Beach Blondes: June Dreams, July's Promise, August Magic (Summer) (38 page)

Diana nodded thoughtfully, and even smiled. “That’s okay. I understand why you treated me like crap, Adam. I treated myself like crap. I blamed myself. I turned it all inward. And to be honest, I got off on it in a way. In some sick way I enjoyed it, all the thoughts of suicide, all the drama of being the poor little victim. See, that’s the beauty of depression, that’s why it works. Because it seduces you. You start by
being
a victim, and then you begin
thinking
of yourself as a victim,
defining
yourself as a victim, and pretty soon you’re a double victim, because now you’re a victim of the feeling of being a victim. It’s a spiral that sucks you further and further down.”

“That’s a great little speech,” Adam said derisively. “Very Oprah. But now it’s just about revenge.”

“Justice,” Diana said.

“Revenge. You just want to hurt the people who you think hurt you. Don’t dress it up, Diana, it’s just revenge.”

Diana laughed, surprising both of them. “You’re right, Adam. It is just revenge. And you know what? It’s just like they say. Revenge really
is
sweet.”

“I won’t let this destroy my father,” Adam said.

“I don’t think that’s up to you,” Diana said. “It’s up to Ross. All he has to do is confess. After that, no one will go after your father anymore.”

Adam fell silent again. He nodded, a slight, unconscious movement. He knew she was right. If Ross confessed, that would probably be the end of it. “You have a videotape?” Adam said.

“The police have it now, at least one copy of it,” Diana said.

“I—I know I don’t have any right to ask you anything,” he said. “It’s just that if you give that tape to the media or anything, my dad…He’s a proud guy, you know. Proud. To be on TV, with that tape making him look like a fool…I mean, okay, I know Ross has to be stopped. I’m just asking—I’m
begging
you. He’s a great man. He has a position in the world….”

“I’m not going to give the tape to anyone,” Diana said, annoyed at herself for being moved by Adam’s plea. But then, whatever else might be wrong with the Merrick family, there was genuine love between Adam and his father. Love and admiration of a degree that had always made Diana a little jealous. “I’m not going to give the tape to some sleazy tabloid show or anything,” she promised. “I don’t want to humiliate anyone. I just want Ross not to be able to hurt anyone else.”

“Thanks for that,” Adam said, sagging with relief. “Thanks.”

“Adam, we both know Ross is dangerous,” Diana said. “I have to stop him. Call it revenge if you want. You know it has to be done. Your problem isn’t with me. It’s with your brother.”

The party lasted the better part of five hours. Five hours of serving food and emptying ashtrays, and, as Marquez had predicted, dodging a few drunken come-ons. But through it all, Summer focused on one overarching fact—Sean Valletti was there. He was there on Crab Claw Key, and he had not missed a single opportunity all night to talk to her, to compliment her, even to help her carry more ice aboard from the pier. When she had spilled a drink and one of the old ladies had started giving her a hard time, Sean had intervened, forcefully defending Summer. And it seemed, though she might just be imagining it, that his gaze was never far from her.

Summer suspected he was interested in her.

This suspicion was heightened when Marquez said, “Jeez, he’s panting around after you.”

“Who?” Summer asked innocently. They were taking a brief coffee break, hiding in the dark on the seaward side of the boat, letting Lianne do all the work for a while.

“Oh, please. Even
you
aren’t that much of a little Sunday school girl, Summer,” Marquez said. “I’m talking about Mr. Complexion over there. Mr. Legs. Mr. Upper-Body Strength. Sean what’s-his-name.”

“Valletti. Sean Valletti.” Summer grinned coyly. “He does have nice legs, doesn’t he?”

“He has better legs than I have,” Marquez said, “which I wouldn’t mind, if he at least had the good taste to be interested in me, but apparently he is attracted only to his own kind—milk-fed Midwestern virginal types.”

“Well, I’m not interested in
him
,” Summer said, a little too strongly.

“Nooooo, of course not. Although I did see your jaw drop when you first saw him.”

“I was surprised. I mean, I know him. I was surprised that he would be here, of all places.”

“You two have anything going on back in Cheeseville?” Marquez asked.

“Not really,” Summer said. “Although, to tell you the truth, I did always kind of think he was cute. For a while I had sort of a crush on him.” She forced a laugh. “It was nothing. I get crushes on lots of guys. For a while I had this weird crush on the Vulcan guy on reruns of
Star Trek Voyager,
and I don’t even watch the show.”

“So, cutting through the crap, you were basically slobbering after this Sean guy, writing his name and your name together in hearts, trying out the sound of the name
Summer Valletti
—or maybe, being a good feminist, it was
Summer Smith-Valletti
—and kissing your pillow at night, wishing it were him.”

