Page 39 of Swan Song

“You look pretty,” Coco says. Kacy is in a pink floral prairie dress, and Coco feels like a douche-noodle in her uniform. She wants to know why she has to wear it while Lamont, the only other Richardson employee, is allowed to wear his own clothes—a pink oxford and a pair of white duck pants.

“Thanks,” Kacy says. “Can you hang, or…”

“I’m on the clock,” Coco says.

“Maybe when the party ends, we can go into town?” Kacy says.

“If Leslee has her way, this party isn’t going to end,” Coco says. She eyes the champagne flute in Kacy’s hand with longing. She should have sneaked a glass while Leslee was in the bedroom curling her hair, but instead Coco was running through her checklist. She turned off the alarms—fire, flood, the chime announcing visitors—then set a reminder to turn the alarms back on in the morning. She was in charge of the tent guys, the caterers, the various musicians throughout the night. There had been no time for champagne.

Lamont approaches and gives Kacy a kiss on the cheek, but his eyes are fastened on Coco. “Do you need help with anything?” he asks her. “I feel like a squid out here schmoozing while you break your ass.”

“It’s fine,” Coco says. This is how Leslee wants it: Lamont schmoozing, Coco breaking her ass. At that moment, Coco’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Leslee: ICE!!!! One of Coco’s duties is to replenish the ice at each of the bars and in the enormo wheelbarrow where they’re chilling the champagne. Leslee is obsessed with the temperature of the champagne. This is what she wants people to be talking about tomorrow, apparently: The champagne was so cold!

Coco hurries to the ice maker, which is in the laundry room, to transfer the ice to crystal buckets. The ice has to make its own stylish entrance to the party.

When Coco enters the laundry room, she gasps. There’s a man standing in front of the washing machine in his boxer shorts.

He turns around. “Hey, how ya goin’,” he says.

It’s Bull. Of course it’s Bull, this is his house, and yet Coco is surprised. Bull was in Indonesia on business and was due back yesterday, but his meeting in Jakarta ran long and he missed his flight to San Francisco and the connecting flight to Boston. Coco knows all this because Leslee had become completely unzipped about Bull missing the party. I’ve invited all these people! I need him here!

“You made it back,” Coco says now.

“A few minutes ago,” Bull says. “I’m not going to lie, all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for three days.”

“I bet.” Bull’s suitcase gapes open at his feet and the suit he must have been wearing is in a charcoal heap on the laundry-room floor. Coco immediately goes into concierge mode. “I’ll unpack your suitcase, separate laundry from dry cleaning, and put your toiletries away,” she says. “You should get dressed and join the party. Does Leslee know you’re here?”

“Not yet,” Bull says. “What am I supposed to wear to this thing?”

“Pink and white,” Coco says. She only now processes that Bull is nearly naked in front of her. He’s a big guy, so although he has a bit of a belly, he can pull it off; his shoulders are well defined, and he has just a shadow of silver hair across his chest. Ordinarily she might feel uncomfortable being so close to Bull when he’s undressed, but he looks so exhausted, she feels sorry for him.

“Would you please help me pick something out?” he says. “I’m color-blind.”

“Leslee left your clothes on the bed in case you got here on time,” Coco says.

He laughs. “Of course she did.” He gives Coco’s outfit an assessing eye. “I can’t believe she’s making you wear a uniform.”

“Oh.” Coco nearly says, She told me you were the one who insisted on the uniform. But it must have been Leslee’s idea; she just blamed it on Bull. “She thinks it looks more professional.”

He shakes his head. “Would you please get me a bourbon? There’s a Pappy thirty in the bar in the library.”

“Happy to,” Coco says. She didn’t notice a bar in the library before; all she remembers are the shelves of books, the seashell fireplace, the escritoire. But behind the desk, Coco finds a tall cabinet, and in the cabinet is a cache of really expensive bourbon: Gentleman Jack, Buffalo Trace, Pappy Van Winkle 13, Pappy 20, Pappy 30. Coco pours two fingers of the Pappy 30 into a crystal highball, then makes her way to the Richardsons’ bedroom. She finds Bull in the dressing room wearing Nantucket Reds and a white button-down. He’s combed his hair and applied an aftershave that smells peppery.

“Here you go,” Coco says, handing him the bourbon.

“You’re an angel.” Bull downs the entire drink in one swallow and gives Coco the empty glass. “If Leslee ever gives you trouble, if she makes you… uncomfortable in any way, I want you to come to me. Do you understand?”

Coco blinks. This isn’t the guy she remembers from the Banana Deck; that guy was all bluster and baloney, all Look at how rich and important I am. This Bull is stripped down, travel-weary, and way more human. It sounds like he wants to be her ally, which is exactly what Coco hoped for. She wants him to like her, to care about her enough to champion her script. But Coco has learned that in this life, nothing worth having comes easily. This feels too easy.

She nods. “I understand.” At that second, her phone buzzes. ICE! Where are u???

“I have to go,” Coco says.

“I’ll go with you,” Bull says.

“I have to get the ice.”

“Let me help,” Bull says. He follows Coco to the laundry room and together they scoop ice into the crystal buckets. It’s a pleasant moment—the ice cubes clink against the glass, there’s a smell of detergent and dryer sheets in the air, and it’s nice to have help, however unnecessary.

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