Return to Sullivans Island (21 page)

“Right!” Mike said. “So, how’s the job going?”

“Sit! Sit!” Beth said, making note of his good manners. Someone had raised him right. “Jobs? I’ve got two for some stupid reason. Um, the job at Atlanticville is really a little insane. And it’s tiring. You know, cranky patrons waiting for a table. I’m on my feet all night. This heat doesn’t help anybody’s mood.”

“What’s Atlanticville?” Phoebe said, taking a sip of her drink. “Oooh! This is so good!”

“It’s a restaurant down the island,” Mike said. “Hey! Can we get a table for tomorrow night?”

“Party of three? Of course you can!”

“What’s your other job?” Woody said.

“Writing for the local newspaper,” Beth said. Woody wasn’t bad-looking at all, really, she thought. “I just wrote an article for them.”

“About what?” Phoebe said.

“On the gentrification of funky old beach communities between here and Myrtle Beach.”

Gentrification
was a pretty big word for Phoebe, who wrinkled her brow.

“Would you like some of this?” Phoebe said, offering the platter of guaranteed gastrointestinitis to each of them. She had added chopped jalapeños, mayonnaise, and sweet pickles to the top. Only Beth, the wiser one of the lot, refrained.

Mike pushed a glob into his mouth, struggled to swallow, and smiled at Phoebe. Woody snickered at Mike and was more judicious, pulling plain chips from the bottom of the gooey mass. Mike reached for another wad.

“Think you’re hungry, Mike?” Beth said. He must have a cast-iron stomach, she thought.

“Mmm, mmm,” he said. “My girl Phoebe is the cocktail party queen. Aren’t you, sugar?”

“I like to make up different kinds of finger foods,” she said, and actually batted her eyelashes at everyone.

“I like to cook too,” Beth said, lying for no good reason and thinking, What can I cook? She would have to learn to make something besides cereal and sandwiches. At some point. “Well, actually, I like to eat. More than I like to cook, that is.”

It was after three o’clock before she knew it. Woody, Phoebe, and Mike had gone off to the beach for a swim and Beth was alone in the house. She had put Mike in the newly un-haunted bedroom, explaining privately that ever since Cecily and the priest had done their best, the room had been dead quiet, no pun intended. It was the best bedroom in the house as it was large, had its own bathroom and the best ventilation. Knowing its history all of his life, Mike was initially suspicious. But then Mike had said, No problem, if the room starts going nuts, Phoebe’s gonna be all over me. Beth looked at him with a straight face and pretended to be holding back vomit.

“You need to get a man in your life,” he said. “It’ll make your coat shiny.”

“Very funny. But in fact, I am seeing someone.”

“Really? Well, that’s good. Hey, what do you think of Woody?”

“He’s nice enough. What’s his story?”

“He works for Uncle Henry the slave driver, and he’s the guy in charge of your trust account.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, one of the reasons he wanted to come was to meet you. So see? It’s just business.”

“Good.”

What did that mean? Did Mike think she was unworthy of someone like Woody? Nah, she decided. He probably just never gave her social life one iota of thought. And Beth did present herself as serious. Sort of. Besides, she knew that Woody found her to be attractive.

She dressed for work, straightened her hair, and left them a note.

If you all want to come by the restaurant, I’ll buy y’all some drinks! Otherwise, I’ll see you around eleven. xx Beth

Somewhere around nine-thirty that night, Beth spotted Max at the bar. He was alone. The second seating was well under way so she was able to slip out to the porch to say hello. Max was looking very good and his face brightened when he saw her.

“Well, hi there!” he said. “You’ve been one very busy girl tonight!”

“No lie! I didn’t even see you come in!”

“Can you sit for a minute? Can I buy you a glass of wine?”

“Oh, I wish I could but my boss would probably object.”

“Well, you look awfully nice. What time are you getting out of here?”

Beth felt a poke in her shoulder and turned to see Mike, Woody, and Phoebe standing there.

