The Seasonaires Read online

  Grant refused to play, pacing and swigging from a bottle of Jäger instead. “Motherfuckers!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Everyone turned.

  “Grant, what on earth?” Presley held her chest.

  He displayed his phone. Wear National’s Instagram featured a selfie of Axel and Quentin on the powerboat, grinning, their hair whipping in the wind:

  Water wars with @lyndonwyld. #WearNational #killinit

  “Chill, dickweed. It’s over,” said Jade as she disappeared upstairs. J.P. followed with an annoyed glance at Grant.

  “You might want to slow down there.” Cole motioned to the Jäger.

  “Yeah, Grant, you don’t want to end up like that brand slut in the back of the boat,” Presley added. “What’s her name?”

  “Ruby,” answered Mia.

  “I bet those dogs had a good time with her.” Presley gave a “tsk.”

  Grant slammed the bottle on the mantel, then bolted outside.

  “Presley!” Mia glared, then ran after Grant.

  “What?” Presley lifted her hands innocently and followed with Cole.

  Grant got in the G.

  “Where are you going?” yelled Mia.

  Presley answered for Grant. “It’s Wear National Night at The Rabbit Hole.”

  “Shit.” Cole jumped in along with Mia and Presley.

  Grant floored it. He careened through town and made it to the bar, parking with one tire on the curb. Mia grabbed at his shirt as he clamored out and rushed inside.

  “This’ll be fun,” said Presley, striding in.

  As Mia and Cole entered, Mia saw something out of the corner of her eye: Mac and Ruby were against the side of the building in the shadows, sharing a smoke.

  Inside, Grant drunkenly shouldered his way through the partying crowd, craning his neck, searching. He found Axel playing pool with Quentin and coldcocked him, then climbed on top and punched relentlessly. Quentin stepped back.

  Presley caught the curvy brunette server, who passed by with a tray, ignoring the brawl. “Strawberry daiquiri, Eve. I have a memory like a steel trap. Oh, and some popcorn.”

  “You’re all such chodes,” said Eve, who moved off.

  “Grant! Stop!” Mia yelled as she squeezed through the patrons. Some filmed the scrap with their phones. Cole struggled to pull Grant off.

  Mac muscled in, picking up Axel, whose face was bloody. “You okay?” Axel shrugged away from him.

  Grant poked his finger at Axel. “If you ever try that shit again, I’ll fucking crush you!”

  “We were just playing around!” Axel spat blood on the ground.

  “It’s true, man,” said Quentin from his safe spot in the corner.

  Grant stormed out of the bar. Cole followed, scowling at Axel.

  A hush came over the crowd.

  Presley, propped on a bar stool, applauded, breaking the silence. “Opening act was decent. Now where’s the headliner?” She grinned broadly at Mac.

  Mia’s phone buzzed from her back pocket. After a stunned beat, she looked. Lyndon Wyld had been tagged in an Instagram video of the fight on some random account—hounddogdayz:

  It’s on. #teamwyld #teamnational #seasonaires

  In his room at the quiet estate, J.P. glanced at the Instagram post of the fight. “That’s mature,” he said to himself with a sniff. He was sitting on his bed in sweats and a tee, working on the business plan for his haberdashery on his laptop.

  His phone buzzed. He gave a “tsk,” then saw it was a text from Jade:

  Enter.

  J.P. stared at it. He emoji’d a thumbs-up, then winced. Leaping off the bed, he jetted out the door. He found Jade’s door open a crack and knocked.

  “I already said ‘enter.’”

  J.P. pushed the door wider. Jade was wearing an M-Kat Records tank and boys’ skivvies. Her long legs took up the bed’s length.

  “I have that shirt,” said J.P. nervously.

  “I’m sure you do.” Jade propped up on her elbow.

  “Your dad’s record label has some of my favorite artists.” J.P. put his hands in his sweats pockets.

  “Most of them suck.” Jade patted the bed. “Sit.”

  J.P. sat.

  “You’re like a Labrador puppy, J.P.”

  “Labs are generic. I’m more like . . . a pitbull.”

  Jade laughed. “Oh, yeah, a pitbull.” She reached into her nightstand and opened a Vogue magazine with her stunning mom on the cover. A joint was tucked in the spine. She lit it with the matches next to a Diptyque candle, and inhaled.

