Good Luck (25 page)

I took one last look at Mal. He’d broken the girls up into teams of two for doubles practice. On one side of the net the girls were serving, while the girls on the opposite, cross-court side returned service. Mal was jogging up and down the courts, trying to watch four sets of players at once, pausing occasionally to adjust a grip or correct a swing.

Wow,
I thought, shaking my head. It was still hard to fully comprehend just how wrong I had been about Mal. It made me wonder: What else had I gotten wrong?

I made a neat three-point turn and drove slowly back down the driveway and off the school grounds.

Mal and his high school tennis team were still very much on my mind that evening while I was having dinner with Drew. We were dining at Café Boulud at the Brazilian Court hotel. I was having the grilled tuna; Drew had opted for the lamb chops. Drew was telling me a story about a client, an elderly woman who had been ripped off in a security-fraud case. I was half listening to him and picking at my fish.

“Is everything okay?” Drew finally asked. “You seem a bit preoccupied.”

“I guess I am,” I admitted. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such lousy company.”

Drew smiled and shook his head. “You’re not. Just more quiet than usual. Sometimes I wonder what you’re thinking. You can be a bit mysterious, Lucy Landon.”

Lucy Landon.
How could I be in a relationship with a man who didn’t even know my real name? It was ridiculous and, frankly, insulting to Drew. He deserved better than being deliberately misled. No,
misled
was too mild. I had lied to him. And the time to stop lying had finally arrived. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to—” I began.

But Drew was so intent on his own news, he didn’t hear me. “I was thinking it’s about time you met my family,” he said.

This startling announcement chased all thoughts of confession out of my mind.

“Your family? Really?” I asked.

Drew nodded. “My parents are hosting a fund-raiser for the local children’s hospital. It’s being held at Mar-a-Lago—black tie, thousand dollars a plate. My mother has told me in no uncertain terms that I am to show up with a date. And so I told her I’d been seeing someone….”

“Me,” I said, smiling.

“You,” Drew agreed. “She said that it was about time they met you. And I agree. What do you think?”

“I think I’m a little nervous,” I said. “Will your parents like me?”

“Of course they will. But I should warn you: My mother is on a one-woman mission to become a grandmother. My sister Josie got married last year, and our mother’s been driving her crazy, demanding to know when they’re going to start a family.”

“Does your sister want children?”

Drew laughed. “I have a hard time seeing Josie as the maternal type. She doesn’t like kids. And my baby sister, Delia, hasn’t ever been in a relationship that’s lasted longer than a few weeks, so she’s not going to settle down and start popping them out anytime soon. I think our mother sees me as her best chance for grandchildren. So don’t freak out if she interrogates you about your readiness and ability to bear children.”

“Are you serious? She’d really ask me about that?”

“Oh, yes,” Drew said. “Perfectly serious. You don’t know my mother.”

“Maybe I should get a letter of reference from my gynecologist.”

“You joke, but sadly I wouldn’t be surprised if she asked for one,” Drew said with a sigh.

“When is this fund-raiser again? I think I might be having a migraine.”

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into.” Drew smiled and reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “Don’t worry. They’re all going to love you.”

That word—
love
—hung there between us. It wasn’t a word that we had said to each another before. By telling me that his family would love me, was Drew implicitly telling me that he loved me too? And was I in love with him? I wasn’t sure. I certainly liked him and enjoyed spending time with him. But I’d been holding a part of myself back. Maybe it was because I hadn’t yet told him who I really was. Or maybe my bad breakup with Elliott had damaged that part of me that was capable of falling in love.

But then Drew gave my hand a final squeeze and went back to his lamb chops and the story of his swindled client. And I had the distinct feeling that I’d been granted a reprieve.

Eighteen

         “
DAMN,” I SAID, AS I RIFFLED THROUGH MY NEW
mustard-yellow shoulder bag.

“What’s wrong?” Hayden asked. She was peering at her reflection in the foyer mirror and, after a few minutes’ deliberation, applied a final swipe of lipstick.

“I have to stop at the ATM before we go to the Drum Roll. I only have eight, no, wait,
nine
dollars on me. I thought I had more than that.”

“I have cash,” Hayden said. She dropped her lipstick into a miniclutch and then pulled out some bills from the bag. “Eighty bucks. That should be enough, don’t you think?”

“I’ll get some more out just in case,” I said. I doubted we’d drink through eighty dollars’ worth of cocktails at the Drum Roll, especially since Ian comped us free drinks whenever he could. But I also didn’t want Hayden financing our night out, should we decide to get a bite to eat somewhere. As promised, I’d been picking up the house expenses—I paid Marta’s salary, the groceries, the incidentals—and I hadn’t failed to notice Hayden frowning when the mail arrived, always with a pile of bills forwarded from her Manhattan apartment.

Maybe I should swipe them and pay them off for her,
I thought, and wondered if that would anger Hayden. I’d never known having money would be so complicated, but every time I tried to share it, I ended up pissing off the person I was trying to help. Only Emma had accepted her check without an argument. Which reminded me: My little sister had phoned again while I was out with Drew the night before, and I hadn’t yet called her back.

