Monarch Beach (27 page)

“My mother’s coming out for Thanksgiving.” I nibbled some peanuts. I was beginning to feel a little shaky.

“Perfect.” He beamed. “I’ll escort your mother. She shouldn’t travel alone at her age. And as a reward you’ll have one drink with me at the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis. That’s where they invented the Bloody Mary.”

“I know.” I had read it on the Internet.

“I remember Max told me you’re partial to celery.” He smiled.

“I like celery.” I nodded.

“Wait till you taste the celery in a St. Regis Bloody Mary.” He put his hand on mine. “Please, Amanda.”

I studied his pale blue eyes, his strong jaw, his nose, which looked more crooked when he smiled.

“Okay, one drink at Thanksgiving,” I agreed.

He leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth, a long, slow kiss that tasted bubbly and salty.

A minute later, Max came tearing into the bar, his hands clasped around a butterfly.

“I got one for you. Take it, Mom, and make a wish.” Max pushed the butterfly into my hands. I could feel its wings fluttering against my palms. It felt like a tiny heart beating.

I walked onto the deck, cradling the butterfly. The ocean glittered in front of me like a magic carpet. I opened my palms and stroked the butterfly’s wings. Then I held it up high and released it. And made a wish.

Acknowledgments

Sincere thanks to my superb agent, Melissa Flashman, and to the fantastic team at St. Martin’s Press: my editors, Hilary Teeman and Jennifer Weis, and editorial assistant Mollie Traver.

Thank you to my friends who have been there since the beginning: Ilana Weinberg, Traci Whitney, Patricia Hazelton Hull, Sue Rosenthal, Linda Burkhardt, and Laura Narbutas.

Most of all, thank you to my wonderful children: Alex, Andrew, Heather, Madeleine, and Thomas. And to my husband, Thomas.

Discussion Questions

  1. Stephanie says that Amanda doesn’t love Andre, she only lusts after him, because “he is completely unlovable.” Do you think it is possible to love someone who has betrayed you?

  2. Edward cheats on Amanda because he thinks she still cares for Andre. Do you think cheating is unforgivable no matter what the excuse, or should Amanda give Edward another chance?

  3. Stephanie’s friendship is very important to Amanda, yet they have little in common. What is the basis of their friendship? Is it important for women friends to have similar backgrounds?

  4. When they are first dating, Andre says in France it is acceptable for men to have affairs and stay married. Should Amanda have taken that into account before she married him? Should she have reacted differently to his cheating because of his nationality?

  5. Amanda comes from tremendous wealth, and one of her struggles is stopping Andre from feeling like a kept man. Do you think she is depriving herself and Max of a lifestyle they deserve? Do you think Andre’s feelings of financial inadequacy contribute to his desire to cheat?

  6. At the end of the novel, Amanda decides to take Max to New York for a year so she can attend Parsons School of Design. Do you think she is doing the right thing? Or will the move be detrimental to Max because he will be far from his father and grandmother?

  7. How do you perceive Stephanie’s marriage? Do you think Stephanie loves Glenn—or did she settle for someone who could take care of her? Do you admire Stephanie or think she sold out in order to have a beautiful home and stable family life?

  8. Grace takes Amanda to one of the most beautiful resorts in California but for much of the summer she is unhappy. How does one’s environment affect one’s happiness? Does a person carry their problems wherever they go, no matter how gorgeous the surroundings?

  9. Do you think one of Amanda’s problems is that she married too young? Do you think there is a best age to get married? If so, what do you think that age is?

10. Could you see yourself marrying a man like Andre: handsome and sexy but with questionable morals? Why or why not?

For more reading group suggestions, visit
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Read on for a sneak peek at Anita Hughes’s new novel!

Market Street

Available Summer 2013

Copyright © 2012 by Anita Hughes

Chapter One

Cassie tore the edge of her croissant and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at Fenton’s to the street below. Christmas was over, the post-Christmas sales were limping to a close, and men and women walked with their coats wrapped around them. The giant tree in Union Square had been carted away. The dazzling window displays in Gucci and Chanel—Cinderella slippers with real diamonds to wear to holiday parties, little black dresses accessorized with stacks of multicolored bracelets—had been replaced with sensible January displays: rain boots, umbrellas, and floor-length winter coats. Even Burberry’s window looked bleak. The sweet reindeer wearing a plaid sweater and socks had been exchanged for a faceless mannequin wrapped in scarves like a mummy.

