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.
“Of course,” Kacy says.
Coco leads Kacy downstairs to the laundry room.
“Are there buckets for the ice or a cooler?” Kacy asks.
“Forget the ice. I want to talk about a couple of things.” Coco lowers her voice. “First of all, Lamont and I are sneaky-linking.”
Kacy nods. “I mean, yeah, I figured.”
“Nobody knows and nobody can know,” Coco says. “Leslee has a rule about her employees dating. We’ll both get fired.”
“So why do it?” Kacy asks. “Do you like him?”
“A lot,” Coco says. “I think…”
“What? That you’re in love with him?” Kacy asks.
Coco bites her bottom lip. “I’m not sure. Maybe. But, Kacy, you can’t tell anyone—not Eric, not Avalon, not your mom, not Delilah or Phoebe.” Coco holds Kacy’s gaze. “And there’s something else. When we were at the Box and I had your phone, I saw that you’ve been sending our selfies to Isla.”
Kacy’s mouth drops. “Oh my god. I am so mortified.”
“You sent her every single picture,” Coco says. “I thought you were documenting our summer together so you could make me a photo album, but really, you were using me as ammunition.”
Ammunition? Kacy thinks. She has messed this up so badly. “First of all, yes, I sent the selfies to Isla, and yes, I did it to make her jealous, and although I never specifically said we were together, that’s what I implied.” Kacy’s eyes are glassy with tears. “Because I’m in love with her and she promised me… then didn’t… but that doesn’t make any difference. I shouldn’t have used our pictures that way. It was gross, and I totally get it if you never want to hang with me again. I just need you to hear me say that I do genuinely care about you. You’re the best friend I’ve had this summer, the only friend I’ve had. Sending the pictures wasn’t calculated, Coco, I swear. It was something I did late at night during some desperate moments, and then, when it elicited the response from Isla that I wanted, I kept doing it.” Kacy feels physically sick. It is absolutely the most hideous feeling, fighting with your best friend. She wipes at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Coco. I hope you can forgive me.”
Coco isn’t sure what to say. She’s been away from the party too long; any second now, Leslee is going to text and ask where she is. “I have to go back upstairs,” she says. And she does.
Kacy has to decide: Stay or go? Her parents are her ride, so she’d have to call an Uber and wait for it in the pouring rain. To leave the party, she feels, would be running away. She heads back upstairs to sit in her discomfort.
Kacy bumps into Leslee, who says, “The buffet is ready, please start.” Kacy would really like another drink but Leslee ushers her into the dining room. There’s a tower of glistening golden spring rolls; there are platters of satay—beef, chicken, pork—with velvety peanut dipping sauce; there are individual cast-iron skillets of nasi goreng, each topped with a fried egg; there are rows of Chinese takeout boxes containing lobster dan dan noodles; and there’s a pyramid of shrimp burgers with sriracha mayo. The food is set up in tiers on top of banana leaves and garnished with tropical fruits and flowers, and all the guests start snapping pictures. Kacy would take pictures too except she’s decided she’s never taking pictures again.
She fills a plate and chooses a spot by herself on the curvy white sofa. A second later, Busy Ambrose plops down next to her.
“There you are, Kacy,” she says. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Busy Ambrose has been looking for her? Kacy barely knows the woman. They were introduced once by Phoebe, though of course Kacy knows who Busy is because everyone on the island knows who Busy is.
“You have?” Kacy says.
“My daughter, Stacy?” Busy says. She winds noodles around her chopsticks like a pro, and Kacy has to admit, she’s impressed. Kacy herself took a fork.
Kacy bites into a crispy spring roll. “Mmm-hmm?”