I’ll call her tomorrow,
I decided, and promptly put Emma and whatever wedding-related hissy fit she was having out of my mind.

“Shall we take the Porsche?” I asked.

“If you don’t mind driving,” Hayden said.

“I love driving that car,” I said dreamily. I looked in the mirror, and fluffed up my short crop of hair. “I’d better have Frankie come over and touch up my highlights soon.”

“Why don’t you just go into the salon?” Hayden asked.

I shrugged. “It’s easier to have him come here.”

“And more expensive,” Hayden said. “He charges outrageously for house visits.”

“Maybe I’ll get him to come over on Saturday. Then he can do my highlights and style my hair for that benefit I’m going to with Drew,” I said.

“Look out, I’ve created a monster,” Hayden joked. “Dressed in head-to-toe Marc Jacobs and arranging for home visits from her stylist. Who would ever have thought this is where Lucy Parker would end up?”

“Who would have thought,” I echoed. But as I spoke, I looked at myself in the mirror again. And for the first time, seeing the glossy woman with the sexy haircut and expensive clothes reflected there made me uneasy. I didn’t recognize her—no, that wasn’t quite it. The problem was that I didn’t recognize
me
in
her.

I gave myself a mental shake. I was being ridiculous; that
was
me in the mirror.

“You ready to go?” Hayden asked.

“Yep,” I said, turning away from the mirror. “Let’s go.”

The Drum Roll was more crowded than I’d ever seen it.

“I guess the winter crowd has arrived,” Hayden said.

“But it’s only November.”

“Just think of what it’s going to be like after Christmas. The whole island will be chock-full of rich men,” Hayden said.

“
Old
rich men,” I said.

“Old rich men with grandsons who’ll come down on the weekends to visit,” Hayden countered, flashing me a sly grin.

I shrugged and nodded. Hayden hadn’t yet broken up with Ian. But I didn’t know how much longer their relationship would last, especially if a crowd of eligible men was about to descend on the island. Palm Beach was known for its wealthy retirees, but there were attractions for the young too. The golf courses, the tennis courts, the beaches, the polo grounds in Wellington. The island was a playground for the wealthy.

I didn’t know why it should bother me that Hayden planned to dump Ian. It wasn’t any of my business, and, besides, I was starting to suspect that lan might have a gambling problem. He and Hayden were spending more and more time at the casino on the Seminole reservation. Hayden thought it was just good fun—apparently her lucky streak was still going strong—but she’d confided to me that Ian lost more often than he won. Much more often. I hoped he wasn’t developing a full-blown gambling addiction. Despite the gambling, Ian was a sweet guy, and I suspected that no matter what she claimed, Hayden was fonder of him than she let on. She still got that dreamy, unfocused look in her eyes whenever she saw him, and when they were together they constantly found reasons to touch each other. It probably should have been annoying but instead was sweet.

We pushed through the throng of people and made our way to the bar. Our usual bar stools were taken, and we couldn’t even find a spot along the bar to lean on.

“Maybe we should just go,” I said. This wasn’t my sort of scene. It was one thing to hang out in a half-filled bar but quite another to be fighting our way through hordes of young girls in halter tops and the men who were trying to hit on them.

“But what about Ian?” Hayden asked. She was standing on tiptoe, trying to get a glimpse of her boyfriend.

“Hayden!” Ian shouted to make his voice heard over the din. “Over here!”

Hayden immediately began to push through the crowd. She jostled a thin woman with very long, dark hair, who was wearing a bikini top over skintight cropped capris.

Who goes out for a night dressed in a freaking bikini?
I wondered. Even if you were twenty years old with an amazing body. Or maybe this was a sign that I was too old—and too out of touch—to be out clubbing. I certainly felt ancient, as old as dirt, surrounded by the lissome, fresh-faced youngsters.

“Hey,” the sluttily dressed woman whined. “Watch where you’re going.”

Hayden, intent on getting to Ian, ignored her. I’d noticed that Hayden somehow always managed to avoid conflict. It wasn’t that she was a pushover—far from it—more that she had an innate ability to tune out unpleasant people. It was as though she came equipped with an asshole-avoidance system.

Not having an asshole-avoidance system myself, I hung back and watched as she reached the bar. Ian leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips.

With Ian’s help Hayden climbed gracefully up on the bar. The crowd applauded her, and Hayden gave them an airy wave before gracefully falling down into Ian’s arms. They kissed again, and then Hayden got to work pulling out bottles of beer for the thirsty crowd.

“I see the Drum Roll has a new bartender,” a voice behind me said. I turned around and saw Mal standing there. He smiled at me, his pale eyes crinkling. Annoyingly, I felt a stab of excitement.

Bad idea,
I told myself.

“Hayden’s been looking for a new career. Maybe she’s finally found her calling,” I said.

“It looks like it,” Mal agreed. “What are you going to do while Hayden mixes martinis?”

“I think I’m going to head back home. This,” I gestured around at the large crowd and loud music, “isn’t really my scene.”

“You want some company?” Mal asked.

No,
I thought.
No, no, no.

“Why? What do you want to do?” I asked.