  “We probably shouldn’t smoke in here,” said J.P.

  “While I’m here, this is my room. Take a hit.”

  J.P. took the joint from Jade, their fingers touching, and he toked.

  “You’ll do anything I say, won’t you?” Jade smiled.

  “I like you.” J.P. shrugged, exhaling.

  “Bullshit. You have a boner for my dad.”

  “I admire your dad, but I like you. You’re beautiful and smart. NYU.”

  “All you need is a sizable contribution to go to NYU, which means you could’ve gone there, too.” Jade retrieved the joint. “What is it that you want from my dad? A job?”

  “I want to know how he got where he is. I’ve studied him, but I want to hear it from him.”

  “You’ll never be my dad,” said Jade, her smile vanishing. “My dad started with nothing. Your abuelo owns everything on the other side of Trump’s Invisible Wall.”

  J.P. looked at her, curious and offended.

  “I did a little studying myself.” Jade exhaled, smoke curling around J.P.’s face.

  “Yeah, well, you’re here because your daddy’s in bed with Lyndon Wyld,” replied J.P.

  “Everyone’s in bed with everyone. That’s how it works.” Jade shifted her silky legs. J.P.’s eyes lingered over them. “I saw you today, jefe,” Jade purred. “All of you. I felt you when you carried me back to the boat. Impressive.” She ran her hand along J.P.’s thigh. “I should thank you.”

  J.P. looked at Jade’s hand, which moved up. “You don’t have to thank me.” He wished he weren’t aroused, but he was. “Your dad threatened to kill me not once, but twice, if I deflower you.”

  “He knows I’m no fucking flower. He likes to wave his guns around for shits ‘n’ giggles.” Jade gently squeezed. “But you’ll do what I say because what he wants is for me to be happy. You’ll make me happy this summer, right?”

  “Sí, claro,” replied J.P. as Jade pulled him on top of her.

  “I think you made your point, Grant.” Mia helped Cole pull Grant away from the crowd. “Let’s go.”

  Mac took to the stage with his band, leaning into the mic. “Now that you’re all fired up.” He grinned at the whooping crowd and launched into Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train.”

  Grant yanked away from Mia and Cole, heading out the door. Mia passed Presley, who hadn’t moved from her stool.

  “You coming?” asked Mia.

  “Nope.” Presley’s gaze was cemented on Mac, jamming and singing.

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  “I don’t need a caretaker, Mia.”

  Mia’s eyes flashed hurt. Presley gave her arm a stroke. “I heard you tell Cole about your sick mama today on the yacht. Is that the story you used in your application?”

  “It’s not a story. It’s the truth.”

  “The truth is a story. It’s okay, honey, we all have one. My story is ‘from country bumpkin to Insta-famous.’” Presley lifted her daiquiri, took a selfie, and posted while continuing to Mia, “You’re not responsible for everyone here. Take care of yourself for once.”

  “Fine,” said Mia with a swift exhale. “Have fun.”

  “I always do.”

  As Mia left, she caught Eve’s eyes on Presley. If looks could kill. Eve’s stare shifted to Mia, who looked away and hurried after Grant and Cole.

  TEN

  Grant, Cole, and Mia headed toward the
G, still askew on the curb.

  “Aw, leaving so soon?” They turned to see Ruby weaving toward them.

  “Ruby, right?” said Grant, a bite to his voice.

  “That’s me.” Ruby smiled, wasted.

  “My dick’s bigger than both of those pussies inside.”

  “When did you have time to measure? You’ve been pretty busy.” Ruby waved her smartphone, playing the video of the fight.

  “I’ll show you right now.” Grant started to unbutton his shorts.

  “Grant, don’t be a pig,” said Mia.

  Grant rebuttoned.

  “Pigs are cute.” Ruby put her finger up to her lips, dropping her phone as she pointed at the cop car passing the bar. “Shhhhhh. Don’t tell them that.”

  “Great.” Cole motioned Grant toward the G, then picked up Ruby’s phone and handed it to her. “Grant, you’ll get popped for assault.” He nodded to Ruby. “And you for being drunk in public. You can share a cell.”