“People in San Francisco don’t know how to do winter,” Cassie said, dipping her croissant into a white Limoges coffee cup. “They think California in January should be blue skies and seventy degrees.”

“We could go to Mexico till March. Stay at Betsy’s condo and sip sangria with pink plastic straws,” Alexis replied, picking a petit four from the silver tray on the table and biting into it tentatively. She blotted her lips on the white linen napkin and stirred cream into her demitasse.

“Some people have jobs,” Cassie replied, “or at least their husbands work. You don’t just jet off to Mexico because the Christmas ornaments are gone.”

“Carter would never miss me. He’s too busy trimming trees, or whatever he does from six a.m. till midnight. We haven’t eaten dinner together since Thanksgiving, and that was only because his mother insisted we join the family in Pacific Heights. You know old Betsy’s on her second husband since Carter and I got married. I don’t know how she keeps the place cards straight.” Alexis tapped her long French nails on the edge of the coffee cup.

“Your husband runs a hedge fund, he doesn’t trim trees,” Cassie said, and collapsed in a fit of giggles. She dusted croissant flakes from her pants and glanced around to see if the society matrons sitting at the adjoining tables were listening.

“Trees, hedges, it’s all the same to Carter. Money is the only kind of paper he knows. He does compensate well. I got some lovely baubles for Christmas,” Alexis said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. We’ve known each other since kindergarten and even then you made rings out of Cheerios. Be happy Carter buys you jewelry.”

“He does have great taste, he gave me the most beautiful sapphire necklace, with tiny diamonds like snowflakes. I just sometimes feel like a courtesan instead of a wife. Fling a necklace or a bracelet at her and bring her out to impress the Midwestern clients who want to invest in pork futures,” Alexis replied, twisting her diamond wedding band around her finger.

“Carter loves you, it’s just his way of showing it. Most wives would be envious,” Cassie replied.

“I take it Aidan didn’t shower you with jewels?” Alexis raised her perfectly arched eyebrows.

“Fuzzy socks, a cashmere scarf, gardening gloves, and packets of exotic vegetable seeds: fennel, purple spinach, and okra.” Cassie counted the presents on her fingers.

Alexis picked up another petit four, eyed the layered chocolate, and put it back on the plate. “I’ve exceeded my caloric limit for the day. Lettuce and soy sauce for dinner tonight.”

“You’re the only person I know who loses weight over the holidays. I gained three pounds smelling the pumpkin pie.” Cassie pushed the plate of mini desserts toward Alexis.

“Only because I swam forty laps before every holiday party and spent thirty minutes in the steam room each night,” Alexis said, adjusting her skirt. She wore an emerald green miniskirt and a white angora wool sweater. Her blond hair was scooped into a high ponytail and tied with a green velvet ribbon.

“Oh, to have your own indoor swimming pool and sauna,” Cassie said, finishing her coffee and putting her napkin on the table.

“You could have all that. As I recall you
did
have all that. You’re the one who married the communist professor.”

“Aidan is not a communist. He’s a professor of ethics. Which means he doesn’t believe in excess. We live well, just not in a three-story mansion in Presidio Heights with an elevator.”

“If you’d gone to UCLA with me instead of Berkeley we would have found you a nice movie star to marry. I remember the day you packed your car and headed over the Bay Bridge. I thought, why is Cassandra Fenton, heiress to San Francisco’s oldest, most exclusive department store, going to school in Berserkeley? I was right, you know.” Alexis eyed her friend objectively. “Your Tod’s are as old as my shih tzu and your Michael Kors jacket is vintage. Except it’s only had one owner: you.”

“I’ve never had your flair. You could shop at Target and come out dressed for dinner at Chez Panisse. I’ve always been happier wearing gardening gloves than opera gloves. I am happy, Alexis, and so are you.” Cassie played with the cuff of her shirt, twisting off a few stray threads.

“What would we talk about if we didn’t complain about our husbands?” Alexis shrugged, sifting through her purse for a tube of lip gloss.

“The homeless on Market Street? The lack of fresh water in Africa?” Cassie suggested.

