Good Luck (13 page)

Hayden ignored me. “We’ll go to Neiman and Saks, of course. And there’s a darling boutique on Worth Avenue that carries Tocca dresses. Those would look fabulous on you. And we’ll have to do something about your hair.”

I raised a protective hand to my hair, which was, as usual, rioting out of control.

“What do you want to do to my hair?” I asked nervously.

“Cut it. Something short and choppy, I think.”

“My hair doesn’t do short and choppy. You see these curls?” I held up a fistful of ringlets to demonstrate. “If you cut them short, they stand straight up, afro-style.”

“You worry too much,” Hayden said, with a dismissive flap of her hand. “You have to trust me.”

“I do,” I said. And I did trust Hayden; she had fabulous taste. But she was also naturally gorgeous. Unlike me.

“Maybe just a few inches,” I said cautiously, touching my curls again. “And I’ve always wanted to try highlights.”

Hayden shook her head dismissively. “Your hair is too distinctive. You’ve been all over the news, remember? You’re the—what’s that they’re calling you?”

“The Lottery Seductress,” I said miserably.

“Right. Well, everyone knows that the Lottery Seductress has distinctive brown curly hair. If you’re ever going to be able to go out in public again, we’re going to have to get you a new look. One no one will recognize.”

I had to admit, this was sound reasoning.

“Maybe you’re right,” I conceded.

“Maybe? Please. I’m always right,” Hayden said, giving me a saucy wink. She downed the rest of her Bellini. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We have much to do!”

The sun was starting to sink down in the sky by the time we got to Crane Hill. Like many of the estates on Palm Beach, a tall, manicured privacy hedge surrounded the property. Hayden had rented a little red coupe at the airport, and she drove up to the front gate, leaned out the window, and keyed a four-digit code into the touch pad mounted there.

“Zero-four-two-three,” she told me. “The birthday of Dad’s favorite dog. Remember Pepper?”

I did. Pepper was a black standard poodle, with dark intelligent eyes. He died when we were in college; Hayden had cried for weeks. “Wasn’t there a Salt too?”

“Yeah, but she was a submissive pee-er and had panic attacks whenever it thundered out, so everyone preferred Pepper.”

“Poor Salt.”

Hayden shrugged as if to say,
That’s life
. The gates swung open slowly, allowing the red car to pass through. The driveway curved around in a circle under a portico, and just beyond was Crane Hill. The house was a sweeping two-story structure with a central building and two symmetrical wings. It had white stone walls, a classic red tile roof, and three grand archways over the front steps. Every time I saw it, I was newly impressed by the sheer grandeur of the place.

“It’s smaller than I remember,” I said dryly.

Hayden gave a snort of derision. “My parents have never believed in subtlety,” she said. She parked the car and threw open her door. With a swing of long legs, which were still sporting the last traces of a summer tan, she was out of the car. I moved a little slower, making sure Harper Lee’s leash was on before we got out of the car. In my faded black T-shirt and decidedly unhip black pants, I felt underdressed just to stand in the driveway.

As if she was reading my thoughts, Hayden glanced over at me and said, “It’s going to be just us. I didn’t even call the housekeeping service to let them know we’d be here,” she said. “Is that okay?”

“Can I live without a maid, you mean?” I asked. I shook my head with faux regret; after all, my minuscule teacher’s salary had never exactly stretched to include domestic help. When my toilet needed scrubbing, I was the one to do it. “I guess I’ll have to find a way to manage.”

Hayden ignored me. She was, oddly enough, crouching down behind the purple flowering bougainvillea bushes that bordered the front door; she appeared to be searching for something.

“What are you doing?” I asked, coming up behind her and peering over her shoulder. The only thing I saw was a long lizard scuttling along the white pebbled ground.

“Here!” Hayden said triumphantly. She seized one of the larger rocks and shook it once before holding it up to show me. “Ta-da! The key!”

“What, in there?” I asked.

But even as I spoke, Hayden had turned the fake rock over, popped off a plastic panel set in the bottom, and extracted a silver house key.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked incredulously.

“What? It’s a key holder.”

“I know what it is. I’m just stunned that anyone who owns a multimillion-dollar waterfront Palm Beach estate would hide the door key in a fake rock in the front garden,” I said.