  “He’s never been in prison,” Ruby chuckled at Grant. “Pretty, pretty boy.”

  “And you have?” scoffed Grant.

  “Petty theft.” Ruby laughed hysterically. Mia didn’t know if she was joking, but she was certain Ruby was trashed because she tripped as she headed toward the bar’s entrance. Mia caught her by the arm before she hit the ground.

  “You’re amazing.” Ruby looked into Mia’s face, then turned to Cole and held up her phone. “And you are a gentleman.” She staggered into the bar. Cole watched her enter, and Mia watched him watch her.

  “That chick does not want a gentleman,” scoffed Grant as he climbed in the back of the G. The three drove home.

  When they got back to the estate, Grant grabbed the bottle of Jäger that he had left on the living room mantel and stomped upstairs. Cole tried to follow him to their room, but Grant shoved him. “Back the fuck off.” He slammed the door shut.

  Cole stood in the hallway with Mia.

  J.P. slipped out of Jade’s bedroom. “Hey,” he said, quickly heading into the guys’ room.

  “You might not want to go in there,” said Cole, but J.P. was inside before he finished his sentence.

  “Hm,” said Mia as she glanced at Jade’s door.

  “Yup,” replied Cole. The two stood for an awkward beat.

  “What a day, huh?” Mia broke the silence. “You want to go outside for a bit and let the kraken drink himself to sleep?”

  “Nah, I can handle it, because he’s already probably passed out.” They laughed. Mia moved to her door and lingered.

  “’Night, Mia,” said Cole.

  “’Night.”

  Mia washed off the disappointment with her makeup and got into her pajamas. She was exhausted but not sleepy. On her bed, she opened her laptop. The time read 11:30 p.m. She pulled up Skype, then closed it and shut her laptop, picking up her smartphone and moving to the window seat. She pressed “Favorites” then “Ma” with the icon of Kathryn when she was healthy, cheeks full and rosy, hair a thick brown cascade. She put the phone to her ear.

  “My girlie!” Kathryn exclaimed when she answered. Her delight managed to rise above her tired rasp.

  “Hi, Mom.” Mia looked out to the beach, a triangle of the blue-black water lit by the moon.

  “Are you okay? It’s late,” said Kathryn.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Never apologize for calling me. I’m always up for you, sweet love. Are you having the best time?”

  “I am.” Mia put a smile in her voice.

  “Tell me all the exciting news.”

  “Oh, there’s so much.” Mia wanted to say more, but all she could think about was the day’s chaos, and that would worry her mom. “Wait until my memoir is out.”

  “You hate writing, so I’ll be waiting forever.”

  “How are you feeling, Mom?”

  “Like a million bucks.”

  Mia was relieved she’d decided to call instead of Skype, because the picture would’ve told a different story. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  Mia changed the subject. “And Sean? How’s he? I texted him, but he hasn’t texted back.”

  “You know he’s bad at that. All boys are.”

  There was a long pause. “I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you,” said Mia.

  “I miss you, too, honey. Have fun for me.”

  “I will.”

  “Love you so much.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Mia hung up. She stared out the window and noticed a figure to the right of the moonlight. Cole was on the beach by himself, talking on his phone.

  Presley, the last customer at The Rabbit Hole, sat on a barstool and watched Mac wash and dry glasses. “Where’s your lovely girlfriend? What’s her name? Kelly? Beth?”

  “Eve.”

  “Eve.” Presley hung on the “v.”

  “She went home,” said Mac.

  “To your home?”

  “We don’t live together.”

  “I’m an old-fashioned girl myself.” Presley recrossed her legs. “She didn’t want to wait for you tonight?”

  “Nope.” Mac placed glasses on shelves.

  Presley put an elbow on the bar, chin in hand. “You’re at the top of her shitlist?”

  “No. You are.” Mac flipped down the lid to the garnish tray in front of Presley.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Presley shrugged. “Won’t be the last.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes as Mac wiped down the bar. Presley looked at the small stage.

  “Your band is marginal at best,” Presley said. “If I’m gonna be honest.”

  “Don’t you need your beauty rest? You seasonaires have all that twatting and Snapshitting to do.” He wiped harder toward her, forcing her to lift her elbows.

