Beach Lane

mara is the odd girl out on lily pond lane





THEY DROVE PAST A PRACTICALLY UNENDING LINE OF ten-foot-tall hedges—Mara could barely see the roofs of the houses. Ryan steered the car steadily down the one-lane back road, occasionally calling out hellos and waving. Several groups walked on the side of the road, carrying surfing or water sport gear. Others pedaled on English Raleigh bicycles, shopping bags from Dreesen’s tucked in their baskets. Practically every other car was a convertible. Eliza spent the entire time glued to her cell phone, making calls to various friends and updating them on her plans for the evening.

“Hey, was that . . .?” Mara asked, turning around so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash.

“Yeah, that’s Steven Spielberg. They have a house near us on the pond. We always see him at Nick and Toni’s,” Ryan mentioned offhandedly. His dad had a standing table at the restaurant, one of the most popular gathering spots for bold-faced names.

“Oh.” Wow. Mara tried not to look too impressed. “I saw Tom Hanks once,” she offered.

“Really? Where?” Ryan asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

“The airport,” she said sheepishly. “He gave my sister an autograph. She chased him all the way to the men’s room.”

Ryan laughed.

“Tom and Rita used to come to your mom’s fund-raisers all the time, didn’t they, Ryan?” Eliza lifted her chin from her phone and asked in an extremely bored voice.

Mara felt slapped in the face.

They drove up to another row of hedges into a private driveway that snaked up to a white mansion with huge Grecian columns. In the driveway were a Mercedes SUV, a Range Rover, a vintage Corvette convertible, a Porsche Cayenne SUV, and two motor scooters. Talk about an auto show.

“Here we are,” said Ryan, bringing the car to a stop on the gravel drive.

A stretch Hummer limousine with rims that spun in reverse even when the car was stopped was parked out front.

“Oh my God! Look at that!” Mara hooted. “What a dumb car.”

“It’s an H2 stretch. Top of the line,” Eliza said in an irritated tone.

A chauffeur emerged from the front seat and walked the four car lengths to the back to hold the door open. A pair of mile-long tanned legs that ended in white furry sheepskin boots swung out. Jacqui Velasco certainly knew how to make an exit, or an entrance, if you will. She let the newcomers take in her presence, then turned around and hitched her hip to the side, kneeling on the car door to say good-bye to her patron.

“Obrigado,” she said, a little unsteadily from the numerous cocktails on the ride.

“No, thank you, bellisima.” Rupert Thorne winked, pulling her in for a kiss.

“Naughty boy,” Jacqui said, wagging her finger when Rupert licked rather than pecked her cheek.

“I’ll see you around,” he promised.

Not if I can help it, Jacqui thought grimly. She straightened up, slammed the door, and found Ryan, Eliza, and Mara watching her, all with different expressions on their faces. Ryan looked amused, Mara intimidated, and Eliza impressed.

“Kick-ass boots!” Eliza said to Jacqui.

Apparently boots in summer were okay after all, thought Mara.

“Thank you,” Jacqui said with a slight accent. “We just got them in from Australia the other day.” She smiled at Eliza. “Jacqui Velasco.”

“Eliza Thompson. That’s Ryan Perry, our boss.” She snickered. “And, uh . . . I forgot your name. Mary, right?”

“Mara,” Mara said with steel in her voice. She wasn’t going to Blondie here push her around. “Mara Waters, nice to meet you.”

“So did you have to go on a wait list or something to get those? I’ve been dying for them!” Eliza said, falling in step with Jacqui.

The two headed inside the house, chatting about footwear, their nearly identical wraparound sunglasses pulled up on their heads. Mara stood somewhat at a loss, wondering if she should follow them, already feeling completely out of place.

Ryan pulled her battered nylon suitcase from the trunk and handed it to a white-jacketed butler. “Don’t let Eliza bother you too much,” he said. “She can be a pain, but she’s actually really nice. She’s just going through a lot right now.”

Mara couldn’t fathom how “really nice” could ever apply to the Attitude Queen, but she wanted to be agreeable. If only she wouldn’t blush every time he looked at her.

A chubby ten-year-old girl with unruly curls ran out of the side door, wearing a bright pink bathing suit, goggles, and flippers. “You’re IT!” she said, barreling into Ryan.

“Madison Avenue!” he said, lifting her up and spinning her around.

“Stop! Stop!” She giggled. “Put me down!!”

Ryan let her go and said, “Hey, say hi to Mara. Mara, my little sister Madison.”

Madison scooted inside the front door, Ryan and Mara following.

“By the way,” Ryan said, holding the door open. “I thought that limo was a dumb car, too.”

Mara couldn’t stop smiling even after he had left.





