Amber House (15 page)

“Church?” Since when was my mother religious?

“Robert invited us to join him and then head on to the club for brunch and the annual Chesapeake Clubs Regatta.”

Ah. The senator.
This was turning into one of those good-news-bad-news kind of things. I loved sailboat races. And Richard
would probably be there. But a day with Robert at church and “the club”? My face must have betrayed my distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“Look, Sarah, it’s important that we connect with as many people as possible before the party. Some of my old friends will be at church, a lot more will be at the regatta. The race is open to the five biggest yachting clubs on the Chesapeake. So we are all four going to go and smile and be friendly and have a good time. Right?”

“Sounds fabulous,” I said flatly. I wondered how I was supposed to treat Richard. Didn’t exactly want to be doing that flirty as-good-as-a-guy thing in front of my parents. My mother headed for the racks, while I found a chair to sit in. Halfway through an enlightening article on “Ten Spicy Ways to Do It In the Summer!” in a two-year-old issue of
Cosmo
, Mom came to find me with an armful of outfits.

Nobody to model them for me here.

She tried to talk me into something pink, but I settled on a silk sundress painted with watery red and orange poppies, belted at the waist with a thick black ribbon. Worried that it wasn’t right for the season, Mom found a little cashmere sweater to cover my arms.

The store clerk offered a pair of matching ballet flats. “What did you do to your poor head?” she asked, oozing cheap sympathy.

I felt like telling her it was just a really big zit. “Got hit with a croquet mallet,” I said, and smiled sweetly.

“She tripped and fell into a bedpost,” my mother corrected.

The clerk tried to hide a smirk.

“Now, let’s find something for the party tonight,” Mom said briskly.

I’d had enough. “If I can’t go in jeans, I’m not going at all.”

“You don’t have any idea what anyone else will be wearing, do you?” she said accusingly.

“Unless we hit a time warp when we flew in here, they better be wearing jeans. And if they aren’t wearing jeans, then I’ll be the only one there who isn’t a total loser.”

That said, I started praying they’d be wearing jeans.

The wardrobe run to Annapolis (of course) left me short on time to prepare for the party, and my makeup session (of course) ran a little long that evening — I kept trying, futilely, to smooth a paper-thin-but-fully-opaque layer of foundation on my mashed forehead. I ended up pinning my bangs down to cover my efforts.

Richard pulled up and honked right on time. I hurried out to the front hall, still tugging things into place and hoping to give myself a final once-over in the mirror by the door, but Mom was already there, touching up her lipstick.

“You and Dad going out?” I asked in surprise.

“I’m having dinner with — some old friends. I think your father prefers to keep Sammy company,” she answered coolly.

“Did you even ask him?”

“Isn’t your date waiting for you?”

“Not a date,” I said, snagging the bag of brownies I’d left on the table there, “just a ride.”

“I don’t have to worry about you, right, Sarah? I know how these wealthy kids’ parties can be.”

“No, Mom, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m still one hundred percent vice free.”

“Smart girl.”

I rolled my eyes. “See ya.”

“Have a nice time.”

You too
, I thought to myself. But did not say. And did not mean.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I offered as I climbed into Richard’s little black convertible BMW.

“No problem,” he said cheerfully.

We took the same route toward Annapolis as Mom and I had earlier that day, only it went by a lot faster. Richard liked to drive the same way he liked to sail. I kept a smile on my face, stuck my hands under my legs so I wouldn’t white-knuckle the dash, and entrusted my life to whatever passive restraining devices the Beemer had to offer.

Richard made a sharp turn into the drive of one of those generic mansions, a kind of Tudor beam-and-plaster thing with a lot of rock facing. We decelerated past rows of other luxury vehicles wedged into the pansy beds, to a spot someone had saved us in the garage. We climbed out of the car into the vibration of the bass from the music inside the house.

I followed Richard in. The interior was all marble, cream carpeting, bleached wood, and softly stuffed leather seating. I should have been impressed, but Amber House had spoiled me. To my eyes, it just looked like a catalogue house: lots of money, no style.

