Sunset Island - Sunset Secrets Part 1

Bennett, Cherie.

Sunset Island.

Sunset Secrets.

one.

"I am about to fall madly in love," Sam Bridges announced meaningfully over the phone to her two best friends, Emma Cresswell and Carrie Alden.

"Who?" Emma asked with surprise.

"Yeah, who?" Carrie echoed.

It was a natural question. The last time the three of them had been together was Christmas vacation, three months earlier. Emma, Sam, and Carrie had taken a trip to Miami. And although Sam had had an almost serious encounter with a hot young rock star, to Emma and Carrie's knowledge all that was in the past. So who had Sam met, they wondered, that she hadn't even mentioned in all their long-distance conference calls between Towson, Maryland (where Emma was a freshman at elite Goucher College), Or- lando, Florida (where Sam was a dancer at Disney World), and New Haven, Connecticut (where Carrie was a freshman at Yale)?

"Is it Goofy?" Carrie asked, referring to Sam's friend Danny Franklin, who played Goofy at Disney World.

"Hey, he may be Goofy, but he's my Goofy,"

Sam quipped. "Anyway, it isn't Danny. Goofy and I are, as the saying goes, just friends," she said.

"So who then?" Emma asked.

"Details are not important," Sam replied breez- ily. "It's the intent that counts."

"Yes, but who is the intended?" Carrie pressed.

"I don't exactly know," Sam admitted, "but that's the best part!"

"I think the translation of that is that she isn't exactly seeing anyone," Emma told Carrie with a laugh.

"Hey, that only applies to right now," Sam pointed out. "I could meet the guy of my dreams during the Rockin' Fifties Revue this afternoon.

He could be watching me from the front row, thinking I'm the most gorgeous and talented babe he's ever seen. We'd make eye contact right before I go into my cartwheel. Fifteen minutes later we could be swapping spit right under Mickey and Minnie's noses."

"As long as it's not Goofy's nose," Carrie said.

"I have a feeling he'd like to be much more to you than just a friend."

"No, Danny's okay about it," Sam said. "He'd be happy to shake hands with my Romeo Man."

"Romeo Man?" Emma laughed.

"I like to throw in the occasional quaint expres- sion," Sam said.

"Oh, it's quaint, all right," Carrie agreed.

"Hey, my motto is, live on the edge of possibil- ity," Sam decreed blithely. "Knowing Mr. Tall, Dark, and Rich could walk into my life at any moment sort of keeps me going through my ten zillionth high kick at the Wonderful World of Disney. Sometimes I don't think I can stand it another millisecond," Sam said.

"It was your choice," Carrie pointed out. "You're the one who wanted to drop out of college to take a job dancing there."

"Right," Emma agreed. "You could quit if you wanted to, and go back to school."

"Pardonnez-moi, but some of us have to work to pay the bills," Sam told Emma huffily, "though I realize this is not a concept to which you can relate."

Emma's money was a sore point with Sam, and sometimes Sam pounced on Emma's most inno- cent remarks. Emma was rich. Sam was not.

Actually, different as all three of them were in background and personality, it still amazed them that they had become friends at all, much less best friends.

Emma was a Cresswell of the Boston Cress- wells, one of the wealthiest families in the country.

She had never had to do a day of work in her life.

In fact, she'd shocked her parents the summer before, when she'd taken a job as an au pair on Sunset Island. Emma had been educated in Europe, spoke five languages, and was on a first-name basis with royalty. She longed to escape from the hypocritical, narrow confines, of the life prescribed for her-maybe even to join the Peace Corps one day-but so far she hadn't been able to get up the nerve to confront her overbearing mother with her decision. Instead she just continued along as a French major at her mother's alma mater, snooty Goucher College, trying to decide what she really wanted to do and hoping that she hadn't been a pampered rich girl for so long that she no longer had what it would take to follow through with her dreams.

Carrie Alden came from an upper-middle-cla.s.s family in New Jersey, where both her parents were pediatricians. Level-headed Carrie, who had always been an excellent student, was thrilled to be at Yale studying photography. If anything, Carrie tended to be too perfect, trying too hard to be everything to everyone.

