Page 43 of Bad Summer People
Larry didn’t care. But he did want him to stop. Because it wouldn’t be long before that witch Susan Steinhagen caught wind of it, and after that, it’d be all over for charming Robert Heyworth. So, he’d decided to offer him that job. Larry did need the help, and he knew Robert could do it. Robert wouldn’t mess with such a good offer. He’d right his ways, and they could all go on with their lives, none the wiser. Historically, some of Larry’s best employees were also the most dishonest. So long as it wasn’t directed at Larry, which it wouldn’t be. He’d make sure of that.
Larry was having a drink at the yacht club after the women’s finals. Vicky and Janet had crushed Lauren and Jen, much to Larry’s disappointment. He loved an underdog. He’d always thought of himself that way. He came fromnothing. He’d grown up in Brooklyn; his dad was a garmento, working in women’s wholesale clothing, and Larry had been the first in his family to go to college. He was bright and scrappy and had gotten into investment banking when the going was good. He and Henrietta had two sons, Peter and Lee, who were both disappointments. Peter lived in Paris, “working” freelance for some ad agency, and Lee was in London, not even pretending to hold down a job. They were both in their late thirties, neither married, and the thought of them made Larry want to both scream and cry. What had he done wrong? He’d given them everything.
He waved over Micah Holt to refill his whiskey.
Micah bopped over. “Here you go, Larry,” Micah said, giving him a generous pour.
“Thanks, kid,” said Larry with a sigh. Now that was a good boy. A hard worker. Gay, sure, but weren’t all the kids gay nowadays? His parents must be proud.
Larry took his drink and walked through the back room out to the courts. The air felt damp and heavy, and Larry’s leg, which he’d busted up in his forties, skiing in Zermatt, was aching. That meant a storm was coming. He’d have to bike home soon; Henrietta was making dinner, and he didn’t want to be late, delayed by the rain. The courts were empty. He wondered where Robert had gone. Probably out to celebrate his new gig as Larry’s apprentice. Larry sat down on a bench and rested his eyes. He was getting unusually tired lately, his age finally catching up to him. He’d be seventy-two in the spring. It was so strange. He still felt like he was thirty-five.
His silence was punctured by a dramatic crash from inside Robert’s tennis hut. Larry opened his eyes to see Susan exit, her tennis skirt flapping wildly, holding Robert’s lesson ledger. She ran the opposite way, toward her bike, not noticing Larry in her insane rush. Larry was sure he knew what had happened. He got up and immediately crept back to the club, hoping Robert didn’t emerge in time to see him.
He slipped in through the back door just as the rain began to fall. Poor Robert. He was screwed. Susan would never let this go unpunished. Larry supposed he’d have to rescind his job offer when this got out. What a shame.
He sat back at the bar and motioned to Micah for another. He was happy to settle in for a while and chat with whomever else was waiting out the storm. A loud crack of thunder rattled him on his red stool. It was going to be a long night.
23The Storm
Jason Parker
Jason Parker had always thought, maybe, accidentally, he’d kill his best friend, Sam Weinstein. When he was a kid, he’d have fantasies of Sam tripping over Jason’s foot and careening off his eighth-floor balcony onto Ninety-third Street. Or a sailing accident: Jason would capsize the boat in rough waters, and Sam would drown. Everyone would be sad, so sad, but mostly they’d feel terrible for Jason. Poor Jason, now best friend–less, having to deal with that guilt at such a young age. He’d become an object of fascination in school; girls would give him sympathetic attention, and guys would welcome him into their groups.
As they grew into adults, Jason’s thoughts turned from accidental death to ruin. Sam would lose all his money on a bad investment and turn to Jason to keep his family off the street. Or Sam would become addicted to painkillers, and Jason would have to wrestle him into rehab, selling Sam’s Fire Island house, Sam’s most beloved possession, to pay for it.
Jason knew this wasn’t healthy. He knew that most people didn’t want to murder their best friends. He couldn’t help it. Sam had everything. Jason had always had to work twice as hard to find success, women, and respect. Why couldn’t he ever be the star?
Now, in a twist, Sam might be the one to end up killinghim. Jason thought about the dark humor of this turn. He was soaking wet, freezing, hiding underneath the rusty slide in the playground across from the field.The sun had set an hour ago, and it was storming, harder than Jason had expected. When he’d left his house this afternoon, after that cryptic text from Jen, it had been hot and sunny. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt that readSALCOMBE GOLF OUTING 2017. Hiding from Sam! Gentle Sam, who’d never been in a fight in his life. Once, when they were nine or ten, Keith Longeran, the nasty, redheaded bully, had sucker punched Sam in the back after a kickball game at camp. Jason remembered Sam standing on the dusty baseline, hunched over in pain, confused as to how to handle the situation. Instead of retaliating, Sam had shrugged and walked off, to the other boys’ disappointment. “Pussy!” Keith had shouted after him. Jason then walked up to Keith and punched him in the face, sending a trickle of blood from his nose down to his chin.