“Somebody said the drinks were on the house in this joint,” Mike said.

“Well, hey y’all! Max, this is my cousin Mike from Atlanta and his friends Phoebe and Woody…”

They shook hands and began chatting away about Atlanta and all the spots they knew in common as Beth ordered two beers for the guys and a Cosmopolitan for Phoebe, asking Lidia to put it on her tab.

“I have to go back to work,” Beth said. “Drew is giving me the hairy eyeball.”

“Okay, we’ll see you later on,” Woody said.

Max was busy talking about his development project to Mike, who was listening and asking questions. Phoebe asked for directions to the little girls’ room and Beth showed her where it was. Throughout the remainder of that night’s work, between answering phones and seating customers, Beth kept an eye on them from the podium where she stood most of the time. Every time she looked out to the porch she could see Woody watching her, just kind of quietly observing her. In a nice way. He would smile, a little sheepish for being caught, but it was all very aboveboard and polite. Max, on the other hand, was hanging on Mike and flirting with Phoebe, wagging his finger at her and making comments to her behind his hand. Beth felt uncomfortable with Max’s behavior because she didn’t understand why he was being so chummy, too familiar with her cousin and his friends. Maybe the cause was too much alcohol. Yes, that was probably it. And the next time Beth looked out at the bar area, they were all gone.

“Lidia? Where did my cousin go?”

“He said to tell you either they’d be right back or he would see you at home later. They were going off with that guy Max to look at his construction site. You want to settle your tab? I can keep it open if you want.”

“Yeah, leave it open. They might come back.”

They did not return, and when Beth got home Max’s car was there in her yard. He couldn’t wait for her or come back to the restaurant to say what they were doing? She quickly checked her cell phone. There were no messages from him or from anyone. It was pretty late. She was ready to drop in the bed and sleep until noon, but when she went up the steps and into the kitchen, she saw that it could be hours before she could close her eyes. She didn’t like what she found. The sink was filled with dirty dishes, food was all over the counters, the garbage can was overflowing, and Lola was whining her little head off from her crate. She could hear them all out on the porch, laughing and having a great old time.

She opened the crate, attached Lola’s leash, and said, “Don’t ever let your family visit too often, miss. They’ll just walk all over your welcome mat.”

She walked Lola on the street side of the house to avoid seeing them. The truth was that though the house really belonged to the whole family, she felt pretty territorial about it. Who did they think was going to clean up their huge mess? Her? She was livid. And just what was Max doing hanging around with them late into the night like old friends? Well, maybe it wasn’t so late, but it irked the devil out of her anyway. She felt abused and overlooked.

When she got back inside, there stood Woody at the sink, rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher.

“Hi,” she said. “You don’t have to do that.”

She meant nothing of the kind and intuitively Woody knew that she was annoyed.

“Sorry about the mess. Uh, I guess things got a little out of control.”

It was difficult for her to be angry with him, seeing him there cleaning her kitchen and apologizing.

“I guess y’all cooked, huh?”

“Yeah, Phoebe wanted lasagna and salad and garlic bread and a pie—man, that girl can eat!”

“And make a mess. Is there a single pot that she didn’t use? Wow. Looks like a bomb went off in here.”

It was easy to lay the blame at Phoebe’s feet because she didn’t like her anyway.

“I’m afraid we all had a hand in this disaster. Don’t worry. I’ll clean it all up.”

Good grief, he’s so nice, Beth thought.

“Tell you what,” she said, “I’m gonna go put on some shorts and I’ll come back and give you a hand.”

“That’d be great,” he said. “We can shoot the breeze—something we haven’t really done yet.”

Beth gave him a thumbs-up and started for the front steps. Lola skittered behind her, joyously, just so happy to have her back in her line of sight.

Out of the darkness of the porch came Mike.

“I’m hitting tha sack. N don’t let anyboda wake me up tomorrow. I’m sleeping late.”

“You’re bombed.”