And then there was Sam-irrepressible, one- of-a-kind Samantha Bridges. Much to Sam's cha- grin, up until a few months ago she had lived her entire life in the tiny town of Junction, Kansas. It was home, she said, to a few cows and acres and acres of cornfields. A few weeks after starting college on a dance scholarship at Kansas State, Sam had auditioned for a job dancing at Disney World. She'd gotten it and had dropped out of college without even telling her parents. Of course they had had a fit when they found out. But Sam felt certain that college was not for her, and dancing at Disney World was just a step to bigger and better things. She aspired to fame and for- tune, with the emphasis on fortune. How she would achieve it, she didn't know. All she knew was that she wished she could be there already.

"Hey, I thought this phone call was to talk about the party," Carrie reminded them, smoothly changing subjects. She was used to being a buffer between Sam and Emma.

"It's going to be fabulous, incredible, and out- rageous," Sam enthused, already forgetting her momentary pique with Emma. "It is so nice of Graham and Claudia to offer their house for a spring-break bash."

"I agree," Emma said, willing to forget Sam's barbed comment. "Can you believe it's been over seven months since we were on Sunset Island?"

Sunset Island was where the three girls had become best friends the previous summer, and it was to Sunset Island they were about to return over spring break for the party of the year.

All three of them thought back to the past spring, when they had met at the National Au Pair Society convention in New York City. They'd come to like one another during the three days of cla.s.ses and interviews, and had been really happy to find out they'd all been hired to work for the summer on fabulous Sunset Island, a resort island off the coast of Maine. Each girl had lived with the family that hired her, taking care of their kids and being a general helper, in return for room, and board, and a small salary. The best part was that Sunset Island was famous not only for its spectacular beaches and breathtaking sun- sets, but for its parties with the rich, wild, and sometimes famous. All three girls had been ready for a summer of adventure before the realities of college took over their lives, and all three of them had found it.

"What you mean, Emma, is can we believe that it's been over seven months since you've seen Kurt?" Carrie teased.

The Kurt Carrie referred to was Kurt Acker- man, the first guy Emma had ever fallen in love with. Kurt had grown up on Sunset Island, and Emma had met him when she'd taken her three- year-old charge, Katie, for swimming lessons at the Sunset Country Club. Kurt was the head swimming instructor. Between that summer job and driving a taxi at night, he was putting himself through college at the University of Maine. Emma and Kurt had vowed that her being rich and his being poor wouldn't affect their relationship, but it had anyway. There had been so many misunderstandings and recriminations that Emma had finally broken up with Kurt at the end of the summer. The final straw had come when Kurt had started dating Emma's worst enemy, Diana De Witt. Their relationship had not been platonic. Emma had felt as if she'd been stabbed in the back-she didn't feel that she could ever trust Kurt again.

And yet she couldn't seem to change what was in her heart. She knew she'd made mistakes, too, and perhaps they both had rushed into a relation- ship they weren't really ready for. After a couple of months, Emma had written a letter to Kurt, but Kurt had never answered it. Then, just when Emma had begun to tell herself she had to give up on Kurt, even if it broke her heart, she'd received a long, heartfelt response. Emma's tears had fallen on the pages as she read that Kurt, too, couldn't stop thinking about her, that he still loved her, that the only reason he hadn't an- swered sooner was that it was so important to him to get down on paper exactly how he felt.

He'd said he was scared, but more than anything else he wanted a second chance. Emma had written back that she felt the same way, that they both would learn from their mistakes of the summer. Now that the girls were planning this reunion party, Emma would soon see Kurt again.

Just the thought of being with him again, of being wrapped in his arms, made Emma shiver all over. It definitely made concentrating on French literature difficult, if not impossible.

"I always told you the guy loves you," Sam said. "I'm really glad you're going to get back together."

"We're going to try, anyway," Emma said cautiously.

"Oh, please," Sam scoffed. "Five minutes after we hit Sunset Island you two will be in the dunes teaming off each other's clothes."

