“As long as it’s not infamous,” Dru-Ann says. “I’ve had enough of that this weekend.”
“The interviews with you three are the best part,” Caroline says. “I learned a lot about my mom, so thank you for your honesty. I know some of those stories were difficult to tell.”
Hollis doesn’t need to watch the interviews to be reminded of all the ways she failed the women a floor above. She promised Tatum she was staying in Massachusetts, then she left for North Carolina; she lied to Dru-Ann about her mother for a year and a half; she never stood up to Electra about ousting Brooke from the football group.
Tatum, Dru-Ann, and Brooke have forgiven her. This is, Hollis sees now, an example of their innate decency, generosity, nobility. Hollis could argue that Gigi’s betrayal is somehow greater than any of hers. Gigi slept with Hollis’s husband. Gigi used the Hungry with Hollis website to spy on her. Gigi wooed them all with her elegant style and her irresistible accent—under false pretenses.
Hollis takes one breath, then another, and considers the term five-star. What does it mean? In her mind, it means “remarkable, best in class, of a rarefied quality, a standout.” It’s one thing to place fresh flowers on a nightstand or create an Instagram-worthy charcuterie board. But what if the five-star experience went deeper? What if it extended to this moment? What if instead of casting Gigi out, Hollis said, Please stay. I may not arrive at a place of grace right away—the pain of the betrayal is still new, shocking—but I will get there eventually, and until then, I’m willing to play through.
Is there such a thing as five-star forgiveness? If not, can Hollis invent it now?
“Stay,” she says to Gigi.
“What? Hollis—no, absolutely not.”
Hollis rises from her chair and approaches Gigi. Her loveliness is newly agonizing when Hollis thinks about Matthew appreciating it—but that’s in the past.
“Please,” Hollis says. She can’t bring herself to hug Gigi, but she does offer a hand to help her up from the chair. “It’s just until tomorrow morning. If I can do it, you can do it.”
“Are you planning to tell the others?” Gigi asks. She imagines the other women stoning her like she’s a character in a Shirley Jackson story.
“Heavens, no,” Hollis says. “It’s nobody’s business but ours. And anyway, they’ve all got other things to worry about.”
49. The Twist
Dru-Ann has been meaning to try out the Bakelite record player in her guest cottage. She stands in the little niche and flips through the short stack of albums on the shelf underneath: The Turtles, Marvin Gaye, Joni Mitchell. All the album covers are worn; they’ve been lovingly handled, and Dru-Ann wonders if Hollis ordered them from some website for vintage records or if maybe these belonged to her mother and father.
She picks up the Marvin Gaye—this feels like the mood she’s seeking—and then she peers at the framed 45 that’s hanging on the wall above the turntable.
Chubby Checker, “The Twist.” And it’s signed!
Ahhhhhh! Dru-Ann thinks.
Does “the Twist” have another meaning for Dru-Ann? When she sees all the notifications on her phone—she heard it buzzing away in the car but ignored it—she wonders if it just might.
Check Twitter, Gucci Bex said.
Dru-Ann blinks. Is she seeing things or is #TeamDruAnn trending?
She can’t help but sing along with Marvin Gaye. “What’s going on? What’s going on?”
Dru-Ann scrolls and clicks until she finds a very cute picture of Phineas Pine holding aloft the venerated Claret Jug (the silver jug isn’t as well known in the States as the Masters’ green jacket is, but who’s to say the Masters isn’t next for Phineas?). Standing beside Phineas, Posey Wofford is gazing up adoringly at her beloved.
Twitter has things to say about this photo. Didn’t Posey Wofford quit her own tournament due to “mentalhealth issues”? Is it possible she used mental health as an excuse so that she could fly to Scotland to cheer on her boyfriend? That’s certainly what it looks like, Twitter says. And if so, how appalling. Posey Wofford is not only antifeminist (prioritizing Phineas’s career over her own) but also disrespectful of people who do suffer from anxiety and depression.
Posey Wofford was “depressed” until her beau @phinpinegolf started sinking putts, one tweet says. Then she perked right up! #supportmentalhealth #cancelPosey #TeamDruAnn.