“Rich people get locked out too,” Hayden said. “Besides, the house also has a state-of-the-art alarm system. This is just to get through the front door.”

She stood, dusting off the skirt of her immaculate white sundress, and headed to the door. I followed behind her, pulling the suitcase she’d abandoned in the driveway. Hayden unlocked the door and then hurried through it to turn off the now-beeping alarm.

“It’s the same code as the gate,” she called back over her shoulder to me.

“Pepper’s birthday.”

“Right. Well, don’t just stand out there—come on in!”

The front door opened onto a vast airy foyer with a vaulted frescoed ceiling, black-and-white-checked marble floor, and a huge round table in the middle. The last time I’d been here, there had been an enormous arrangement of pink and white roses displayed on the table; now there was only an empty crystal vase.

Hayden and I took a quick house tour. There was the living room, with the pale-blue silk couches and wing chairs; the cozier wood-paneled den, featuring a built-in bar and a flat-screen television; the modern kitchen with slate-tile floors, granite countertops, and stainless-steel Sub-Zero fridge; and my favorite feature of the house: the back lanai, which curved around a huge kidney-shaped pool and had a breathtaking view of the ocean. The lanai was scattered with teak lounge chairs outfitted with teal cushions that exactly matched the color of the pool tile.

I breathed in deeply, relaxing fully as I looked out at the ocean. The water was calm as it rippled up toward the sandy beach. Even though the sun was setting behind us, the sky over the water was a glorious pink and ribboned with clouds.

“Wow,” I said softly.

“I know. This is exactly what I needed,” Hayden said, sighing deeply. “Do you want to go for a swim?”

“I don’t have a suit,” I said. I let Harper Lee off her leash, and she made herself at home, settling in on one of the chaise lounges.

“Go look in the cabana. There are usually extra suits in there,” Hayden said, nodding to a pool house that was about as big as my actual house back in Ocean Falls.

But even as I headed off to change, Hayden just stripped off her dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra; just the smallest wisp of a thong, which she stepped out of. Naked, she looked even thinner. I could see her ribs standing out prominently under her pale skin. But her small breasts were high and taut over a nipped-in waist and rounded hips. I couldn’t help noticing that she had waxed away most of her pubic hair, leaving behind only a narrow strip. Hayden didn’t seem at all self-conscious of her nudity. She strode casually to the edge of the pool, raised her arms overhead, and dove in. I wondered what it must be like to go through life so confident, so self-assured.

“How’s the water?” I asked, when she’d resurfaced.

“Amazing,” she said, dipping her hair back into the water, away from her face. “Absolutely perfect.”

“I’ll be right in,” I said, as I ducked into the cabana. It was possibly the prettiest room I had ever seen. The walls were painted a soft azure blue, and a pair of identical sofas covered in white linen faced each other. A canopy bed that arched up like a birdcage was framed with frothy white panels and piled high with a fluffy snowy-white duvet and pillows. I felt an impulse to jump in it and burrow down under the pristine bedding.
If I could have any bedroom in the world, this would be it,
I thought.

I opened a huge armoire with intricately carved doors and inside found an armful of towels and a dozen bathing suits in various sizes, all with the tags still on. I tried not to gape at the prices, which were each over a hundred dollars. And for guest-room bathing suits! I bought my bathing suits at Target, and even then I usually waited for a sale.

I found a suit in my size—a one-piece in cherry red cut much lower in front and higher in the legs than I would ever have picked out for myself—and put it on. Then I grabbed a few towels and went back out to the pool, where Hayden was now swimming laps, her long legs scissoring effortlessly through the water. She looked up when I approached and smiled approvingly at me.

“That suit is hot,” she said. “Red is definitely your color.”

“Really?” I looked down at myself. “I never wear it.”

“Well, you should. You coming in?”

“Yes.” Instead of diving in, as Hayden had, I walked around the shallow end and slowly descended the tiled stairs. “Brrr! It’s freezing! I thought you said it was nice.”

“It is if you jump right in. The heater hasn’t been turned on. We’ll have to figure out how to do that,” Hayden said.