"Oh well, I guess that means I don't need to help plan this party, then, since I wont be there,"

Emma said with a laugh.

"Hey, this is a team effort, remember?" Sam reminded her.

"I know we decided to meet up before the party," Carrie said, "but we didn't decide where.

How about if you guys come to Yale, and we hang out here, and then fly up to Sunset Island?"

"Sounds like fun," Emma said. "I love New Haven."

"And Yale guys are seriously cute," Carrie added.

"Forget seriously cute, let's talk about seri- ously rich," Sam remarked.

"Never fear, Sam," Carrie said with a laugh, "some of them are seriously both."

"In that case, I'm there!" Sam giggled.

"You won't have any trouble taking so much time off from your job?" Emma asked Sam.

"Like I told you last time you asked," Sam said, "they love me at Disney World. Besides, there are understudies who are just dying to get on the stage instead of watching from the wings, so not to worry."

"As long as you're absolutely sure-" Carrie began.

"Hey, you two," Sam interrupted, "I have a mother, so chill out."

"Speaking of mothers," Carrie said, "my mom came up to New Haven last week for a medical conference. I finally introduced her to Billy. The three of us went to a Garth Brooks concert."

Billy Sampson was one of the two guys Carrie was dating. He was the lead singer for Flirting with Danger (or the Flirts, as everyone called them), the hottest band in the Maine area. They were even starting to get some national recogni- tion. Billy and the rest of the guys in the band were renting an old house on Sunset Island, which was where Carrie had met him the previ- ous summer. She'd been dating him ever since, but she still hadn't resolved her relationship with her longtime high school boyfriend, Josh, who was now going to school with her at Yale. Carrie thought she just wanted to be friends with Josh now, and he definitely wanted more. He went crazy every time Billy came to Yale to visit Carrie.

"You went to a concert with your mother and your boyfriend who sings rock and roll, has a ponytail, and has a pierced ear?" Sam asked. "My mother would have dragged me back to Junction so fast the tread marks would still be smoking on the highway."

Carrie laughed. "My mom was pretty cool about it," she told them, "although she did say that it was weird to see me with someone other than Josh. Anyhow, she loves Garth Brooks, so it was a great equalizer."

"Hey, I hate to break up the conversation, but I've got a one o'clock cla.s.s and it's ten to one,"

Emma said.

"What's more important, your cla.s.s or Carrie's love life?" Sam demanded.

"Carrie's love life, definitely," Emma said, "but unfortunately I don't get tested on that!"

"I gotta boogie, too," Sam said. "I have a rehearsal for a new dance number."

"And I suppose I should go to the library and do some research for my American history pa- per," Carrie said with a sigh.

After deciding that they'd hold their next conference call two days later at the same time, the girls hung up. Emma grabbed her books and headed from her expensive one-bedroom high- rise apartment toward campus. Carrie dialed Josh's dorm room to see if he wanted to go to the library with her. And Sam changed clothes-not into a leotard and tights, which is what she would normally wear to a rehearsal, but into black pants, a white shirt, and a black vest.

Sam sighed. She didn't really have a rehearsal for a new dance number at Disney World. One week earlier she had been fired. Now she was dressed in her uniform for her second day of work at Big Al's Steak House. Sam was a waitress now.

She just couldn't bear to admit it to her friends.

Life sucks. That's what Sam thought as she accidentally banged her long legs into the edge of one of the tables at Big Al's for what already seemed like the thousandth time. As she rubbed at the spot, which she knew would soon turn an ugly purple color just like the spot above it, tears came to her eyes. How could this have happened to me? Just days before, she had been a dancer at Disney World, dreaming of Vegas chorus lines, solos in Broadway shows, and grand entrances at Sardi's. Today she was a waitress on the dinner shift, serving tourists in polyester pantsuits. She was not, to be sure, a happy camper.

"Hey, waitress! I ordered a baked potato, not fries!" a Midwestern-accented voice called out.

"Dear, we asked for water ten minutes ago," an elderly woman said, tapping on Sam's arm as she raced by.

"Yo, girlie, can we talk menus here? My kid is starving."

