Page 24 of Bad Summer People
They said bye to the kids, who were shoveling plain pasta into their mouths, kissing their warm heads one by one, and walked over to the club. Sam kept a few paces in front of Jen, who struggled to keep up. The night was warm, and the bay was busy. Sailboats were tacking their way back to the Salcombe harbor, and there was a 6:00 p.m. ferry pulling into the dock, carrying weekend guests.
They walked in silence, waving at the people passing on their bikes. Jen tried to act as normal as possible, but she was feeling uneasy.
The club was packed when they arrived, a sweaty sea of polos and summer dresses and statement jewelry. They joined a particularly painful conversation with Paul and Emily, as well as the poor tennis pro, Robert, in which Paul managed to be racist and Sam, shockingly, to sound like he was discounting the entire #MeToo movement.
Jen was continually aghast at the lack of awareness many people in Salcombe displayed about their wealth and privilege. She didn’t know Robert’s deal, but she assumed he didn’t come from much. Jen didn’t come from money, either. She’d grown up in Ohio; her parents were both teachers at the local high school—her dad in biology and her mom in English. They werefine,not poor by any means, especially by Ohio standards, but they didn’t have anything extra. Jen was their only child—her mom had her when she was forty-three, after years of trying. Jen was pretty and popular and smart. A cheerleader, for crying out loud. If she’d allowed her darker impulses to flourish more in her youth, would she be quite so shackled to them today? She’d never know. She went to theUniversity of Pennsylvania, the first in her family to ever attend college out of state, and there fell in with a group of New York socialites, who adopted her because she was good-looking and fun. She followed them to New York City after graduation, opting to attend graduate school in psychology at NYU, hoping to understand herself as much as others. She went into debt to pay for it, trusting that it would all be fine. When she met Sam, she knew it would be.
He was sweet and handsome and had money. He came from a broken family and loved that Jen’s parents had been together for forty years. He admired Jen’s work ethic and that she’d made her own way in the world—the kind of girls he usually dated had their daddies’ credit cards. She truly liked him, too. Liked that he’d picked her out of every girl in New York. Liked that he paid for dinners. Liked that he had a beautiful beach home, all to himself, on Fire Island.
But then she went to Salcombe and met Jason and, inevitably, she was back to being Jen. There was a certain type of guy, moody and dark, that Jen seemed to have magical powers over. Something about her deep voice or kind eyes or fair skin, she truly wasn’t sure. But Jason was a goner. She knew as soon as she introduced herself that he’d be obsessed. She’d only slept with him once; Jen had initiated it. Then she’d gone ahead with her relationship with Sam as if it’d never happened. She didn’t cheat on him again until after they were married. But then she did. And did and did.
Jen was done with this conversation. Both Sam and Paul were being total idiots. She mercifully took Robert with her to the bar. Jason walked into the club at that moment, heading straight toward her, even though they’d agreed not to do that in public. Robert made small talk and then excused himself, likely sensing Jason’s weirdness. Jen was screwed. She watched Robert disappear into the crowd, and then turned to Jason, who’d sat down next to her.
“I told you not to glom on to me in front of other people,” she whispered. “Everyone in this town is watching everyone. It’s getting too risky.”
Micah approached them for a refill, but Jen shook her head.
Jason looked at her with his best version of a puppy dog face. His eyes were so black.
“But Iliketo speak to you,” he said. “And I like to touch you.” He brushed his hand against hers, and she pulled away.
“Jason, stop. We need to talk about this later, but not now.”
Jen got up, annoyed, and walked into the big room of the club, decorated in kitschy Americana for the occasion—mini flags, red, white, and blue streamers. There was food laid out on two large tables, spreads of meats and cheeses and platters of oysters and shrimp.
Jessica Leavitt passed by and grabbed Jen’s arm.
“How are you? I feel like I haven’t seen you yet this summer.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Just the same, really. How’s your lot?” Jessica had two children, Danny and Rose, both of whom suffered from food allergies. It was all she liked to talk about.
“We’re good. Happy to be out at the beach. Though it’s harder here for Rose to keep track of her gluten, and Danny to stay away from nuts. It’s really loosey-goosey, and not all of the moms are as vigilant as I’d like them to be.”
Jen half remembered Lauren telling her a story about Jessica yelling at her over a peanut butter bagel. All the women out here were insane, thought Jen as she nodded through Jessica’s story about Danny’s school.
“He tested into the Gifted and Talented Program when he was younger, but the school closest to us was in Harlem, so that was a no-go. It’s way too far to travel every day, and also”—here she whispered—“not a great neighborhood. And I don’t even know if the school had an official no-nut policy.”
Jen felt herself stifle a yawn.
Jessica continued, “Instead, we put him in Dalton, which is where Rose is. We really did consider the public school thing, though! Danny is such a strong student, we felt he could thrive anywhere. But we’re so lucky to have so many options.”
“Yes, we’re all so lucky,” said Jen. It came out harsher than she’d intended, but Jessica didn’t seem to notice. Beth Ledbetter, dressed in cargo shorts and a raggedy T-shirt, approached them, smiling. Jen had heard about the fight with Lauren earlier that day, and she didn’t want to touch that topic.
Jen was a floater among the women in Salcombe, preferring to be friendly with everyone, but not too attached to anyone. She liked that no one could figure out her loyalties. She was like that in Scarsdale, too. People admired her, but they didn’t really know her.
“Hi, ladies,” said Beth, clinking her beer bottle to Jen’s whiskey glass and Jessica’s wineglass. “Everyone having a good July 4? Jen, not sure if you heard, but Lauren and I got into a little tiff at the field.”
“Yes, I heard. I hope you’re all past it now,” Jen said with a neutral face.
“She isoutof control,” said Jessica supportively. “It’s not like you were doing anything, and then suddenly she’s coming up and screaming, ‘Fuck you!’”
Beth shrugged. “I’m just trying to be the bigger person. I think we should both move on,” she said.
Jen nearly snorted but caught herself.
Jeanette wobbled up to them. She was wearing a tight pink, low-cut dress, and her curly brown hair was frizzing all over the place. Jeanette was here this summer with her two boys, Mason and Luke, but without her husband, Greg. Jen had heard that she’d caught him in bed with their dog walker. Jeanette was small, maybe five feet, but she was a force. Jen could only imagine the scene when she’d walked in on Greg screwing the dog walker, with the love of Jeanette’s life, Doobie the poodle, looking on.
“Girls, girls, how is everyone?” Jeanette was slurring, already wasted.
