Later that evening, Grant knocked on the door to the servants' cottage. It had been a habit of his to pop in during the wee hours for a late-night booty call, and for most of the summer Jacqui had been agreeable. But not this time. She walked down the rickety stairs and met him at the doorway.
Grant raised his eyebrows, and Jacqui nodded, and they walked quietly to the beach, where Grant had already dug out the sand and collected wood for a fire. He knelt b
y it and struck a match. The flames licked the wood and were soon shooting sparks into the air. Jacqui huddled in the blankets Grant always brought for such occasions.
He snuggled next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. Usually this would be the time when Grant would start kissing her, slowly working his way from her mouth to her neck to the deep spot between her shoulder blades, warm hands underneath her shirt, her bra, her jeans. But after a few minutes of breathless, passionate kissing, Jacqui came up for air.
"Grant."
"Huh?"
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"We need to stop. I can't do this anymore. I'm so sorry."
"What do you mean?" Grant asked. "I thought--well, Ben and Duff, they said that you'd broken up with them, so I thought..."
Oh. Jacqui's strained smile was all he needed to realize his mistake.
He took his hands away and put them around his head. "Man, I feel like a dork."
"Don't," Jacqui said. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let it go so long." She sighed. The thing was, she liked Grant, but he wasn't the one. Just one of three.
"If that's what you want." Grant exhaled.
Jacqui nodded. "It's what I want."
Grant scratched his right sideburn for a while, looking at her intently. Finally, he spoke. "Well, one thing I always do is give girls what they want." He kissed her softly on the lips one last time. "I'll always think of you," he said. He fixed her with his smoldering, sexy stare, and Jacqui knew he deserved a girl who only had eyes for him.
Jacqui stood by herself on the beach for a while, watching him walk away. She was glad she had done it but felt sad nonetheless. She'd had a fun summer with three boyfriends, but when it came down to it, there'd just been too many people in the relationship. The seagulls' haunting cries filled the air, and Jacqui wondered if every summer would always be bittersweet.
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fashion weak
UNLIKE EVERY OTHER MAJOR DESIGNER IN NEW YORK,
Sydney Minx decided to stage his show in late August, the week before Fashion Week, when the entire fashion world converged upon the Bryant Park tents in Manhattan. He was determined to make a splash by "showing early" but also to save money on the fees and expense a Manhattan show would entail. Besides, the bulk of his clients were in the Hamptons. He had rented out the entire Volcano nightclub, and there was a terrific buzz as the well-heeled audience gathered in the main room near the lava fountain to take their seats draped in white linen and decorated with fat goodie bags.
They were all there: the international fashion media (annoyed at having their summer vacations cut short), buyers from all the major department stores, coifed socialites, local celebrities and those who had jetted into East Hampton Airport just for the privilege of sitting in the front row.
Thanks to all the hype concerning Elizas helicopter stunt and the energy she had brought to the styling of the collection, there was palpable excitement and expectation to see what the designer would do next. Almost all of the women in the room were
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dressed in the distressed, shredded chiffon and metallic spray-painted clothes that Eliza had created. They were eager to find out what they would be wearing for the fall.
Backstage, Mara held up a tape recorder in front of the designer. Sydney had unleashed a torrent of half-baked explanations about his vision. But so far, the only thing Mara had been able to determine was that he didn't have one.
"I think it's all about party girls, girls who dance on tables, girls who get in gossip columns," Sydney said, fluttering his fan. "It girls, it girls, it girls!"
It was a tired cliche, and Mara pitied the old man for trying to keep his pulse on the beat of the culture when it was so obvious he would rather be anywhere than at a fashion show. She noticed a sharp-faced dark-haired girl prepping the models for the show. That must be Paige, Mara thought. She thanked Sydney for his time and walked out to the main room.
She took her seat in the second row and rifled through the program, hoping she could find something there she could hang the piece on, something that captured the idea of the collection so she would be able to articulate it to her readers. She felt a stab of guilt at not being at Eliza's show across town. She hadn't had the heart to tell Eliza she wouldn't be covering her debut.
Exactly an hour late, Sydney's show finally started.
The crowd hushed, and all eyes focused on the end of the runway, and the first model appeared from behind the curtain.