The Palms (4 page)

“Looks like we are going to find out.” A rueful grimace crossed Trent’s face.

“Listen, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said as the server placed the already cut grapefruit on the table in front of her. “Really. I know it must be hard.”

“Thanks,” Trent replied. Subject closed.

Lauren looked down at the grapefruit before glancing over at the remains of Trent’s muffin. Awkwardness began to settle in around them. Trent had no idea how to take the conversation in another direction.

“Do you want some?” He pushed the plate in her direction a little, sensing her hesitation. “I’m not going to finish it. I know I shouldn’t.”

She twisted her lips to one side, considering. “Okay. One bite. Just a few carbs, right?”

“It’s banana nut.” He winked at her and moved the plate a bit further so that she could take a bit of the top of the muffin. “The top is the best part.”

“Muffin tops. Isn’t that a Seinfeld episode?” As he laughed, she took a bite. “Whoa, it is good.” The sweet and crunchy part of the muffin took her instantly back to the South Florida vacations of her childhood.

“Yes, it is.” He folded his arms across the table, not caring if she considered it bad manners. After all, he’d finished his breakfast. She dug into the grapefruit and he watched her take a few bites. After a few seconds, she noticed.

“You’re staring at me,” she said, a forkful halfway raised to her mouth.

“Yes,” he replied in a whisper. “I can’t help myself. Just can’t.” When her eyes widened, he grew bolder. “What are you doing later? Do you have plans?” he whispered.

When he repeated the question, she put down her fork. “I don’t know,” she said, cagey. “We’re on Palm Beach. There’s plenty to do, right?”

He signaled for the server. “If you mean by the way of galas and parties, well, you’re right about that.”

“So what are you saying?”

Trent pulled his wallet out of his jeans. “What I am saying is that I have an extra ticket tonight for that party over at Brazilian Court Hotel.”

“You mean for Food and Wine? Didn’t that event sell out?”

“That’s the one.” He unfolded his wallet, pulled out his Visa, and handed it to the server. As Lauren made a sound of protest, he stopped her. “I’ve got this. And if you have nothing to do tonight, maybe you’ll stop by.”

Lauren considered her answer before she spoke. “Thank you for the grapefruit. And the coffee.” She stood up from her seat, taking her purse with her. “Sorry to leave so soon… but I should go. I’ve got an appointment I can’t miss.”

He cocked his head. “Does that mean yes?”

“Yes to what?” Her chin lifted.

“Can I count on you tonight?” he asked, aware he sounded more desperate with every request. He didn’t care. He just wanted to see her again. He wanted to hear Lauren’s voice one more time. And he wanted to pretend the last ten years had never happened. That instead, his life had been one endless party on Palm Beach, like the way it used to be, back before the hard reality of life jolted the carelessness out of him.

She shrugged. “Depends.”

12:00 PM, Worth Avenue

ou bitch," Madeline said the second Lauren answered her iPhone. "I can't believe you've been on the island for three days and you haven't called."

Lauren laughed. She knew her cousin well enough to know Madeline's jokes, even when others didn’t. "I planned to call you this afternoon after I finished shopping."

Perhaps that would appease her, Lauren thought. Madeline had a way of getting offended when family members ignored her. Over the years, Lauren had learned to tolerate it, but also keep her distance.

She picked up a wooden hanger from the straight rack in front of her and examined a red lace dress as she balanced the phone on between her left shoulder and ear.

"Whatever. You’re not forgiven for not calling.” A pause from Madeline. “So, where are you?"

"Neiman's on Worth. I took a walk down here after breakfast and decided I'd see if they have anything.” She moved from the red dress to a black leather one a few hangers down. Size two. Damn. On a good day, Lauren squeezed into a size four. Most days she found her best fit in a size six. She could never tame her hips, no matter how many hours she practiced yoga.

"I blew my monthly clothing budget there on Wednesday."

Lauren laughed again. "What are we, like five days into the month?"

Madeline sighed through the phone. "Seven. Don't remind me."

"I'll make sure I pick up something that sets off your red hair," Lauren said, turning her attention to the rack of beaded cocktail dresses. Five hundred dollars for a dress often topped her budget, but sometimes she splurged.

"I have no idea what I am wearing to Food and Wine tonight," Madeline said.

Lauren hesitated, her hand on the metal of the rack. "You're going?

"Of course I am. I might live over in West Palm now, but I was thinking I'd walk over. That way I can drink. A lot."

“Good idea.” Lauren resumed her shopping, this time glancing at sizes for a beaded Art Deco dress. After a couple of seconds, she turned away from the ones on that rack. Too fancy.

“Well? Are you going tonight? It’ll be a better party if you do. You have to go.”

“I might,” Lauren replied, and sighed. “I think I just got an extra ticket.”

That’s all she said about it. She knew better than to say Trent’s name around Madeline.

7:30 PM, Brazilian Court Hotel Courtyard

Trent picked a cocktail up from the table to his left and studied the entrance to the courtyard. He took a sip of the drink — some type of specialty mojito with champagne. He looked down, blinked at it, and quickly swallowed half of it in one gulp. He waited for the alcohol buzz and prayed it wouldn’t take long to arrive.

And of course, he waited for her.

Lauren.