“You know, Marquez, sometimes you get on my nerves,” Summer said, annoyed at the total accuracy of Marquez’s guesses.

“Oh, hi, there you are.”

It was him. He had sneaked up from the far side, coming around from the bow. Summer jumped and blushed furiously, hoping and praying that he hadn’t heard the last few seconds of their conversation.

“Guess I’d better go help Lianne clean up,” Marquez said, batting her eyelashes at Summer and making a suggestive little kissy-kissy mouth that made Summer want to push her over the side of the boat.

“I should probably go too,” Summer said, making no move to follow Marquez.

“Don’t go,” Sean said quickly. “You’ve been busy all night. The other two can handle it. Just about everyone’s gone, anyway.”

He was standing unnaturally close, and Summer held her Pepsi in front of her like a shield. “Did everything go okay?” she asked, at a loss for any more substantial conversation. “I mean, was the service all right? Did everyone get enough crab puffs?”

Did everyone get enough crab puffs?
Yes, this was what she had waited three years to ask Sean Valletti.

“Who cares?” he asked, laughing.

“Well, it’s my job,” Summer said lamely.

“Don’t worry. I told my uncle to be sure to give you a really big tip.” He winked at her.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Summer said. “I mean, that’s good, because the others like tips, but I don’t really, you know…I mean, it’s okay. You don’t have to have him give us anything special.”

Shut up now,
Summer ordered herself. If she managed to babble until Marquez and Lianne missed out on a nice tip, they would take turns killing her.

“Can you believe this? Your running into me here?” Sean said.

“What are the odds?” Summer agreed.

“You know, I just can’t believe we never went out,” he said.

“We didn’t,” Summer said. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember.”

“I know you would,” he said. “Me too. I’d remember. You always just seemed like…like this girl, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding agreement although she was entirely perplexed.

“Just this girl who was there and all,” Sean clarified. “Then, when I saw you here, you were this
girl
.” He looked at her appreciatively. “You’re a babe. I hope you don’t mind my saying that.”

A babe. Sean Valletti had just called her a babe. “I guess I don’t mind,” Summer said, gulping her drink and coming up with nothing but ice cubes. On the one hand, the phrase “a babe” was like some throwback. On the other hand, what did it matter what words he used? The point was, he had suddenly, amazingly, noticed her.

It could only be her carefully nurtured tan.

“So, when can we get together?” he asked. “You’re staying here, right? I mean, all summer? All summer, Summer,” he added, delighted by his wit.

“Um, sure, I’m here all summer,” she said.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“I have this…this house. It’s hard to describe.”

“A house? By yourself? You have your own place?” he asked eagerly.

“Kind of.” If you didn’t count the guy who lived on her roof and used her bathroom and kitchen.

Sean grinned, showing a perfect smile. “Cool. So, how about this big festival thing they do here, this Botchanail?”

“The Bacchanal?”

“Yeah. I hear it’s a major party. You and me? Are we there?” he asked.

“I, I, I, um, I, I, uh, see, I have this…I have to see if I can get off work,” Summer babbled.

“Try real hard,” Sean said. He took Summer’s drink from her hand and tossed it into the water. He leaned close, too close by far, and before Summer could object, and before she could decide if she was even considering objecting, he kissed her lightly on the mouth.

Summer practically ran below deck, her head spinning. Standing there waiting for her was Marquez, a giant smirk on her face. Somehow Marquez had managed to help Lianne with the cleanup and still witness everything.

“Boy, Summer,” Marquez said. “I mention the problem of the end of summer, and darned if you don’t go right out and solve it.”

It was a long walk home from the marina, and Summer was not looking forward to the trip in the dark. Marquez had walked from her own home, which was much closer. Summer had planned to go over to see Seth after work, since he lived just down the block from Marquez. But now she felt too tired.

Too tired and too guilty. When Sean had asked her to go to the Bacchanal with him, she
should
have told him no, sorry, I have a boyfriend. Instead she had babbled and evaded until he’d kissed her. She was a thoroughly rotten person. The first thing she would do the next day was see Sean Valletti and blow him off. Great, one more thing to worry about.

Even though she wasn’t interested in walking a mile or more through the dark with nothing for accompaniment but a guilty conscience, Summer was not entirely grateful when J.T. pulled over and offered to drive her home. She had the feeling that he would use the opportunity for a talk. And she wasn’t sure she was up for it.

“So, did they take care of you waitresses?” J.T. asked as she climbed into his car, a wonderfully decrepit old Dodge Dart.

