Elin Hilderbrand - The Rumor

Worlds collided when Blond Sharon took her two ambiguously named children, Sterling and Colby, for their six-month cleaning appointment with Dr. Andy McMann. While other mothers sat in the waiting room and caught up, via People magazine, with Blake and Miranda and Kanye and Kim, Blond Sharon hung out in the exam room and chatted with Janice, the hygienist.

Janice said, “So, have you been out lately, Sharon?”

And Sharon said, “A few nights ago I went to the Sunset Soiree for the Nantucket Garden Club.”

Janice mentally tuned Sharon out as she scraped away at the plaque on Colby’s teeth with a vigor that made Colby wriggle. Colby was only seven. Janice had never seen so much plaque on a seven-year-old, and she was about to tell Sharon so when Sharon said, “Grace Pancik was there with Benton Coe, her gardener.”

“Really?” Janice said. “Were they together together?”

“Hard to say?” Sharon said. “I don’t think officially? But Jody Rouisse and I found them sitting alone by this little pond, and Grace was crying.”

Janice wondered if Grace had heard the rumor about Eddie and Madeline King. Maybe she was crying to Benton Coe about that? Janice almost asked Blond Sharon what she thought, but she wasn’t sure if Blond Sharon had heard about Eddie and Madeline. Janice sneaked a quick glance at Sharon. She knew a lot-she always seemed to be in the right place at the right time-but maybe not everything.

Sharon said, “And then later I heard that Jean Burton thinks Grace is pregnant.”

Whoa! This news startled Janice so badly that she accidentally poked poor Colby in the gum above her bicuspid, and Colby started to cry.

Janice said to Sharon, “Dr. Andy would kill me if he heard us gossiping about the Panciks. Eddie is our landlord.”

“Okay, well,” Blond Sharon said, “you didn’t hear it from me.”

The only person Janice felt safe repeating Blond Sharon’s news to was Dr. Andy himself. Grace and Benton Coe, out together at the Sunset Soiree, Grace crying because she’d discovered she was pregnant.

“What?” Dr. Andy said. So few things pierced Andrew McMann’s bubble of serenity-but this had done the trick. And what had Rachel told him recently about Madeline writing some sexy book, possibly based on her own experiences with Eddie Pancik?

On his lunch break, Dr. Andy called Rachel at the offices of Bayberry Properties. He said, “Janice told me Grace is having an affair with her gardener.”

“Oh yes,” Rachel said. “I’ve heard.”

“Oh,” Dr. Andy said. He felt a bit dejected. “Do you think maybe Madeline’s book is about Grace and the gardener and not herself and Eddie? I mean, didn’t you tell me the book was about a woman and her gardener?”

“Contractor,” Rachel said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You just want to let Eddie off the hook because he’s your landlord.”

Dr. Andy admitted to himself that this might be true. He held a delusion that if he kept in Eddie’s good graces, Eddie would stop raising the rent; it had gone up twice in the last eighteen months. Dr. Andy had considered moving, but few people understood the logistical nightmare that moving a dental office entailed.

Rachel said, “The Pancik family is a mess. You do remember what I told you Calgary told me about Allegra?”

Dr. Andy made a noncommittal noise. When Rachel started talking about teenage drama, he tuned her out. His last memory of Allegra Pancik was as a pretty, friendly young woman with an impeccable smile and good flossing habits. And he preferred to keep it that way.

He was sinking.

The notice came from the bank, along with a stern phone call from Philip Meier, loan officer: numbers 9 and 11 Eagle Wing Lane were going to be repossessed unless Eddie could come up with the three months’ back mortgage that he owed on each.

He was going to lose them. The time had come (said the newfound angler in Eddie) to “cut bait.”

He went through the contacts on his phone once, twice, three times. Was there anybody else in his circle of acquaintances that he could ask? His buddy Lex from high school was now a slumlord in New Bedford. He was the only other person Eddie thought might have the cash and the interest (up his game a little, with two high-end projects on Nantucket)-but when Eddie called, an automated voice announced that Lex’s number was out of service.

And so, Glenn Daley it was. Eddie didn’t even bother with a phone call. The only way Glenn would realize that Eddie was dead-on balls serious was for Eddie to walk right into the office of Bayberry Properties.

This was exactly what Eddie did.

Rachel McMann, thankfully, was not at her desk. She was probably out trying to solicit clients off the tour buses.

Glenn tried not to show his surprise. “Edward!” he said, standing up. “To what do I owe this honor?”

The two men shook hands. Eddie nodded at the chair next to Glenn’s desk, which was, blessedly, separated from the rest of the floor by three cubicle walls.

“By all means,” Glenn said. “Sit.”

It was hard to explain why Eddie hated Glenn Daley so much. He was a rotund, affable guy who was losing his hair and who wore slip-on shoes. He had a loud, cheerful voice and always knew who had won what game the night before and where the stock market closed, and he’d always just seen the movie everyone was talking about or just finished the book everyone was reading. The best way for Eddie to describe it was that Glenn had always been Eddie’s rival, his adversary, the person he wanted to beat. This was probably borne out of their similarities-he and Eddie had started in the Nantucket real-estate business at the same time; they had started their own agencies at the same time-and the fact that Glenn was very good at what he did.

Glenn had been one of the cocaine abusers back in the nineties-rumor had it that an entire commission on a house on India Street had gone right up Glenn’s nose-and then Glenn went through a high-profile divorce, which had reportedly cost him three hundred thousand dollars. Lots of people liked to claim that their ex-wife was psycho, but in Glenn’s case, it was true. Ashland Daley had once chased Glenn through the Stop & Shop with a loaded pistol, and at the time, Eddie had remembered thinking it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

But Glenn had proved to be like one of those stupid Weeble toys from Eddie’s youth. Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down. Glenn quit the drug habit, Ashland moved to California, and Glenn started selling houses left and right, thanks to his happy-go-lucky personality and his desire for self-improvement.

