“How does the jaw feel?” asked Jeff, who sat huddled under the umbrella with a beach towel over his exposed knees. Being a redhead, he burned easily.
“It’s really not so bad as long as I don’t smile, talk, or eat.”
“Where’s our resident trooper?” asked Dodge as he refilled everyone’s glasses. The pitcher was already half empty-they’d gotten a serious head start.
“I’m afraid she couldn’t make it.”
“That’s an awful shame,” clucked Martine, who was stretched out languorously on a lounge chair in the sun, looking tanned, terrific, and not a day over thirty-five in her snug-fitting black one-piece swimsuit. Martine’s hips were slim, her legs long, shapely, and smooth. She glanced fondly up at Dodge as he brought her a refill, stroking his arm with tender affection. Then she turned her inviting blue-eyed gaze on Mitch, drawing him effortlessly toward her. “But I’m so glad you could join us.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Mitch, his mind straying back to that word Bitsy Peck had just used to describe the Crocketts-cannibals. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful,” she murmured, gazing at the soft glowing sky over the Sound.
“It will be raining by midnight,” Dodge predicted. “My left knee aches-old lacrosse injury.”
“Darling, I always thought it was your right knee,” Martine said teasingly.
“It’s always been the left,” he kidded back.
“Oh, goody, Berger brought corn,” observed Donna, her eyes gleaming at Mitch. She already seemed a bit tipsy. “Some men bring flowers and champagne, others bring hog feed. Speaking as one of the hogs, I say thank you.”
“Speaking as another one of the hogs, I say you’re welcome.” Mitch delivered the bucket to Will, who was building a fire in one of the grills out of seasoned hardwood chunks and mesquite. Dressed in a tank top, nylon shorts and leather flip-flops, Will could easily be mistaken for the club’s lifeguard. To Mitch he also seemed a bit less lighthearted than the others. Distracted, maybe. Was it being around Martine when both her husband and his wife were around? Mitch wondered.
“Seriously, Mitch, how is your jaw?” he asked with genuine concern.
“Seriously, it hurts like hell. I really don’t like getting hit.”
“But you’re okay to eat?”
“Oh, I’ll manage,” said Mitch, his stomach growling as he checked out their dinner-racks and racks of baby back ribs, potato salad, red cabbage slaw, fruit salad, brownies.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve known Esme since she was in pigtails,” Will said. “She’s always had good instincts about people. If she likes somebody, there’s some good in there.”
“I believe it.”
“Care to try a margarita, Mitch?” asked Dodge.
“I’ll settle for a beer, thanks.” Mitch fetched a Dos Equis out of the cooler, popped it open, and settled into a deck chair with it. “This is nice here,” he said, taking a long, thirsty gulp.
“You’ll have to be our guest more often,” Martine said lazily, crossing her ankles. “We vastly prefer it down at this end. You’ll find all of us club rebels down here. That dining room crowd is so stuffy.” A cell phone rang in the canvas tote bag next to her. She reached for it. “I’ll bet that’s Esme. She’s always late… Hi, sweetie,” Martinesaid into the phone, nodding her blond head at them. “We’re all here waiting for you… It’s lovely out, although Daddy is absolutely convinced it’s going to rain. His right knee’s acting up.”
“Left knee,” Dodge interjected, grinning at her.
“Sweetie, when are you two-?” Now Martine’s face fell, her brow furrowing. “What do mean, you’re not… No, I absolutely don’t understand. This is very important. You know it is. Tito needs to- Esme? Esme, are you still there?…” Martine flicked off the phone, sighing, and tossed it back into her bag. “She couldn’t get him to come. They quarreled about it and he drove off in a huff. Everything with them is such a battle, Dodge. I wish we could do something.”
“They have to work it out for themselves,” Dodge said. “It’s their marriage.”
Now Mitch heard sharp footsteps coming their way.
“Oh, great, here comes Little Mary Sunshine,” muttered Jeff.