“Would your parents mind if they knew we were here?” I asked tentatively.

“Why would they? They’re not using the house.”

“You don’t think we should call and tell them?”

Hayden rolled her eyes. “Hell, no. Then I’ll be stuck talking to them. Or, even worse, Mother might get it into her mind to nix her White Christmas plans and come down here instead.”

“It’s only October,” I said. “The Season hasn’t started yet.”

Even though I was not a Palm Beach native, I was—as all Floridians are—well aware of the Season. From November to April, snowbirds flocked down to the Sunshine State, seeking an escape from the chilly northern climate. Ocean Falls attracted well-to-do retirees, who rented villas on the golf course or owned smallish second homes kitted out in shell-or palm-tree-themed decor. Palm Beach, of course, attracted a wealthier crowd. But the calendar was still roughly the same, with the population swelling over the winter months and then ebbing in the late spring.

“Even so, I’m not risking it,” Hayden said firmly. “My mom and I aren’t exactly getting along at the moment.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing new. I’m still not measuring up to my sisters. You know—they both had high-powered careers, married investment bankers, then downshifted onto the mommy track. And then there’s little old me.”

“What’s wrong with being you?”

“Everything, according to my mother. It wasn’t so bad when I was in my twenties, but now that I’ve reached the ancient age of thirty-two, she has informed me that enough is enough. It’s time I give up my bohemian ways, find a rich husband, and get down to the important business of producing grandchildren.” Hayden was drifting around the pool, inclined back, and occasionally pushing off the bottom to propel herself slowly through the water.

“Have you explained to her that modern feminism has given women choices? That we can be strong, secure, independent women of substance all on our own?”

Hayden snorted at this. “No. But I’d love to be there when you try to explain that to her.”

“You’re on,” I said. “Because I’m in a very anti-man phase at the moment. I’m practically bursting with girl power.”

“I’m pretty sure my mom thinks that’s code for lesbianism,” Hayden said, laughing. “After we dry off, we should pick out bedrooms. I always stay in the Yellow Room, but you can sleep wherever you want.”

I remembered, from past visits to the house, that there were a seemingly endless number of bedrooms. And they all had titles: the Blue Room, the Chinese Room, the Rose Room, which featured a hand-painted mural of roses on every wall.

“Would you mind if I stay in the pool house?” I asked.

“What? You mean the cabana?” Hayden asked, looking surprised.

I nodded. “It’s so fresh and airy in there. And I’d love to be able to wake up and jump right in the pool.”

“Sure, whatever.” Hayden shrugged. “I don’t think anyone’s ever stayed in there. But there’s a first time for everything.”

After dinner—the freezer in the kitchen was well stocked, so we defrosted a few steaks and a container of pesto to toss with tagliatini—Hayden appeared in the door of the pool house, armed with a pair of scissors.

“What are you planning to do with those?” I asked suspiciously, eyeing the silver shears. I’d been curled up on one of the white couches, reading a copy of
Rabbit, Run
I found on a shelf in the den.

“Cut your hair.”

“What?” I shrieked. I jumped up and sidled behind the sofa.

“I have to cut your hair short enough so that it will fit under this,” she said, holding up a hot-pink nylon baseball cap. The caption,
It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere,
was blazoned across the front in black lettering.

“That’s supposed to be my disguise?” I asked, eyeing the cap with distaste.

“Would you rather risk someone recognizing you?”

“Do you think anyone will really be paying attention to me?” I asked. True, I had been worried I’d be recognized while I was at The Breakers. But I’d been trying to convince myself that this was just paranoia and that, when you look as ordinary as I do, people tend not to remember you. Plus, the hat was truly awful.

“Are you kidding? Everyone checks out everyone here. Palm Beachers secretly love to spot celebrities, even if they pretend they’re too jaded and sophisticated to care. So…” Hayden held up the scissors and snipped them menacingly in the air.

“But it will look terrible!” I wailed, raising a protective hand to my curls.

“It’s just for a day or two, until we can get you in to see Frankie.”

“Who’s Frankie?”

“The best stylist in the world. I always go to him when I’m here. I’ll call him and see when he can fit you in. He’s normally booked up months in advance, but he always makes a special exception for me.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”