“Yeah.” He smiled and pointed his finger at her. “BTW, we need more scotch so you might wanna make a node a that.”

“Don’t tell me you drained Simon’s twenty-five-year-old single malt.”

“Yup. Was it that old? Hell, thas older tha Phebes!”

“Go to bed, Mike.”

Before going upstairs to change, she stepped out onto the dark porch. In the pale light there was Phoebe climbing into the hammock with Max. Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Can I get y’all anything else? The bar’s closing.”

“Oh!” came the voices of the guilty.

Her mother would have been proud of her, she thought. Probably. But Beth was on the verge of bursting into tears.

9

Cheap Talk

[email protected]

Susan, haven’t heard a thing from the island. You?

[email protected]

Mag, probably time to let them grow up? But you might email Cecily? Just a tiny query? On second thought, don’t. Let’s leave them alone. xx

“O
UR FRIENDS DID
not show well tonight,” Woody said when she told him about stumbling on Phoebe and Max. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Not your fault.”

Beth was in the kitchen with him, cleaning up and trying to pull herself together. She was so upset she doubted she would sleep a single wink that night. Max made an awkward, hasty departure, saying he would call her in the morning. Phoebe simply disappeared to her room without a word. Beth was left to wonder, Why weren’t they ashamed? There had been no apologies. Didn’t anyone have a conscience anymore? A sense of propriety? Beth had not said anything else to Phoebe or Max but the few words spoken on the porch, but she nearly talked the ears off the sides of Woody’s sainted head.

“What a couple of idiots!” she said. “Can you believe them? And Mike is as drunk as forty goats!”

“Stupid,” he said. Woody tried to improve her mood by injecting humorous anecdotal stories into their cleaning streak.

“Completely!”

“So listen to this. I had a date with this woman last year and I took her to this new slick restaurant in Atlanta, right?”

“And?”

“Well, she tells me she’s getting sick so I took her home. Stomach flu, she thinks. About an hour later I go to this bar on the other side of town.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s in there raising hell and knocking back dirty martinis with some jerk.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I just went over to her and said, I’m glad to see you’re feeing better.”

“She must have died.”

“No, unfortunately, she did not die. But I think what you said to Phoebe and Max was pretty good.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s hard to be clever on your feet. Well done. I’m gonna take out the trash.”

“Thanks.” Beth turned on the dishwasher and the hum of it sounded like a lullaby and it began to put her at ease.

When Woody returned, he could tell the storm was passing.

“I hate men,” she said, blowing her nose. “How old are you?”

“Not old enough to hate, I hope.”

“Oh, not you, Woody! I don’t hate you.”

“I’ll be thirty in January. Would you like a glass of wine? A small reward for restoring order to the battlefield?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He took two goblets from the drainboard, dried them, and poured. He handed Beth hers.

“Thanks. And sluts. I hate sluts too.”

“What? Well, I certainly don’t. I mean, you know, they have their place in society.”

Woody smiled at Beth and she smiled back, then she shook her head.

“Woody! You wound me!”

“Wound?”

“Yeah, wound.” She covered her heart with her hand and leaned against the stove. It was obvious that Beth was kidding him. “Men are dogs, Woody. Dogs. Bacon-eating, sniffing, prowling, low-down dirty damn dogs. Well, I say, here’s to having a little virtue!”

“What a waste of a toast. And, not all men are dogs. And one more thing, while we’re on the topic of righteousness, not all women are so virtuous either.”

“You’re right, you’re right, you’re right.”

“Thank you. Now, come on. Let’s go out on the porch and enjoy a few minutes of the night. I’ll bring the vino.”

“Okay. Why not?”

Beth looked around to see Lola curled up and fast asleep in her crate.

“She’s not used to being around a lot of people. Wears her out.”

“She’s a cute little dog.”

“Thanks.”

She followed Woody outside. They settled in rocking chairs and were quiet for a few minutes.

“The scene of the crime,” she said. “Stinks.”

