“He’s got a ride,” I said.
She never pushed on weekends, never asked what Alex and I were doing. I wouldn’t, either, if I could hang out with Nevada’s circle. I’d watch the cars head up past the gates: a Porsche, a Lexus, a SAAB, a Mercedes. I’d hear the music, sometimes live. That afternoon, after our matinee, Nevada was taking her to a small cocktail party at Mick Jagger’s place in Montauk. Nevada never attended big parties. He rarely went to parties at all, rarely left Roundelay. But he was making exceptions that summer because of Huguette.
By then I was used to people turning to stare at her. She said it was her clothes. She said she’d never looked so good until she’d had Uncle Ben’s Visa card. She used it to shop, have facials, manicures, have her hair styled.
That afternoon she had on a white T-shirt with a pink vest and pink satin jeans and black high-heeled sling-back shoes. I liked the way she dressed, but it was something more that made her stand out. An attitude, a sophistication—I didn’t know the name for it. But even as we sat in the theater waiting for the movie to start, I noticed this grungy-looking guy, with a Red Dog beer cap tugged down to his eyebrows, staring at her. He was wearing a pair of those mirror glasses, the kind you look at and see yourself in. He’d look away when I’d see him watching her, then he’d look back.
I nudged her. “You’ve got a fan.”
“Or else he’s one of those series murderers.”
“Serial murderers,” I said. “He could be both, couldn’t he?”
“With my luck, yes.”
She kept looking at her watch all through the movie.
I whispered, “Don’t worry. I checked. We’ll be out at three twenty.”
It didn’t stop her.
She smelled like a fashion magazine. She’d told me she wore Joop. I’d asked my mother if she ever wore Joop, and she said who can afford Joop?
When we came out of the theater, she almost got run over by an Infiniti crossing the street. I caught up with her on the other side, in front of Polo, around the corner from the public pay phone.
The rain had stopped.
I said I was going down to The Grill and call backstage, leave Alex a message telling him not to be dropped off in front of the gates at Roundelay.
“Maybe we’ll have time for a coffee together,” Huguette said. “Uncle Ben is always late, and Martin never talks for very long when the whole family is right there. Let’s try to do it, Lang.”
Alex was between acts.
“You’re not going to like this,” he began, “and I have to talk fast, so don’t blow your top, love.”
Hamlet was closing that night. They’d all been given notice as they’d arrived for the matinee.
Before I could tell him I was sorry, he said, “There’s a production of Bus Stop up on the Cape. The lead crashed his car into a tree last night. I’ve got a chance to replace him, Lang. This could be a big deal for me. I’m going up there.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Tomorrow?”
“How do you think I feel? I wanted to be there for your birthday! You know that.”
“What lousy luck!”
“You can blame your girlfriend, sweetheart. The Scottish play! Remember? You can tell her she closed us. Now she can have you all to herself.” He laughed bitterly.
“So when will I see you?”
“Don’t whine!” he said. “It isn’t my fault! I’ll call you tonight! I love you!”
He hung up.
I stood in front of Polo stewing. I was disappointed, but I was pissed, too! Pissed at the crack about Huguette having me all to herself, and pissed at him telling me not to whine. I knew sometimes I whined. I didn’t need Alex to remind me. I didn’t need to spend my birthday alone, either.
I had to keep my eye out for Nevada, warn her if he came early. He still asked me if she ever made phone calls when I was off places with her, and if she talked much about Martin. I’d lie. I seemed to be spending my summer lying: to Nevada about that, to Alex about how much time we spent together, and to Huguette about Alex and me being just buddies.
I stared at Polo’s window display. They put everything but the kitchen sink in those windows. There were surfboards, real sand, seashells, striped awning chairs, dummies dressed in expensive clothes sitting on towels holding playing cards.
I waited…and I waited.
Then Huguette came around the corner all smiles.
She said, “I’m sorry it took so long. Now you’re mad.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Just say you are. You’ll feel better.”
“But I’m not.”
“You should see your face.”
“It hasn’t got anything to do with you.”
“You always deny, Lang. That first day you thought I was going to buy you a shirt, you did the same thing. You said that you didn’t think that, but you really did.”
“The shirt again!”
“Do you want me to buy you a shirt? I’ll buy you one for your birthday.”
“For my birthday, just forget the shirt! Don’t ever bring up the shirt again!”
“Maybe I want to give you something, though.”
“Don’t. I’d only give it back to you because I’m so mad!”
She laughed and punched my arm.
I wasn’t going to tell her that Alex had to go up to the Cape, but suddenly I did.
“Oh, no! Oh, Lang! You’ll be alone on your birthday!”
“I don’t care about that!”
It began to rain again.
“I hate to leave you,” she said. “Maybe you could come with us.”
“I’m going to work,” I said.
“On your birthday?”
“Who cares about my birthday? A birthday’s just another day, for Gawd’s sake!”
The Range Rover pulled into a handicapped parking space, Nevada behind the wheel, the three chows with their heads out the window, their black tongues hanging down.
“Oh, he’s right on the knob,” Huguette said.
“Right on the button,” I said. “Have a good time.”
She took my hand and pressed a small package
