So Pretty It Hurts

For the first time she made direct eye contact with me, and from her look it appeared something had just clicked in her mind. I sensed she now regretted having been so candid. She quickly wiped away her tears and surveyed me coldly.

“I just shouldn’t be here—in a barn,” she said. “In the woods. I need to be back in the city as soon as possible.” She made the proclamation almost defiantly, as if I had challenged her.

“But something’s frightened you. Tell me what it is.”

“I told you. I just don’t want to be here.”

I sighed. Apparently no amount of coaxing on my part was going to dig out the truth.

“Well, let me know if I can help in any way,” I said. She climbed out of the brambles and brushed past me, looking irritated, as if I’d asked for an autograph while she was eating a meal in a fancy restaurant. Though, of course, it didn’t seem like she ever ate a meal these days.

I received a much warmer response when I knocked again on Jessie’s door a few minutes later. Wrapped in a white, terrycloth bathrobe, she was blotting her wet hair with a towel.

“There you are,” she said, pulling me into her room. “I’ve been dying for you to get back.”

“Did you just wake up?”

“Sort of.”

“Meaning?”

“I stayed with Scott last night. In his room. It’s on the ground floor of the big barn. I snuck back here a little while ago.”

“Ahhh, so you weren’t just eye candy after all. How’d it go?”

“It was pretty damn dreamy. And he’s fun. Though the first thing I’ll do when we get married is make him sell this place and buy a beach house instead.”

It was almost time for my massage, and I told Jessie I’d catch up with her at lunch. I scurried downstairs and tapped lightly on the door next to the clipboard. A woman with an East European accent, who introduced herself as Nina, beckoned me inside.

Nina turned out to have awesome hands, strong enough to tear the head off a chicken. I’d just let myself go limp on the table when I heard what could have only been a shot from a gun. I let out a grunt of anxious surprise and jerked my head up. But Nina pressed lightly on my shoulder, indicating I should lie back down again.

“Don’t vorry,” she said, as another shot filled the air. “Eet’s joost the skeet shooting.”

I realized suddenly how jumpy I felt. It was due in part to our isolation but also to the encounter I’d just had with Devon. Her comment about not feeling safe had unsettled me. Of course, in the end Devon had tried to take it back and blame her tears on being stuck over a hundred miles from a Louis Vuitton store, but I was sure, from the look on her face, that she really had been frightened. Someone, she said, knew something. If Devon was having an affair with Cap, Whitney may have gotten wind of it. Had Whitney provided Devon with a reason to be afraid?

After my massage, I made my way over to the large barn. As I passed through the glass passageway, I saw that those swollen clouds I’d spotted earlier hadn’t been kidding. Snow was falling. It wasn’t coming down hard, but the flakes were the size of flapjacks.

I expected to find a few people already gathered in the great room, eager for lunch, but only Sandy was there, laying out a feast on the countertop of the island. There were all sorts of antipasti—cheeses, prosciutto and salami, white beans, olives, roasted peppers, onions and asparagus, and an arugula salad. Not wanting to be in her way, I found a spot on one of the couches on the other side of the room and opened the book I’d brought with me.

While I read, Sandy hummed quietly, clearly lost in her work. The woodsy scent from last night’s candles still hung in the air, mixing in a good way with the deliciously garlicky smell of the food. From the windows in the barn I could see the snow gently falling outside. Despite my earlier worry, I finally let myself relax.

It only lasted twenty minutes, though—until Tommy and Tory came up the stairs, the sound of their boots as sharp as firecrackers. They waved perfunctorily at me and then turned their attention to the food on the island.

“Don’t tell me we’ve missed breakfast,” Tory said.

“I can fix you something if you like,” Sandy said without even a morsel of enthusiasm.

“Christ, Tory, don’t make her drag the breakfast back out for you,” Tommy chided. “Just wad up some ham and cheese, stuff it in your mouth, and tell yourself you’re eating an omelet.”

“I don’t eat cheese, you know that. Or ham either.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He turned toward Sandy. “Maybe you could scramble up an egg white and smear it on a rice cake for her.”

“Never mind,” said Tory. “I’ll just have juice.”

“Suit yourself. As for me,” Tommy said, turning now toward Sandy, “I’d like a little of everything. Just pile it all up on a plate, my lady—okay?”

Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the serve-yourself-buffet concept. Even from where I sat, I could see how tight Sandy’s jaw was set as she lifted one of the creamy white plates and began scooping food onto it for him. I wondered if she always found Scott’s houseguests to be irritating, or was it just this particular batch.

More clomping on the stairs, and then Devon appeared. She’d shed her pea coat somewhere along the way and was carrying a half-empty bottle of water. She ignored me and strode toward the island.

“Hi,” she said to Tommy and Tory. “What’s up?” Miraculously, she no longer appeared the least bit wigged out. And though she’d only said a few words, I detected impishness in her tone.

“So what are we supposed to do today?” Tory asked.

“You can hike,” Devon said. “Or you can shoot. Or you can just stay in your room and fuck if you want.” She’d said it playfully, with a naughty glint in her eye. Tory lowered her gaze, clearly uncomfortable, and Tommy just stared at Devon, obviously trying to assess what she was up to.

“Lunch is served, Miss Barr,” Sandy announced from behind the island. She seemed to derive pleasure from challenging Devon about the food.

“I want more green tea,” Devon said.

“Here it is,” Sandy declared, reaching behind her for the basket of tea bags. Peering above my book, I saw that the edges of Sandy’s mouth were turned up in a tiny smile.

“I want the loose kind, not the tea bags,” Devon said.

“I’m sorry, we only have the bags,” Sandy said, almost unable to contain how delighted she felt to be delivering the news.

“But—” Devon said. You could tell by the expression on her face that she’d just figured out what ploy Jane had played on her earlier.

“Never mind,” she said, clearly pissed. She took a swig of water and set the water bottle down on a side table. “Where’s Cap and Whitney?” she demanded of no one in particular.

“They’re out shooting with Mr. Cohen,” Sandy told her. “They probably won’t be up for a bit.”

Devon turned on her heels, strode toward the stairs, and headed down. A minute later, I tossed my book aside and sprang up from the couch, deciding to catch up with her.

She was still in the foyer when I reached the bottom of the stairs, her back to me. Her hand was stuffed in her brown hobo-style handbag, which was parked on a wooden bench. She spun around in surprise at the sound of my footsteps.

“Why are you creeping up behind me?” she demanded.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I told you I was. Isn’t that enough?” She stormed across the foyer and flung open the door to the passageway.

I trudged back upstairs and waited for Jessie. After she arrived we piled our plates high with food and carried them over to the table just as Tory and Tommy departed. Jessie was in a giddy mood over Scott, and kept glancing up in anticipation of seeing him again. He finally arrived, along with Cap, Whitney, and Christian. They joined us at the table and I couldn’t help but note how lovey dovey Cap and Whitney appeared. Richard and Jane each stopped by for food at different points but took it away with them, Richard saying he was finishing up an article in his room,