Richard found the hostess, gave her a big hug, and introduced me. Turned out my jeans were not appropriate at all. Kathryn was wearing a bikini.

I smiled unhappily. “Richard didn’t tell me this was a pool party.”

“Dickie’s such a forgetful boy,” Kathryn said proprietarily. “But you can borrow one of my suits.”

Gross
, I thought. “Great,” I said. I held out the brownies. “A contribution,” I explained, wishing I had ignored my earlier impulse to bring them.

“Oh, God,” she said with some excitement. “Do they have anything in them?”

“Walnuts,” I said.

Richard started to laugh. Loudly. I cursed myself silently.

Kathryn stuck an elbow in Richard’s ribs. She leaned forward and gave me a hug. “That’s so sweet of you,” she said. “I bet everyone will love them.”

She led me into the kitchen, its marble counters strewn with prepackaged party foods and assorted beverages. We added the brownies to the spread.

The kitchen flowed into a den, complete with a state-of-the-art entertainment center. The soaring ceiling was open to the second story, reached by a flight of winding stairs. Kathryn started up the carpeted steps, her nearly naked bottom exactly two steps up and directly in front of my face.
No cellulite
, I noted.

“I am dying to go to your party,” she said over her shoulder. “I got the invite this morning, but I heard about it Wednesday. Richard called and told me to get people to come. And of course I did. It’ll be awesome.”

Wednesday. That’s the day he and his dad came to see us. He didn’t waste any time recruiting.

“Thanks so much for your help,” I offered.

“Pfffft,”
she said dismissively, fluttering a hand. “I saw this fantastic dress four weeks ago in Neiman’s, and I asked Daddy to buy it for me, but he said he wouldn’t unless I had somewhere to wear it. And now I do! I can’t wait for you to see it. It’s all pink, and tight, and I’m going to get wings attached at the back. What’s your costume like?”

“I, um — it’s gold, I think.” She turned, her head cocked a little to one side, waiting for some relevant details. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember a thing about it. “It’s lacy. Nice,” I added.

She smiled at me like I was four years old. “I’m sure,” she said, and continued up the stairs.

Kathryn’s bedroom was crammed with luxury — a canopy bed draped in magenta raw silk and mounded with eccentric
tapestry pillows, a flat-screen TV, a velvet love seat, a three-thousand-dollar computer, a crystal chandelier. Clothes were strewn over the bed and on the floor — expensive clothes. I found her lack of organization a positive quality.

A shelf above her desk held two dozen framed, autographed photos of Kathryn standing beside one celebrity after another. “You know all these people?”

“My dad’s a music producer. He flies me out to visit him every awards season. Most of those are of me and one of his clients.” She crossed the room and opened two doors, revealing a closet bigger than my bedroom back home. The bikini she pulled out and held up was more string than fabric.

“Um,” I said, trying to find the right way to request the one-piece I sensed she did not own. She nodded, as if in agreement.

“Yeah, I’m thinking pink is not your color. This one?”

She held up an almost identical red bikini covered in little white hearts. It had boy shorts, however, so I lunged for it. “Cute. Thanks.”

A chill breeze was blowing in off the water. Most of the guests were floating in the heated pool, but a fairly unbelievable number had gathered in the hot tub. Kathryn had to make people scoot over so we’d have room to sit.

It was uncomfortable, not to mention awkward — all of us crammed in there, with legs and arms and feet brushing up against one another. A pretty brunette to my left leaned over the top of me to talk to a guy all sharp angles and brown skin, like some Bollywood movie star, sitting on the other side of Kathryn.

“Guess what, Chad,” she said, her words slurring slightly. “I licked mercury once. I broke a thermometer and this stuff came out and I licked it.”

Kathryn rolled her eyes and sighed. She whispered into my ear: “That’s Olivia. I’m sorry. I don’t know why she’s even here. I didn’t invite her.”

“Shove over, Kath.” I craned around. Richard wedged himself in between me and Kathryn. “Did Kath introduce you yet, or what?” he said to me.

“I was just about —” Kathryn started.

Richard shushed her with a wave of his hand. “Sarah” — and he slipped his free arm around my shoulders and pulled me close as he addressed the group — “this is everybody. Everybody, this is Sarah Parsons.”