Chrissie Huberman was marching toward them, the wooden veranda shuddering under each of her onrushing strides. The publicist’s face was set in a determined scowl, her fists clenched. She did treat Dodge and Martine to a great big toothy smile when she arrived at their table. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Crockett!” she exclaimed, all sugar and spice for the parents of a prized client. But then Chrissie abruptly whirled, stuck her finger in Mitch’s face and snarled, “Don’t you ever try to pull something like this again! I forbid it, you hear me!”
Mitch took a sip of his beer and said, “I hear you, Chrissie. But I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Like hell you don’t,” she raged. “You’re trying to feed off of Tito behind my back. No way! You want face time with my client then you come through me! I protect those kids. I bleed for those kids. And there will be no secret sessions with Tito Molina as long as I’m-”
“Before you go any further,” Mitch interrupted, “it’s my duty to inform you that you’re way off base.”
Chrissie tilted her head at him mockingly. “Tell me this wasn’t a secret meeting.”
“It really wasn’t, Chrissie,” Dodge spoke up. “It was simply an informal get-together between family and friends.”
“Of which you are neither,” Martine said to her pointedly.
“Honestly, all I want is for this situation with Tito to go away,” Mitch said.
Chrissie let out a derisive laugh. “Yeah, right. I know all about you, Mitch Berger-how you’re the Mother Teresa of film critics. Won’t do the junkets, won’t accept gifts. Well, guess what? I don’t believe any of it. What Tito did to you today is every critic’s wet dream. You’re no different than the rest. You all want a taste,” she jeered at him, grabbing her own crotch for lewd, crude emphasis. “You want it so bad you can’t stand it.”
Mitch gazed at her in stunned silence. They all did. Heads were even starting to turn all of the way back at the dining porch. It was safe to say no one had ever seen such a public display of behavior by a female at the fabled Dorset Beach Club. Certainly not by one over the age of three.
“Young lady, I would like you to go,” Martine said to her between gritted teeth. “This club is for members and their guests only. You will kindly take your potty mouth and leave right now.”
“Are you trying to tell me this seedy dump is private?”
“Get out of here, Chrissie,” ordered Will, moving over toward her. “Get out or I’ll throw you out.”
“Fine, whatever. Just remember what I told you,” she warned Mitch.
“Not a problem. I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this for quite some time.”
Satisfied, Chrissie stormed off, her footsteps clunking on the veranda. Heads turned to stare as she went charging past the dining porch.
“Well, it’s been quite some day for histrionics,” Mitch said wearily. “Sorry about that, folks.”
“No need for you to be sorry,” Jeff assured him. “Not your fault.”
“Not in the least,” echoed Dodge.
“That woman thinks everyone else in the world is exactly like her,” Will said, gazing after her. “Greedy, two-faced, and conniving. And when you try to explain to her that you’re not, she calls you a goddamned liar right to your face. She couldn’t get away with that if she was a guy. She’d get punched.”
“You should have given me the signal, honey,” Donna said, putting up her dukes fiercely. “I would have had no problem decking her.”
“She has a hard job,” Dodge said. “That’s not to defend or excuse her.”
“What she has is a personality problem,” Martine argued. “I wish Esme would get rid of her.”
“She didn’t hire her,” Dodge said. “Tito’s agent did.”
“Fine, then I wish Tito would get rid of her.”
“Hey, let’s not let her ruin our party,” Dodge said, forcing a smile onto his face. “Why don’t you folks take a swim while we start the chow?”
“I think I will,” said Mitch. Although in his case “float” would be the operative word. A true child of the pavement, Mitch hadn’t known how to swim at all when he moved to Dorset. But thanks to diligence and hard work, he’d taught himself how to float on his back-the main thing was to relax and trust in his own considerable natural buoyancy. As he started his way toward the changing stalls with his swim trunks he discovered Jeff was tailing him, stride for stride. “Going to take a dip, Jeff?”