“Do you feel like taking a walk?” Mal said.

No.

“Okay,” I said.

We walked along the beach, our way just barely lit by a low-hanging moon and the lights blazing from the waterside mansions. I kicked off my heels and held them dangling from one hand, and the sand felt cool and dry shifting under my bare feet. Snatches of music drifted over—from house parties, from the nearby bars—but they were mostly muffled by the steady roar of the water lapping up on the shore.

“How long are you going to stay here?” Mal asked.

At first I wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about. How long was I staying where? Here on the beach? Out for the night? But then he clarified: “In Palm Beach.”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought it through,” I said.

“You’re not going home?”

“To Ocean Falls? No. I don’t see that happening anytime soon,” I said. “I’m not exactly a beloved member of the community there anymore.”

“You mean because of the allegations that student made against you?”

“Yeah. Funnily enough, people tend to disapprove of teachers trying to seduce their students.”

“What actually happened?” Mal asked. His voice was mild and not at all judgmental, but even so, I bristled.

“Nothing happened. Do you really think I would do something like that?”

“No, I don’t. But, then, people aren’t always what they seem.”

“I am,” I said.

“Are you?” Mal asked.

I opened my mouth, ready to say,
of course I am,
but then I remembered looking in the mirror just that evening and not recognizing the woman staring back at me. Irritation rose up in me.

“If you think I’m such a fake, why would you take my word on what really happened anyway?”

“Because I don’t think you’re a fake, and I choose to believe you.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling somewhat mollified. “Well…thanks.”

“No problem.”

We walked in silence for a moment before I spoke again.

“I gave the student a failing grade, and because of that, he lost his eligibility to play on the school’s soccer team. He begged me to change the grade, and when I refused, he made up the story about me propositioning him to get back at me,” I finally said.

“Sounds like one screwed-up kid.”

“I guess.” It was hard for me to muster up much sympathy for Matt after what he’d put me through. I decided to change the subject. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask. I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

“Who was that woman I saw you out to dinner with at Morton’s?” I asked. The elegant older woman was the one piece of information that no longer fit with my newly revised impression of Mal. Then again, maybe she had been a bona fide date. People dated outside their age bracket all the time. There was nothing wrong with that.

“Who? Do you mean my mother?” Mal asked.

“Your
mother
?”

I was so shocked, I stopped in my tracks and stared openmouthed at him. Mal turned to face me. Through the dim light, I could tell he was frowning.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asked.

“I just…”
I thought she was an older woman paying for your sexual services
. Probably best not to mention that. “I never thought of you as having a mother,” I finished lamely.

At this Mal laughed. “Did you think I spontaneously sprang into being?”

“No…I don’t know.” I took in a deep breath, inhaling the sea air. “Honestly? I thought she was your date.”

“My
date
?” Mal sounded horrified. “You thought I was on a
date
with my
mother
?”

“I thought we established that I didn’t know she was your mother.” I started walking again, and after hesitating for a minute, Mal joined me.

“You did notice that she’s sixty, didn’t you?”

“Is she? Wow, she looks amazing for her age,” I said.

“I’ll tell her you said that. She’ll be thrilled,” Mal said dryly.

“Does she live here?”

“No, she was in town visiting. My parents live in Maryland, outside D.C.”

“Is that where you grew up?”

Mal nodded. “Yep.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes. Finally Mal burst out, “I can’t believe you thought I was on a date with my mother! That’s so
wrong
.”

“Well, she’s a very attractive woman,” I said defensively.

“Even so.”

“Why was she mad at you?”

“You know, for someone living a secret double life, you’re inexcusably nosy.”

“Fine, don’t tell me,” I said petulantly. Then, not able to resist, I added, “Unless you want to.”

Mal sighed a deep, world-weary sigh. “If you must know, she’d been sent on a mission by my father to talk me into moving back home.”

“Back home?” My forehead wrinkled. “You mean, moving back in with your parents?”

“Not exactly. It had more to do with going to work in the family business.”

“Which is?”

“Construction,” Mal said briefly.

“What, your dad is a contractor?” I asked. That would certainly explain his mother’s expensive clothing and the meal at Morton’s.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What does your dad want you to do? Join a work crew? Or be a project manager?” I persisted.

For some reason, though, this made Mal laugh. I had a feeling I was missing something—a crucial piece of information, or the punch line to the joke—but what that was, I had no idea.

“What?” I asked. “Why is that so funny?”

“You’d just have to know my dad to understand,” Mal said. “But to answer your question: yes. He wants me to work for him, in a management position. I declined his job offer. My mother was not happy to hear this. Suffice it to say, they’re not thrilled I’m living the life of a tennis instructor-slash-beach bum in Palm Beach.”

This wasn’t surprising. If his dad was a contractor, he probably had an old-school, blue-collar background—the sort of man who believed in hard work, buying not renting, and marrying young. A son who lived among the jet-set crowd, giving tennis lessons to the Ladies Who Lunch, would not impress him. But then I thought of the afternoons Mal spent working with the inner-city girls’ tennis team, and I felt a flash of anger at his parents.