“A hundred-dollar bill, over and above the fifteen percent,” Summer said.

“Hmm. Lianne and Marquez and I only got fifties,” J.T. said, giving Summer a dubious look. “Must be they didn’t like my legs as much as yours.”

Summer shook her head in real annoyance. “I told him not to do that,” she said. “See, I know that one guy, the young one, from back home. But I’ll split the extra with you guys so that everything’s fair.”

J.T. laughed. “No, no, keep it. I was just giving you a hard time.”

“Yeah, well, Marquez won’t take that same attitude,” Summer said.

“Marquez,” he said, without elaborating.

She waited to see if he would add anything, but all he did was shake his head a couple of times, obviously lost in some internal dialogue.

“You really think Marquez is an artist?” Summer asked.

“You’ve seen her room, right?”

“But she says that’s just a hobby,” Summer said.

“Does it look like it’s just a hobby? Ever seen her actually working on it?” He smiled fondly. “It’s a real sight. I went over there once, banged on her door for about twenty minutes. She wouldn’t answer, so I went in, right? Marquez is wearing this dress, a very expensive dress, something you’d wear out to someplace nice. Only, she’s past caring about the dress, because it’s totally destroyed with paint. She was like…like I don’t know what. It’s probably a bad analogy, but she reminded me of a punker guitar player, just spazzing out, lost to all contact with the regular world. In a frenzy, that’s the word. I stood there for twenty minutes watching her, and I swear she never even noticed I was there. After a while I left quietly because I realized she was in a place that was just for her. I don’t know. Maybe she let me watch so I would understand something about her. Or maybe she wasn’t even able to see me.”

Summer thought about this for a moment. At one level it made her terribly jealous. It would be wonderful to be that driven by something…anything. “The other day she had paint on her…on her body.”

“I’m not surprised. Our little rescue mission to find you and Seth probably got her fired up.”

“See, it’s hard for me to see Marquez as being that way. She’s always in such control. Except when she’s dancing.”

“Marquez thinks she’s in control,” J.T. said. “She actually believes this junk about living some straight, normal life. Why do you think we broke up?”

“I don’t know. All she ever says is that you started getting weird when…when you realized you and your parents weren’t—”

“Related?” J.T. offered. “Yeah, I know Marquez’s
story.
She doesn’t want to deal with other people’s problems. She wants to be around nice, normal, sensible people. Everything cool and ironic and detached.”

Summer nodded, understanding suddenly. “She can’t be around complicated emotional situations or people who are out of control. She’s afraid that she’ll lose control.”

“Yeah. She’s afraid she’ll suddenly be what she really is. Because, you see, when she loses that control she becomes this out-there creature who doesn’t care about anything but putting an image down on a wall.”

They had arrived at their destination, but now Summer felt reluctant to break the contact with J.T.

“Hey, you’ve never seen my house, have you?” she said lightly.

“The stilt house, right? Only from the water, passing by. When I was a kid we used to think it was inhabited by trolls and orcs.” He laughed in embarrassment. “Too much Tolkien, I think.”

“I haven’t seen any trolls,” Summer said. “The occasional cockroach, maybe.”

She led him down the pathway that passed the Olan house. She felt vaguely guilty that she hadn’t spoken to Diana in a while.

Maybe I’m becoming like Marquez,
Summer thought.
Maybe I’m avoiding Diana because she’s complicated.

They crossed the dark lawn, which sloped gently down toward the bay. The stilt house came into view as they turned left along the retaining wall. It was a black silhouette against a star-bright sky. Summer wondered if Diver was up top on his deck. She saw nothing, but that didn’t prove he wasn’t there. When in doubt, Diver’s instinct seemed to be to remain invisible.

She gave J.T. the tour of the house, a tour that took all of twenty seconds as she pointed out the obvious—kitchen, bathroom, everything else.

J.T. stopped beside her bed, staring at something.

The framed picture of her family.

He picked it up gently, holding it closer for examination. Summer felt a chill tingle up her spine.

“Are these—” he asked.

“My parents,” Summer acknowledged.
And maybe yours,
she added silently.

J.T. nodded solemnly. “They’re a good-looking couple.” He turned to face her and held the picture up next to his face. “See any family resemblance?”

He no doubt intended it as a funny question, but it came out wrong. He could not hide the pleading element in his voice.

When Summer said nothing, his self-mocking expression crumbled. Carefully, he put the picture back on the nightstand. Then, with one finger, he touched the face of Summer’s mother. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

“I don’t know these people,” he said at last.

“You wouldn’t, I guess,” Summer said. “You were just two years old at the time. I mean, if it’s true.”