“A lot of stuff stinks. Too much, in fact. Listen, Beth. I’ve known Phoebe for a while. She gets real friendly when she’s had too much to drink. She’s harmless, really.”

“Harmless, my big fat butt. What’s Max’s excuse?”

“Your butt’s not fat. As for Max? My momma’s crazy sister used to say, Well, he’s got one, doesn’t he?”

This made Beth burst into giggles. And she blushed to know Woody had gauged the proportions of her derriere.

“Groooss,” she said, drawing the word out long.

“Boys
are
gross. And when girls get all liquored up, sometimes their panties have a way of falling off and nobody seems to recollect how it happened.”

“Headwinds. A big old wind flushes up their skirt, and boom! Britches go flying!”

“A windfall!” Woody laughed at his own joke, leaned forward, slapped his knee, and Beth looked at him like he was certifiably insane. “What? You don’t get it? Windfall?”

“No, I get it. I get it fine. Dr. Cornball has arrived.” Beth shook her head and smirked at him. “Great.”

“Who’s corny?”

“Um, you? My stepfather, Simon. He’s always making these ridiculously silly jokes. My mother spends a lot of time rolling her eyes.”

“I’ve been told by many women—
many women
—that my quick and easy wit is a sign that they should not be intimidated by my superior intelligence.”

“Oh, please. What’d you do? Graduate from Harvard at the top of your class?”

“Uh, yeah. Actually, I did.”

“Graduate school?”

“Yeah. Undergraduate too.”

“Well, bully for you, Einstein. I’ll take another glass of wine if you’re pouring.”

She asked herself how many times she could be mortified in one day? Apparently there was no quota and she didn’t need to touch her cheek to know that her face was in flames.

Woody was chuckling to himself because this wasn’t the first time he had inadvertently flashed his résumé and had the same reaction. He wasn’t a braggart but he did have a lot of pride in his accomplishments.

“Don’t you find it reassuring that your personal banker isn’t a dumbass?”

“Very.” Actually, she thought, I do.

“You went to school in Boston, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, BC.”

“Well, Boston College is no slacker school.”

“Well, I’m weird. I mean, I like to study.”

“Me too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done as well, I guess.”

“Me either. Well, all I’ve done so far is graduate. I’m supposed to be packing for Iowa, but noooooo!”

“Yeah, I heard about that from Mike. So, what happened?”

“I was hand-selected by the Family Committee of Elders as most likely not to destroy the house.”

“Good thing they didn’t leave it with Mike. He’s been pounding down the booze ever since we got here.”

“Yeah, I noticed. He blew through Simon’s twenty-five-year-old single malt and that’s gonna torch his wallet to replace it.”

“That’s not good.”

“I wonder if he does that all the time. Drinks like that, I mean.”

“Only lately he sort of does. At least when I’m with him.”

“That’s not good either.”

“No, it’s not. Another kind of woman wouldn’t put up with it.”

“Maybe that explains why he chooses idiots. Do we think someone like Phoebe would ever object to him getting wasted?”

“Not in a million years. She wouldn’t object to anything. Gosh, I love this porch.”

“Me too. Best room in the house.”

“So listen, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Just how involved are you with that guy Max?”

Beth was silent then as the porch slowly began to transform itself into the confessional again. Dark porches had a way of doing that. Salt air floating by on slow breezes made you brain-drunk, longing to be understood. Justified.

“Well, I guess the honest answer is that I am not as involved as I would like to be. I mean, I think I could see myself with this guy forever and that is a very weird thing for me to say.”

Beth could almost feel Woody’s regret that she had answered in those words. He had posed the question because he wanted to know the answer for his own heart. But Woody was the consummate gentleman and she had no fear that he would act or speak inappropriately. In fact, she had rarely encountered someone quite so well mannered as he was.

“I see,” he said. “Well, that is a mystery.”

“Why? What’s mysterious about it? Don’t you think, I mean aside from their nonsense tonight…don’t you think he’s fabulous?”

