He pulled the sandwich out of his bag, unwrapped it, the steam pouring out.
“We’re thinking of expanding to a few restaurants in Southern California. Los Angeles, primarily. That was the dinner I took at 28,” he said.
I looked longingly as he held up the greasy sandwich, piled high with cheese and tomatoes.
“What? I’m not running a bed-and-breakfast here.”
I must have looked terribly disappointed, because he rolled his eyes and handed over half.
“Apparently, I am.”
I took a large bite, stuffing most of my half into my mouth. He waited for me to swallow and then smiled.
“Sexy,” he said.
In response, I shoved the rest of my half right in behind it.
“So I didn’t want to tell you last night,” he said.
“Though five A.M. feels like a good time?”
He took a bite of his eggs. “Amber is having a fancy cookbook release party over on Tyson Lane tonight. That’s why she’s in town.”
I immediately regretted the sandwich. “How do you know that, exactly?”
“Her publicity person was trying to get a discount. And she used Amber’s name, talked about the party and all the people who would be eating our fish.” He kept talking, mouth full. “I guess she’s having stations set up. Each station is going to serve one of the recipes in the book. The station she wants us to supply fish for is a ceviche station.”
“What is she supplying? The toast?”
“I asked the publicist the same thing.”
I laughed. “Did you really?’
“Yep. Apparently she doesn’t share our sense of humor.”
I thought about what that party would entail. Everyone would be there. Louis, food journalists, folks from the Food Network. Everyone who had turned their backs on me, and who were now thrilled to be honoring her.
Ethan took another large bite, apparently scared I would try to steal it.
“Anyway, I’ll give her a dirty look.”
“Can you get me in?” I said.
He looked surprised. “Of course. Why?”
I shrugged, not having a good answer. I knew that I shouldn’t care—that Amber and her party were beside the point. In that moment, though, it somehow felt like the entire point, all over again.
“Will you do it, even if I don’t have a good answer for you?”
“Consider it done,” he said.
He handed over his last bite.
“I’ll even bring extra fish,” he said. “In case you want to drop something else on her.”
39
People love to talk about the most prestigious roads in the Hamptons. Dune Road. Flying Point. Ocean. Meadow. Tyson Lane was often too small to make the list. And yet, there it was, right off Further Lane—steps to the ocean—and home to several of the most stunning addresses in East Hampton, including a gorgeous abode owned by Helmut Lang.
Amber’s party was at the house next door—also oceanfront, also exquisite—owned by a venture capitalist and his cooking-enthused wife.
Lanterns lined the driveway and led up to a stunning cottage (not that cottage was really the appropriate name), its wraparound porch crowded with people. And candles. And flowers—solely white, solely orchids. Enormous trays of caviar and shrimp sushi were being passed. A jazz band was playing standards on the party’s edge. It could have been the nicest wedding I’d ever been to.
I took a breath as I stepped out of my car and headed toward the porch, wearing the only dress I had grabbed from my sister’s house after our fight: a purple halter-top that swung wide and, thankfully, covered my slowly growing belly.
“I don’t believe it,” she said.
I turned to see Violet, wearing a set of headphones and a black pencil skirt, looking beautiful and put-together.
“What are you doing here?” she said, a large smile on her face.
I wasn’t sure how to read her. “Just coming by to say hello to everyone,” I said.
“Not the party,” she said. “Here! The Hamptons. I thought you were hiding out where you were from. Nashville, or wherever.”
“I’m from here, actually,” I said.
She looked confused. “I didn’t know anyone was from here,” she said.
I smiled. “How are you, Violet?”
“I think that’s like the first question you’ve ever asked me. I mean, about me.”
I motioned toward her headset. “Where are you working now?”
“Well, I was helping out on Meredith and Ryan’s new show. But I quit. It’s going nowhere fast. I promise, it’s going to get cancelled before it even hits the air.” She shook her head. “Meredith is terrible. Just awful in front of the camera. And she’s actually like a pretty terrible person, too, if it makes you feel any better.”
“About sleeping with her husband? Not really.”
“Well, it would make me feel better.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I started working for Julie Diaz, who is fantastic.”
Julie was the agent I liked. And she was a perfect boss for Violet. She would grant her access to everybody.
“She’s getting into production, and we’ve talked about my running development for her,” Violet said, beaming.
“That’s great, but I thought you wanted to do your own show?”
“Not so much anymore. Too many skeletons in this closet.” She pointed at herself. “I don’t want my nudes hitting the internet.”
I smiled, trying not to let it gnaw at me—the feeling I had whenever I thought of my own photograph somewhere on the internet. Even after it had been scrubbed, it wasn’t completely scrubbed. Enterprising people would be able to get at it.
“I really love working for her, and it was my experience with you that got me the job, so . . .”
She smiled, grateful. It was all water under the bridge as far as she was concerned. Why wouldn’t it be? She had gone on to do better things—things she should have been doing anyway. Maybe a bigger person would have been glad to see it. And part of me was. The other part of me was sneaking into Amber’s party with the hope that I would ever again have good career news to tell anyone.
Violet’s headset went off. She pulled the microphone to her ear. “I’ve got to jet! Duty calls.”
“Is Julie representing Amber now?”
“No, she’s representing a certain celebrity who’s a friend of Amber’s. I think Amber catered a bridal shower for her. She didn’t end up getting married. Though it did end up on the cover of Martha Stewart Weddings, so . . . everybody won. Anyway, the former fiancé is also stopping by. So I’m on duty in case he brings the new girlfriend, and our girl needs to make a quick exit.”
She started walking away.
“Let me know when you’re moving back though, all right? We should get coffee or something.”
I nodded. “Definitely, sounds great.”
She looked at me like she was trying to decide whether she believed me. “I mean, you’re not going to just hide out here forever? It gets creepy in the Hamptons after Labor Day. Like, I’m talking The Shining creepy.”
I laughed. “That it does.”
“Besides, your scandal is so over. There have been like fifteen better ones since. There was a better one this morning. A certain sexy-if-sexually-ambivalent hunk of a movie star’s male assistant just got hacked, and I have two words for you. Camping trips.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”