49. The Twist
Dru-Ann has been meaning to try out the Bakelite record player in her guest cottage. She stands in the little niche and flips through the short stack of albums on the shelf underneath: The Turtles, Marvin Gaye, Joni Mitchell. All the album covers are worn; they’ve been lovingly handled, and Dru-Ann wonders if Hollis ordered them from some website for vintage records or if maybe these belonged to her mother and father.
She picks up the Marvin Gaye—this feels like the mood she’s seeking— and then she peers at the framed 45 that’s hanging on the wall above the turntable.
Chubby Checker, “The Twist.” And it’s signed!
Ahhhhhh! Dru-Ann thinks.
Does “the Twist” have another meaning for Dru-Ann? When she sees all the notifications on her phone—she heard it buzzing away in the car but ignored
it—she wonders if it just might.
Check Twitter, Gucci Bex said.
Dru-Ann blinks. Is she seeing things or is #TeamDruAnn trending?
She can’t help but sing along with Marvin Gaye. “What’s going on?
What’s going on?”
Dru-Ann scrolls and clicks until she finds a very cute picture of Phineas Pine holding aloft the venerated Claret Jug (the silver jug isn’t as well known in the States as the Masters’ green jacket is, but who’s to say the Masters isn’t next for Phineas?). Standing beside Phineas, Posey Wofford is gazing up adoringly at her beloved.
Twitter has things to say about this photo. Didn’t Posey Wofford quit her own tournament due to “mental-health issues”? Is it possible she used mental health as an excuse so that she could fly to Scotland to cheer on her boyfriend? That’s certainly what it looks like, Twitter says. And if so, how appalling. Posey Wofford is not only antifeminist (prioritizing Phineas’s
career over her own) but also disrespectful of people who do suffer from anxiety and depression.
Posey Wofford was “depressed” until her beau @phinpinegolf started sinking putts, one tweet says. Then she perked right up! #supportmentalhealth #cancelPosey #TeamDruAnn.
This feels like the usual Twitter noise—surely these people realize that Posey could look happy on the outside but still be suffering. Then Dru-Ann finds a clip of Phineas’s press conference. He’s incandescent with joy, as well he should be. It’s a big deal, winning the British Open at the Old Lady.
His name will go down in history, and Dru-Ann is certain that every time he blinks, he sees dollar signs.
When asked about Posey’s mental state, Phineas says, “I told her I had a dream I was going to win and that I wanted her here to see every bit of it.”
“So she’s not battling mental-health demons, then?” a reporter asks.
“Mental-health demons?” Phineas says. “Posey? No way.” He sounds so incredulous that Dru-Ann wonders if he’s trying to ruin Posey’s reputation.
Maybe now that he’s golf’s new sweetheart, he plans on trading up. Maybe next month he’ll be dating Zendaya.
Ha! That would be a twist, Dru-Ann thinks.
A text comes in from Nick: I think Posey needs your help managing this mess.
Posey is fired, Dru-Ann writes back. But I’m willing to make Phineas my first male client. Have him call me.
Three dots rise. What about me? Nick says. Can you forgive an indulgent father?
Decision pending further review, Dru-Ann writes, and she hits Send.
She wades through her voice mails. Dean Falzarano from New York has called to apologize. The magazine will not only run Dru-Ann’s piece about the ice skaters, they’d also like to commission five thousand words on “the Posey Wofford situation.” Do you have anything to say on the subject? Dean wants to know. Oh, do I, Dru-Ann thinks.
Zeke from Throw Like a Girl has left a voice mail saying, “Expecting you in the studio on Tuesday. Sorry about the mix-up.” Dru-Ann would like to tell Zeke to go pound sand but she loves that gig and she feels a duty to save Marla—and her viewers—from Crabby Gabby. Maybe now is the moment to ask for a better time slot. Monday evenings, right before SportsCenter?
Finally, there’s a voice mail from JB walking back his request for Dru- Ann’s resignation. Dru-Ann sighs. She’s not sure if she should sue JB, orchestrate a hostile takeover of his company, or call Phineas’s agent, Gannon, to see if he wants to partner up and launch a new agency.
She’s going to think about it.
Caroline sits on the front steps of First Light, where she can see the rows of hydrangea bushes lining the driveway, and opens the text from Isaac.
It’s a selfie of him and Sofia, their faces squished together. They’re grinning like goofy kids; there’s love in their eyes. Below the picture it says: Thank you.
Caroline clicks out of texts. It’s unfair—first Dylan and Aubrey, now Isaac and Sofia. Caroline is left with no one.
She hears a door open and sees Dru-Ann step out of the guest cottage.
