helped him up. We had our little space back to ourselves. I caught the bass player grinning at me.
“What happened to him?” Amanda asked me.
“Must’ve lost his balance.”
I distracted her with another spin. When she closed back in I added a half spin and caught her around the waist. Her head fell back on my shoulder and her eyes were closed. I was close enough to smell her perfume and the wine on her breath.
The dancing kid’s date was helping him to the bathroom. He was holding a bloody nose, though he was able to say “Fuck you, man” clearly enough as he went by. Not a half-hour in the first club I’d been to in years and already I’d drawn blood. I was glad Amanda hadn’t realized what happened. Abby always wanted me to defend her from the dangers of the world, and always got mad at me when I did.
The band ended the song and immediately took up another, this one nice and slow, matching our tempo. The bass player was still grinning at me. I’d made a friend.
“Isn’t that nice,” said Amanda.
“They’ll do anything to keep you on the dance floor.”
Amanda moved in closer and I pulled her tight. Now my face was all the way buried in that dense mass of auburn hair. I could feel the perfect contours of her body fit into mine, the slim, muscular smoothness beneath her dark blue blouse, open at the neck and collar pulled up, fresh to the touch. The air was thick with pheromones and amplified music, filling up all the space inside the Playhouse, leaving no room for time or fears or regrets to intrude or interfere.
I didn’t know what was really going on with her, but right then I didn’t much care.
Eventually the band took a break and all the clocks started up again and we went over to say hi to her friends.
The brassy blond looked pleased. The other woman was her morphological opposite—tall and thin and dark haired. She looked a lot smarter, but less fun. She wore a white hand-knit sweater and tiny pieces of jewelry around her neck and fingers. Her hair was spun into large, highlighted ringlets. Her complexion was rough, but cared for. I liked her eyes, but not her pinched little mouth—it was too well designed for disapproval.
I had the feeling the two of them had spent much of their adult years together, locked in continuous, unsuccessful quests for romantic involvement. Holding on to each other through shared heartaches and unrequited obsessions.
“Robin and Laura. Sam, my favorite customer.”
“Robin,” said Robin, the one with the blond hair.
“Laura,” said Laura.
“Hello.”
“Out for the weekend?” Robin asked. “People are doing that a lot now—coming out in the fall.”
“Here full time. I live on Oak Point.”
“Used to come on weekends, right?” said Amanda.
“It was my parents’ place. I inherited it.”
“Some nice rentals up in North Sea. We do well up there,” said Laura.
“We do well up there,” Robin repeated.
Laura picked up her glass with two hands and sucked on the straw. I noticed she had a pack of cigarettes and a pretty white porcelain lighter. I dug out the Camels and offered them around. Laura took me up on it.
“Walk a mile.”
“If you don’t run out of breath first,” said Robin. Laura swatted her.
We lit up anyway. Robin had her eyes on me, flagrantly assessing. I hoped my grooming was up to it. She seemed like one of those wide-open women who liked to guess something about you to prove her powers of perception. She was drinking red wine—it went well with her hair. Laura luxuriated over the Camel and looked out at the crowded room, counting the house.
“You’re in real estate?” I asked them.
“Yup. Partners for over ten years. House Hunters of the Hamptons. The old triple H. You’ve seen our signs.”
I had.
“You do a lot of rentals?”
“Half and half,” said Robin. “There’s plenty of both. Do you ever rent your place?”
“No. My mother lived there until a few years ago, then I moved in. Never had the chance.”
“You’d be amazed at what you can get. A lot of year-rounders rent and go someplace else for the summer. Or rent something cheaper. Can pay the whole year’s mortgage. You’d be amazed at what everything is worth out here. Most locals are.”
“Even in North Sea?”
“Especially—tend to have lower mortgages, and in this market, you can still get incredible rentals with lesser properties. No offense or anything. I love North Sea myself. Last of the real Hamptons, if you ask me.”
“I guess I would be amazed,” I said, truthfully.
“What do you get when there’s more demand than supply, and the demanders have more money than God and all His angels put together?”
“Inflated property values?”
“The man’s a genius,” Robin said to Amanda.
“Isn’t yours on the water?” asked Amanda, with innocent sincerity.
“Oh, well,” said Robin, “that’s a whole ’nother kettle of fish. Waterfront you double or triple.”
“Do you rent a lot on Oak Point?” I asked.
The two real-estate women looked at each other and shook their heads.
“I always figured there were mostly year-rounders out on the peninsula. Locals,” said Laura.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Hm,” said Robin.
Amanda was sitting next to me, so I couldn’t see her very well. I could, however, feel the backs of her fingers brushing lightly across my thigh under the table. I let my hand drop to my lap so I could squeeze her hand.
“Ever heard of Bay Side Holdings?” I asked.
They looked at each other again. Exchanging telepathic messages.
“Weren’t they trying for some variances a few years ago?” asked Robin.
Laura nodded. “Yeah, they wanted to reconfigure some of the lot sizes on stuff they owned over there. They were trying to reshape pre-existing boundaries. We didn’t pay much attention to it. I don’t think the Appeals Board let them do it. The Town’s a bitch on non-conformance. Though I don’t remember anybody from what’s-its-nose, Bay Side, pushing real hard. The only reason I remember anything is ’cause the lawyer they brought in from the City was so adorable.”
“If you like tall, dark and loaded,” said Robin.
“It just sort of went away,” said Laura, ignoring her. “I have to admit I was a little curious. I get into that stuff more than Robin—spend enough time in those damned hearings and you turn into a zoning junkie.”
“High drama,” said Robin, sarcastically.
“It can be,” Laura shot back, a little insulted.
“I thought their lawyer was a woman,” I said to the pair of them.
Laura examined her drink before taking a sip. “You sayin’ I’m a dyke?” she said, in an awkward way.
“Jacqueline something—Polish name?”
The two of them rolled their eyes in unison.
“Jackie Swaitkowski,” said Robin.
“She’s a local. Lawyers from out of the City usually like to have a hometown connection. Cutie-pants had Jackie fronting the thing.”
“Fronting’s a good word for it,” said Robin.
“Robin, really.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Jackie’s a little flaky. That puts some people off,” Laura explained.
