Page 82 of Swan Song

Phoebe approaches and gives Delilah the up-down. “You didn’t dress up?”

Delilah turns her head. “I put chopsticks in my bun.”

“Leslee has pearls in her hair, have you seen? So fabulous.” Phoebe helps herself to a lychee mai tai. “I’m definitely having this. What is a lychee, anyway?”

Leslee has done it again, Delilah thinks. By next week, every woman will be wearing pearls in her hair and special-ordering lychees from Pip and Anchor.

Eddie, Addison, and Bull have convened at one end of the Lucite bar, Eddie and Addison with the mint ginger gin fizzes (They go down way too easily, Eddie thinks) and Bull with a Tiger beer. “I can’t handle the hard stuff during the day, especially not as jet-lagged as I am.”

“That’s right,” Addison says. “How was the trip overseas?”

Bull says, “It was mostly business but I did spend an afternoon spearfishing off Nusa Lembongan.”

“Phoebe and I love Bali,” Addison says. “People say Ubud is overrun but we can’t get enough.”

“My trip this past week was a little more bare-bones—I didn’t want to run up the expense account or set off alarms with the IRS,” Bull says. “But if you ever get a chance to stay at the Amandari, it will not disappoint.”

Eddie has no frame of reference for any of this. Last September, he and Grace went to Italy. Grace pulled their entire itinerary off Instagram, which meant a lot of preposterously expensive alfresco lunches under grape arbors overlooking the Mediterranean and a lot of Italians giggling at Eddie’s long, baggy swim trunks, but sorry, he wasn’t about to wear a banana hammock. What the pictures didn’t show was the stress Eddie felt about spending so much money and Grace’s whining at the end of the week because she’d gained ten pounds.

Thanks to this trip, Eddie considers travel overrated, although he wishes he could contribute something to this douchey conversation. He finishes his gin fizz and says, “Addison tells me you priced off-island contractors for our project. I know they’re less expensive, but for cost-value, the guys we use here on Nantucket are better.”

Bull dead-eyes him. “Come on, mate, it’s a party,” he says. “Let’s not talk business.” Just as Eddie is feeling like a squid—it’s a terrible habit of his to talk business wherever he goes—someone across the room snags Bull’s attention. “I can’t believe that bastard had the nerve to show his face here,” Bull says. Eddie turns around to see none other than Benton Coe walk into the party room. The first person Benton greets (with a longer-than-necessary hug) is Grace. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Bull says. “That bastard isn’t getting a step further until I have a little chat with him.”

Eddie watches Bull clamp a hand on Benton’s shoulder and lead him out of the room. The sight fills Eddie with glee. Throw him out! “What’s all that about?” Eddie asks Addison.

“They’re having a circular garden built,” Addison says. “I guess Leslee custom-ordered an octagonal hot tub, and Benton hasn’t shown up in weeks.”

Addison certainly knows the particulars of Bull’s life, Eddie thinks, but he pretends not to care.

Bull and Benton Coe leave the party room and thunder down the stairs, Bull saying, “I need a moment of your time in my office so we can review expectations,” and Benton responding, “I asked for a deposit check. Leslee assured me she sent it, but I haven’t gotten it.” They pass Blond Sharon, who’s standing at the bottom of the steps, wishing the house had an elevator. It took her a full fifteen minutes to reach the house from the car (thank god for her golf umbrella). The skirt of Sharon’s red embroidered silk dress is so tight, she can take only mincing steps. How is she going to make it up the stairs? If she were still with Romeo, she thinks, he would offer to carry her.

She manages to hike the skirt, the hem of which is soaked from the rain, to mid-shin, then ascends one step at a time. When she reaches the top, she arranges herself. Her hair is in a chignon; her face is powdered; she’s done a bright red lip. She enters the party room and hears a wolf whistle—it’s Fast Eddie. Sharon beams. She can always count on Eddie.

In an instant, she’s surrounded by Andrea, Phoebe, and Delilah. They love her dress! She looks a-maze-ing! They admire the cloisonné bracelets that Walker bought her when they were dating (she’s pretty sure he got them from a street vendor in Chinatown). Sharon enjoys being the center of attention, though she doesn’t quite get it. The dress is cute—she bought it on Amazon for a Chinese New Year party years earlier—but other people have dressed up. Busy Ambrose is in a kimono, Phoebe wears a silk jacket.

Delilah hands Sharon a cocktail. “This is a Singapore sling,” she says. “You drink gin, right?”

“I do,” Sharon says. Everyone is being so nice to her; she’s been low-key fantasizing about something like this for years. “I should find Leslee to say hello.”

An uncomfortable silence follows.

The room is lit only by candles and colorful lanterns, so it takes Sharon a few moments of shuffling and squinting to find Leslee. And then it all makes sense. Leslee is on the sofa, sitting close—too close—to Romeo. She has her hand on his thigh; her head rests on his shoulder.

Sharon wants to leave, but no, she won’t. She walked out on Romeo, left him at the bar by himself when they were in the midst of a lovely evening, and this is her karmic payback.

She approaches the two of them. “Hello! Leslee, thanks for having me. Romeo, it’s nice to see you.”

Has she spoken? At first she isn’t sure because neither Leslee nor Romeo look up; they’re too focused on each other. Half a second later, Coco appears in her pink shirt and white shorts and says, “Leslee, the buffet is ready.”

Leslee rises. She’s wearing a green batik sarong and has seed pearls strung through the front pieces of her hair. She looks like a glamorous mermaid—her tanned shoulders are bare, her long legs peek through the folds of the sarong. Sharon missed the mark with her outfit; it’s uncomfortable and overwrought. Why didn’t she think of a sarong?

“Let’s eat!” Leslee says. “Then we’ll turn up the music and get this party started!”

Leslee told Coco to enjoy herself, so Coco does. She sneaks into the party closet, which is where they keep surplus liquor, table linens, cocktail napkins, toothpicks, drink charms, the box of pink wigs, rows of martini glasses, copper mule mugs, margarita glasses, milkshake glasses, pilsners, beer mugs, champagne flutes and coupes, bamboo utensils and plates. The best thing about this closet is that it locks from the inside. Coco lures Lamont in on the pretext that she needs him to help her find paper umbrellas for the drinks, but instead, she turns off the light and they make out. It’s hot and sexy because it’s so risky—kissing inside Triple Eight with everyone around. When they emerge with their lips swollen and red, their breathing shallow, they bump smack into Kacy.

“Hey, you guys,” Kacy says, her eyes flicking back and forth between Coco and Lamont, no doubt registering their ravished appearance, their emergence from a dark closet. “What’s going on?” She focuses on Coco. “I sent you a text a few days ago, did you not see it?”

The time has come, Coco thinks. “Can you help me with ice?” she asks.

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