"Yeah." He shrugged apologetically. "My dad. I think it's some kind of guilt present. He forgot my birthday this year."
In Mara's family, guilt presents meant homemade brownies and a trip to the mall, not to the Ferrari dealership. "What happened to your old car?"
"Sugar's driving it around L.A."
Mara thanked whatever gods were responsible that the twins, Ryan's eighteen-year-old hellion sisters, were going to be absent from the Hamptons scene this year. Sugar and Poppy had "gone Hollywood," and both were actively auditioning for movie roles. So far, they had made a total of one direct-to-video horror film but had managed to attend every red-carpet premiere in town. Sugar was currently recording an album (Melted Sugar), while Poppy was broadening her empire from a line of perfume--"Sniffers," by Poppy Perry--to include handbags ("Sniffers") and home fragrance ("Stinkers"). They were both famous for appearing inebriated and
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half naked in public and, needless to say, had become very popular in Los Angeles.
Mara shook her head at the memory of the twins' exploits-- she had almost forgiven them for their hand in what had happened last summer, but not quite.
"Missed you," Ryan said, leaning down to give her a kiss. His lips pressed against hers, and Mara closed her eyes, opening her mouth to his. She felt him press against her body, and she tightened her embrace; soon the two of them were totally necking in front of the terminal. Ryan buried his face in Mara's neck, and she breathed in his familiar scent--Ivory soap underneath salt water and suntan lotion. Yummy.
Several cars beeped in annoyance since Ryan's car was blocking traffic, and they reluctantly pulled away from each other.
"Mmm," Ryan said, holding her arms to her sides and squeezing her shoulders. "I think we should go."
"You think?" Mara winked, st
ill feeling happy and dazed from his hello kiss.
Ryan raised an eyebrow at the sight of all the luggage. "I don't think it's all going to fit in the trunk." He shook his head.
"I kind of over-packed."
"I can see that." He nodded, attempting to stuff a particularly large suitcase into the Ferrari's tiny trunk. "If I'd known, I would have brought the Rover."
"Sorry," Mara said sheepishly.
Ryan cursed half seriously as the suitcase wheels became stuck
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in the doorjamb. Mara stood back, not wanting to get in the way. "What's SGH?" she asked, noticing a small oval sticker on the left side of the convertible's bumper.
"Sag Harbor, where we're spending the summer," Ryan explained, blushing a bit. "Anna got them for all the cars--theirs say, 'EH', for East Hampton. I couldn't stop her from sticking one on mine. It's kind of cheesy, I know."
Mara smirked. A sticker proclaiming their summer destination-- trust Anna Perry, Ryan's status-conscious stepmother, never to pass up a chance to flaunt their wealth. In the end, Ryan was able to cram most of the luggage in the trunk and squish the rest in the sports car's tiny backseat. Mara balanced her brand-new Mulberry handbag on her lap and stuffed the matching tote bag underneath her feet. She felt slightly embarrassed to have packed so much--but as an intern at the Hamptons' most high-profile magazine, she was determined to look the part of a glamorous journalist, even if she would just be running to the Starbucks. She'd been in the Hamptons long enough to understand the meaning of "fake it till you make it."
Ryan climbed into the driver's seat, and the Ferrari roared out to the lane. Mara beamed as her handsome boyfriend zoomed ahead of all the cars on the highway.
Anyone who saw Mara would think she had always been one half of a golden couple. That she took for granted the kind of life most people only dreamed about. That she had been born beautiful, rich, blessed, and confident--but anyone who thought that couldn't have been more wrong.
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eliza blings it on
"HEY, VIDALIA," ELIZA SAID, WALKING OVER TO A RAIL-THIN, six-foot-tall model who was half in and half out of her Sydney Minx original. "Paige said you needed help?"
"I can't seem to get this to work," the model complained in the flat, nasal tones of her native Cincinnati.
Eliza wondered if Vidalia (one name only) had changed her name to project a more exotic image and in doing so had unwittingly styled herself after a very common onion.
"Let's see, I think that's the armhole that you've got on your head, and this actually goes over here, and this one buttons to that part, and then this is loose," Eliza said, helping Vidalia out of the dress, then gliding it back over her shoulders and deftly snapping buttons and pulling the intricately shredded chiffon frock to its rightful position.
Vidalia and Eliza stared at Vidalia's reflection.