“We could always talk about shoes.” Alexis stood up and pulled her skirt down over her thighs. “Let’s stop downstairs and see if there are any Jimmy Choos left on the sale rack.”

Cassie followed Alexis to the escalator and surveyed the elegant floor displays as they descended to the third floor. The fourth level had always been her favorite; her mother used to treat her to high tea in the café on weekdays after school. Cassie had thought every third grader practiced their cursive on a linen tablecloth while sipping hot chocolate served by uniformed waitresses. Her mother would leave her in the café while she prowled the other departments, making sure cashmere sweaters were stacked in neat piles and salesgirls holding bottles of Chanel No. 5 were positioned in the aisles.

“Cassie, how nice to see you,” said a tall man wearing a navy suit as he took Cassie’s hand when the escalator deposited them on the third floor. “You just missed your mother, she had to rush off to a restaurant opening. Fois Gras on Post Street. The
Chronicle
says it’s going to be the next dining destination in the city.”

“My mother’s always rushing around.” Cassie smiled. “I saw her on the way up. Derek, do you remember my friend Alexis?”

The man put on rimless glasses and looked closely at the two women. “Of course. The last time I saw you, you were being trailed by half a dozen bridesmaids collecting cosmetics samples.”

“I’m an old married woman now,” Alexis said, grinning, “with spending power.”

“In that case, let me direct you to our newest jewelry line. I’m told all the thirty-somethings are wearing it.” The man extended his arm and navigated through the aisles full of shoppers to a large glass case toward the front of the store.

Cassie and Alexis gazed at the glass like small children admiring Halloween candy. Rows of pendants, bracelets, and rings were displayed on a bed of crushed orange velvet. Cassie ignored the bracelets—they would be covered with potting soil within a day—but the pendants caught her attention: brightly colored stones on short filigree chains. She put her hand to her neck, imagining she was wearing one.

“These are right up your alley.” Alexis tapped her nail on the glass. “That one would go so well with your eyes, Cassie. Try it on.”

“Okay, just for fun.” Cassie nodded. “Derek, could I see that one?”

Derek unlocked the case with an oversized gold key and placed the pendant in Cassie’s hand. “Your mother found these on a buying trip to Buenos Aires. They are
the
accessory on the polo fields this season.”

Alexis watched Cassie click the pendant around her neck. The stone was turquoise and amethyst colored and made Cassie’s eyes look like a powder blue sky.

“Take it home,” Alexis insisted. “Tell Aidan you did your own post-Christmas shopping so he wouldn’t feel guilty for getting you fuzzy socks.”

“He didn’t only get me fuzzy socks. But it is really pretty.” Cassie leaned closer to the mirror.

“He can’t complain about excess, it’s not a diamond or a ruby. And you’re supporting the South American economy. He’ll be pleased.” Alexis took a few bracelets out of the case and slipped them on her wrist.

“I don’t need it,” Cassie said uncertainly. She wasn’t very interested in clothes; she usually pulled whatever was clean and pressed out of her closet, but she loved colorful jewelry. When she was a teenager her mother brought home bags of necklaces, earrings, and brooches, and Cassie was allowed to pick what she wanted. She still kept them in heart-shaped jewelry boxes and snapped on a hair clip or put on dangly earrings when she drove into the city for lunch.

“Would you two girls mind watching the display for a moment? I just saw Mrs. Benson go up the escalator. She’s one of our best customers but she’s almost deaf and she tends to scare the salespeople.” Derek put the gold key on the glass.

“We’ll do anything if you call us girls,” Alexis said. She smiled, putting the bracelets back in the case and scooping up a selection of colored rings.

“I can’t believe you’re flirting with Derek. He’s almost a hundred. He used to hold my hand when my mother sent me to sit on Santa Claus’s lap. I thought Santa had spiders under his beard, and I’m terrified of spiders.” Cassie unsnapped the pendant and laid it on the crushed velvet.

“Excuse me, I need to make a return.” A girl approached the counter clutching a plain brown shopping bag. She had short blond hair cut in feathery layers around her face, and big brown eyes, like the dolls Cassie collected when she was a child. She wore a T-shirt emblazoned with Chinese letters and an army green bomber jacket.

“We don’t work here.” Alexis shook her head, stepping back from the counter.