Smooth Sailing

Ahmaya’s face dissolved into a happy smile and she extended her hand. “Deal.”

Huffing out a sigh, Haley shook her hand.

“Now,” Ahmaya said, “we have to find you something sexy to wear.”

“No, we don’t. Jeans and a T-shirt will do just fine.”

Ahmaya looked aghast. “Shut your mouth. This is a par-tay. You’re not going looking like a schlub.”

“I came here with the Red Cross and I stayed to work. I have scrubs and jeans and that’s it.”

“Ah.” Ahmaya’s eyes glistened. “But I have party clothes. My sister sent me a big box of them last month.”

“You wear a size four.”

“You’re not that much bigger than me. I bet we can squeeze you into my blue Ann Taylor Loft spaghetti strap. Ann Taylor sizes run big, and blue is your color.” Ahmaya dug in her closet, found the dress, tossed it to Haley. “The dress is a little bland for my taste anyway. Should be right up your alley.”

“I’m not much for florals. Too girly.”

“No excuses. Try it on.” Ahmaya sank her hands on her hips.

Reluctantly, Haley stripped off her scrubs and put on the dress. It hugged her curves and the hem fell halfway up her thigh. Hello, where’s the burlesque stage? Gypsy Rose Lee is in the house. She tugged at the bottom of the dress, trying to lengthen it. “It’s too short.”

“You’ve got dynamite legs. Why are you so scared to show them?”

“I’m not scared. Just not interested in looking like a hoochie mama.”

“You’re saying I’m a hoochie mama?”

“The dress isn’t snug on you and you’re two inches shorter than I am.”

“Celebrate your curves, Haley. I’m jealous.”

“It’s too tight in the boobs.”

“It’s perfect. That’s the way a sexy dress is supposed to fit.”

“I’ll need a strapless bra.”

Ahmaya’s eyes danced mischievously. “Go braless.”

“My nipples will show.”

“I have Nippies you can wear. No more excuses.”

“What are Nippies?”

“Gawd, do you live under a rock? They’re nipple covers.”

“I live on a hurricane-devastated island. My concerns run more toward basic human necessities than fashion.”

“You can say that again. Can you for once not be a Debbie Downer?”

That startled her. “Am I really a killjoy?”

“Yeah, kinda. Not everyone lives by your work-work-work credo, and you know, sometimes people need something fun to take their minds off the bad things that have happened. Jeb totally gets that.”

Her friend’s comment stopped Haley in her tracks. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that she was too focused on hard work and doing things by the book. Did everyone think she was a hard-ass? Yes, she was very careful by nature and thorough in forming her opinions, and she had high principles. Why was that a bad thing? Why did she so often feel out of step with others her age?

“Haley, if you’re not perfect every minute of the day, the world won’t come to an end,” Ahmaya said, her voice softening. “Please just try to have fun tonight. Will you promise me that?”

She really did want to fit in. Wanted people to like her. “I’ll try, but the main reason I don’t want to go is that Jeb Whitcomb will be there.”

“Of course he’ll be there. It’s his party.”

“He’s just so cocky. He thinks that all women want to fall at his feet.”

“Most of them do.”

“Not me.”

“Do you really want to make him suffer?”

That intrigued her. “How would I do that?”

“Show up looking gorgeous. Let him see what he’ll never have. Rub it in.”

Hmm. She liked that. Little Miss Sadist. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Yay.” Ahmaya clapped. “Now, will you let me do your makeup?”

Haley started to resist—Ahmaya had a tendency to overdo makeup application—but she quickly thought better of it. She was determined to prove she could be a party animal just like everyone else, even if it killed her.

But most of all, she wanted to give Jeb Whitcomb a good-riddance send-off he wouldn’t forget.

2

Luff—The flapping motion of the sailcloth when a sail is undertrimmed

JEB WAS IN HIS ELEMENT. He loved throwing parties, loved crowds. Having people around amped him up, fed his energy.

It wasn’t even sunset and the party was already rocking. Wang Chung was urging “Everybody Have Fun Tonight” from the sound system. People were bobbing and weaving to the beat. The bartender he’d hired was imitating Tom Cruise moves from Cocktail. The yacht overflowed, people spilling out onto the gangplank and dock. The caterers dished up delectable canapés—prawn spring rolls, Thai chicken skewers, langoustine pastry puffs, smoked-salmon crisps, mini Yorkshire pudding with roast beef and horseradish, and mushrooms stuffed with lump crab meat. Japanese paper lanterns and flickering citronella candles provided intimate lighting. The air smelled salty and calm.

He stood smiling, dressed in a blue button-down silk shirt, chino slacks and deck shoes without socks, a tumbler of finely aged Scotch and water in his hand. Great turnout. Then again, the turnout for his parties was always great.

But one person was missing. The person he most wanted to see.

You really didn’t think she’d show, did you?