The Beach Club (17 page)

“If I profit-share with Bill it would be easier to stay. I’d feel like the Beach Club is at least partially mine. I’ll feel responsible for it.”

“I thought you liked not feeling responsible for it,” Lacey said.

“I have to grow up sometime.”

“If you want to ask Bill for part of the hotel’s profits, go ahead. Keep in mind that he’ll have a reason for answering just as you have a reason for asking.”

Mack had already given a lot of thought to what Bill might say. Bill might react as Mack hoped, and say, “Of course we can profit-share, I should have thought of that myself.” Or he could simply say no. Or he could say, “Let me think it over. I’ll run some numbers and get back to you.” The worst thing would be if Bill said nothing, if he wrinkled his brow and retreated into himself, hurt that Mack had even asked for a piece of his business.

“We’ll see,” Mack said.

“Now, what about love?” Lacey asked. “But perhaps it’s time for another drink?”

Mack spun the ice in his glass. “I’ll make them,” he said. He took the glasses to the kitchen and fixed two more drinks, adding a healthy dose of water to his own. “My problem is… Andrea’s here.”

“With James?” Lacey asked. “Is he any better?”

“A little bit,” Mack said. That morning, Mack had helped James shave for the first time. Mack started the lesson by cutting his finger and letting the blood bloom to show James how sharp and dangerous the razor could be. Mack lathered up his face and then James’s face. When James saw himself in the mirror, he giggled uncontrollably.

“Santa Claus,” James said, touching his fingers to the shaving cream and tasting them. He grimaced and spat into the sink.

“That’s right,” Mack said. “When you lather up, you’ll look like Santa Claus.”

“Lather up, lather up!” James said.

Mack shaved a path from his own cheek down to his chin. Then he rinsed the razor. He put his arms around James from behind and said, “Now I’m going to do the same to you.” But James raised his hands to his face and sidled away screaming, “Blood! Blood!”

“No,” Mack said. Andrea was in the next room listening. “There isn’t going to be any blood because I’m going to show you how to do it the right way.” Mack knew that if he nicked James even a little bit, the lesson would be over. But Mack shaved smoothly and James giggled.

“It tickles,” he said.

“Give me your hand.” Mack guided James’s hand with the razor along his face until he was completely shaved.

“No cuts this time,” Mack said. “But sometimes there are cuts. And that’s okay because they’re little cuts.” Mack finished shaving himself and then he showed James how to splash his face with water, and apply lotion.

“Some people use aftershave,” Mack said. “But not me.”

“Yeah,” James said, “not me either.”

“Look in the mirror, buddy, you’re all shaved.”

“All shaved,” James repeated. He touched his face. His faint mustache was gone.

“We’ll do it again in a couple days,” Mack said. “Would you like that?”

James nodded.

“Do you want to show your mom?”

James burst out of the bathroom. “All shaved, Mom,” he said. “No cuts this time.”

Andrea, who had been sitting on the bed pretending to read a magazine, stood up. “You look so handsome,” she said. She touched James’s face. “Did Mack teach you how to shave?”

James nodded proudly, perhaps he was so proud that he lost language, because he said nothing. He let his mother hug him and then James turned and kissed Mack on the lips.

“He’s better,” Mack said to Lacey. “And Andrea is great.”

“So you’re back to two women,” Lacey said.

“I love them both,” Mack said.

“Call me crazy, but I don’t think you love either one,” Lacey said.

“Of course I do,” Mack said. “I definitely love Maribel. And with Andrea—well, Andrea is special. I love Andrea. There’s no other word for it, although I feel differently about Andrea than I do about Maribel. But they both feel like love, Lacey.”

“If you were going to marry Maribel you would have done it already. But you haven’t. And who can blame you? You’re already enjoying the party. Now, do I think you’re going to marry Andrea? No! You’ve been fiddling around with her longer than Maribel.”

“That’s not fair,” Mack said. He sometimes thought of showing up in Baltimore to live with Andrea, marry her, shoulder half her burden, and be like a father, or an uncle, to James. But wasn’t Lacey right? Wasn’t that just idle thinking on his part? Still, he couldn’t imagine a life without Andrea, although if he married Maribel he would have to let Andrea go. “The reason it’s a
problem
, Lacey, is that I don’t know what to do.”