Don't think, Sam counseled herself. You will lose your mind if you think. She hurried around the restaurant, hitting her legs three more times, then burning her hand when she grabbed a heated plate too hastily.

"Sam, why don't you take your break?" the other waitress suggested in a kind voice. Callie McMartin had been a professional waitress for thirty years. She felt sorry for Sam, and secretly thought she wouldn't last in the business for thirty days.

"Thanks," Sam said gratefully, holding her burnt hand gingerly and heading for the kitchen area, where the employees ate.

Sam grabbed a burger and was about to ease her feet out of the clunky black rubber-soled shoes that Big Al forced the waiters and wait- resses to wear (Big Al had gone ballistic when Sam came to work wearing her trademark red cowboy boots). She stared down at her aching feet, encased in the ugliest shoes ever created by man, and she just couldn't help it-tears swam in her eyes. She thought back to what was to date probably the stupidest thing she had ever done- the thing that had gotten her fired from her dancing job.

It came down to a personality conflict, Sam supposed, but she found it hard not to blame herself for the part her own strong will had played in what she now saw as a monumental career setback. Carrie and Emma had often objected to her egocentric tendencies, but they'd always forgiven her in the end. Now-hindsight is always 20/20, Sam realized-she could see that a difference of opinion was one thing between friends and quite another between a boss and an employee, or, in this case, a dancer and a director of ch.o.r.eography.

Not that Sam hadn't been duly impressed by Mr. Christopher at first. At the beginning, in the thrill of auditioning, then winning a place with the Disney World dance troupe, she'd taken the ch.o.r.eographer's directions as the word of G.o.d and felt like a favored angel in the bargain. Her long legs, supple five-foot-ten frame, flaming red hair, and what Mr. Christopher had called her "presence" had soon moved her from the back row to center stage in the lineup, and in the process had resulted in a few jealousies among the other dancers.

So what, she'd thought as she basked in her own glory. I'm not here to worry about other people's sour grapes. Now she wondered if the support of her peers might have changed any- thing.

But even when Sam had most admired him, Mr. Christopher had reminded her of a bug, specifically a June bug, one of those buzzing beetlelike creatures that a.s.saulted screen doors under summer porch lights. For one, he was hyperactive and he scuttled-that was the only word for it. Bulbous, protruding eyes and a couple of stray hairs that had a way of standing up from his thinning crown when he was agitated (which was often) enhanced the image, which was completed by his choice of wardrobe: baggy pants and long, shapeless cardigan sweaters or jackets.

It hadn't taken long for Sam to figure out how Mr. Christopher had earned the nicknames that made their way through the dancers' dressing rooms. Though no one had made fun of his s.e.xual orientation (he was unabashedly gay), his affec- tations ran from annoying to downright obnoxious.

As Leonard, Sam's dance partner, had expressed it, "Gay is about s.e.xual preference. It's not an excuse to be whiny, b.i.t.c.hy, or shrill-that only gives the rest of us a bad image." Mr. Christo- pher's voice tended toward a grating, petulant quality during rehearsals. His pet obsession was crispness.

"Puh-leez, Samantha! You're absolutely wilt- ing on me! Keep it crisp! Crisp!"

"Are we in a dance revue or a salad spinner?"

Sam had whispered to Leonard.

A few days later, someone had altered the sign pointing in the direction of the dressing rooms so it read "Salad Dressing Rooms." The other dancers could barely control their laughter, and Sam had felt she was finally a real member of the troupe.

Now, looking back, it might have been the point at which, smartswise, she became a real vegetable.

Buoyed by the confidence of feeling she belonged, it wasn't long before she was overstepping her bounds in a rehearsal for the Wild West Revue.

"And reach-two, reach-two, spin-two, dip-two, jump-two, splits . . . and hold!" barked the Critter-as in Crispy Critter-which was that week's moniker for the ch.o.r.eography director.

Everyone had held. Almost immediately the Critter had darted from the wings and scuttled across the stage. "Okay, everybody up, and places, please. Samantha, if you don't mind telling me, what, exactly, was that move there at the end? It certainly wasn't a split."