“Anyway, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just keep it simple. Drinks on your patio, that’s all she’s looking for. To see if the spark is still there, I guess.”
“But David ismarried! David and Taylor are your friends!”
“David is my friend,” corrects Jack. “Taylor is my friend’s wife.”
“Even so.” However moved Nicola is by the tale of true love between David and Juliana, of that single, romantic, cinematic night walking around the city until the sun rose, she doesn’t think she wants to be a party to—nay, an enabler of—infidelity. Especially when there’s achildinvolved.
“So what do you say?” prods Jack.
But then Nicola remembers the thing Taylor said about Country Cousins, and the way her lip curled up when she said it. Taylor is a Mean Girl. Worse, she’s a rich, privileged Mean Girl, which is deadlier than your garden-variety Mean Girl.
“I don’t know...” The pendulum swings back again. Felicity is her first cousin once removed! Or her second cousin! She can never remember which is which, but either way, shouldn’t she be protecting her? “I’m not a home-wrecker!” she says.
“Nobody’s askingyouto wreck anything.”
“You’re asking me to be a party to it.”
“I’m just the messenger. And anyway, you know that having drinks with someone doesn’t constitute infidelity, right?”
“I guess so.” She thinks some more. “Well, will you come too? If I do it? As an icebreaker.”
“Of course I will.” Jack smiled. “My middle name is Icebreaker! I’ll even break the actual ice for the drinks, if you want.”
“Jack Icebreaker Baker. That has a nice ring to it, especially with the rhyme at the end.”
“It’s a great touch,” he agrees. He drains his glass. “My parents really thought it through. You want another, or should we get out of here?”
“Let’s get out of here.” Around them there’s a steady stream of foot traffic to and from the boats. Everyone here seems content, their worries and cares far from them, mitigated by the beauty of the day.
Jack slides a credit card, a black Amex, to the bartender and unleashes his smile on her. She smiles too, and at the same time she points to the sign above the bar that saysCASH ONLY. She slides the card back.
“You only take cash?” he says.
The bartender rolls her eyes. “You know that,” she says. “You’re here every day.” She fixes Jack with a stern look—she’s maybe in her late forties or early fifties, so she can pull this off—but there is also the hint of a smile or a twinkle in her eyes. She, like everyone else, is vulnerable to the charms of Jack Baker.
Jack lets a small chagrined puff of air out of his mouth. “I forgot,” he says.
“ATM over there.” The bartender tips her head in one direction.
“This isn’t a debit card,” he says. “Credit only.”
Nicola sighs, a little exasperated. “I’ve got cash,” she says, rummaging in the pocket of her shorts.
“I’ll make it up to you, promise.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Nicola’s father once told her you could divide the very wealthy into two groups: those who are more careful with their money than the poorest, and those who are careless with their own money andby association careless with everyone else’s money too. The cost of five cocktails is a lot for Nicola that summer. Jack belongs to the second group.
Jack leans over and rests his head on Nicola’s shoulder. She’s not quite sure what to do with this. Ignore it? Pat him on the head?
“How about dinner on me?” says Jack.
“Tonight? Or a different night?”
“You pick.”
“Different night.” She needs to be in early the next day, and the Mudslides have made her tired.