Eddie sat down in Glenn’s chair. And then, sotto voce, he explained: design and build on Eagle Wing Lane, bit off more than he could chew, and did Glenn want to score an incredible deal and help Eddie out in the process by buying numbers 9 and 11? A million dollars for both. A total steal.

Glenn whistled. “A million dollars.” He picked up a notepad and a pen. “How much did you pay for the land?”

Eddie considered lying, but Glenn could easily go down to the Registry of Deeds and check his work. “Buck fifty apiece,” Eddie said.

“So three,” Glenn said. He wrote 300 on the notepad. “And how much did you dump into them? Not three fifty apiece, no way, they’re barely framed, Ed. I’ve driven past.”

“About two apiece,” Eddie said.

Glenn slammed his pen down. “Why come to me if you’re just going to lie your ass off? I know Schuyler Pine designed all three for the price of one because you nominated him for commodore of the yacht club…”

“Wait a minute,” Eddie said. “How do you know that?”

Glenn clammed up. Fiddled with the notepad, tore the top sheet off, and crumpled it up. He said, “Don’t include number thirteen in your spiel to me, Eddie, if you’re planning on keeping number thirteen for yourself. Divide everything by thirds, not halves. Two hundred on the land. And maybe, maybe, a buck fifty into each… but that’s being generous. So that gives us five hundred. I don’t see how you can come in here asking for a million dollars.”

Eddie remembered now why he hated Glenn Daley: the guy was a douche bag! Obviously Eddie came in asking for a million so he could have enough money to finish number 13 and sell it!

Eddie said, “When you’re finished, you can sell them each for one point two. Each, Glenn. So two-four on a million-dollar investment, nearly a million and a half profit.”

“I’ll give you half a million,” Glenn said. “I’ll call Ben Winford, and I’ll take them both off your hands today for half a million.”

Eddie stared at the numbers on Glenn’s notepad. Half a million was enough to make the mortgages go away and recoup about a quarter of his initial investment.

Then Eddie noticed the notepad itself. It was from the Four Seasons in Santa Barbara.

“Hey,” Eddie said. He was trying to form a thought, but it wouldn’t quite crystallize. When it did, Eddie swallowed. No, he thought. No fucking way. He pointed to the notepad. “Have you ever stayed at the Four Seasons in Santa Barbara? I hear it’s really nice.”

Glenn flipped the notepad over. “That’s really none of your business, Eddie.”

None of his business. P for personal. Barbie was sleeping with Glenn Daley! Sleeping, quite literally, with the enemy! She took trips with him to places like Santa Barbara, and she discussed business secrets like Eddie’s deal with Schuyler Pine.

Eddie’s scalp prickled. Had Barbie told Glenn what they were doing on Low Beach Road?

She wouldn’t.

Or would she?

It might be good pillow talk. Hey, guess what? Eddie and I are running a whorehouse.

Eddie tried to think like his sister. They had been so close their whole lives, and yet a part of Barbie, in adulthood anyway, had remained inscrutable. P for personal. There were things Barbie didn’t want Eddie to know. Like… she was sleeping with big, fat, stupid, successful former druggie Glenn Daley.

Had she told him about the girls?

No, Eddie didn’t think so, because something in Glenn’s expression shifted, and Eddie thought, He knows that I know.

“Nine hundred,” Eddie said.

“Six hundred,” Glenn said.

“Seven hundred and you’ve got a deal,” Eddie said, though seven hundred wasn’t quite enough to get him where he wanted to be. But it was seven hundred more than he’d had fifteen minutes earlier, so why not call it a victory?

Eddie put on his Panama hat, the last one in his possession. He had wanted to replace the other two, but he didn’t have the money for such an extravagance.

Seven hundred grand: pay the mortgages on his commercial properties, pay the remaining bills on number 13, pay the mortgages on his house (also a month or two in arrears), pay Hester Phan’s stupid fucking “success bonus,” pay for electricity and water and groceries and gas, like the rest of America. Maybe-maybe-there would be enough to get the floors and countertops installed at number 13, maybe talk to a drywall guy and painters so he would be that much closer to selling and be able to assure Madeline that her money would be coming along shortly.

“I’ll have Ben draw up the papers,” Glenn said.

Lawyers’ fees. Seven hundred grand wasn’t nearly enough.

P for personal.

“Thanks, bro,” Eddie said.

Glenn Daley raised an eyebrow, and Eddie strolled out of the office.

The shift was minuscule, but Grace noticed it right away. Benton pulled away from their kiss a second sooner than he might have normally. He said he couldn’t stay for lunch.

On the night of the Sunset Soiree, he had professed his love in the middle of the street. He had made love to Grace in his own bed (a welcome change from the garden shed). But now, he was acting strangely. Grace thought maybe he had been spooked on Friday morning, when she met his truck in the driveway and told him that Eddie hadn’t gone to work, that he was still upstairs asleep, due to the fiasco with Allegra.

Or maybe Benton was just doing that thing that men did when they got close to a woman and the feelings got scary.

She wasn’t sure, but Benton’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Grace needed him. She hadn’t talked to Madeline in three days.

Have you and Madeline had a falling-out?

It was almost like Blond Sharon had predicted it. The only relationship Grace could count on had blown up. Madeline had been so angry. Grace hadn’t even realized Madeline was capable of getting that angry. She was always so sunny and sweet, so California laid back. She took things in stride. She smiled, she listened, she excelled at understanding what she called “the three sides to every story.”