This is what “Let’s burn the money to keep warm” looks like





“HI! WELCOME TO CREEK HEAD MANOR!” A FROWSY, overweight woman in a pink sweatshirt with a Nokia hanging on a chain around her neck beamed at them as they entered the house. “I’m Laurie, Anna’s personal assistant. Anna’s not back from her Reiki session yet, so she asked me to welcome you and give you a tour of the house.” She clucked at the sight of their footwear. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to ask everyone to take off their shoes before entering. The zebrawood hasn’t been oiled yet.” Laurie proudly explained that Anna had flown in an artisan from South America to work with I. J. Peiser and Sons on the floor design. According to Laurie, they did everyone’s floors, though it occurred to Mara that “everyone” must not be anything like anyone Mara knew.

Eliza grumbled at the inconvenience, Jacqui laughed, and Mara felt embarrassed to take off her cowboy boots—one of her gray socks had a huge hole in the toe. Laurie kept up the chatter as they tiptoed around the edges of the vast living room, which was dominated by an enormous floor-to-ceiling picture window that stretched from one end of the house to the other. “I love this feature!” she gushed as she pressed a button on the wall and automated curtains revealed an uninterrupted view of the Atlantic coast. The waves lapped gracefully by the shore, and seagulls waddled across the sand.

“We’ve been putting out poisoned bread to keep them off, but it’s not working.” Laurie sighed. “Shoo! Shoo!”

Mara’s eyes widened at the view—it was amazing. Eliza picked at her cuticles—

she’d been a guest at the house before, and besides, the Thompsons’ old place had almost the same view (maybe even better since their next-door neighbors, a prominent Hollywood actor and his starlet wife, had liked to sunbathe nude on their terrace). Jacqui yawned—the sight didn’t hold a candle to the golden beaches of Angra dos Reis in Costa Verde. No one braved a comment on the seagullicide program.

The house smelled sweet but slightly suffocating. Immense bouquets of freshly cut flowers were placed everywhere in carefully considered arrangements. The sculpted glass coffee table was decorated by a spray of fat, blooming, Georgia-peach-colored roses in a crystal decanter, matching sideboards spilled over with hollyhocks, irises, and calla lilies, and an enormous Ming vase in the foyer held a magnificent cluster of six-foot-tall acid yellow sunflowers.

Laurie’s cell phone rang with a piercing shrill. “Laurie here! Anna, hi! Yes, they’ve made it! No, I didn’t see an invitation from Calvin Klein yet. Oh, okay. I’ll try.” She shut the phone off and told the au pairs, “Anna says hi!”

She led them to the kitchen, an airy, light-filled rustic wood room with shiny marble countertops and no visible appliances. Laurie breathlessly explained that the cabinets were cut from original floorboards salvaged from an eighteenth-century French chateau. To keep the serenity of the line, the refrigerator, freezer, and dishwasher had been recessed and built into the antique cabinets. Oh. My. God. Mara kept having to remind herself to close her gaping mouth.

The kitchen led to a formal dining room that could easily seat thirty. An immense baroque chandelier hung from the double-height space. Next to it was a second dining room for everyday meals and a breakfast room with a “cozy” nook. The first floor also had an indoor lap pool, a yoga studio, and a fully equipped Nautilus gym. The billiards room was a by-the-book re-creation of King George’s library, complete with a first edition Shakespeare folio underneath a locked glass case. Laurie caressed the glass as if it were her own treasure.

On their way to the back exit they bumped into Ryan, who was holding a book and climbing up the stairs. “How’d you like the renovation?” he asked. “The house certainly didn’t look like this last year,” he added a little wistfully.

“It’s very nice,” Mara said politely.

Ryan winked. “Laurie, don’t forget to tell them about the mirror in the bathroom. It’s an exact reproduction of Marie Antoinette’s!” he added with mock enthusiasm.

The girls’ expectations shot up after Laurie told them the house contained several guest bedrooms. Now, that was more like it. Eliza hoped she would get the same room she was given when she visited last summer while their house was being fumigated. But the preternaturally perky assistant led them outside, all the way to the servants’ quarters—a small, tidy cottage a good five-minute walk away, where they were deposited in a small room on the topmost landing.

It couldn’t have been more different from the main house. The attic bedroom consisted of a bunk bed, one single bed, two bureaus, a ratty armchair, one bathroom, and a lone lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

A spider made its way across the grimy carpet, the lone occupant to welcome them to their new home.





don’t worry, girls, this is a partnership





“TWENTY THOUSAND SQUARE FEET AND ALL THREE OF US have to share one godforsaken room?” Eliza griped, smoking out of the tiny attic window.

