Page 52 of Swan Song

Coco makes the drinks—gin, champagne, sugar, the exquisite lemon juice—and they toast to Coco’s first afternoon off.

Lamont takes a sip. “This is banging.”

It’s the best cocktail Coco has ever made and maybe ever tasted. The first round goes down quickly, and she makes another. “These aren’t just regular lemons,” she says. “They’re Amalfi lemons. They arrived at the house in a straw-filled wooden crate wearing little white robes. Guess how much they cost?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Two hundred and eighty-four euros,” Coco says. “It’s not like I expect the Richardsons to buy their produce on sale, but you have to admit, that’s outrageous.”

“I think Leslee probably just likes the fact that she can afford them,” Lamont says. “She comes from a pretty modest background.”

“Leslee, modest?” Coco says. “Don’t tell me—she’s from Connecticut.”

“Nope.”

“Do you actually know where she’s from?”

“I do,” Lamont says. “But you can’t let her know I told you. It isn’t something she shares about herself.”

“I won’t tell.”

“She’s from a town called Pahrump, Nevada,” Lamont says. “Her family owned a gun range and an ammunition warehouse. People would go there to shoot AR-Fifteens.”

Coco knew some folks from Rosebush who would have loved that kind of place. “I have a pretty good imagination but I can’t picture Leslee on a shooting range in Nevada.”

“She moved to Vegas after she graduated from high school,” Lamont says. “She worked as a crepe chef at the Bellagio to put herself through UNLV. Then she got a job on the casino floor serving cocktails. She said she did that for almost ten years, good money, but she hated it. She finally got a regular bartending job at what she said was the coolest place in Vegas. She told me the name but I forget. Pepper something? And that’s where she met Bull.”

You remind me of myself when I was your age, Leslee had said. Leslee also grew up in a place she wanted to get the hell out of. Leslee was also a bartender. Maybe that’s why Leslee agreed to hire her.

“How do you know all this?” Coco says. “Obviously you two are… close? Is there something going on between the two of you that I should know about?”

“Leslee likes attention,” Lamont says. “When Bull offered me the job, he told me I’m supposed to treat her like the only woman in the world. She talks; I listen.”

“Why can’t Bull just give her attention?” Coco says. “She’s always all over you. It’s weird.”

Lamont studies his champagne flute. “I need this job, Coco. My mom is losing her eyesight, we have medical bills—and for someone with my skill set, this is the best job on the island. I’m capable of being Leslee’s friend.”

“Is that all you are?” Coco asks. “Friends?”

“It sounds like you’re jealous,” Lamont says. “Are you jealous?”

She lies back on the blanket. “I might be.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Coco swats his arm. “Remember the night of the party? In the water? I had you in a leg lock.”

“I do remember that,” he says. “Fondly.” He reaches over and traces one of Coco’s ribs, which tickles. Coco squirms away and a second later, they’re wrestling on the blanket. Lamont moves above her so that his knees are on either side of her hips and they stare at each other. Coco’s entire body is vibrating with desire. Then he bends down and kisses her. His lips taste like sugar, his tongue like the finest lemons in the world. Coco can’t get enough; she wants every part of her body touching every part of his body. Has she ever in her life been this aroused? She used to laugh when people came into the Banana Deck and ordered sex on the beach shots. What, she wondered, could be worse than sex on the beach? Nothing about it sounded appealing; even the scene in From Here to Eternity made it appear scratchy and uncomfortable. But right this second, sex on the beach is all Coco wants. She wants Lamont to untie the strings of her bikini, lightly brush her nipples, then bring them to his mouth while he pushes his erection into her quivering thigh.

Is this going to happen?

Coco hears the purr of an approaching motor and looks up to see not one but two boats headed their way. One is a white runabout with a couple aboard; the other is a fishing boat. Coco quickly sits up and puts on her sunglasses. “I thought you said nobody ever comes here during the week.”

She hears a woman is calling her name. It’s Kacy—she’s on the fishing boat with Eric and Avalon, the same boat Kacy invited her on, an invite Coco turned down because she told Kacy she had to detail Leslee’s car, only now here she is making out with Lamont Oakley on Whale Island.

“No,” Coco whispers. “No, no, no.”

Lamont grabs his head and groans.

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