Pool Boys (12 page)

Two hours later, after some important errands and a visit home to change, Charlotte strolled toward the club’s main entrance, her Jimmy Choo heels clattering. It was dinnertime.

She paused, digging into her black velvet handbag to fish out a newly purchased pack of American Spirit cigarettes and a lighter. It was funny; buying cigarettes was harder than she’d thought. She’d actually been carded at the gas station. After batting her eyelashes and pleading in the ditziest, sluttiest voice she could muster (“Come on, sweetie, they’re not even for
me!”)
the pimply attendant sold her the pack in spite of her age, probably because he was even younger than
she
was.

Her hands trembling slightly, she stuck a cigarette in her mouth and flicked the lighter.
Yikes.
The flame nearly singed her eyebrows. She’d only smoked one other time in her life—coincidentally (or not), the night she’d slugged that Pinot Noir straight from the bottle. Brooke had joined her for the smoking portion of the evening and promptly turned green after three puffs. Charlotte herself had coughed for about twenty minutes and felt nauseated long
afterward, so she’d learned her lesson:
Don’t inhale.
Good thing she’d decided to slug some Merlot back home tonight. And that her mom had offered to drop her off at the Club before she went to her evening yogalates class.

Charlotte was actually pretty tipsy. Whatever. The wine had matched her lip gloss.

She sucked furiously, cigar-style, until a cloud of smoke enveloped her. Perfect.

With the lit cigarette dangling from her heavily glossed lips, she kicked her Jimmy Choos into the planter next to the doorway. She doubted anyone would notice them there. And if someone did swipe them…Well, whatever. They were from the Fall 2004 line. No big loss.

“Silver Oaks, get ready,” she said out loud.

She flicked some burning ashes onto the ground and pushed through the doors, padding swiftly through the cold marble hallway in her bare feet. She caught a few gaping stares from some of the parlor crowd.
What’s the matter, boys? You’ve never seen a shoeless, fiery she-demon before? Haven’t you heard that the devil wears Prada?

Her pulse raced as she approached the closed dining room door. Charlotte didn’t know
what
she was going to do at dinner tonight, but making a scene was definitely going to be part of it.

With a final exhalation of the foul-tasting smoke, Charlotte threw open the dining room doors and stepped inside, coughing loudly.

She wasn’t sure what to expect, but dead calm wasn’t on her list of scenarios.

She found a room full of mummies. Literally. It looked as if they had all been embalmed and frozen in place. Nobody even seemed particularly disturbed by her sudden, smoky entrance. Maybe a dozen or so of the usual crowd were eating dinner, dressed in their casual evening wear: Georgia’s parents, Brooke’s parents, Robby Miller’s parents…Charlotte was sick of the monotony. It was time to
really
mix things up.

She marched over to the bar and extinguished her cigarette in Marcia Palmer’s glass of Chardonnay. (Finally, that elicited
some
reaction. It wasn’t quite a gasp, more of a shocked whimper, but still audible.) Then she planted a kiss on Jimmy the Bartender’s cheek as he poured a vodka and cranberry. And when Mrs. Miller shot her a disgusted look, Charlotte stuck her tongue out at her. So much for “respect and decorum.”

“Charlotte von Klaus, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Farnsworth barked, approaching her.

Charlotte had never really appreciated until this moment how much Brooke resembled her father: the same black hair, the same flawless, porcelain complexion—the same heartless cruelty. She inched toward the patio doors, smiling back at him. She was no longer nervous. No, she felt an extraordinary, almost mystical calm.

“Well, young lady?” he demanded.

“I had an eye-opening chat with your daughter this evening,” Charlotte replied. “And I realized how little
any
of you mean to me.”

Mr. Farnsworth’s jaw twitched. He reached into his
inside blazer pocket and snatched out his cell phone, then began furiously punching in a number.

“If you’re trying to call my mom, I wouldn’t bother,” Charlotte said, pushing open the patio doors. “She’s not home.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” he shouted after her.

“I’m going for a swim, Mr. Farnsworth. The pool’s still open, isn’t it?” She shut the doors behind her—and nearly slammed right into Robby Miller.