The courtyard filled up with photographers and the pretty people of Palm Beach. The line at the Step and Repeat grew longer as each guest hurried to prove they attended this sold out soiree. Around the large marble fountain, event photographers pulled strangers together for party pictures to post on social media. One of the staff members came by and offered Trent a miniature quiche. He took three and popped one in his mouth, just as someone tapped his shoulder.

“Hello, Trent,” Madeline said as he whirled around. She wore a green dress and a blue velvet jacket. Trent thought she looked plumper than ever. Older somehow. And angrier. Her long auburn hair set off her scowl. No doubt — she didn’t want to see him, either.

“Good evening,” he said.

“What brings you back to the island?”

“We saw each other last week, Madeline,” he replied, remaining calm. “At Taboo. I told you that I’m back in town for a while.”

She tapped her grey snakeskin clutch a couple of times against her leg. “And you were with that blonde... what was her name... was it Vicki?”

“Like I said then, she’s my mom’s good friend,” Trent said through clenched teeth.

Madeline grabbed a glass of white wine from a passing waiter. “From the looks of it, your good friend, too,” she mused.

Trent contemplated saying something he knew he shouldn’t to Madeline. A thousand adjectives and pejoratives for Lauren’s cousin bubbled on his tongue, but he didn’t say one of them. Not one. Instead, he tried to smile at her, but it came out more as a grimace. “How have you been, Madeline?”

Her left nostril flared as her eyes settled back on him. “How have I been? You can’t be serious.”

“Maybe I am.”

“You don’t want to know how I am. You want to know how Lauren is.”

“That’s not true.” Trent grew defensive.

“I’m not going to tell you.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “Not even if you ask nicely.” She sipped her wine, and her eyes widened when she glanced over his shoulder. “That roast looks bomb.” Then she looked past him. “Is that a Ferrari over there? Right here in the courtyard?”

Trent almost rolled his eyes. This was Madeline at her usual — a princess with attention deficit disorder. His annoyance with her, and Lauren’s absence, grew with each second that passed. He’d also be damned if he let her see his irritation. “I’m sure it is. Isn’t Ferrari the sponsor of this event?”

Madeline focused on him again. “Wait. You’re here... and Lauren... she’s....”

“What?” Trent tried to hide the desperation in his voice. As his stomach constricted from the sound of her name, he tried to settle it with another swallow of champagne.

“Nothing. I... I need to...” She looked around, helpless, as if she wanted to make an exit. “I think I see Sandra over there. Yes. That’s her.”

She wanted to leave. Trent knew she did, but he didn’t care. He just hoped Lauren would show up soon. She had to. And she would.

Right?

“Nice to see you, Madeline.”

Somehow over the last decade, he’d become a good liar. Maybe because he often lied to himself. He stepped away from her and made his way to the silver Ferrari in the back of the courtyard. He made a show of checking out the tires and studying the paint job of the car, all the while looking from the corner of his eye at the entrance to the party. He wanted to know the second Lauren walked in the room. The very moment. If tonight she looked anything like she did at breakfast, her entrance would be worth the cost of every ticket to this party.

8:15 PM, Brazilian Court Hotel Front Door

Lauren paid the taxi driver and alighted from the cab to the open veranda of the hotel. As she got out, a staffer dressed in white opened the door of the hotel for her and pointed her in the direction of the event. She smoothed out her red-tiered skirt, adjusted a strap on her black bodice, and tossed her black hair over one shoulder.

Ready.

“May I check you in?” asked a woman with a headset.

Lauren nodded. “I’m with Trent Matthews.”

The woman looked over the guest list.

“He said he had an extra ticket,” Lauren added, as she winked at the woman.

“Oh, yes. I see you here. Would you like to have your photo taken?” The woman pointed to the Step and Repeat.

Lauren looked from the event staffer to the tall white board with sponsorships stamped all over it. “By myself?”

The woman nodded and gestured to the professional photographer who waited with a large camera.

“Oh no, that’s okay,” Lauren replied. “I’d rather not.”

She stepped away from the entrance and toward the steps leading to the courtyard. One quick glance confirmed what she already knew — it should take her a few minutes to find him. But then, she sensed someone behind her.

“I thought you might not come,” he said as he tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned and he stood inches away from her — any closer and she could kiss him. Trent Matthews, 6’2” inches of lean muscle and smirk, wrapped in an expensive blue button down shirt and black slacks. The ensemble made his unforgettable green eyes and tight cheekbones even more pronounced.

“Whoa. I didn’t see you there, Trent.”

“What can I say?” He gestured to a long table surrounded by people and covered with fruit, exotic cheeses, and skewered shrimp. “I was right over there when you came in.”

“Right. Okay.” She raised an eyebrow. “So how is it?”

“Better now.” He nodded in the direction of a waiter coming their way. “Do you want anything to drink? The champagne mojitos are good.”

“Are they?”

“I should know by now, Lauren. I’ve already had two. And about to a get my third.”

“Third?” She sounded surprised, but she knew she shouldn’t be at all. Twenty-one-year-old Trent Matthews drank a lot. Back then, twenty-one-year-old Trent Matthews also knew how to handle alcohol. A decade later, did thirty-one-year-old Trent Matthews still drink the same way?

He handed her a glass of wine he took off the passing waiter’s tray. She regarded it and didn’t protest.

“Over here,” he said, stepping down a few steps to the large fountain in the center of the courtyard. She followed, and he led her to a table on the side of the room with a fascinating array of vegetables. He picked up something that looked fried. “You’ve got to try these.”