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“Youshouldbe sent to the outhouse,” Dru-Ann says, “for wearing that hat.” A smile breaks across her face. “Just kidding. Holly knows I prefer my own space.”
“The Twist is not anouthouse,” Hollis says. “The cottage has a Peloton, an espresso machine, and a bottle of tequila on the kitchen table just for you.”
“All righty, then,” Dru-Ann says. “I’ll see you Monday.” She grabs her luggage, steps outside, and closes the door behind her.
“Can I getyoua drink?” Hollis asks Brooke. She takes a good look at Brooke’s outfit. The hatisoverkill; she looks like she belongs in a Mary Cassatt painting. “A glass of rosé?”
“Just water, please,” she says. “I’ve already had two glasses of rosé and I’m feeling it.”
“Did you drink on the boat?” Hollis asks.
Brooke opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.
“There’s no reason to be ashamed if you did,” Hollis says. “This weekend is about kicking back.”
“The past couple of days have been awful for me,” Brooke says. “But I’ll tell you about it another time. It’s not an appropriate topic for the Five-Star Weekend.”
Hollis takes a beat. It’s true—she isn’t prepared to take on any Brooke-drama right now.
Hollis hasn’t heard from Gigi Ling about when or how she’ll be arriving. She texted Gigi the itinerary and the address and received a thumbs-up emoji. If she wasn’t coming, she would have let Hollis know. Right?
“Let me show you to your room,” Hollis says.
But before Hollis takes Brooke to her room, she gives her a tour of First Light. The interior design is so good, it’s like adrug. The deep blue half-moon sofa and the kelly-green club chairs in the living room are the perfect pops of color against all the white. Through the glass doors opposite the sofa, Brooke can see a pond with a footbridge and, beyond that, a stretch of golden sand and the ocean.
They head down the hallway. “This wing has two guest suites,” Hollis says, and Brooke thinks:Wing? Suites?“I have you in the Board Room.”
It’s like stepping right into Instagram. The wallpaper reminds Brooke of a man’s tailored shirt with classic navy, light blue, and subdued gray pinstripes. (Pin-striped wallpaper, who thinks of that? And is this why Hollis calls it the Board Room?) There’s a walnut pencil-post bed dressed up in crisp white sheets and a navy plaid quilt with an arrangement of pillows in blue stripes and florals. At the end of the bed is a rattan bench upholstered in blue ikat; the rattan is echoed in the curvy chandelier and the woven shades on the windows opposite the bed. Over the bed is a line of small-scale surf landscapes, and on the antique writing desk that serves as a nightstand are a blue glass vase bursting with cosmos (Brooke’s favorite flower) and the new issues ofMartha Stewart LivingandOmagazine. (These will find their way into Brooke’s duffel; she’s known at her dentist’s and gynecologist’s offices for stealing magazines.)
Brooke removes her straw hat and immediately cools down. This room is the most gorgeous one she has ever set foot in; it makes her bedroom back in Wellesley—which she was feeling so proud of only yesterday—seem like a child’s art project.
It’s going to take all weekend for Brooke to process this room—the textures and layering of patterns—and figure out how and why it works. She keeps noticing things: the water carafe next to a navy-blue ceramic jug lamp on the side table, an area rug in wide navy- and light-blue stripes, the navy gingham cushion on the desk chair.
“You have your own bathroom,” Hollis says. “But between you and me, the outdoor shower is the best in the house.”
Brooke pokes her head into the bathroom. It’s an explosion of fun color, starting with orange and turquoise wallpaper printed with surfboards—that’swhy they call it the Board Room—and an oval mirror bordered with white coral; on either side of the mirror is a little tiki lamp.
Brooke turns to Hollis. “I feel very honored to be staying here and…humbledto be chosen for this weekend.” She blinks rapidly. “I want you to know how much I value our friendship and everything you’ve done for me—”
Hollis can see Brooke getting emo, but at that moment, Hollis’s phone starts buzzing in her pocket.This must be Gigi,she thinks.She’s here. She came.
To Brooke, Hollis says, “Get settled, then come join us in the kitchen.”
Brooke opens her mouth to speak but Hollis doesn’t have time for any more Lifetime-movie moments so she leaves the room and shuts the door with a definitive click. She checks her phone.
It’s not Gigi. It’s Tatum.I’m here,the text says.Come out to the driveway. I have a surprise.
Caroline hears voices in the kitchen—Dru-Ann and Brooke. This is the five-star “arrival” that Caroline should be filming, not only because her mother is paying her to do that but also because Hollis’s subscribers will want to see it.
The whole thing is one giant eye-roll emoji.
But… some complications are developing. Her mother’s relationship with Tatum is intriguing because of the whole local/summer person dynamic. Dru-Ann is apparently being canceled. Brooke will be socially awkward, as always. And at some point, the mystery woman will show up: Gigi Ling. Her name holds promise; it rolls musically off the tongue.Bring it, Gigi Ling!Caroline thinks.Please don’t be a dud.
Caroline carries Isaac’s camera—he asked her to hold it like a literal baby—outside, where a Honda Pilot has pulled into the driveway. Caroline sees a man and woman in the front and a shadowy third figure in the back seat.
Caroline hears Isaac’s voice:Observe.
Something is happening right in front of her.