“Damn, girl!” Robby said. “What’s gotten into
you?”

It took a moment for Charlotte to catch her breath. It took another few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the bug torches on the patio, and her heart began to pound. She hadn’t seen Robby since their mini-makeout session.

But she was too tipsy to get fluttery.

“Ro-o-o-be
, thank heavens I’ve found you,” she murmured, in a dead-on impersonation of Audrey Hepburn, circa
Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
She draped her arm over his shoulder and ran her fingers through his spiky hair. “You’re the only one who understands me.”

Robby’s lips spread in a gentle smile. “C, are you drunk? Did you take something? You can tell me, I won’t care.”

“I’m a
little
drunk,” Charlotte admitted, shivering. If she stayed out here any longer, she might burst into tears. Robby Miller was being chivalrous. Robby Miller was
not
supposed to be chivalrous. He was supposed to be a stupid pool boy.

Robby reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He turned away and lowered his voice. “Hey, Caleb?” he said. “It’s Rob. Rob Miller. Dude, I’m not bothering you right now, am I? Cool. Here’s the thing. I’m a little worried about Charlotte…”

Charlotte had heard enough. Without thinking, she reached down and pulled her strapless dress over her head. In just her bra and panties, she crossed her arms over her chest, tore across the patio, and dove into the pool.

Breathe, stroke, kick…Breathe, stroke, kick…

After ten haphazard laps, Charlotte began to wonder if Brooke’s father and the rest of the dining room crowd had just decided to leave her here to drown. For somebody who prized her solitude, Charlotte was also beginning to see the reality of the sitch: She was a crazy von Klaus, half naked and alone in the pool at the club where she didn’t belong, and would probably never be welcome again. Even Robby had split. And on top of it all, she was starting to get cold.

She paused at the shallow end.

Wait a second.
Her heart leaped.

A skinny shadow appeared in the patio doors. It was Caleb. She held her breath and listened.

“Let me handle it, Mr. Farnsworth, okay?” Caleb was hissing. “Please. If I can’t get her out of here in five
minutes, fine. Yes. You can call security. I’d just rather not cause a scene, okay? Just let me try. Thank you.”

Security?
Now that was funny. Silver Oaks Security consisted of exactly two extremely large middle-aged men, both of whom were named (of all things) Van. One was pasty, and the other was swarthy, and Georgia, Brooke, and Charlotte called them the Motorcycle Twins—after those two obese brothers from the
Guinness Book of World Records.
Charlotte very much doubted they’d be able to help out in this situation.

The patio doors slammed.

Charlotte squinted at Caleb’s fuzzy form. (Next time she went swimming, she’d definitely have to wear goggles. Although that raised a very good question:
Where
would she go swimming next time?) He marched toward her and sat at the edge of the closest lounger, then started to untie his sneakers.

“Hey, Caleb,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking off my clothes. Skinny dipping isn’t very much fun alone.”

Charlotte glanced back toward the dining room. Several members peered back at her through the glass doors. “Always with the punchy one-liners. Can I ask why?”

Caleb ignored her. He pulled off his sweater and T-shirt, and then began to unbuckle his belt. He shoved his jeans down his legs, revealing swimming trunks instead of boxers.

“Hey, you came prepared!” she exclaimed.

“I was actually hoping you’d get out and let me off the
hook,” he said, stepping out of his jeans. “But I wanted to be ready for anything. When Robby called, I got a little nervous. So I’m happy to run and grab us some towels and robes, okay? Then you can change, and I’ll drive you home.”

“Robe’s a nice guy, isn’t he?” Charlotte said absently, bending her knees and easing down into the water up to her neck.

“Robe?”

“Rob. Robby Miller.”

“Oh, yeah. He sure is. Lousy poker player, but hell of a guy.” Caleb sighed. “Now do I need to dive in there and drag you out?”

Charlotte sank farther, blowing some bubbles with her mouth. “I really have to practice my swimming, as you know. The Tombs won’t let me graduate if I can’t pass the test.”

Caleb shook his head. “Charlotte—”

“Just a few more laps, okay?” She prepared to submerge again, but then Caleb dove in after her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he whispered, grabbing her arms. “You can’t stay in here forever, C.”