This feels like the usual Twitter noise—surely these people realize that Posey could look happy on the outside but still be suffering. Then Dru-Ann finds a clip of Phineas’s press conference. He’s incandescent with joy, as well he should be. It’s a big deal, winning the British Open at the Old Lady. His name will go down in history, and Dru-Ann is certain that every time he blinks, he sees dollar signs.
When asked about Posey’s mental state, Phineas says, “I told her I had a dream I was going to win and that I wanted her here to see every bit of it.”
“So she’s not battling mentalhealth demons, then?” a reporter asks.
“Mentalhealth demons?” Phineas says. “Posey? No way.” He sounds so incredulous that Dru-Ann wonders if he’s trying to ruin Posey’s reputation. Maybe now that he’s golf’s new sweetheart, he plans on trading up. Maybe next month he’ll be dating Zendaya.
Ha! That would be a twist, Dru-Ann thinks.
A text comes in from Nick: I think Posey needs your help managing this mess.
Posey is fired, Dru-Ann writes back. But I’m willing to make Phineas my first male client. Have him call me.
Three dots rise. What about me? Nick says. Can you forgive an indulgent father?
Decision pending further review, Dru-Ann writes, and she hits Send.
She wades through her voice mails. Dean Falzarano from New York has called to apologize. The magazine will not only run Dru-Ann’s piece about the ice skaters, they’d also like to commission five thousand words on “the Posey Wofford situation.” Do you have anything to say on the subject? Dean wants to know. Oh, do I, Dru-Ann thinks.
Zeke from Throw Like a Girl has left a voice mail saying, “Expecting you in the studio on Tuesday. Sorry about the mix-up.” Dru-Ann would like to tell Zeke to go pound sand but she loves that gig and she feels a duty to save Marla—and her viewers—from Crabby Gabby. Maybe now is the moment to ask for a better time slot. Monday evenings, right before SportsCenter?
Finally, there’s a voice mail from JB walking back his request for Dru-Ann’s resignation. Dru-Ann sighs. She’s not sure if she should sue JB, orchestrate a hostile takeover of his company, or call Phineas’s agent, Gannon, to see if he wants to partner up and launch a new agency.
She’s going to think about it.
Caroline sits on the front steps of First Light, where she can see the rows of hydrangea bushes lining the driveway, and opens the text from Isaac.
It’s a selfie of him and Sofia, their faces squished together. They’re grinning like goofy kids; there’s love in their eyes. Below the picture it says: Thank you.
Caroline clicks out of texts. It’s unfair—first Dylan and Aubrey, now Isaac and Sofia. Caroline is left with no one.
She hears a door open and sees Dru-Ann step out of the guest cottage. “Looks like someone’s in their feelings,” Dru-Ann says. She takes a seat next to Caroline on the stairs. “Spill it, girl, what’s going on?”
It’s stupid, Caroline nearly says, but she knows Dru-Ann actually wants to hear about her problems. She tells her, in a very disjointed fashion, about all of it: The long-ago bonfire with Dylan where Aubrey kicked sand in her face, Isaac crying about his mother, who died when he was nine, Orion sucking on bacon, Please, no trouble, ain’t it funny how the night changes, the Lyft of Shame, Isaac’s golden tea and cashews from Kalustyan’s, their kiss, their drone lesson in Central Park, Thomas the Tank Engine, Sofia’s return, Dylan waiting for her at the Box, making out, Sofia’s texts, Caroline’s Instagram post, Aubrey throwing a drink in her face, her call with Sofia, seeing Dylan with Aubrey and Orion at Provisions, mon petit chou.
When Caroline finally stops to take a breath—did any of that make sense?—Dru-Ann says, “So you’re telling me you made out with your longtime high-school crush and you had a brief, steamy love affair with your genius boss?”
Caroline nods.
“You do realize,” Dru-Ann says, “that those are romantic achievements most of us only dream about.”
“Also,” Caroline says, “I really miss my dad.”
“Oh, sugar,” Dru-Ann says. She takes Caroline in her arms, where, finally, Caroline starts to cry. “That just means you’re human.”