“We are going to host so many parties,” Leslee says. “And you’re all invited.”
“We love parties,” Phoebe says.
They do love parties, especially Delilah. Back when all the kids were growing up, Delilah’s house was where everyone gathered. At the end of every summer, she threw a lobster-and-rock-anthem party; the counter of her kitchen island was reinforced with steel plates so Delilah and her friends could dance on it. She hosted everyone during hurricanes and blizzards. She concocted signature cocktails and popped popcorn on the stove and made hot chocolate from scratch.
But now that Drew and Barney are grown, the parties have slowed down. Way down. It might be nice, Delilah thinks, to let someone else entertain for a change. Especially at Triple Eight Pocomo. Delilah thinks buying the house was foolish, but the fact remains that it’s a beautiful house. Delilah has seen it only from the water, though she’s dreamed of standing at the railing of that octagonal deck, champagne flute in hand.
When Meaghan comes to take their order, Leslee says, “I’d like the bacon cheeseburger, rare, with fries and a side of mayo.”
“Wow,” Delilah says. “I had you pegged for a slutty vegan.”
“Delilah!” Phoebe says.
Leslee laughs. “It’s a joke. Slutty Vegan is a restaurant chain. I’ve been to the one in New York.” She winks at Delilah. “You guessed wrong—I love meat.”
Delilah warms to Leslee just a bit—but no, she won’t be seduced. She isn’t easy, like Phoebe, who in an obvious attempt to change the subject asks Leslee if she plays pickleball.
Yes, Leslee plays pickleball. In fact, she’s played with “Julie, the over-fifty champion.” Bull isn’t much for the game, and he’s too busy besides. Delilah wants to ask what Bull’s business is (would this be rude?) but she can’t get a word in edgewise because Leslee is exclaiming about how she would love to be their fourth. She pulls a tissue from her Goyard bag and dabs away happy tears. She’s just so touched; she can’t believe how lucky she is to be making such wonderful friends.
Delilah nudges Andrea’s leg again. Is this an act? She’s on her third glass of Sancerre, so she can’t really tell.
Delilah leans forward and says, “So where are you and Bull from?”
Leslee laughs like an audience member on a late-night show and says, “Bull comes from the Land Down Under, which is obvious the second he opens his mouth.” She looks around the table. “I’ve barely asked you ladies anything about yourselves.”
This, Delilah thinks, is true. She wonders what kind of advance billing Phoebe gave them. Did Phoebe define them by their husbands? (Delilah’s husband, Jeffrey, owns Sea View Farm. Andrea’s husband, Ed, is the chief of police.)
Andrea clears her throat. “Delilah serves on the board of the Nantucket food pantry.”
“Nantucket Food, Fuel, and Rental Assistance,” Delilah says, though everyone calls it the food pantry.
Leslee brings her hands together as if in prayer. “You’re a do-gooder!” She makes it sound like she’s opened her front door to find Delilah in a Girl Scout uniform selling Thin Mints. “Phoebe has my email. Just send me the link. I’d be happy to read up on your cause and donate.”
“I used to do a ton of philanthropy before I had Reed,” Phoebe says. “I’ll have more time for it next year once he goes to boarding school.”
“Oh,” Leslee says. “Where is he looking?”
“The usual places,” Phoebe says. “Middlesex, St. George’s, Milton. But the one he has his heart set on is Tiffin Academy.”
“Tiffin!” Leslee shouts. “We know at least half the board at Tiffin.” She waves a hand. “We’ll see to it that he gets in.”
At this, Andrea bumps Delilah’s leg.
Phoebe, who never loses her composure, completely loses her composure. Her composure, Delilah thinks, is rolling around somewhere under the table. “You’d do that?” Phoebe says. “Put in a word when the time comes? Obviously you can’t guarantee admission—”
“I’ll pull every string,” Leslee says. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for writing our nominating letter.” Leslee sighs. “I would love to be a member here.”
Delilah sets her wineglass down on the wrought-iron table harder than she means to. “Nominating letter?” she says. “That was sweet of you, Phoebes.” The legs of her chair scrape against the brick patio as she pushes it back from the table. “Excuse me a moment.”
“Delilah,” Phoebe says.
Delilah slams into the women’s lounge. Phoebe is writing the Richardsons a nominating letter? She’s known them five minutes! Back when Delilah and Jeffrey were applying, Phoebe said she’d rather not write the nominating letter because she didn’t want to be accused of trying to get her friends in. She’d ended up writing a seconding letter, which had apparently done nothing.
The lounge has a seating area with a sofa upholstered in cheerful pink and white stripes and two pink Ultrasuede armchairs. This has never made sense to Delilah—who would want to hang out in what is essentially the ladies’ room?—but now she collapses in one of the armchairs and thinks how nice it is to have a comfortable place to sit while she processes her best friend’s betrayal.
Delilah realizes she’s being petty, even ridiculous. Everyone else in the world has a problem bigger than not getting into a private club. But even so… if the Richardsons get into the Field and Oar, Delilah will never speak to Phoebe again.
Nominating letter!
The women’s lounge, as far as Delilah can tell, is empty, but even if it weren’t, she can’t hold her frustration inside, not after three glasses of wine and two hours in this hideous dress. “Bahhhhhhh!” she cries.
A toilet flushes, and Delilah hears water running in a sink; the bathrooms are around the corner. She closes her eyes, praying that whoever it is will leave the lounge without comment.
No such luck.
“Are you okay?” a voice asks. Then there’s a gasp. “Delilah?”
My life, Delilah thinks, is officially over.
It’s Blond Sharon.
When Blond Sharon finished reading her character-study scene to her creative-writing class over Zoom, there was a lengthy silence.
Pow! Sharon thought. Her piece had rendered them speechless.
Lucky Zambrano cleared his throat. “Nancy, Willow, do either of you have comments for Sharon?”
Both women bowed their heads.