She blinked up at him. His soft, dark eyes glistened as water dripped from his black hair. A doleful smile played on his lips.

And that’s when it happened: The floodgates opened.

She knew she was bound to start bawling sooner or later. She’d just hoped she’d be able to hold back until she got home.

“It’s okay, Charlotte,” Caleb soothed, drawing her against him and holding her closely. “Don’t cry. Or cry if you want. Just come with me, all right? We’ll go to the cabana and dry you off, and then we’ll go home.”

“I’m sorry, Caleb,” she gasped, fighting to catch her breath. She sniffed and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder. “I’m so sorry to put you through this.”

“Put me through what?” he asked gently.

“Embarrassing you like this in front of everyone, just because I decided to throw a stupid tantrum.”

He chuckled, stroking her wet curls. “You think I’m embarrassed? You actually think I give a crap what they think? To be honest, I’m psyched they’re all watching us right now. I hope they
do
call the Motorcycle Twins. Maybe we could all have an extremely low-speed chase across the golf course.”

Charlotte laughed through her tears. “Thanks,” she croaked.

“For what?”

“For everything. For not taking me for granted.”

Caleb pulled away and lifted her chin. “How could I ever take you for granted, Charlotte?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Charlotte replied tremblingly, suddenly all too aware of how Caleb had spoken her name. And of how he was gazing at her. With undisguised, unabashed tenderness. And desire. “Because I’m a…freak?”

“You’re not a freak,” Caleb murmured, now running one finger along Charlotte’s damp cheek. “You just wear your heart on your sleeve. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m not wearing sleeves,” Charlotte mumbled. But before she could continue the joke, Caleb was kissing her. Suddenly, she was back in sixth grade, playing Spin the Bottle, and discovering what a boy’s lips felt like for the first time. And then she was on that class trip, kissing Caleb for the second time in her life and wondering what the hell she was doing. But in the next heartbeat, all those memories disappeared, and Charlotte gave herself over to the moment: She and Caleb together, in the pool. Caleb’s lithe body wrapped around hers, his long, sweet kisses growing more fervent. Water dripped from Charlotte’s fingers as she caressed his cheek. Caleb buried his head in Charlotte’s neck. Their legs tangled under the surface. This was real. This was now. And this was right.

Caleb drew back for a second to smile at her, and Charlotte caught her breath, but then she sought his mouth with hers again. And she knew then, as she melted in his arms, that there was one part of her heart she
hadn’t
worn on her sleeve: the part that belonged to Caleb. Her feelings for him were bigger than any of her problems, bigger than the possibility of getting kicked out of the club. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was their kiss, which, in the cool water and under the sparkling stars, seemed to go on forever.

Georgia had opened her hope chest exactly twice this summer. Once: to retire her friendship bracelet. Twice: to take it
out
of retirement.

She’d retired the friendship bracelet because it had become a burden. Or, what was the metaphor Mr. Lowry had nailed into their heads after they’d read that poem,
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge? An albatross around her neck. The friendship bracelet had become precisely that—an albatross, an anchor that prevented her from doing new things. From being her own person.

Not to be overly dramatic, but Valerie had set her free.

The problem was that she hadn’t imagined that there would be any cost. Stupidly, she hadn’t really imagined that she’d
miss
Brooke and Charlotte. But she did. A lot. A month ago, she couldn’t picture anything sweeter than replacing the worn bit of thread with something else: a thin gold chain, a silver tennis bracelet—or nothing at all. But now, after the blowup with her friends on the golf course, she wanted to reconnect with them in some small way. Putting the bracelet back on was part of that.

Downstairs, Mom and Dad were already puttering around the kitchen, brewing coffee and preparing eggs and toast. Georgia stared blearily at the other treasures inside the lacquered wooden box: a mottled Darien County Fair ticket stub, a tennis ball signed by Venus Williams (Brooke’s present to Georgia on her sixteenth birthday), a bunch of juicy notes passed in class at the Tombs…all connected in some way to Brooke and Charlotte.

“Honey?” her mom called from downstairs. “Breakfast is ready!”

“In a sec, Mom,” Georgia called back, her voice husky.