“Looks like someone’s in their feelings,” Dru-Ann says. She takes a seat next to Caroline on the stairs. “Spill it, girl, what’s going on?”
It’s stupid, Caroline nearly says, but she knows Dru-Ann actually wants to hear about her problems. She tells her, in a very disjointed fashion, about all of it: The long-ago bonfire with Dylan where Aubrey kicked sand in her face, Isaac crying about his mother, who died when he was nine, Orion sucking on bacon, Please, no trouble, ain’t it funny how the night changes, the Lyft of Shame, Isaac’s golden tea and cashews from Kalustyan’s, their kiss, their drone lesson in Central Park, Thomas the Tank Engine, Sofia’s return, Dylan waiting for her at the Box, making out, Sofia’s texts, Caroline’s Instagram post, Aubrey throwing a drink in her face, her call with Sofia, seeing Dylan with Aubrey and Orion at Provisions, mon petit chou.
When Caroline finally stops to take a breath—did any of that make sense? —Dru-Ann says, “So you’re telling me you made out with your longtime high-school crush and you had a brief, steamy love affair with your genius
boss?”
Caroline nods.
“You do realize,” Dru-Ann says, “that those are romantic achievements most of us only dream about.”
“Also,” Caroline says, “I really miss my dad.”
“Oh, sugar,” Dru-Ann says. She takes Caroline in her arms, where,
finally, Caroline starts to cry. “That just means you’re human.”
Brooke is in the Board Room suite changing into her Nantucket Reds miniskirt and new boatneck sweater that she bought at Murray’s. Before she heads to the kitchen, she pulls out her laptop and logs on to Facebook. She considers posting her news, because coming out to everyone individually seems daunting. She types, Hey, everyone, big news: I’m gay!
People will leave supportive messages like I’m an ally! And hopefully those who “don’t get it” will keep scrolling. Her mother will call in tears, not because Brooke is gay but because she had to hear about it on Facebook.
No, Brooke can’t post about it on Facebook, or at least not yet. She has to talk to Charlie, the twins, and her mother. She knows what Whitney will say: One drunken kiss doesn’t necessarily mean you’re gay, Mom. Maybe take the time to figure that out.
She sends a text to Will and Whitney: Can we have dinner tomorrow night at Juniper? I have something exciting to share!
Will says that he’ll be at the gym until eight but could meet after that.
Whitney asks, Is it exciting-exciting or just Mom-exciting?
Brooke thinks it’s best to keep expectations low, so she says: Mom- exciting. But definitely worth postponing a Bumble date for.
After Brooke divorces Charlie, will she create a profile on Bumble—or is there some other dating app for women looking for women? Is there one for bi people and a different one for queer people? She has some research to do.
Brooke hears the faint strains of music playing in the kitchen. It’s “Stacy’s Mom,” by Fountains of Wayne. Brooke loves this song! This must be, finally, the playlist that Hollis made for her. Brooke can’t wait to pour a glass of rosé, help Hollis make the pizzas, and dance around the kitchen.
But first, Brooke goes back into Facebook and unfriends Electra.
Tatum hears the music start as she’s shedding her Lilly dress. Tonight is pizza, ice cream truck, and fireworks, and Tatum wants to be comfortable.
She reaches into her suitcase for her cutoffs—and screams!
The damn snake is curled up inside it.
Tatum laughs. Ha-ha-ha, Dru-Ann got her back, oh, did she—Tatum nearly peed herself. She throws the snake across the room as her phone dings.
It’s Kyle.
What would you say if Jack and I snuck over to watch the fireworks tonight?
Tatum can’t believe it, but her first thought is No. This is their last night.
It should be only girls.
Tatum has been completely brainwashed.
Just girls tonight, Tatum says. Tell Jack to stay an extra day and he can see Holly tomorrow after everyone leaves.
Kyle says, He’s talking about coming back in the fall and staying an entire week! We’ll never get rid of him.
Oh, baby, Tatum writes, adding the winking emoji, he might not be staying at our house.
“Since You’ve Been Gone” is playing when Caroline walks into the kitchen.
Definitely Brooke’s playlist (even Caroline remembers Brooke’s obsession with American Idol).
Hollis is at the marble-topped pastry station rolling out perfect disks of pizza dough.
Caroline gives her a hug. “Was everything okay with Gigi?” she asks.
“She didn’t know Dad, did she?”
“Of course not,” Hollis says. She pats Caroline on the back to seem extra- reassuring. She made the right decision with Gigi, she thinks, if only for her daughter’s sake. Caroline doesn’t need to lose her father a second time.
“Electra was just doing what Electra does. Gigi is in her bedroom getting changed.”
