Elin Hilderbrand - The Rumor

But then Eddie calmed himself. Ronan worked at DeepWell in Las Vegas. It was a legitimate company; Eddie had googled it. Prostitution was legal in parts of Nevada, so that was probably what Ronan LNW was used to. To him, it was no big deal.

Okay, man, no problem, no problem. I was only asking.

Cancel? Half of Eddie’s conscience and half of his good sense said yes.

But it was so much money. And he was on the verge of drowning. Chapter 11-or worse.

But… money would do him no good in jail.

He popped three more Tums.

He had two daughters and a very sweet wife at home. If Grace knew he was doing this, she would kill him, then die of shame herself. She would tell Eddie that she was relieved her grandmother Sabine hadn’t lived to meet Eddie, because he would in no way have passed muster. She’d told him this once before in anger, and the hurt had stuck with him. Why wasn’t he good enough? Because he’d grown up in an apartment over Ramos Dry Cleaners on Purchase Street in New Bedford, where both his parents worked sixteen hours a day? Because he’d lost his track scholarship to Plymouth State after failing English senior year and then failing last-chance summer school? Because, instead of going to college, he’d come to Nantucket Island and gotten a job washing dishes at the Straight Wharf, then became a buser, then a waiter, then waited on the right person, a man named Winthrop Bing, now dead, who liked the way Eddie hustled and asked if he wanted a chance to get into real estate?

You hustle faster than anyone I know. That was what the Chief had said.

The Chief liked Eddie because six years earlier, when the Chief’s best friend, Greg MacAvoy, and his wife, Tess, were killed in a sailing accident, the Chief, who was the executor of the will, had to sell the house. Eddie came up with a buyer in three days at full asking price-and he’d waived his commission. It was the one and only time in his career that he’d ever waived a commission. He did it because everyone else in the community was reaching out to help Chloe and Finn, the orphaned twins, so Eddie joined in, forgoing the twenty-one thousand dollars due to him, despite his natural Machiavellian proclivities.

And look! The Chief still remembered his generosity. The Chief thought he was a good guy. Well, he was a good guy. What he was about to do was illegal, yes, but he wasn’t actually hurting anyone.

It was legal in parts of Nevada.

Legal in Amsterdam. Were the Dutch bad people?

Cancel?

The bald truth was, he needed the money. On top of everything else, Madeline wanted her fifty grand back! That had been an uncomfortable conversation.

Eddie decided to call Barbie. He wasn’t sure if she would be at home or if she was away. As close as they were, she rarely shared her weekend plans. On the company calendar, she used the shorthand P, for personal-which meant anything that wasn’t Island Fog Realty business. Her desk was littered with pens and notepads from fancy hotels-the Plaza and Waldorf, the Drake in Chicago, the Four Seasons in Santa Barbara-but if Eddie asked if she had stayed at the Four Seasons in Santa Barbara, she would tell him it was “P.” Barbie didn’t believe in social networking or sharing her whereabouts or being part of a community, real or virtual. She existed to please herself.

She answered on the first ring. She was reliable that way.

“Sorry to bother you,” Eddie said.

Silence. She wouldn’t even say if he was bothering her or not.

“What’s up?” she said.

“I’m having second thoughts about sending the girls,” he said. “I just saw the chief of police.”

“At the house?” she said.

“No, at Cumberland Farms. He was buying milk.”

“Do you think he was following you?”

“No,” Eddie said, though the thought had never occurred to him. “Not following me. I’m pretty sure he got there first.”

“I don’t understand,” Barbie said. “What’s the problem, then?”

“It’s illegal.”

“You just figured that out?”

“You don’t have a gut feeling on this, do you?” he asked. Barbie’s instincts were uncanny. She could see certain things before they happened.

“My gut feeling is that it will be just fine,” Barbie said. “Not to mention very lucrative. I suggested it, remember? If it makes you feel better, just tell yourself it was all my idea.”

“All your idea, but it will be me going to jail.”