Mara kept silent, unpacking her suitcase. Since Eliza had taken the single bed and Jacqui the top bunk, she had been left with the claustro-inducing bottom bunk, but she wasn’t going to complain. She was still flabbergasted by the size of the estate. (Twelve acres, Anna’s assistant had told them in a hushed tone.) Mara didn’t realize real people actually lived this way—that marble bathrooms the size of her whole house weren’t just something you could find in an episode of The Fabulous Life Of . . . on VH-1 or something out of an It’s Good to Be . . . special on E! As far as she could tell, the Perrys weren’t famous, but they were sure loaded.

“Eh.” Jacqui shrugged. “What can we do? Is not like we have choice,” she said, borrowing Eliza’s cigarette to light her own.

“Could you guys not smoke in here?” Mara asked, waving her hands in dismay.

Eliza blew a smoke ring in response.

A rap on the door caused the two girls to stub out their cigarettes on the soles of their shoes. Eliza kicked the butts under the bed. “Come in!” she said brightly.

A maid in a black-and-white uniform peeked into the room. “Mrs. Perry calling. Follow me, pliss.”

The three of them were led to the backyard, a stunning expanse of greenery that surrounded an Olympic-sized pool that flowed into a small waterfall, emptying into a bubbling Jacuzzi tub. Mara spied tennis courts in the distance, a putting green, and a basketball court. Back home in Sturbridge, their backyard was a sliver of brown, fenced in on each side by chicken wire. There were several chairs rotting from too many winters left outdoors and an ancient hibachi sat squat by a dying maple tree.

Several kids were chasing each other with Super Soakers on the patio, and a little boy with water wings was running between everyone’s legs, screaming. In the middle of the chaos stood a slim, frosted blonde in a metallic gold bikini and stiletto mules.

“Cody! Stop making that noise! Stop it! Let go of my leg . . . let go of my leg!” She wrenched his tiny baby hands from a bronzed calf the size of a chicken wing. “Ugh.” The woman grimaced in distaste. She straightened up, only to be met by a nine-year-old boy wielding a loaded water gun.

“GOTCHA!” The kid squealed.

“William! Don’t even think about it!” she threatened.

It was no use. He pulled the trigger, sending a powerful blast of water at her head.

“JESUS! Did you take your meds today! DID YOU? LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE!” she said, taking him by his thin shoulders and shaking the bejesus out of him. He started to bawl.

“Okay. Okay. Fine. I didn’t mean it. Scoot,” she said, shooing him away.

She turned to the three teenagers, wiping dripping wet bangs away from her face. “I’m Anna Perry, sorry about all this,” she said grandly. She shook Mara’s and Jacqui’s hand with a limp shake, but when she turned to Eliza, her countenance mellowed. “Oh! Eliza, darling! You made it. Wonderful!” she said, giving Eliza her cheek to kiss. “How’s your mother? Do tell her I said hi. Did she get the books I sent?”

Eliza gritted her teeth and smiled. “Yes, she did, Anna.” Thinking she had been “helpful,” Anna had sent Eliza’s mother several books in The Idiots Guide to . . . series (Wine, Housekeeping, Getting a Job after Fifty, etc.). The attached card had read: Now that you don’t have a staff, here’s something I hope can help you out as you transition into your new life.

“I’m so glad you all made it. I was a little worried about the traffic. Anyway, as you know, my husband, Kevin, hired you. Oh, thank God, here he is now.”

The girls turned to see a hefty, bald man in an immaculately pressed Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts making his way toward them.

“Kevin, did you manage to remember to send over the bottle of Petrus as a hostess present? Yes? Okay, good. How much was it?”

He told her. She winced. Making her way into the good graces of the grand hostesses of the Hamptons was costing them an arm and a leg, but Anna was determined to chair the big ovarian cancer benefit next month.

“Kevin Perry,” he said. He shook each of their hands warmly, lingering just a hair too long with Jacqui’s handshake. Typical, thought Jacqui. But maybe this could come in handy.

“How’s your dad?” he asked Eliza.

“Same.” Eliza shrugged.

“Why don’t we sit over here?” Kevin said, motioning to the round patio table. Anna followed him, teetering on her heels and almost slipping on the wet tile. The girls took their seats. If any of them cared to look down, they might have noticed that each and every single screw in the teak veranda had been hand-turned to a precise ninety-degree angle, orthogonal to the direction of the boards. A simple but telling detail on the stringent perfectionism the Perrys expected from everything, and everyone, around them.

“We want to formally welcome you girls to the Hamptons,” Anna began crisply. “As you can imagine, we have a very busy night ahead of us. I thought we’d just have a little barbecue for the kids since it’s the Fourth of July. We usually do something more elaborate, but we’ve been invited to a party at the Perelmans’ later.” She paused so they could let that name sink in—they were hanging out with Ron Perelman! The Revlon mogul married to Ellen Barkin—the tippy top of the Hampton A-list! Unfortunately, Mara and Jacqui had never heard of him, and Eliza couldn’t care less about Ron Perelman—he didn’t have any kids her age.