Would Sam really do anything to Jason, even if he found him? His longtime defender? A flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a crash of thunder. Jason was uncomfortable. Soggy, shivery, and starving. He wanted to go home, but Lauren kept texting him to stay away, and Jen kept sending him desperate Signal messages, saying that Sam was “dangerous” and that Jason should lie low.
Everyone knew everything. After the tennis match, Rachel had told Sam that he and Jen were having an affair, and then Sam had told Lauren. For a long time, Jason had been hoping for it all to come out, but the moment had passed. Now it felt more like a crisis than an opportunity to start a new life. Rachel must have seen him and Jen together earlier in the summer, that sneaky bitch. He was honestly amazed that she’d kept it to herself for this long.
If this was the drama he had to endure—Lauren sending angry texts, Sam “hunting” for him—for his affair with Jen, he’d take it. The worst had come to pass; the cat was out of the bag, and they’d still never be together. Jen was a psychologist—wasn’t that something they’d talked about? The catastrophe had happened, and now they could all move on.
This would blow over, and Sam would relax. They wouldn’t be friends, but they’d have to come to a truce for their children’s sakes. Lauren would be pissed for life, but he’d pay her a great alimony, and she could continue to rule the Upper East Side. Half of her friends were divorced; it wasn’ta big deal. Maybe he’d move to Miami alone. Jason chuckled thinking about how angry that would make Lauren, who’d been wanting to settle there for years.
Another streak of light, another groan of thunder. The wind was really picking up now. The playground sand was lightly pelting Jason in the face. This was ridiculous. He was going home. He didn’t even really know what he was avoiding. Couldn’t he hide in his own house? Sam wasn’t going to hurt him in front of his kids. The thought was too absurd. He was more worried that Lauren might murder him for cheating on her.
He got on his stomach to crawl out from under the slide and was immediately pelted by rain. This hadn’t been in the forecast. Fire Island occasionally got rogue storms that entirely missed the mainland, ones that gathered speed over the bay before crushing into the narrow barrier island. The wind pushed Jason back as he made his way from the playground to Neptune Walk. He didn’t have his bike. He’d have to walk all the way home in this nightmare, hopefully not running into Sam on the way there.
Sam Weinstein
Sam Weinstein had never considered himself a murderer. In fact, he’d always been a peace-and-love kind of guy. He barely even yelled at his own kids, let alone ever hit them, leaving Jen to do the dirty work of being the house disciplinarian. But here he was, out in a storm, carrying a large kitchen knife, of all things, looking everywhere for his former best friend, Jason Parker.
Fucking Jason, who was fucking Jen. He couldn’t fucking believe it. Actually, scratch that: when Rachel whispered it to him at the courts, the moment after she’d said, “It’s Jason,” her breath moist in his ear, it clicked. Who else could it have beenbutJason? That’s why Jason had been avoiding him. But how could he have done this to him? How could Jen?
When he thought about it, and he’d been thinking about it every second since he’d found out, it made him want to throw up. It made him want to die. It made him want to kill someone. It wasn’t a feeling Sam had ever experienced. Red-hot fury. It was almost fun. Before this summer,Sam had spent his life being the easiest, coolest guy. Not stalking people with a Japanese knife, a Shun Premier that he’d bought on sale years ago at Williams-Sonoma on Madison and Eighty-sixth for $150.
It was cold and wet and dark out, and he was still in his clothes from the day, his favorite orange linen shirt. It was clinging to his chest, and he thought about how silly he must look. The world’s most bougie killer. He’d been walking around town for hours at this point, looking everywhere for Jason.
At first, after he’d found out, he’d raced up to Jason’s house to confront him. Jason’s black cruiser bike was out front, and Sam thought he’d caught him. He quickly tore through the rooms, from Lauren and Jason’s downstairs bedroom to their pristine kitchen up top, with those fantastic ocean views. But it was empty. Jason must have run out without his bike. So, Sam rode back down to the bay to his house, walked in casually, saying hi to his nanny and children, grabbed the Shun Premier from the kitchen island, tucked it under his shirt, and left. He hadn’t been back since.
He’d initially gone to the beach and had walked about a mile west before plopping down on the sand, nearly directly in front of the Fire Island Lighthouse. He’d sat there for a while—hours, maybe, he didn’t know how long—just staring at the ocean, which was growing wilder by the minute. The waves were around five feet high, whipping back and forth. He’d imagined punching Jason in his stupid face. He’d imagined Jason and Jen having sex. He’d imagined slowly sticking the knife into Jason’s back, just like Jason had done to him.
The clouds had rolled in from the bay side, quickly passing over Sam’s head and spreading out into the sky above the water. The rain had followed soon after, a hard, driving kind, and Sam had reluctantly gotten up and walked back, completely uncovered, the wind throwing wet sand into his face and eyes. He was the only person on the beach. He wondered if anyone could see him from their oceanfront homes. Damaged Sam, who’d recently jumped into the bay in front of everyone in Salcombe, stomping through a squall. If only people could see the knife tucked into his pants.
He hadn’t really known where to go after, so he headed down theBroadway boardwalk toward the store. The wood was wet and slippery underneath his flip-flops, and he had a sudden fear that he’d fall and stick himself with the knife by accident.
