Page 42 of Swan Song

The room is still pretty full and Coco is impressed—these old people can hang!—though she’s relieved it’s over. Everyone will go home now, right?

She’s a little confused because there are still delicious aromas coming from the kitchen, Zoe Alistair’s staff are somehow still here, and at that moment, a gentleman in a tuxedo comes walking up the stairs. His hair is slicked back; he has blue eyes.

“Party room?” he asks.

“Who are you?” Coco asks.

“Frank Sinatra,” he says.

The Chief and Andrea are back out on the dance floor swaying to “You Make Me Feel So Young.” The Chief realizes he must be either dreaming or drunk because it appears to be Frank Sinatra who’s singing. Ol’ Blue Eyes! He’s not only still alive, he’s here at Triple Eight!

Whose idea is it to go skinny-dipping? Some might say it’s a natural next step. The after-party singer finishes; the caterers pass around cheeseburger sliders and paper cones of hot, crispy French fries that we scarf down like we’re drunk high-schoolers at the McDonald’s drive-through.

It’s nearly three in the morning. Coco has been on the clock for nineteen hours and this, she decides, is enough. She follows everyone else down the stairs and out the doors of the screened-in porch. People are stripping off their clothes all over the lawn, and because Coco is still in concierge mode, she pulls a stack of beach towels from the porch closet.

She reaches the beach in time to see Leslee, naked, dive into the water, followed by her new sidekick, Phoebe, also naked. Eddie the real estate dude is there; he goes into the water in his boxers, but his wife goes in naked, and so does Benton Coe the landscaper, still in his pink wig. Coco averts her eyes.

Kacy comes up behind her. “Come on, let’s go in.” She’s fiddling with the side zip of her dress.

Coco was already planning on it. She shucks off her polo and her shorts—it feels good to be out of her uniform—then her bra and her underwear, and she and Kacy charge into the water. This is far from the first time Coco has gone skinny-dipping—it was a full-moon tradition at Hawksnest Beach on St. John—but it’s the first time she’s done it sober. The water shocks her weary brain and bones into alertness, clarity. The crescent moon vamps above them.

“Thanks for everything tonight,” Coco says. Kacy had helped clear the abandoned drinks; she collected the crumpled napkins, replenished the strawberries for the chocolate fountain, and fetched more tequila for the tickled pink shots. She took a selfie of the two of them on the deck with the Richardsons’ yacht behind them and one of the two of them in the kitchen stuffing leftover lobster rolls into their mouths.

“I can’t believe how crazy this party is,” Kacy says. “Leslee is Her.”

Coco understands how Kacy might think that, especially after Leslee reentered the party in her second outfit of the evening, a jumpsuit so tight you could see her religion.

Kacy gazes over at the other guests, who are swimming at the opposite end of the beach. “But ugh… I did not need undeniable proof that Addison has a flat ass.”

Coco laughs and floats on her back, nipples pointing to the sky. This is how people drown, she thinks. Swimming when they’re as tired as she is.

There’s a disturbance in the water and Coco freezes, thinking it’s a fish (or a shark!). A head breaks through the surface right next to her and she shrieks.

It’s Lamont.

He laughs. Coco splashes him, and soon they’re tussling. He grabs her ankle and pulls her under; she surfaces and jumps on his back and—what possesses her?—nibbles on his ear. He responds by reaching around underwater and grabbing her ass cheek (out of Kacy’s line of sight), and Coco feels a surge of desire. She wraps her thighs around him. If Kacy weren’t here, they would start making out. Coco would stroke his erection and get him up to her apartment as fast as she could. She doesn’t care about Leslee’s stupid rule.

How, she wonders, can they get rid of Kacy? Will Kacy pick up on the nature of their roughhousing and head for shore? She will not. When Coco turns, she sees Kacy only a few feet away, treading water.

Shit, Coco thinks. Whenever she bumps into Lamont around the Richardson compound, he’s polite and friendly but nothing more. Leslee has clearly given him the lecture: No dating the other staff member or you’ll both be replaced like that. Snap. But right now they have a chance to sneaky-link. Who knows when another opportunity like this will come along?

A voice cuts through the inky air. “Lamont!”

Coco looks in the direction of the voice and sees Leslee in all her daily yoga-practice perfection on the bow of Hedonism, windmilling an arm. Leslee is Her, Coco thinks unhappily.

Lamont loosens his grip on Coco, dumping her back into the water. He starts swimming toward the boat. “Have a good night, ladies.”

The Chief is still dancing to Frank Sinatra, who’s currently singing “The Way You Look Tonight.” This is the song he and Andrea danced to at their wedding. Andrea comes from a large Italian family; her uncles had approved. In the next instant, Frank Sinatra has changed his outfit (that seems to be a trend tonight). Instead of a black tuxedo, he’s now wearing a pink velvet tuxedo. Ed is about to ask Andrea if she noticed this—except it isn’t Andrea he’s dancing with, it’s Leslee Richardson.

The Chief startles awake. He’s lying on the curvy white sofa in the Richardsons’ party room. Andrea is next to him. The Chief looks around—everyone else is naked, or nearly so. What is going on? Addison wears only a towel; Phoebe is snoring under a throw blanket. Eddie Pancik is wearing boxer shorts and a pink wig. Busy Ambrose from the Field and Oar Club is lying on the floor, her head on a turquoise pillow. She isn’t wearing a stitch of clothing—and neither are Dr. Andy and Rachel McMann. (The Chief can’t unsee a naked Dr. Andy; he may have to change dentists.)

There’s pearly light coming through the windows; the birds are singing. Ed checks his phone; the battery is at 3 percent, but there are no missed calls, no texts. There were apparently no party-related crimes or misdemeanors last night, which is a darn good thing since the Chief was dead to the world and couldn’t have responded. It’s a quarter past four in the morning. His head aches.

Gently, he nudges Andrea. Her eyelids flutter open and she too gazes around the room like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Was there some kind of orgy that they missed—or (god forbid) took part in?

Delilah and Jeffrey are nowhere to be found; they probably acted like responsible adults and left when people started taking their clothes off. Ed gets to his feet. He considers waking Addison but decides it’s better to make a clean getaway.

He offers Andrea his hand. “Let’s go,” he whispers. “Party’s over.”

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