Page 44 of Hotter in the Hamptons

They bumped into each other at the wine store, reaching for the same bottle of rosé. They sat at nearby tables at the Crow’s Nest for dinner, Aly with a mezze plate while Lola glared across the way until Ryan ordered her a steak, medium rare. In the mornings while she drank coffee in the kitchen, she often saw Aly going on walks along the beach. They sidestepped each other in line for the bathroom at Surf Lodge. They passed each other on Main as Lola went shopping. She saw Aly in her dreams too, but that was another story.

Aly was definitely a thorn in her side. But a rose was not its thorns, and Lola couldn’t decide what was worse: seeing her or not seeing her.

At night, Lola retreated to the guest bedroom and indulged in increasingly raunchy fantasies—Aly tying her up, Aly fucking her in public, Aly teaching her how to squirt—all fueled by the running thrum of tension between them.

She wished she had brought her vibrator. She had a perpetual hand cramp.

In person, though, their interactions were less than desirable.

“What’s up, Lola?” Aly said to her one afternoon as they passed each other in the produce aisle of Citarella.

Lola had a peach in one hand and an heirloom tomato in the other. She briefly considered chucking them both at Aly’s head. Instead, trying to sound cool and aloof, she simply said, “Oh, you know.”

“Those aren’t really in season yet,” Aly said, gesturing to the peach.

“I didn’t realize you were the peach queen of Long Island,” Lola snapped. “Any other hot grocery tips?”

Aly rolled her eyes. “Okay. Have a good day,” she said, walking away.

Hot grocery tips?Lola spent the rest of the day trying to think of better comebacks.

Another time, Lola came out of the bathroom at Cowfish, a restaurant on the bay, to find Aly first in line.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Aly said as though it was funny.

“Incredible,” Lola said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me.”

“Right.” Aly nodded. “Because that’s what I want to do with my summer.”

“How else are you going to get your next headline?” Lola flashed her best fake smile as she squeezed by Aly to return to her table.

Each run-in, Aly tried to saysomething, as though she was enjoying watching Lola squirm, as though she liked constantly coming across as the bigger person. Sometimes Lola engaged. Other times she just laughed. It was getting ridiculous.

She was pretty sure she was losing her mind. How else to explain this complicated dance of one-upmanship she was engaged in?

She felt like she was seeing Aly more than she even saw Ryan, who was hardly even sleeping at Giancarlo’s house anymore, always off to meet his new guy, whose name Lola had trouble remembering. She wanted to be happy for him that he seemed caught up in something romantic, but she was too resentful. Ryan gone meant she had no one to talk to, no one to bring her back down to earth.

***

The big Goop event was on a Tuesday evening at the Parrish Art Museum, a charming, double A-frame building in a large, grassy field in Southampton. Precancellation, Goop had been one of Lola’s biggest clients, and she assumed this was a pity invite. Still, she wasdetermined to go. Perhaps by showing up, she could reclaim some of what she’d lost.

By now, Lola had figured out how the Hamptons worked: despite the relaxed beach atmosphere, you showed up on time and you wore nice clothes.

So she arrived at 7:00 p.m. on the dot wearing the yellow Khaite dress. And begrudgingly, she took an Uber instead of riding her bike.

It was a gorgeous, humid summer evening, the sky lavender with fluffy, pink clouds. The entrance to the museum was lined with candles, and PR people in all black were checking names at the door. Walking up, it was one of those moments when Lola—despite everything—was able to feel grateful for the things she had access to, for the beauty of it all.

Inside, women she recognized from the internet huddled in small packs, gossiping and taking photos. She beelined for the bar, ordering a spicy margarita that she sipped as she did a lap, pretending to be looking for someone. In reality, she was scouring the crowd, searching for just one friendly smile, one soft place to land.

A PR person materialized to usher the guests into another room, where a long table was lit with candles and decorated with dried flowers and herbs. String lights twinkled overhead. It was incredible Instagram bait, but Lola had deleted the app from her phone. There was still nothing she could post that wouldn’t be met with the evil cries of delight from the trolls.

Pieces from the summer collection of G. Label were displayed around the room. Lola made a show of looking at some tunics before taking her seat. She always felt obligated to feign an interest in the product at a launch party, though for whose benefit, she wasn’t sure.

A small card bore her name in calligraphy at a seat toward the endof the table, and she sat down, eyeballing the name cards next to her. On her left would be a fitness influencer named Rachel. On her right would be…

Of fucking course.

Aly Ray Carter.

---