“You don’t want to be late!” Mom shouted.

Georgia slammed the lid shut, squeezing the friendship bracelet in her hand. “Late for what?” she shouted back.

“For shopping! For the ball! Isn’t today your shopping day?”

Oh, my God.
Georgia had completely forgotten. For the past five summers, on the morning of the Midsummer Ball, she and Brooke and Charlotte had spent the entire day at the Old Fairfield mall, scouring the racks for slinky-sheer-shiny dresses for that evening. She’d assumed they
wouldn’t
be going together this year.

Ding-Dong.

Georgia’s hopes soared. The doorbell at this hour could mean only one thing: Charlotte or Brooke had come over to apologize.

“I’ll get it!” Georgia yelled, bounding out of her bedroom and hurtling down the stairs. She nearly slipped
in the front hallway; she was wearing her socks and pajamas. She raced forward and threw open the door—

“Hey, G.”

Oh.

It was neither Brooke nor Charlotte. It was Ethan.

There he was, the model Silver Oaks employee. He’d shaved, and gotten a haircut. His crisp whites looked brand-new. And standing there before her at her front door (and what the hell even gave him the audacity to show up here at 9 A.M. on a Saturday?), he was almost a vision out of the past. He looked the way he’d looked when he’d
first
showed up at Silver Oaks, two summers ago, the summer before they’d gotten together—the summer when they’d merely played tennis and flirted, setting the stage for what would come later.

Something in Georgia snapped. She didn’t offer a hello, or even a screw-you. She simply lunged forward and seized Ethan’s polo pocket—with the freshly stitched S.O. silver monogram—and tore it clean off his shirt.

“Hey!” he cried, laughing and staggering backward.

Georgia hurled the pocket to the ground and thrust a shaky finger toward the end of Meadow Lane. “I want you to get out of here!”

Ethan glanced down at his ruined uniform, then back up at her. The smile never left his face.

“What are you so goddamned happy about?” Georgia demanded, putting her hands on her hip.

“Well, lots, actually. That’s why—”

She stepped outside and slammed the front door behind her so her parents wouldn’t hear.

“What were you thinking, trying to set me up with Caleb?” she whispered furiously. “Did you really think I’d have
sex
with him? Is that what you honestly thought?”

Ethan froze. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.”

Ethan’s face turned ashen. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

“Valerie told me all about it. She told me that she heard you making a bet with Caleb that he could probably sleep with me if he just—”

“Slow down,” Ethan whispered. “Slow down, okay? What kind of bet? What exactly did Valerie overhear?”

“She said that you told Caleb to invite me to the Midsummer Ball because you figured he could…get lucky with me.”

The faint beginnings of another smile appeared at the corners of Ethan’s mouth. His eyebrows mashed together in that cute way they always did when he was confused. “When? Was this in the parlor? The day you guys played golf? It was, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Georgia muttered, suddenly out of steam. “Maybe.”

“Ha!” Ethan grinned. “I knew she looked funny when she asked Caleb for the—”

“So what are you trying to tell me? You
never
made a bet with Caleb that he’d lose his virginity to me tonight?”

Ethan’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding? Is that what you think of me?”

Georgia shook her head. “I…I don’t know, Ethan.” Her voice caught on his name.

“G, the only reason I asked Caleb to invite you to the Midsummer Ball was because I couldn’t stand the thought of you
not
going. I have to go—all employees do, remember? Or I did, until yesterday. And yes, I did say to Caleb: ‘I bet you’ll lose your virginity.’ But I wasn’t talking about
you.
I was talking about Charlotte. That kid is in
love
with Charlotte. And I thought…well, it’s not something I’m proud of, but I thought I could help him out by making Charlotte jealous—”

“Wait,” Georgia interrupted. “What do you mean, you did until yesterday?”

He grinned. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I quit.”

“You
what?”

He spread his arms. “You’re looking at the newest part-time tennis coach at Old Fairfield Community College. I’m taking a year off from school. I’m no longer a student. I’m a teacher.” He laughed. “You know what they say—if you can’t do, teach.”

Georgia’s throat tightened. “Ethan, why?” she breathed shakily.