  “No one under thirty tweets anymore,” said Presley. “And I can Snapchat in my sleep. Nothing’s on my schedule until our appearance at the store at eleven.”

  “Your appearance,” Mac snickered. “Like you’re a fucking celebrity.”

  “I am a fucking celebrity.” Presley showed him her Instagram, but he didn’t bother to look.

  “Eleven?” Mac slapped the towel over his shoulder. “My other job starts at seven a.m.”

  “What job is that?”

  “I teach sailing to kids. Summer camp.”

  “Awwww. You are one hard worker.” Presley knelt on the stool to reach over and point. “Though you missed a spot right there.”

  Mac smacked the towel down on the invisible spot and got in her grill. “Listen, what’s your name? Kelly? Beth?”

  “Presley.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” His jaw muscles flexed tightly. “Presley. We’re closed. Go home.”

  Presley didn’t back down. Their eyes locked. “I need a ride.”

  “I’m not a fucking chauffeur,” snapped Mac.

  Presley broke the death stare, teasing him. “How about a Lyft driver? That’s a good way for a starving musician to make extra cash.”

  “You might not believe this, with your cushy summer play-job, but no one wants to live here year-round. I want to leave, and people like you, Presley, are a big reason.”

  “I earned this cushy summer play-job.” Presley’s voice grew serious. “My life isn’t so luxurious where I’m from either.” This was the first time she couldn’t look at him. Seeing this vulnerability slip, Mac’s expression softened. Letting silence fill the room, he finished wiping down the bar, including the invisible spot.

  Presley sat back down and turned on the sparkle. “Are you gonna give me a ride or what?”

  Mac tossed the towel into the sink. “The Lyndon Wyld fancy flophouse is out of my way.”

  “Where do you live?” asked Presley.

  “On a boat in Old South Wharf.”

  “Lemme guess.” Presley put her finger to her temple. “It’s called The Eve.”

  “The Taken Aship,” Mac said, then off P
resley’s glare, clarified, “It’s not my boat. It’s my cousin’s. He gets the hell outta here during tourist season and I Airbnb my apartment.”

  “Resourceful,” said Presley.

  “Yup.”

  “I accept your offer to go out of your way.” Presley lifted a shoulder.

  Mac rolled his eyes and removed his black apron. He grabbed his keys from a hook. “Lemme lock up.”

  Presley smiled, satisfied.

  ELEVEN

  I opened my eyes this morning to see my baby’s bare ass right here! Right the fuck here!” Maz waved his twenty-four-karat-gold-encased smartphone at Lyndon, who sat behind the green lacquer desk of her Manhattan penthouse headquarters. Enraged, he pointed to Presley’s Instagram post of a nude Jade diving off the yacht.

  Lyndon sipped tea as Grace leaned in to look. “Oh, that is her bare bum, isn’t it? Looks a tad different than when I used to diaper it babysitting during your Blue Bash.”

  “Why is it on this bitch’s Instagram when you’re mama bear, Lyndon?” Maz yelled. “You can actually see more than Jade’s ass if you zoom in!” He zoomed in and shoved the phone closer toward Lyndon, who waved it away.

  “Maz, my darling, you know that all press is good press,” said Lyndon, ever calm and collected.

  “Not when it comes to my family.” He shoved the phone in his pocket.

  Lyndon put down her cup. It clinked on its matching china plate. “You shagged two of your nannies and have a child with one. Your mother caught your wife with her personal trainer’s face between her legs and had a heart attack. And your oldest son went to jail for statutory rape.”

  “That was thrown out. And now he’s a multiplatinum DJ!”

  “Exactly. After each transgression, your family’s stock rose.”

  Grace put a file folder down on the desk. “Though it’s fun to reminisce, you two should get down to business. Lyndon, you have a Skype call at ten—that’s in fifteen minutes.”

  “Did you double book? Me?” Maz cocked his head at Lyndon. “I best not be your double book.”

  “Oh, please,” chuckled Lyndon. “You always double book. We’re both brilliantly efficient. It’s one reason we are finally collaborating. And here’s the other one.” She opened the file folder and fanned out shoe designs across her desk, all with an MWyld emblem. “I wanted a quick meeting to show you how our line is shaping up!”