Page 34 of Bad Summer People
Lauren scrunched up her face unhappily. “That’s not great,” she said. “Susan can get you fired. Also, Rachel is going to tell other people. She can’t help herself.”
Robert knew Lauren was right. “So, what should we do? Should we stop?”
Lauren looked at him and frowned. “No, I don’t want to stop,” she said.
It sounded like she might have more to say on the matter, but she didn’t go on. They sat in silence for a few seconds. She got up, smoothed out her blue dress, and tucked her hair behind her ears.
“I have to go. Silvia put the kids to bed, but Jason will eventually wonder where I am. Maybe.” She left via the squeaky screen door.
“Watch out for the deer!” Robert called after her.
He crashed down on the couch and took out his phone. He checked the Citi app again. He’d add another $200 tomorrow. He’d booked a lesson with Seth Laurell for 2:00 p.m., which he hadn’t added to the official ledger. As long as that account kept ticking up, he felt like he had some control over his stupid life. He closed his eyes. What a strange day it had been. He was worried about Susan Steinhagen. He and Lauren needed to be more careful. But it was hard to feel like there were real-life consequences for his actions in this place. It wasn’t anything at all like real life.
18Micah Holt
Micah Holt was in a foul mood. Ronan had been avoiding him since July 4, and after weeks of proudly resisting texting him, Micah had just sent him a pleading message. That was an hour ago, and Ronan still hadn’t written back. Micah felt like such a fool.
Earlier, he’d attended the Bay Picnic with his friends, drinking lukewarm wine out of a plastic cup, enduring the lame old-dude Beatles cover band. Then Sam Weinstein had lost his shit. He’d loudly accused Jen of cheating on him (which Micah knew to be true) and revealed he’d been accused of sexual harassment. It was such a cliché. Handsome, slick Sam using his power to get younger women to fuck him? On the one hand, it was everything Micah had been taught to believe happened in the workplace. On the other: Really?Sam?He’s the last person Micah would have guessed would do that sort of thing.
Micah had used the drama as an excuse to text Ronan, giving him a quippy recounting of the night, and then following up with a sad one-liner:
I miss you. Can I see you?
Micah knew it was a bad idea as he pressed Send, but he couldn’t help himself. He did miss him. He didn’t understand why Ronan was freezing him out. Desperate to connect, Micah had gone to the beach that afternoon. He’d worn his favorite Jacquemus trunks, the ones that hit right at the top of his thighs, and had lounged on his towel in the warmsun, rereading his vintage copy ofGiovanni’s Room.Every so often, he’d glanced up at the white lifeguard stand to see Ronan, muscular and focused in Ray-Bans and that signature red bathing suit. Ronan wouldn’t acknowledge his gaze—he looked forward intently, searching for swimmers to save.
Micah looked at his phone again. No new messages. He was walking along Bay Promenade. The picnic had ended some time ago, and Micah had been alone since, pacing the boardwalks, headphones in, half listening to a podcast about the economy. Everyone else had gone home, wiped and drunk and overstimulated from the Sam Weinstein show. (Micah had been surprised when Jason jumped into the bay after Sam; if only people knew the real story.)
He turned up Neptune, thinking maybe he’d go for a swing alone in the playground before heading back home. It seemed an appropriately morose thing to do, given his current state. His mom and dad would likely still be up watching TV, and Micah didn’t feel like dealing with them. Though he was technically an adult, on Fire Island, he was eternally twelve. His mom did his laundry and made his meals; his dad forced him to go sailing with him every Sunday afternoon. They were fine, as parents went. Liberal, easy, proud of Micah. But it was still a little much to be around them all the time.
As Micah continued toward the playground, he heard the squeak of a screen door and the subsequent bang as it shut. He walked toward the edge of the boardwalk, shielding himself from view behind the long, overhanging reeds. He saw Lauren Parker, still in that light blue dress, come out from Robert’s house. Lauren had always seemed so glamorous to Micah, with her perfect hair and expensive clothes. She checked to see that she was alone, and then scurried up Neptune, presumably toward her and Jason’s house by the beach.
Micah nearly laughed out loud. At least now he knew for sure that Robert wasn’t gay. Was this what happened when you got old? You destroyed your marriage and lost your mind? Or was that just a Salcombe thing? Micah checked his phone. One new message, a reply from Ronan. With a shaky hand, Micah opened it.
Funny about the picnic. Those people sound crazy.
Micah saw the three dots appear, then go away. He watched as the dots reappeared, followed by a second message.
I’m sorry, but this isn’t the right time for me. I’m not even sure what I’m into. I hope you understand. I’ll see you around.
Micah quickly closed the text and stuck his phone in his pocket. He felt tears wet his eyes, one of which spilled over onto his cheek. He wiped it away, annoyed by his own weakness. It was getting colder out, so he decided to skip the swings and go straight home. Maybe TV with his mom and dad wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.
