"What's he like? What does he do? Describe Mr. Right to me." Midas settled back into the plush cushions behind him, as if waiting for Eliza to unveil all the secrets of womankind.
Eliza tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before answering. "He's really nice. Sweet. He's from here. The Hamptons. But not 'The Hamptons,'" she added quickly, making air quotes with her
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fingers. She explained about Jeremy's modest background and how he'd overcome it.
"So why him?" Midas asked, reaching over and lighting the gold hookah pipe that sat in the middle of the table. He took a puff and the sweet smell of fruit-scented smoke filled the air.
"That's a personal question, don't you think?" she asked tartly, lightly slapping him on the knee. "Why are you so interested?"
Midas didn't answer her and instead blew out a smoke ring, passing her the pipe.
"I don't know--because he's the nicest guy I ever met," Eliza said before inhaling the sweet tobacco.
"And that's enough for you?"
Of course it was enough
... wasn't it? Eliza felt her brow furrow. What were Jeremy's goals? What did he want to do with his life? For the life of her, she couldn't remember anything he wanted to do except renovate a big old house and have a soccer team of kids. But surely that wasn't all. . . . Jeremy had big plans, didn't he? Eliza racked her brain. Something to do with building his landscaping business? Maybe?
"Nice guys finish first, huh?" Midas smiled, a slight sadness in his deep blue eyes.
"I guess." Eliza shrugged. She'd never really questioned the reasons why she and Jeremy were together before. He was cute and loving and he made her laugh, so why was she feeling so defensive suddenly?
"And where's Mr. Right tonight? He doesn't like parties?"
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"No, he does . . . ," Eliza protested. He came with her to events like this when she asked him to, but she knew all the air-kissing and talk of fabulousness just wasn't his thing. Jeremy was completely supportive, but she knew all the fashion stuff bored him---bored most guys, really--to tears.
"Not his thing, got it." Midas nodded, seemingly glad to have figured out "Mr. Right."
Eliza shrugged uncomfortably. She didn't want to say anything to Midas about Jeremy that was disloyal. Especially since it suddenly occurred to her that Midas was the type of guy she'd always thought she would end up with--sophisticated, well traveled, culturally savvy. Until she'd ended up with Jeremy, who thought a trip to Connecticut was exotic.
Just then her cell phone rang. The display read J STONE, and oops, 10 p.m. She'd promised she'd meet him at the dock for fireworks a half hour ago. "I'm almost there!" she sang into the phone, even though she knew she couldn't make it there for another half hour at least. She started to get up from the table just as the waitress finally returned with their champagne.
"Sure you can't stay for one drink?" Midas asked, taking the bottle from the bucket with a flourish and preparing to pop the cork.
Eliza glanced at the label. Cristal. And this was about business, after all. . . . She eased back down onto the cushions.
"To Eliza Thompson, this generation's Coco Chanel!" Midas proposed as the champagne bubbled over their glasses. "To the
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best spread ever," he added as he handed her a flute of bubbly, his blue eyes shining.
Eliza accepted the glass. How could she leave when she was being toasted as the next big thing? She'd go meet Jeremy after this one drink. After all, it was the Hamptons. Nobody was ever on time.
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galloping gourmands
The other day we had to prepare five different lunches for the kids, who are encouraged to "explore their personal palates" and "discover new tastes and new experiences" according to their gifted programs and therefore demand individually crafted meals with stringent specifications. Violet wanted a soy burger cooked extra-crunchy, Jackson wanted quinoa-and-tofu teriyaki, Logan a Provencal pot-au-feu, and Cassidy spit out the mashed organic zucchini I prepared for him until I got the texture just right (not too lumpy!). Thank God for Wyatt, who was happy with PB and J. My kind of guy.
miss crankypants in the hamptons