“That’s not going to happen, Ed.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“What if I get in trouble? Are you even on island?”

Silence. Then, “Yes, actually, I am, if you must know.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie said.

“Text me when you have the cash,” she said.

“Will do,” he said, and he hung up. They were going to do this, then. He and Barbie were going to become de facto pimp and madam of a Russian prostitution ring down on Low Beach Road.

One more phone call, he thought. To the girls, to make sure they knew what they were getting into.

Nadia answered the phone.

Eddie said, “Are you ladies ready?”

“Yes, we ready,” Nadia said. “We all go to salon to get manicure, pedicure, Eddie, with our own money, because there is more, bigger money coming tonight.”

“Nice,” Eddie said. “I’m sure you look very pretty.”

“Who cares about pretty?” Nadia said. “Hands will be ruined tomorrow anyway, with the cleaning.”

“Okay, Cinderella,” Eddie said. “I’ll see you shortly.”

He popped two more Tums. They weren’t working. His heartburn was so bad that he really needed prescription-strength medication, but who had time to go to the doctor?

Eddie pulled up in front of the house and sat in the dark car, waiting for Nadia and the other girls. Then he realized he should go down to the house and meet Ronan LNW and get the money part squared away so that the money and the girls weren’t connected. This was Eddie’s logic, but he wished he had some guidelines. Surely some depraved soul on the Internet had written a manual on how to run a prostitution ring without getting caught?

The front door to the house was standing wide open, and in the background, Eddie could hear Eric Clapton singing “Cocaine.”

“Knock, knock!” Eddie said, stepping into the foyer. “Hello, hello!” He didn’t feel bad about his intrusion. Technically, while the owner was in L.A., this house was Eddie’s responsibility.

He nearly collided with Ronan LNW, who was rushing down the stairs, holding a mirror crisscrossed with lines of cocaine, like a white, powdery tic-tac-toe board. Ronan was in bare feet, wearing jeans and an unbuttoned white shirt.

“Fast Eddie!” he said. His nostrils were pink and twitchy as a rabbit’s, and his pupils had been swallowed up by green iris; Eddie had the unsettling thought that he was dealing with a zombie. And Ronan was sweating profusely. “Are the girls here? You probably want your money. Here, hold this.”

He handed Eddie the mirror, and Eddie gazed down at his reflection, cut through by lines of coke. He was simply not comfortable with any of this.

Ronan appeared with a regular brown paper bag from the Stop & Shop. “Here you go, man. They’ll come every night this week, right? And I’m paying half now and half at the end?”

Eddie nodded, afraid to give verbal confirmation, lest there was a wiretap somewhere in the house. He was anxious to get the drugs out of his hands. Back in the late 1980s, when Eddie arrived on Nantucket, everyone he knew had done drugs. When Eddie worked at the Straight Wharf, cocaine had practically been served at the staff meal. But Eddie had steered clear of the stuff. Back then, he’d still been a runner, and he feared contaminating his body. Besides which, he knew drugs were bad; he’d seen them undo half his high school class in New Bedford.

He handed Ronan back the mirror and accepted the paper bag, then peered inside. Cash. For one glorious moment, Eddie’s heart felt like a helium balloon.

Ronan nodded down at the mirror. “You wanna do a line, man?”

Eddie held up a palm. “No, thanks. Not my scene. I’m a father.”

Ronan stared at him.

Eddie thought, And I’m a pimp.

Ronan said, “You know, I like that hat.” He took Eddie’s Panama hat off his head and placed it on his own.

Eddie wanted to reach out and reclaim it. He was willing to do just about anything to make this transaction go smoothly, but giving up his Panama hat wasn’t one of them. He always kept a stable of three hats, just in case, so he did have two others just like it at home-but each hat cost $375 and took six weeks to replace.

“I get them specially made in Montecristi, Ecuador,” Eddie said.

