Brooke wants to hide under the Captain’s Table—but no, she won’t cower. Not in front of Gigi and Dru-Ann. She raises her face and in the coldest voice she can muster, she says, “Leave me alone, Electra.”
Good for you, Brooke, Hollis thinks, though she can’t believe Brooke was gullible and, she’ll just say it, weak enough to fall prey to Electra. Hollis pictures Electra promising to include Brooke in all the fun, and Brooke, in return, offering up the itinerary for the weekend, which Hollis had sent only to her blog’s subscribers.
As Hollis is about to say, Leave us all alone, Electra, you’re not welcome here, she notices Electra staring at Gigi, of all people. “Have we met before?” Electra asks.
An uneasy expression crosses Gigi’s face, and Hollis thinks, Good God, even Gigi is intimidated by Electra.
“No, I don’t think so,” Gigi says. “I’m not from here.”
“The British accent!” Electra says. “Yes, I’m certain we’ve met somewhere—”
“Definitely not.” Gigi’s voice is clipped.
Tatum finishes what’s left of her wine. This is precisely what she thought Hollis’s friends would be like—Real Housewife–type bitches. She supposes she should be glad that Brooke and Gigi are nice and normal. Even Dru-Ann is a peach compared to this hellcat.
Dru-Ann is dying to push back her chair and take this woman on—nobody talks to Hollis and Brooke that way, not while she’s around—but out of the corner of her eye, Dru-Ann sees her old friends Gucci Bex and Laura Ingalls walk into the restaurant. No, she thinks, not possible. But of course possible, because she simply can’t catch a break this weekend. Dru-Ann has lost everything, and you can’t fall off the floor, as the saying goes, but even Dru-Ann isn’t brave enough to create a scene while those two are in the building.
As it turns out, Dru-Ann isn’t needed, because someone else takes hold of Electra’s arm, pulls her away from the table, and whispers angrily in her ear—and that person is Blond Sharon. Sharon recognized Electra Undergrove the second she walked into Nautilus because earlier that day, Sharon had received a text from her old friend Fast Eddie, the well-known real estate agent. The text said: Meet the worst renter I’ve had in thirty years in this business. Wait until I tell you the stories! And underneath was a picture of this woman.
All Sharon has to say to Electra is “You will leave everyone at that table alone right now or I will see to it you are forever banned from this island. Trust me, I have that power.”
For one moment, Electra looks like she might challenge Sharon, but then she waves a hand and laughs it off. “I just thought it was funny that we were all wearing the same colors. I thought maybe they would buy me a drink, but not to worry, ha-ha-ha, I’m going to LoLa!” And she disappears out the door.
37. Night Changes II
Brooke needs to talk to Hollis alone. She needs to explain. But Hollis is busy flagging their server and asking for the bill. Dru-Ann offers a credit card, and Gigi offers a credit card; Hollis says, “No, no, everything this weekend is my treat,” though her cheerful tone sounds forced. All of the heat and light they brought with them into the restaurant has been sucked out. What can Brooke do to salvage the evening?
“We’re going to the Chicken Box now, right?” she says. She’s been looking forward to the Chicken Box all weekend. It’s just a bar, there isn’t one piece of chicken, but Brooke has the perfect buzz for dancing to live music on a beer-sticky floor and pretending she’s single again.
Gigi says, “I’m absolutely knackered. I’ll get a taxi home, but you all have fun, thanks for dinner, Hollis, good night!” She’s out of her seat so quickly that by the time Hollis looks up from calculating the tip, she’s disappearing through the door.
“To be honest, I’m not sure I’m up for the Box,” Hollis says.
“Me either,” Tatum says quickly. A text has just come into her phone from Kyle: Jack and I are having a drink at Queequeg’s. Let me know when you’re finished, we’ll meet you out front.
“So nobody’s going to the Box?” Brooke says. Why is she surprised? Everyone heard what Electra said: Charlie is being sued again for sexual misconduct, and Brooke is tainted by association. Nobody wants to hang out with her.
Dru-Ann sighs. “I’ll go with you.” She checks over her shoulder; Gucci Bex and Laura Ingalls are sitting at the sushi bar. “But let’s leave right now.”
