Betty said, "Yum yum," and went back to her book.
That afternoon, when Rosalyn returned from another golf cart "booze cruise" chaperoned by Amber and Crystal, several glasses of wine the merrier, she collapsed onto the sofa and confided to Betty that she had harbored some doubts about Crystal and Amber at first, thinking they were not exceptional enough for her. After all, what had they done in their lives? They moved from house to house like Gypsies, first looking after a house on the East Coast, then the West Coast . . . It was hardly a recommendation for an extraordinary acquaintance. But then she had gotten to know them, and they were extraordinary, indeed. Just the nicest girls you could imagine, full of fun . . . They had taught her a delightful game involving Ping-Pong balls and plastic cups of beer . . . "Amber is a massage therapist, you know. She's not licensed yet, still studying. But, Betty, she has a gift. I mean, it's amazing. My sciatica? Gone! It's almost as good as having a doctor in the family."
The extraordinary girls, meanwhile, after dropping off Rosalyn, had turned the golf cart in the direction of the guesthouse and pulled it up to the edge of the patio there.
"Hello!" they cried. "Hello in there!"
Miranda and Annie both came to the sliding glass door and stepped out. Annie, having just come out of the shower, was wrapped in a towel.
"We wanted to give you a real Palm Springs welcome!" the older one, Crystal, said. "Of course, we're not really from here. Only old people are really from here, and even they are from other places, it's a very unique spot, but since we're officially here and staying in such a super house, the pool is totally unique, a waterfall . . ."
"Two," her sister Amber said.
"That's what I said. A waterfall, too."
"There are two waterfalls, Crystal." She turned to Annie. "I've trained myself to be very observant, sensitive to my surroundings. I really have to be."
Annie pulled her towel closer around her. Please be sensitive to my dripping hair, she thought hopelessly, and let me go inside.
"She's a healer," Crystal said
Miranda, who had not said a word, now gave a slight, rather dismissive wave and disappeared inside. Again Annie was left to hold down the obligatory chitchat fort. She wondered what would happen if she, too, decided to have no patience.
"That's excessive, Crystal," Amber said, laughing. "I'm just a regular old student of massage therapy."
"No, that's not true," Crystal insisted loyally, impervious to her sister's embarrassed glare. "She works in so many modalities. Like chakra balancing and Inca shamanic healing . . ."
Amber rolled her eyes. "Annie so doesn't want to hear about all that. Anyway, we just wanted to welcome you. We just love your cousin Rosalyn. She's a total hoot."
"That's really nice of you," Annie said. It was nice of them, actually. And there was something open and jolly about them. If only they would go away. "I gather we'll see you at Seafood Night."
"Sometimes there are spottings," Crystal said. "I live for spottings. We saw Orlando Bloom once. And of course Barry Manilow. On Cape Cod, we saw Gwyneth. That was really unexpected. I hope we have a spotting for you tonight. You must miss the spottings in New York. I mean, there can't be many good spottings in Westport now that Paul Newman is gone."
Annie, surprised that Crystal seemed to know so much about where she lived and where she had lived, said nothing.
As though she sensed that her sister might have caused offense, Amber quickly added, "Phil Donahue! Don't forget Phil Donahue."
"Who is Phil Donahue?" Crystal asked.
"I told you, you have to watch the History Channel, Crystal."
The girls then reversed the golf cart with much waving and excited demands to meet up later, and they were gone.
That night, as they walked to the clubhouse, across the deepening green of the evening grass, as smooth as a carpet rolling out before them in the dusk, Rosalyn strode ahead, her silver leather jacket shining in the evening gloom.
"What if the coyote comes back?" Betty said.
"He only comes to that spot to bask in the sunlight, poor fellow," said Roberts, who was also with them. "He's there almost every day. A man of habit."
"That I am," said Mr. Shpuntov.
Seafood Night was the first of several Nights at the country club. The clubhouse was a circular modern affair, all curves and brass railing, like a cruise ship. By the time they got there and claimed a big oval table by the windows overlooking the darkened golf course, the first round of oysters and clams and shrimp had already disappeared, leaving only big silver platters of shaved ice on the buffet tables. But new trays quickly appeared, and then lobster and crab as well.