“I stand by my word. You don’t love either one,” Lacey said. “When I spent time with Maximilian I knew I was with the only man for me. There was never another man, Mack, not even when Maximilian was away at the war.”

Mack ran a hand through his hair. “I know,” he said. Maximilian and Lacey had a storybook marriage, like his parents, like Bill and Therese. Meant for each other, born to be together, holding hands every night before they went to sleep—it drove Mack nuts. Imagine being content every hour for forty-five years—surely Lacey was exaggerating. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t love either of them.” When he said this, though, it sounded like a lie. He knew he loved them both.

That night when Mack left Lacey’s, he checked in at the front desk of the hotel with Tiny.

“Anything going on?” he asked.

Tiny looked up from her book,
One Hundred Years of Solitude
. This was the perfect title of a book for Tiny, who always seemed to be alone in her thoughts. She got her nickname because of her small voice, although her voice wasn’t small so much as distant, as though she were talking to everyone from a faraway place, another dimension that she alone had reached.

“The couple in room four had a row and both room three and room five called to complain.”

“What did you tell them?”

“What could I tell them?” Tiny said. “I can’t be held accountable for other people’s bad behavior.”

“You must have told them something.”

“I told them if it continued, I would call the manager and have him take care of it.” She smiled a rare smile. “That would be you.”

“Okay,” Mack said. Vance poked his head out of the back office and made a face. “I’ll check it out. Then I’m going home.”

Mack tiptoed down the boardwalk with every intention of checking on room 4 but when he passed Andrea’s room, the temptation was too great, and he knocked lightly on the door. A few seconds later, she let him in. The room was dark; Andrea had been asleep. She was wearing a white cotton T-shirt and white panties and her hair was loose around her shoulders.

“It’s late,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. She kissed him.

“Only ten o’clock,” he said. He became aroused by the feel of her body through the T-shirt. She was still warm from bed. He sat on the bed and pulled her into his lap, and kissed her. Normally, this was when she pulled away, but tonight she responded with her tongue. She wiggled deliciously in his lap and ran her hands under his shirt. Mack rolled her onto the bed.

“I’ve been wanting this since the second you got here,” he said.

Andrea ran her hand lightly over his erection. Mack groaned and sucked on her neck. He climbed on top of Andrea and rocked gently into her soft thigh. He was going crazy holding back, but he didn’t want to scare her; he could feel himself sweating and he pulled off his shirt. He ran his hands under Andrea’s T-shirt and caressed her full breasts. He lowered his mouth to her nipple and it hardened. Andrea pressed her hips into him.

“Will you let me inside you?” Mack asked. He cupped Andrea’s ass inside her panties. “Will you?” If she said yes, he would go home and tell Maribel tonight, he swore it.

“No,” Andrea said, breathing into his ear. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Mack said. “Please?”

“I’m sorry, Mack,” Andrea said. She pulled away and snapped on a light. “I got carried away. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Mack squinted from the sudden brightness. He flopped onto his back, his erection pushing through his chinos. “Sorry?” he said, trying not to get angry. He lay there for a second, catching his breath. The room spun. Mack reached for Andrea’s hand. “This actually hurts.”

“Shame on you for showing up unannounced,” she said.

Mack looked to the window and saw that Andrea’s shades were up. A figure stopped at the window, then slunk away.

“Turn off the light,” he said. He went to the window and dropped the shades, then he put his shirt back on. “I have to get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Give me a kiss good night,” she said.

Mack kissed her. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said.

Mack stepped off Andrea’s deck onto the boardwalk. He heard the sound of water rushing onto shore, and then, faintly, a woman crying. At first, he tried to convince himself it was a gull, but as he listened closer, he heard breathy sobs, definitely a woman crying.
Maribel
. Mack ran around the corner to the Gold Coast, trying to imagine what someone would have seen through the window: him lying on his back, shirtless, holding Andrea’s hand, his erection straining through his pants.
Oh, God, Maribel.

A blond woman sat on the deck of room 4. Mack cleared his throat and she looked up—it was difficult to see in the dark, but Mack knew instantly it wasn’t Maribel. This woman’s face was streaked with makeup; Mack recognized her from breakfast.