Woody laughed a little and said, “Well, I’m not sure I’d call him fabulous. But I do think he is an interesting man.”

Interesting man
was a careful choice of words to her. It could have meant a thousand things.
Isn’t it interesting that Beth’s intended boyfriend is such a philanderer, snaking her cousin’s girlfriend right under everyone’s nose?

“So what is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, he’s a smart guy, that’s for sure. Maybe a little long in the tooth, but whatever.”

“He’s only thirty-seven.”

“Hey, I’m minding my own business on that one. I have to say that little development project he’s got going is a great idea. But I think he’s underfunded because he sure did pitch us hard to invest.”

“With money from Uncle Henry’s firm?”

“With money from anywhere.”

“Excuse me, but if Max wants my cousin to be his partner, he shouldn’t be coming on to his girlfriend, right?”

“Absolutely. But in his mind actually, one thing has nothing to do with the other. And remember, they all had too much to drink.”

“What do you mean
in his mind
?”

“Just that. Certain guys think that way.”

“I love the way men can compartmentalize.”

“Yeah, keep it simple is my motto.”

They were quiet then. He could sense Beth’s incredulousness at his opinion on the lines of separation between business and horsing around with a blowsy broad. She thought that he had implied a cocktail binge could excuse certain behaviors. He
had
implied that. But what he really meant—and this was the more bothersome thing for Beth—was that no one really cared about one another in that unholy triumvirate—not Mike, Phoebe, or Max. It was just about blowing off steam, having fun, getting crazy, and throwing around sexual innuendo until their sassy repartee was exhausted. Therefore, it all didn’t mean a thing.

That opinion didn’t settle well with Beth. She had concluded during her Boston years that that wasn’t how she wanted to approach relationships. She was more serious about her intentions and how others viewed her as well. Someday, she would write about the Phoebes of the world and how all that cavorting around like a cheap hussy would get you nothing of substance in the end. But, she thought, maybe I’m being too prim, too straight. Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t know how to have fun, like my old librarian from grammar school. Mrs. Willard with the hairy mole on her chin still gave her the shivers when her face came to mind.

“Woody?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay, think about this before you answer. Am I a cardigan kind of girl or am I a conga line kind of girl?”

Woody started to laugh and Beth giggled too.

“Come on, I’m serious. I know it’s a stupid question but I want you to tell me what you think!”

“Um, well, I’ve only known you for a few hours, you know, so it’s hard to say with real conviction. But I would say that you seem to know when to be which one, more than a dead ringer for either one in particular. Did I say that right?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What I mean, Miss Hayes, is you don’t just conga with anyone and you know when it’s time to suit up.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay, I guess.”

“To put it in the context of a serious relationship, I wouldn’t want to wake up one morning and find myself married to a woman who couldn’t behave herself half of the time.”

“Who would?”

“Too much work. I mean, life’s not a game for me.”

“Me either.”

“So what do you want, Beth? I mean, where do you see yourself, say, at thirty?”

“Married. Published, I hope. Maybe a baby on the way. Deliriously happy? I don’t know. What about you?”

“Yeah, I used to think I’d be in a serious relationship, maybe engaged, well on the way to my first million. But here I am on the doorstep of thirty and none of that is happening yet. I mean, I’ve got a decent portfolio of my own but my stuff is so conservative I’m looking at very slow growth. But man, the markets are so terrible these days. Scary stuff.”

“Yeah. That’s what you hear all over the news. So what do you think is gonna be?”

“If I knew that, I’d have my own firm.”

“Well, there you have it, sports fans. Life is uncertain.”

“And when times are uncertain, I think you are supposed to hunker down and not do anything stupid.”

“Is that what they taught you at the Har-vard B School?”

“No, Miss Hayes, I learned that from my old man.”

“And what does your dad do for a living? Run the stock exchange?”

“He’s a farmer.”

“Wow. Cool. And your mom?”

“She teaches school. And she helps my dad. And in the interest of full disclosure, I have two older brothers who run the farm with my dad.”