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Gigi says, “So, I have to admit, I did the predictable thing and googled you last night.”
Dru-Ann groans. “How much did you read?”
Gigi shakes her head. “Just a bit. The tweets were all rubbish.”
“Everyone hates me,” Dru-Ann says. “My clients are dropping me. My boss wants me to issue an apology.”
“And will you?” Gigi asks.
“I don’t want to,” Dru-Ann says. “But I might not have a choice.”
“Of course you have a choice,” Gigi says. “The reason you’re so popular in the first place is that you speak your mind and stand by your convictions.”
Gigi is right,Dru-Ann thinks. Thatiswhy she’s so popular. Not apologizing is actually on brand for Dru-Ann.
Gigi kicks her legs out in front of her. “Frankly, I’m impressed by how you’re handling it. If I hadn’t looked online, I would never have known there was a single thing wrong. You’re so present. So calm.”
“It’s the ocean,” Dru-Ann deadpans. “It makes everything better.”
Gigi laughs. “I saw a needlepoint pillow in town that said the exact same thing.”
When Dru-Ann gets back to her chaise, she considers checking her phone, but Gigi’s words ring in her head.You’re so present. So calm.Dru-Ann pulls a cucumber-flavored seltzer out of the ice in the cooler. When she looks up, she sees Hollis coming over the dune with one of those antique French market baskets looped over her arm, and the thing is piled with sandwiches.
“Straight from Something Natural,” Hollis says when she sets the basket down on the table. She’s also made an enormous bowl of Asian noodle salad. There’s a platter of cold sliced watermelon sprinkled with lime zest and sea salt as well as Paloma sugar cookies, flavored with grapefruit and tequila. Is it any wonder that Hollis has millions of fans? She’s a goddess—and Dru-Ann is starving.
Gigi approaches the table. She has dried off from her swim and knotted her pareo at her chest. “Hollis, this spread…” she says. “Any other woman would have called a caterer or had a nervous breakdown. I hope you’re getting photographs for the website.”
“Oh!” Hollis says. She looks back toward the house. Where did Caroline go? She had the drone out earlier. Hollis takes a few pictures of the lunch with her own phone, including a swoon-worthy shot in portrait mode of the noodle salad with the blurred ocean in the background. Then Hollis turns her phone toward Tatum, who is striding through the sand, tall and lithe in her black tank suit. Hollis’s eyes land on Tatum’s breasts, which are still the round, buoyant orbs they were in high school.
Tatum crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Are you taking pictures of me?”
“Tatum Grover, voted Best Body of the Class of ’87,” Hollis quips.
Tatum snatches the phone from Hollis and stares at the picture. Hollis tenses. What does Tatum think about now when she sees herself in a bathing suit? Does she think her body has betrayed her? Does she worry about losing one—or both—of her five-star breasts?
Tatum’s fingers fly over the screen. “I’m sending this to Kyle,” she says. “I look hot.”
Brooke wants to skip lunch.
At breakfast, she made herself a cup of tea instead of the café au lait that she wanted and she piled a plate high with fruit salad, which felt virtuous. But then she noticed the bowl of granola. It was very clearly homemade, chock-full of almonds, pecans, dried cherries, and slivers of fresh coconut. It seemed a shame that Hollis had gone to all the trouble and everyone was ignoring it. Brooke ate a bowl and decided she wouldn’t have a morning bun. But there were five buns on the plate and when Brooke picked one up, it smelled so strongly of cinnamon and butter that she took a nibble, which turned into more than a nibble; she ate the entire thing and licked her fingers. Then she considered eating a second.
Now Brooke feigns sleep under the umbrella. She was alert and watchful while Dru-Ann was swimming (she’d heard stories about the rip currents on Nantucket, people getting swept out so far that they couldn’t make it back), and when Gigi entered the water, Brooke considered joining them—but then she assured herself that just because Dru-Ann and Gigi were swimming together did not mean they were becoming best friends. Or were they? Brooke squinted, trying to read lips and facial expressions. She leaned forward, straining to catch a word or two, but it was impossible with the breeze and the sound of the waves. She was relieved when Gigi swam off and Dru-Ann headed for shore. Then Brooke noticed Hollis approaching the table with the sandwiches and she dropped her book (who was she kidding? She was never going to read it; even a beach book set on Nantucket couldn’t hold her attention. She had too many other things to obsess about, and reading was for people with peace of mind and Brooke had none), leaned back in her chaise, and closed her eyes.
But she’s a terrible actress. When Dru-Ann returns to her chaise to dry off, she says, “Brooke, lunch is ready,” and Brooke’s eyes fly open.
“I think I’m just going to nap,” Brooke says.
Dru-Ann stares at her a second and Brooke can practically hear her thinking:What kind of fool gets invited to Hollis Shaw’s house for the weekend and doesn’t eat?“Suit yourself.”
Suit yourselfis right, Brooke thinks. Just because they’re on a girls’ trip doesn’t mean they have to do everything together. If Brooke wants to skip lunch, she’ll skip lunch!
But she finds herself rising from her chaise and following Dru-Ann to the table. There are sandwiches: toasted Portuguese bread overflowing with lobster salad and thick BLTs with avocado. Brooke takes half a lobster salad and half a BLT. There’s an Asian noodle salad that looks healthy. Brooke puts a modest amount on her plate, then a bit more because it smells like lime and mint. She adds some watermelon (healthy!), and then she’s faced with the platter of Paloma sugar cookies.
She can’t. She won’t.
She sits down next to Gigi, whose plate is heaped with food. Gigi takes a bite of the corner of her lobster salad sandwich and closes her eyes in ecstasy.
“Howdo you stay so thin?” Brooke asks.