“Okay,” Caroline says. She pulls away and studies her mother. Hollis doesn’t meet her eye but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s lying; she has pizzas to make. What if, Caroline thinks, Gigi had appeared out of the blue and befriended her mother through the website because she was sleeping with Matthew? Then after Matthew died, the two women became even closer and Hollis invited Gigi to her Five-Star Weekend as her “best friend from midlife,” never knowing Gigi’s true identity?
That, Caroline thinks, would be some serious podcast material.
As she films, Caroline feels a surprising melancholy. The weekend is drawing to a close. The ladies pour drinks and dive into the chips and guacamole. Dru-Ann regales them all with the tale of her reversal of fortune —the internet loves her again.
Gigi is the last to appear, and she’s as captivating as ever in a pale yellow patio dress. Hollis ushers everyone out to the back deck. The sun is glazing the surface of the pond a fiery pink, and clouds glow on the horizon. There will be a cotton-candy sky tonight.
Brooke’s playlist is Caroline’s favorite; these are the songs she remembers her parents playing when she was growing up—“Umbrella” by Rihanna, “Need You Now” by Lady A, “Mr. Brightside” by the Killers.
Tatum tells Gigi about the sail. “I’ve lived on Nantucket my entire life, but being on the water on a day like today never gets old.”
Dru-Ann tells Hollis, “You’re lucky my fortune changed because I was ready to move into the Twist permanently.”
Hollis slides the first pie, a classic Margherita, into her portable pizza oven. You’re doing fine, Hollis tells herself, just focus on the food. But then the song “Fake Ass Friends” comes on and as everyone else dances, Hollis feels her temper coming to a slow boil. She pulls the pizza out and is horrified to see it’s black, charred, smoking; the toppings all slide right off the peel onto the deck.
No, she’s hallucinating. The pizza has turned out perfectly—melty and gooey with a thin, crispy crust.
Her entire body is tense with fury. She can’t sit down at a table across from or next to Gigi—and so she decides they will all eat standing up.
Gigi feels like she has a slash of paint across her face or like she’s been branded; she is Hester Prynne, an adulteress, a scarlet woman. She senses Hollis keeping her distance—every time Gigi gets near her, she feels a chill like she’s walking past an open refrigerator—and it seems like the other women are keeping their distance as well. Caroline has her camera out—the guilt Gigi feels about Caroline is at another level altogether—and Gigi does her best to stay out of the frame. She knows the other women have had one- on-one chats with Caroline, and Gigi has been dreading her turn all weekend for obvious reasons. But now they’re out of time, and unbeknownst to Caroline, Gigi has endured an interview of another kind.
Gigi doesn’t know how she’ll make herself eat. She takes a piece of pizza
just to be polite, to seem normal. With the first bite, she discovers it’s the best she’s ever tasted, including pizza she’s eaten in Italy. She considers telling Hollis this—Your food is pure sorcery—but Hollis will think Gigi is trying to flatter her, so Gigi simply loads her plate with a slice of the shrimp and lobster pizza and a slice of the Brie and pear one. She stands at the edge of the deck and looks at the pond and the footbridge.
Brooke appears at Gigi’s elbow. She’s wearing the skirt and navy-and- white-striped boatneck sweater that Gigi helped her pick out… was it only the day before? Gigi feels like she’s been on Nantucket for weeks.
“You look so pretty,” Gigi says. Brooke’s face has some color, and she’s smoothed her curly hair back into a bun; the sweater emphasizes Brooke’s delicate collarbones, and the skirt shows off her slim calves.
“Did you know that Matthew had that bridge built for Hollis as a surprise one winter?” Brooke says. “Because Hollis loves the footbridge at Monet’s home in Giverny. Isn’t that romantic?”
“Very,” Gigi says. It hurts to hear this, though it’s helpful too. Gigi inserted herself between two people who had created a life together. Matthew built Hollis a bridge.
Gigi would like someone to build her a bridge someday—a metaphorical bridge, anyway. You deserve to be somebody’s number one, Matthew said in their last conversation. It sounded patronizing at the time, but Gigi knows he was right. She does deserve that.
Brooke says, “I am so happy I met you. You’ve been such a good
influence on me.”
“Oh, Brooke, no, stop—”
“It’s true,” Brooke says. She turns around to face the others. “Hey, you guys, don’t we all just love Gigi?”
Tatum raises her wineglass but says nothing because her mouth is full.
Dru-Ann says, “We just love you, Gigi,” in a way that is both teasing and sweet.
Caroline sets down her camera for a second so she can eat. “Only my mom could invite a complete stranger to this thing and have it turn out to be someone as chill as Gigi,” she says.
There’s a beat of silence. Are they all waiting for Hollis to speak? She looks up from the cutting board. “Who wants a slice of veggie supreme?”