“Cool,” Ronan LNW said. His eyes were spinning spirals, like in the cartoons. Eddie was afraid to touch him or even ask for the hat back. If Ronan LNW was dealing in prostitutes and drugs, then he probably had a gun, too. Eddie could not believe how nefarious this situation was turning out to be.

Just then, the girls walked in, though Eddie barely recognized them. During the day, when they were cleaning, they wore sweatpants and kept their hair tied up in bandannas. But tonight, they were wearing tight, shiny dresses and high heels, and their hair had been teased and sprayed. They had apparently bought one eye-shadow sampler, and each had chosen a color-Nadia blue, Julia green, Tonya violet, Gabrielle a lurid yellow, and tiny Elise shimmery brown.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” they cried out. They all stopped to double-cheek kiss him, even though they had never done anything but put their hands out for money before.

Eddie held the wrist of Nadia while the other girls followed Ronan, in Eddie’s Panama hat, and the ersatz tic-tac-toe board up the stairs.

Eddie said, “You’re clear on what’s happening here, right, Nadia? Nobody but us can know. Otherwise, it’ll be back to Russia for the five of you.”

“Kyrgyzstan,” Nadia said.

“Exactly,” Eddie said.

Nadia patted Eddie’s cheek. “Do not worry, Eddie. We understand. It just business.”

Eddie walked back toward his car with the shopping bag, smarting about his lost hat. He told himself that he had two others just like it at home. He told himself to focus on the bigger picture.

After all, Barbie had been right. Things had gone just fine.

Allegra texted Hope at ten thirty on Saturday night. Please come pick me up.

Hope was thrown by the word please. Allegra never, ever used please, thank you, or excuse me when communicating with Hope.

Where are you? Hope texted back. She had dropped Allegra in front of the Dreamland Theatre, but she knew Allegra had had no intention of seeing a movie. Now, she worried something was wrong.

At Calgary’s house, Allegra texted. Please come get me.

NFW, Hope texted. Find another ride.

Pls! Allegra texted.

Three uses of the word please. Something definitely wrong. Hope waited.

PLS HOPE!

Hope waited.

PLS PLS PLS PLS!!!! I’ll owe you.

You already owe me already! For covering for you! Hope texted, but she put on her sandals. She had practiced the flute for two hours, until her tongue and lips hurt, then she had looked at her chemistry homework. She was pretty sure Allegra was out with Ian Coburn, which meant Brick might be home and willing to text with her about acids and bases. But if she texted Hot glass looks like cool glass and Brick was out having fun the way teenagers were supposed to on Saturday nights, then Hope would feel like the biggest loser on earth.

When she set her chemistry book down, she was officially out of options for her Saturday night.

She did NOT want to go to Calgary’s house, the same house where she had allowed him to get to third base while lying on his bed last December.

Calgary had asked Hope to the Christmas formal the week before Thanksgiving, and she had said yes, even though she realized she was a date of convenience-Calgary was Brick’s best friend, and Brick was taking Allegra. Right after Hope said yes, Calgary started paying all kinds of boyfriend-like attention to her. He invited her to his basketball games, where a seat was reserved for her in the family section. Hope sat and made awkward conversation with Rachel McMann and Dr. Andy (who had been Hope’s dentist until Rachel got her real-estate license and joined a rival agency, when Eddie moved the whole family to Dr. Torre).

Calgary started walking Hope to class and walking her to the bus. He asked her to the movies one night, and after the movies there was some mad kissing on the front step of Jack Wills, which was shuttered and closed for the season. Then Christmas Stroll weekend arrived, and Calgary and Hope walked around holding hands. They waited for Santa to arrive in his fire engine, they listened to the Victorian carolers, they got chowder and cocoa from the food tent. At one point, Calgary stepped into Stephanie’s, the gift shop, alone, because he said he wanted to get a present for Hope. Hope sat on a bench with her eyes closed until he emerged with a small bag that contained a tiny box. Jewelry. Something special, something binding. This was turning into a relationship.