just what she needed.