“So tonight we’ll do just a simple affair—nothing too fancy.” Anna laughed. “Just a few burgers, maybe some hot dogs. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely.” Kevin nodded.

“There’s a grill out back, and we could even do some seared tuna, maybe? There’s an avocado salad in the fridge that might go nicely with that. Or is tuna not patriotic?” she asked with a little laugh.

“Tuna sounds good,” Eliza ventured.

“It’s Pacific ahi, just came off the plane in Hawaii,” Anna told her. “Delicious. Maybe with a little mirin sauce? Like we did last year?” Last Fourth of July the Perrys hosted a catered, white-glove party on their private beach to celebrate the holiday. Eliza remembered the succulent tuna steak served on silver platters.

“Sure.” Eliza shrugged. “Maybe with some white wine?”

“A perfect menu. Except, of course, the kids can’t have alcohol. And this will be a lot more intimate.” Anna smiled without showing any teeth. “Anyway, enough about the barbecue. It’s at seven since the kids aren’t allowed food after sunset.”

“Honey? Can we get back to business, please?” Kevin asked.

“Of course, of course,” Anna said.

“We just want to stress that this is a partnership. You’re part of the family now. Call us Anna and Kevin, please,” he said. “We see this as an opportunity for the kids to have a good time this summer. I think we’re all going to have a little fun, aren’t we?” he said, winking at Jacqui.

“But of course, we have some goals in mind,” Anna continued. “First off, there’s William. He’s been diagnosed with ADHD. He can’t keep still for a moment and keeps forgetting to take his meds. He must calm down this summer. He’s got to learn how to sit still or they’re not taking him back at St. Bernard’s in the fall.” She passed a list of daily prescriptions.

Mara stared at the list, mystified. A nine-year-old on drugs?

Eliza was unfazed. William’s regime was longer and more complicated than the heart medicine her father took every day, sure, but that was modern parenting for you. And with that thought, her eyes glazed over. What should she wear to the party later?

Jacqui was getting impatient. When could she begin the search for Luca? This blond insect should stop yapping already.

“Next, Madison must lose weight. As I see it, she’s carrying about fifteen more pounds than she should. Kids can be so cruel, and I don’t want any daughter of mine to be ‘the fat one.’ ” She didn’t make the quotation mark sign with her hands, but they could hear it clearly in her tone. “I’ve put her on an eight-hundred-calorie diet.” She handed out a detailed folder with nutritional charts and calorie serving information. “I’d really prefer if she only ate raw foods. It truly helped my digestion, and it’s a very healthy way to live.” She suddenly craned her neck, like a dog on the trail of a bad scent, and hollered toward the pool. “MADISON! Put that cookie down! Put it down! Do you want to be a piggy your whole life?”

Raw food? Mara wondered. What the hell?

The Christian Dior halter? Eliza mused. Or the Gucci tank top?

Water, I need water, Jacqui wheezed. All that whiskey in the car was giving her a premature hangover.

“Zoë is six and is starting first grade in the fall. I want her to learn to read this summer. We sent her to the best kindergarten and pre-K and she still can’t do her ABCs. It’s so embarrassing.” Anna shook her head.

Six years old. Reading. Got it, Mara thought.

Or maybe the Dolce mini? Eliza wondered.

Jacqui was starting to feel faint from dehydration. She gripped the edge of her seat to keep herself upright.

“And as for Cody . . .” Anna’s visage softened slightly. “The baby has got to conquer his fear of water. I mean, we’re in the Hamptons . . . and he won’t even go in the pool!

“What else? Oh. House rules. Curfew is midnight. It’s the same for the twins. Ryan you’ve met. You can drive any car that’s not being used, and you’ll need to, to get into town and take Zoë and Madison to ballet and yoga and William to his three therapists. Every Sunday we’ll all sit down for a weekly progress meeting. You’ll be paid in three installments, the first is in a few weeks. Other than that, we don’t really have a lot of rules here.”

Well, that was good to know, thought Mara.

Thank God, thought Eliza.

Water, thought Jacqui.

“Lastly, I absolutely insist that you girls have a great summer with us. Like we said in the ad—this is going to be the summer of your life! Please make yourselves at home, and we’ll see you later at the barbecue?”

“Sounds like fun,” Mara said.

“We’ll be there,” Eliza assured Anna. Seared tuna, avocado salad? She was famished!

Jacqui nodded.

“Ciao,” Anna said with a wave of her hand. They were dismissed.

“Uh—honey . . .,” Kevin Perry said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you think they should meet the kids?”