“You’re the chick who’s throwing the party at the haunted house,” Chad said.

“It’s not haunted,” I protested weakly, wondering what he knew, what he’d heard.

“My grandmother said she went there once when she was our age,” Olivia said with lurid enthusiasm, “and just started weeping, she didn’t even know why.”

“They got a damn cemetery right on the property,” said a kid behind me. “Even the slaves were buried in it. Some of them have got to be pissed off, right?”

“
I
heard someone was
murdered
there,” Chad contributed. “Found dead in a bathtub, Stephen King style.”

“My dad said all kinds of people have gone crazy in that house,” the girl opposite me added, “and some retarded girl got killed on the front lawn back when he was just a kid.”

I tried again: “It’s not ha —”

“Oh, it’s haunted, all right,” Richard interrupted. “I’ve been there. You can feel it. But it’s a
Halloween
party, right? It’s
supposed
to be creepy. Right?”

“Right,” I said faintly, thinking dismally that the ghosts and I might be the only ones to attend. “I hope you’ll all come.”

“They’re coming,” Richard said confidently, taking another slug from whatever it was he was drinking. “My old man called in a favor. Ataxia is playing.”

“Omigod,” a girl in braces squealed. “Ataxia?”

I had to stop myself from squealing also. Ataxia at
my
party? Was he
kidding
? Everyone within ten yards heard. I watched the news that the country’s top-selling punk rock band was gigging at my birthday get handed on and on. It was brilliant. I suddenly felt more relaxed than I had for days. Haunted or not, maybe people would actually come to this thing. Maybe they’d even have a good time.

Olivia leaned close to me again, this time talking to my face. “Hey, didn’t Richard take you sailing?” Her voice had an unhappy, accusatory tone.

“You went sailing with Dickie?” a dead ringer for Will Smith asked me, grinning. “Did he pull the ship’s-wake trick on you?”

“As a matter of fact,” I said, nodding.

All the guys roared with laughter. Will Clone said, “I swear Richard memorizes the shipping schedule for Baltimore Port.”

“Won’t need manufactured waves to beat you tomorrow, Morgan,” Richard said.

“Are we talking about the regatta?” I asked.

“Richard and Chad won our class the last two years,” the clone — Morgan — said. “But not this year. This time, the
Backdraft
’s gonna bring it home.”

“Want to back that up with some money?” Richard taunted.

“What’re we talking about, Dickie? Five hundred?”

“Chump change,” he said, smiling. “Make it an even thou.”

Morgan didn’t look happy, but he accepted the bet.

“Can anyone compete in this thing?” I asked.

“Whoa. I think she wants in on the action.” Morgan smiled condescendingly, shaking his head. “Sorry. Just club members.”

“That’s not what I —”

“You want to put your old girl in the regatta, Parsons?” Richard said with amusement. “I don’t think they have a class for
antique scows
, but I could probably get you in our race.” He shrugged with his mouth. “If you wanted in.”

I hadn’t actually. Wanted in. But I had a kind of knee-jerk reaction to disparaging sarcasm, maybe because I heard so much of it at home. “Sure, Hathaway,” I heard myself say. “That’d be great. Sign me up.”

Richard looked surprised. Kathryn laughed.

“Hundred-dollar entrance fee,” Richard said. “All for charity.”

“I can cover that.”

“Who you gonna get to crew? Your baby brother?”

“Well, Sammy might be able to take you,” I said, smiling.

Richard didn’t like my teasing. “You want to make a side bet too?”

“Giving my money to charity is one thing, Hathaway; helping with the payments on your Beemer is another.”

That seemed to placate him. His mouth lost its tightness and he managed a grin.

The crowd in the hot tub thinned over the next hour. Richard was off somewhere — I deliberately hadn’t kept track of him. I was pretending vigorously that I was still enjoying the warm water. It was down to me, a guy propped up in the corner snoring, a pair necking across from me, and two girls who were ignoring my presence. I wondered if my dad would come get me if I snuck inside and found a phone. But I didn’t even know what address to tell him.