“Thank you!” Brooke says. “I just have to use the ladies’ room real quick—”
“Now,” Dru-Ann says. “Before I change my mind.” She winks at Hollis and mouths, You owe me. Then she takes Brooke’s hand and yanks her out of the restaurant into the dark Nantucket night.
“Do you want a ride home?” Hollis asks Tatum.
“Are you crazy?” Tatum says. “The boys are at Queequeg’s. They want us to meet them.”
“What?” Hollis says. “No, I can’t. I’m not doing that.”
“Why not?” Tatum says.
“It’s too soon for me to move on,” Hollis says.
“Holly,” Tatum says. “Real talk here, you and me.” She squares Hollis’s shoulders and looks her in the eye. “No one is asking you to move on. It’s one drink. And it’s not like I’m setting you up with a stranger. It’s Jack Finigan. Don’t overthink it.”
“If I go anywhere, it should be to the Box,” Hollis says. “Caroline is going to the Box.”
“Trust me,” Tatum says. “The last person Caroline wants to see at the Box is her mother. I’m making an executive decision. You’re coming with me.”
As Hollis follows Tatum out of the restaurant—with a wave to the nice blond woman who saved her from Electra—she thinks, The night has already sort of fallen apart, everyone else has left. It’s just one drink. It’s not like she and Jack are getting back together and planning a Viking River Cruise.
“Fine,” she says.
When Hollis sees Jack standing on the sidewalk in front of Queequeg’s, she nearly turns and runs. He’s so handsome. He’s wearing jeans, flip-flops, a white linen shirt turned back at the cuffs. He flashes his dimples as she approaches.
Jack says, “You can’t get enough of me.”
“This wasn’t my idea,” Hollis says, but she lets half a smile slip onto her face. “In fact, I actively resisted.”
“Actively?” Jack says. “I wish I’d seen that.”
“I have an idea,” Tatum says. She looks a thousand times happier than she did at dinner, and for this reason alone, Hollis is glad they came. Kyle has his arm wrapped around Tatum’s shoulders and she leans her head into his chest. “Let’s go to the Brotherhood for a drink.”
Ha! Hollis thinks. Thirty million years ago, the four of them ate dinner at the Brotherhood before their junior prom. The restaurant has been sold and renovated and sold and renovated again since then, but the downstairs still has the feel of a cozy, brick-walled pub with low lighting and a fireplace. However, when they arrive, Tatum leads them upstairs to the new Cisco Surf Bar.
There was no upstairs to the Brotherhood when they were growing up, but now one side is an upscale whiskey lounge and the other side is a cheerful, hip space where the walls are lined with surfboards and Lauren Marttila photographs. There are, miraculously, four seats at the bar, near where a guy is playing acoustic guitar. They take the seats; the boys get beers, and Hollis and Tatum order espresso martinis.
When Hollis clinks her martini glass against Jack’s frosted Bud Light bottle, she says, “I can’t believe I’m sitting here with you.” She isn’t sure what to call the feelings welling up inside of her. Nostalgia, maybe? She thinks back to May of 1986.
Hollis’s junior prom dress is white; her father, Tom Shaw, is uncharacteristically mushy during the pictures. He kisses Hollis on the forehead and says, “Do me a favor and don’t elope tonight.”
“We’ll wait until senior prom, sir,” Jack says with a wink as he helps Hollis into his pickup, which he has washed and vacuumed for the occasion.
At dinner at the Brotherhood, at a table right downstairs from where they are now, Hollis and Tatum order the chicken piccata—they both want burgers, but they’re worried about onion breath and spilling ketchup on their dresses—and the boys whisper about whether they’ll be carded if they try to order beer.
“Yes, you’ll get carded,” Tatum says. “We’re high-school students going to our prom. Terri’s brother is the manager. Everyone here knows us.”
There’s an older couple sitting at the next table; they lean over and say, “Enjoy it, kids. It goes by so fast.”
Yeah, yeah, Hollis thinks. Hold on to sixteen as long as you can, blah-blah-blah. All the four of them want, in that moment, is to be older.
When they finish eating, the server tells them that the couple picked up their entire check.
“Damn!” Kyle says. “I knew I should have gotten the lobster.”