“Because I need a job, and because, well, I need to be with you. And this is the only solution.” He stepped forward and took her hand. “G, the only reason I broke up
with you was because of Silver Oaks. I applied for a job at Kenwood, and they turned me down—”

“They did?!” she cried. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me. And the truth is, I couldn’t stand being away from you. So I kept staying at Silver Oaks.” He drew her closer, squeezing her hand tighter. “But now this makes more sense. I never really was country club material, anyway, you know? I guess Kenwood picked up on that.”

Georgia swallowed, her emotions whirling wildly. Her eyes fell to the torn pocket on the front walk, the S.O. glittering brightly in the morning sunlight, and she felt a stab of guilt. Her long blonde hair tumbled across her face. “But…but what about school? I mean, aren’t you worried about taking time off?”

“It’ll work out, G. If anything, this’ll help. Maybe I can save enough to go somewhere even better than a community college.”

“I…so…you never wanted to be friends at all, did you?” she stammered, afraid to even hope for his answer.

Ethan gently brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes and met her gaze. “Of course I want to be friends,” he whispered. “But I also want to be your boyfriend. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s you, Georgia. It always has been, and it always has to be.” He smiled. “And not just because you’re the only girl who can beat me at tennis. Although that helps.”

Suddenly, Georgia felt as if the entire weight of the universe had slipped away. All her silly doubts and fears that had plagued her all summer melted into nothingness.

But there was one lingering doubt.

“What about…you and
Valerie?”
Georgia whispered as Ethan came even closer and cupped her chin in his hands. “I—I saw you guys together, and Brooke told me—”

Ethan shook his head, frowning. “G, there was never any ‘me and Valerie.’ She’s a fun, flirty girl, but there was nothing between us. Nothing at all. She just wants to make friends here.”

Georgia nodded, her eyes filling with tears. So Ethan—and Valerie—
had
been faithful to her all along. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she blurted, her heart pounding. “I kissed Marcus. Just once. It was stupid and—”

Ethan shook his head. “G, you never were supposed to
wait
for me. It’s okay. I’ll live.” He grinned. “Let’s just focus on the future now, okay?”

Then he leaned in and kissed her, long and deep and sweet. Georgia twined her arms around his neck, breathing in that deliciously familiar aftershave, and fell a little bit more in love with him. When they finally broke apart, they were both grinning.

“What’s that you’re holding?” Ethan whispered. He delicately spread her fingers.

Georgia glanced down at the friendship bracelet, sniffling. “It’s our trio-of-backup-singers thing. See when the doorbell rang, I was hoping it was Brooke or Charlotte.”

Ethan nodded. His face grew serious. “So you heard about all the craziness?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t hear about Charlotte’s freakout?”

Uh-oh.
“No. Well, she and I have been sort of incommunicado…which is—”

“She was uninvited to the ball,” Ethan interrupted. “She showed up last night, drunk and barefoot and smoking. She stubbed a cigarette out in your mom’s wine, actually. Then she took off all her clothes, and made out with Caleb in the pool.”

Georgia sagged against the front door. The sudden joy she had felt began to flow out of her, as if she were a tire pricked with a nail. “Oh, my God,” she said finally.

“It sucks,” he finally said. “But do you still want to go to the ball?”

Georgia closed her eyes. “I’d love to go. I mean: I’d love to go with
you.”
She tapped a finger against her chin. “But if they’re not inviting Charlotte, there’s no way I’m gonna go.” Her eyes opened and she sighed. “I can’t believe Mom didn’t even mention it.”

Ethan gathered her in his arms. “Well, to be honest, I don’t want to go, either.”

“Hey, we’ll have fun boycotting,” she said, her breath tickling his neck. She rubbed his back and squeezed him tight. “My parents are going to the ball, obviously, so we’ll have the house to ourselves. Maybe I’ll even cook lasagna. I can even overcook it.”

Ethan pulled back and blushed, looking very optimistic.

Georgia kissed him on the cheek, feeling hopeful—honestly
hopeful
—for the first time since last summer. “But hang on, okay? There are a bunch of calls I need to make before tonight. Starting with Charlotte.”