19Susan Steinhagen
Susan Steinhagen was always discovering things she didn’t want to discover. There was the time, twenty years ago, when she’d walked into Claire and Seth Laurell’s house only to find them engaged in horrible sex acts with Nat and Carol Jacobs. She’d been dropping off a blender Claire had lent her; the lights were out—it was only 8:00 p.m.!—and Susan had figured the Laurells were out to dinner. She’d turned on the lamp to witness the nauseating scene. “Susan! Get out of here!” Claire had shrieked, naked and red-faced, tangled up with Nat, skinny and bent over. Susan had placed the blender on the kitchen table and slowly backed out, traumatized. They’d never spoken of it afterward. Susan hadn’t even told her now-dead husband, Garry. She hadn’t really known what she’d seen, to be honest.
There was also the Battles scandal in 2002. At the time, Jack Battles was one of the richest guys on Fire Island. It turned out he had two families, one he summered with in Salcombe, and one he kept hidden in Palm Beach. Susan had been sitting behind him on the beach when he’d taken a call from his secret wife, Eileen, and said, “I love you,” to her. Susan had later seen Jack’s other wife, Marlene Battles, on the boardwalk heading home. “Who’s Eileen?” she’d asked innocently, setting off a storm that ended up, eventually, as a story in theNew York Post(“Financier Jack Battles Battles Ex-Wife in Secret Family Lawsuit”).
Last year, it was the saga of Dave the tennis pro. Susan had never liked him. He’d been too chummy with the guests, not to mention he’d oncesaid to Susan that she must have been great at tennis “when you were younger.” Hmph. But she’d also suspected something fishy was going on with the tennis finances. She didn’t have proof; it was just a hunch—she often got these kinds of feelings. One day late in the summer, she’d been in the tennis hut hunting for some extra grip. Dave had been out on the court, giving Arlo Parker a lesson. The ledger was open to that day’s lineup. She’d taken a quick glance—she was on the yacht club tennis committee, so it was fair game—but hadn’t seen anything amiss. But she did find, underneath a pile of papers and strings and, yes, grip, which she pocketed, a small flask filled with vodka. He’d been drinking on the job. A fireable offense.
That weekend was the mixed doubles tournament, which, in the old days, had been Susan’s favorite. She and Garry had always made a strong showing, winning twice, in 1988 and 1993. Susan was now in the seniors tournament, which she hated. (Garry died three years ago, and since then, she’d played with Richie Trimble, a jovial eighty-two-year-old with one shot, a slice backhand.) Dave was stumbling around the joint, trying to keep order, and Susan had lost it, yelling at him in front of a small crowd, accusing him of being a drunk. It hadn’t been her finest moment, even she’d admit that. But she’d been upset about everything. Having to play with the other old people, Dave’s behavior, Garry still being dead. In the end, she’d been right to get rid of him. After Dave left, she did a close audit of his bookkeeping. She learned he’d been charging certain clients twice and keeping the second round for himself. She hadn’t publicly announced it, just told a few key members of the board, who’d then spread it around to the rest of the town.
This year, they’d deliberately gone with a squeaky-clean hire, a Stanford grad who’d been home caring for his grieving mother for the last couple of years. Robert seemed like an ace. He was sweet, handsome, great with kids. Susan was getting nothing but rave reviews about him.
But she’d seen what others hadn’t or wouldn’t. Robert and Lauren Parker, all over each other, all the time. She justknewsomething was going on there. Earlier that day, she’d told Rachel Woolf, the reigning town gossip, to warn Lauren to back off. Susan didn’t want to have to fire another pro inthe middle of the summer, particularly because this one was, otherwise, a star. Hopefully, Rachel’s interference would help.
Susan saw some of herself in Rachel. Rachel was passionate about tennis, she cared about the town, and she was also all alone (Susan was thankful to have had Garry all those years; imagine going through life without anyone?). She knew how devastated Rachel had been by the early death of her father, who’d been a kind man. She knew Rachel had always been in love with Sam Weinstein. And she understood why. Sam was such a special boy growing up, so good-looking and sad. His parents were a terrible pair, a blight on Salcombe, and Susan had been happy when they’d gone their separate ways and left Sam that beautiful house.
Susan remembered one summer long ago, when Sam and Rachel were a happy young couple, hanging together on the beach and holding hands at the yacht club. People in this town really had so much history together. That’s why she hadn’t been surprised to see Sam in Rachel’s house the other week when she’d stopped in to get help with the tournament. She’d not mentioned it to Rachel—nor to anyone, for that matter. Lots of baggage with those two. She felt Sam was committed to his wife, Jen, and his little brood of cute children. Jen, on the other hand, was a mystery to Susan. She was lovely and sweet and always said the right thing, but Susan felt there was maybe a darkness there that trusting Sam couldn’t see.
