Page 7 of Hotter in the Hamptons

Lola finally felt ready to take a shower.

It would be an everything shower, she decided. She’d stewed for long enough.

She turned the water on as hot as it would go, trying to scald the week of misery off her skin. She washed her hair twice, the Oribe shampoo sudsing satisfyingly on her scalp, and did a hair mask while she shaved her legs and armpits. She even broke out the body exfoliator for a final polish, scrubbing her elbows and her knees with probably too much force.

She did not think about Justin walking out on her.

She did not think about the horrible-yet-true things Aly wrote about her.

She did not think about Veronica and Todd dropping her, nor of the five million people who had turned from fans to haters in the blink of an eye.

She just focused on the hot water as it pounded down on her, on the fragrant steam that filled the air.

Afterward, her skin so pink it was maybe more raw than fresh, she wrapped herself in the fluffiest white towel she owned and made her way to the kitchen. There, she poured an enormous glass of Chardonnay and took big gulps while she looked around the kitchen and, beyond that, the living room.

It was all just so damn clean. So minimal.

So… Justin .

There were no signs that this was her home at all.

She’d compromised and compromised and compromised until she’d made herself so tiny that there was almost nothing left of her other than what she could squeeze into her little office. The rest of their “shared space” just reflected his taste, his preferences, his…everything.

She felt a surge of fury.

How dare he minimize her like this? How dare he leave her after making her so small?

She finished the rest of her wine in one gulp and then dove into her closet and found the shortest, tightest dress she owned—a floral pink Isabel Marant halter—and fastened a huge, studded belt around her waist, channeling Kate Moss at Glastonbury. She put on her highest Larroude wedge sandals. She wanted to be as tall as possible, show as much of her legs as she could. She let her hair dry naturally, the humidity giving it extra volume and body. Then she grabbed a Fendi Baguette from her collection, the one with sequins.

Without skipping a beat, she dug around in her desk drawer until she found an ancient pack of American Spirits that she’d been saving for emergencies. This was indeed an emergency. She stuffed the cigarettes into the Baguette. It was going to be that kind of night.

Finally, she texted Ryan: Meet me at Fanelli’s. We’re going out.

***

Lola knew that she looked out of place sitting at the corner table at Fanelli’s in Soho, but she didn’t care. Surrounded by tourists in fanny packs and mom jeans and baseball hats, she looked like she got lost on her way to a red carpet. She had to assume that was why everyone was staring at her; she did not want to presume that they knew who she was.

When Ryan finally arrived, his eyes grew wide as he slid into the seat across from her. “I didn’t realize we were serving cunt this evening.”

She grinned. And then as quickly as the smile appeared, it fell. Though she’d left the house angry, having to tell Ryan what happened just felt sad. “Justin dumped me.”

He grabbed her hands across the table. “He what ?”

“Well, not exactly dumped? He wants to take a break. It’s all…very unclear to me what is actually happening.”

“You better tell me everything,” he said.

They had each polished off their second martini by the time Lola finished giving Ryan a detailed play-by-play of her conversation with Justin.

“I’m so sorry, babes,” he said. “These drinks really aren’t cutting it, huh?”

When the third round came, they clinked their glasses. “To having no future and no one to love me,” Lola declared.

“I will absolutely not drink to that,” Ryan said. “To starting fresh.”

“To being the queen of the bland. Captain Blandet. Cate Blandett?” She was drunk now. Lola always found herself to be very funny after three drinks. She could tell, though, that Ryan was losing his patience. “Okay, okay, enough about all this shit. Tell me about your day.”

“I was wondering when we’d get to me.” He grinned. “So I started talking to this guy named Emmett who’s going to be out east for the summer too.”

Lola squealed. “Show me right now.”

He pulled up Grindr and showed her a photo of a torso so toned and hairless, it almost looked fake.

“Jesus Christ,” she gasped. “Does he have a face?”

“Who cares?”

“True,” Lola said and then looked around them. She wondered if there was a set of abs here, waiting for her.

But everything was off about the restaurant: the lighting too bright, the conversations too loud, the waitstaff too cheery. It wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to be somewhere dark and sexy. Anonymous.

“I want to go out ,” Lola said. “Like we used to.”