“Mrs. Fourchet?” Mack said. From Quebec, Mack recalled, where her husband owned a Porsche dealership.

“My husband hates me,” she said in a defiant voice.

Another loud voice came from inside room 4. “I do not hate you, Meredith. Now will you please get inside?”

“We’re paying to see the ocean, Jean-Marc,” the woman squawked.

“It’s too dark to see anything,” the man said. “Now get in here.”

“Folks, I’m going to have to ask you to pipe down,” Mack said. He was so relieved that he smiled as he said this. “Could you please be a little quieter?”

The door to room 4 opened and Mr. Fourchet stepped onto the deck. “I paid six hundred bucks for this room. I’ll have a brass band on this deck if I so choose.”

Mack had to wipe the grin off his face. “A brass band?” Mack said. “Ask me in the morning and I’ll see what I can do. Do you like the tuba?”

Mr. Fourchet looked at Mack strangely, then he shrugged and said in a softer voice to his wife, “Come in, Meredith, please?”

“I’m
not coming in!
” Mrs. Fourchet shrieked. “And if this fellow wants to call the police then so be it! The Nantucket Police Force can take me away. Ha! The Nantucket Police Force, I’m sure
that’s
an intimidating group.”

“Meredith, stop giving him a hard time,” Mr. Fourchet said. “Will you come inside?”

“No!” Mrs. Fourchet said. “I’m not going anywhere until I see the Nantucket Police Force drive their dune buggy up the beach.”

The door to room 3 opened: Janet Kava, wearing a pair of thick glasses, stepped onto her deck. Janet was a mathematics professor at the University of Pennsylvania. She and her partner, Eleanor, had brought along their new adopted baby.

“Mack,” Janet said. “Thank God you’re here. These people have been screaming at each other for half an hour.”

Mrs. Fourchet shot Janet a withering look. “Dyke,” she said.

“
Excuse
me?” Janet Kava said. She poked at the bridge of her glasses with a purposeful finger. “
What
did you say?”

“Your baby cries all night long, but that’s okay, I suppose,” Mrs. Fourchet said. “That’s okay because she is the
love child
of you and your lesbian friend.”

“That’s right,” Janet Kava said. “Eleanor and I love each other. We love each other emotionally and physically just like you and your brutish husband love each other. But we don’t have squabbles for all the world to hear.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Mrs. Fourchet said.

“Meredith,” Mr. Fourchet said.

“Ladies, please,” Mack said.

“We are
women
, Mack,” Janet Kava said. “Not ladies. Especially not one of us.”

“I’ll say,” Mrs. Fourchet said. “The ladies I know like men.”

“I’m ten seconds away from coming over there and demanding an apology,” Janet said. “And it won’t be very lady-like, I assure you.”

Mrs. Fourchet wiped under her eyes. “I must look a mess,” she said innocently. She stood up. “I think you’re right, Jean-Marc, I think it’s time to come in.”

Janet Kava glared at Mrs. Fourchet until she disappeared, then she slammed her own screen door shut.

“Good night,” Mack said.

Mack ran past the side deck rooms. He looked in Andrea’s window but it was dark; she was probably already asleep. All of the lights on the side deck rooms were out and it was difficult to see as he made his way down the boardwalk toward the lobby. When he reached for the back door, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. Mack swung around. Vance.

“How’re you doing, man?” Mack asked. “I had a few words with the people in four. They seem to be settling down.”

Vance’s expression was strained, as though he were lifting a heavy weight.

“Are you all right?” Mack asked.

“I need to talk to you a minute,” Vance said. His hand rested firmly on Mack’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Mack said. Vance was acting even stranger than normal, but this sometimes happened. Lots of little things bothered Vance and they built up once a summer to the point that he exploded and Mack had to placate him with an extra day off or a small cash bonus.

“I need to talk about you and room eighteen,” Vance said. “I saw you in there just now, man. Pretty incriminating.”

Mack’s relief at finding Mrs. Fourchet instead of Maribel drained away. The four drinks he’d had at Lacey’s kicked in; his head swam. “I know it probably looked bad, man, but it’s not what you think.”

“If it’s not what I think, then what is it?”

“We’re friends,” Mack said. “I’ve known that lady a long time.”