Moon Shell Beach: A Novel (4 page)

Over the summer,
he dined at La Maison at least once a week, sometimes with men, sometimes with lovely young women. He always flirted with Lexi, who beamed back appreciatively—he left fabulous tips. He requested Lexi’s table every time he came, and when he was with a man, he leaned back in his chair and asked Lexi about herself. It would have been rude not to respond, and she secretly enjoyed having the attention of this powerful man. She knew she looked good—finally she accepted how her long legs and slim torso, which had earned her the name of “Stork” in school, had become assets. She wore a white button-down shirt and a short black skirt to work. Her blond hair was almost white from the sun. She wore it simply tied back with a black ribbon, a long tail hanging down her back, swinging as she walked.

One evening, he asked, “Do you work every night?”

Cool,
she thought, he wants to come here only when I can be his waitress. “Not Mondays and Tuesdays.”

“Great. Let me take you out to dinner on Monday.”

“Oh.” Lexi was so surprised, she almost dropped the bread basket. Flustered, she stuttered, “Oh…I, uh, I can’t. Sorry.” And she hurried away.

That night, she casually told her parents that Ed Hardin had asked her out.

Her father snorted. “I hope you said no!”

Her mother patted her hand gently. “Lexi, he’s much too old for you, honey. A man like him, well, he would only take advantage of a small-town girl like you.”

Lexi knew her mother only meant to be helpful, but her words cut deep. And by morning, she found something in her rebelling. Did her parents think she was
stupid
? That she’d be so grateful to be asked out by a wealthy man that she’d do anything he asked? And yet her mother was right. Her life and Ed Hardin’s were worlds apart.

A week later,
Ed dined at La Maison again. Again, Lexi was his waitress. When she placed the leather folder holding the tab on his table, he put his hand on it, near her hand. “Lexi, I’d really like to take you out to dinner. Any evening you’re free.”

Lexi pulled back her hand. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You have Monday off?” He really did have a nice smile.

She was aware of the eyes of the other staff and diners on her. She capitulated. “All right. Monday.” As they made arrangements, she knew she was flushing. She felt like a heroine accepting a challenge from a fascinating enemy.

He took her
to the Chanticleer, the best restaurant on the island, and the most expensive. He ordered fabulous wine and amazing food. He was sophisticated, imposing, witty, and well-traveled. But he also seemed genuinely interested in her. When he discovered that she loved art, he drew her out, asking her which painter she liked best, which style, what painting she’d buy if she could buy anything in the world. He asked whether she’d been to the Clark Museum in Williamstown. He asked if he could take her there sometime.

When he drove her home, he said he wanted to come in. She grinned, finally having a little power of her own, and told him, “I live here with my parents.” She slipped out of his Mercedes before he could kiss her.

In her room that night, she paced the floor, trying to work off the energy of her conflicting emotions. She was not sexually attracted to Ed Hardin. He was almost twenty years older than she, and even a little shorter, and portly. But she was attracted to
who she became
when she was with him. He hadn’t laughed at her opinions about art, even though she hardly knew enough to have an opinion. He’d made her seem interesting, even knowledgeable.

She really needed to talk to Clare.

Are you nuts?”
Clare yelled.

It was a hot July afternoon. They were sitting in an alley behind the gourmet shop. Lexi had convinced Clare to spend her precious few lunchtime minutes here so they could talk.

“Clare, let me explain. Ed treats me—”

“There is nothing to explain!” Clare was so upset, she tossed her sandwich aside and stood up, pacing in her frustration. “Lexi, first, Ed Hardin is a terrible, terrible man. How can you even let yourself get sucked in by talk about all this
art
—this man has single-handedly ruined acres and acres of the island!”

Lexi nodded, miserable. “I know—”

“And second, which, actually, ought to be first, because I love you and don’t want to see you used and tossed aside like a piece of soiled tissue: all this man wants to do is seduce you.”

“Maybe not,” Lexi objected quietly.

“Really? You think he likes you for your
mind
? You think you’re
interesting
? Lexi, Ed Hardin is a carnivore! To him, you’re just one more pretty young gazelle in a herd of thousands!”

Lexi folded her arms over her chest stubbornly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Then you’re kidding yourself.” Tears flew from Clare’s eyes as she paced in a circle. “Lexi, Lexi, come
on
! Don’t do this to yourself.” She glared at Lexi as if she were repellent. “Honey, if you date that man, you might as well hang a sign on your back saying ‘If you have money, you can do me.’”

“Clare, don’t be so mean!” Lexi begged.

“Lexi, don’t be so stupid,” Clare shot back.

Lexi opened her mouth to retort—
and Jesse’s sign says “if you’re female, you can do me!”
She wanted to be just as vulgar and demeaning as Clare had been. But she bit her tongue. She wasn’t with Ed Hardin the way Clare was with Jesse.

Ed phoned her
to ask her out again. She politely refused, saying she was busy.

He said, “Well, what night are you free?”

She hesitated. “Look. I can’t—I’m not—”

“It’s just dinner, Lexi. And conversation. I enjoy your company.”

He seemed so mild, so reasonable. He didn’t seem like a monster at all. He wasn’t a monster, really.

“Well…”

On their next
date, over dinner at Toppers, Ed told her about his life. He’d grown up in a suburb of Kansas City, he’d had a happy life with a loving family, he’d gone to college in the Midwest, married young, and had three children who were now teenagers. He was divorced. He seldom saw his ex-wife, but their relationship was amicable.

“I like what I do,” he told her. “I’m proud of what I do.”

“But how can you be?” she countered. “You…you ruin the earth. You’re like a scourge on the island.”

He smiled gently, not in the least offended. “It all depends on your perspective, Lexi. I provide luxurious residences for people who work hard at important jobs—a transplant surgeon bought one of my houses, and a civil rights lawyer bought one. They need a place to escape to, a place to catch their breath, away from the harsh realities of the world. Where they can unwind. Even dream again. Where better than in one of my homes among the dazzling, sheltering scenery? They go back to work recharged.”

He was like a word wizard, an enchanter. She could see his point of view.

He continued mildly, “And there are other places as spectacular as Nantucket Island. If you could see the big picture—I’ve built my estates outside Vail and Palm Springs and Miami. People can trust me to provide them with homes that nurture them.”

She nodded, thinking that what he said was true. There were other places as spectacular as Nantucket. She just had never seen any. She wished she could.

What do you
think?” Clare leaned forward, eager to hear Lexi’s verdict. She wore an apron over her sundress, and the apron was covered with chocolate stains.

Lexi sat at the kitchen table in Clare’s kitchen. “Delicious. But maybe a little…”

“Too much cinnamon, right?”

It was a hot Sunday morning at the end of August. Miraculously, Clare had phoned Lexi to invite her over for breakfast. Both Lexi and Clare had the day off and Jesse had gone to an all-guys’ party the night before and was sleeping in today.

“I’m sure he’s hung over,” Clare told Lexi earlier that morning. “Anyway, I haven’t seen you forever, plus I’d love your opinion on a chocolate breakfast brioche I’m inventing.”