“The sun hasn’t even set yet,” Ryan laughed. “Plus, I leave for the Hamptons tomorrow morning. I don’t want to be hungover and in traffic on the Long Island Expressway. That’s my personal hellscape.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” she whined. “Don’t you want to have one more night out with me before you go?”

“I’m going to East Hampton, not dying ,” he replied. “I have to pick my rental car up in”—he checked his watch—“twelve hours.”

“Please?” She wasn’t above begging. “It’s Friday night. I want to dance and meet new people and escape my real life and just be fucking invisible.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Sweetie, in those heels, you’re six feet tall. Not to mention you’re internet famous. I don’t think invisible is in the cards for you, at least not below Fourteenth Street.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. Take me out. Let’s go to where the cool people are. I want to see boys. Hot boys.”

“Maybe you could eat something first.”

He was right: Lola had forgotten to eat all day, very off-brand for her. They ordered a basket of mozzarella sticks, and Lola knew without having to ask that they were just for her. Ryan didn’t touch dairy, especially not if it was deep fried.

She ate one, and then another, and then another, the grease smearing across her fingers. She couldn’t stop. She wanted to eat a thousand mozzarella sticks, their salty, breaded crust and hot gooey insides and—

“Oh my god, is that Lola Likes?”

She heard the girls before she saw them.

There were four of them at a nearby table, with tiny sunglasses perched on their heads and slip dresses over their T-shirts and chokers around their necks.

She met their eyes as she chewed. They gaped at her in horror. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and stared back, unblinking.

Let them see me , she thought. The real me.

“Okay!” Ryan said a little too brightly. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

Because he was a good friend, he took her home.

***

Lola woke up in her bed, though how she got there, she couldn’t be sure.

Ryan was passed out next to her, his arms over his face. It was too bright in the bedroom, too hot. They were both drenched in sweat. She realized they must have gone to bed with the blinds open, something Justin never would have let happen, and the sun had filled the room and cooked them in its light.

The headache hit her then. There was no glass of water on her nightstand. She was going to have to get up.

She stumbled out of the bed, trying to be quiet. She still had last night’s dress on. At least her shoes were off.

Lola chugged two glasses of water in the kitchen and took some Tylenol from the bathroom. She was glad Ryan was sleeping in her room. Without him, she’d be totally unmoored. Then she remembered he was leaving today for the whole summer. It wasn’t a breakup, but the result was the same: another person she loved gone. How was she going to survive the next three months alone in this apartment, in this city, where everything she did was a reminder of all she had lost? The solitude, she felt, would consume her.

For just a moment in her delirious, hungover state, it occurred to Lola that being alone might be good for her, that she’d never let herself be alone, and that maybe that was why she’d ended up here, with a life that felt all wrong.

But she quickly pushed the thoughts away, desperate to avoid the sting of loneliness, afraid it was a black hole that she’d never find her way out of.

If that meant a summer in the Hamptons? Well, she could do worse. The decision had made itself.

She took her dress off and tossed it onto the floor. And then, in just her bra and thong, she sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and pulled up the Blade website.

“Isn’t traffic to the Hamptons the worst?” the website of the private helicopter service read. This made Lola smile: the hyperbole, the marketing. It was funny. It was fun . She’d have fun again.

There’d been a time when Lola would have gotten a promo code to get a free ride, but those days were over. Now that she was canceled, she’d be paying full price for a lot of things. Might as well get used to it , she thought, grabbing her Amex. Within minutes, she’d booked the flight for later that same day.

So what if she had no income coming in? She had a large chunk of cash she’d been saving for a rainy day. What was this if not a metaphorical rainy day?

In her office, she surveyed her pile of stuff for Capri. It was everything she’d need for a summer in the Hamptons. Without folding a single thing, she stuffed all of it into her largest suitcase.

By the time Ryan woke, she was showered, drinking a La Colombe cold brew, and rolling out her forehead with her Skinny Confidential roller.

He rubbed his face in the doorway as he eyed her suitcase by the door. “Lola, what’s going on?”

“Giancarlo left a car at the house, right?”

He nodded, blinking slowly. “Yeah, his Jeep stays out there.”

She grinned. “So we don’t really need two cars, do we? We could, perhaps, travel there in a little more style?”

His mouth fell open as he realized what she was saying.

“Cancel your rental car,” she said. “I’m going with you.”