"Honey, they specialize in that! Her PR guy is a total prick. But then, they weren't too happy with the shot we got of her last week." Lucky sniggered. "Girlfriend passed out at Tavern and had to be carried off the dance floor. Star magazine paid a hundred grand for the exclusive."

Mara snickered. "C'mon, I think I saw an alternate entrance to the room back there." They headed to the hole between the curtains that separated the VIP tables from the rest of the riffraff. Inside, Chauncey was straddling her latest paramour with great gusto. "Keep it sexy!" Lucky said, angling his camera for a shot. "That's right, baby, grind it! Woo-hoo! Show me the money!" His flashbulbs barely made a dent in the laser strobe light that shone to the beat of the music.

"Thank God her thong was showing. They always pay more for undie shots," Lucky said, putting his camera away. "You're a lifesaver."

"No worries." Mara smiled. Meeting Lucky was the most fun she'd had so far that evening.

"I'm going to do a lap to check if there's anyone else worthy of being plastered all over the party pages with spinach on their teeth. Do you know if the Perry twins are here? Sugar and Poppy?" he asked.

"Um . . . not sure." Mara giggled, wondering if the twins would hazard the Hamptons nightlife in the crappy Volvo. Crappy? Apparently the Hamptons really were getting to Mara.

She said a warm good-bye to the prickly paparazzo. But now that their little adventure was over, she didn't know whether to go or stay. She was still deciding when she felt someone brush by her.

"Hey, you," Ryan said, bumping her shoulder with his fist lightly.

"Ryan! Hi!" she said, so happy to see a familiar face that she impulsively gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Ryan was suddenly glad it was so dark in there since he was blushing to the roots of his blond hair. "Wow, you look great!" he said, stepping back to take a good look.

"Because for once I'm not covered in baby drool?" Mara teased.

"No, no, I mean, you always-er, look good. I mean, I . . .," he said, uncharacteristically fumbling for the right words. "So, uh, I thought you said you were staying in tonight," Ryan finished lamely, trying to change the subject.

"Can't a girl change her mind?"

"I'm glad she did," Ryan said, a little more seriously than was necessary. "Anyway, Eliza said you were here. Come on back and meet some of my friends."

"Sure."

He took her hand and led her to the far corner of the room, where a bunch of guys were lounging on velvet couches, smoking stogies, their girlfriends perched daintily on their laps.

"Hey, everybody, meet my friend Mara," Ryan said. "Mara, that's pretty much everybody."

His friend! Mara thought, elated at the introduction. He didn't say meet the au pair! Or meet the girl who's working for us this summer! His friend!

The tall guy with the shaved head sitting nearest to Mara made as if to kiss her hand. Mara laughed as Ryan swatted his pal's hand away. "Enough of that," he said. "Can I get you a drink?" he asked her.

"Sure, why not?"

As they turned to the direction of the bar, Lucky Yap walked by. "Hey! Mr. Perry!" he said, blowing Ryan a kiss.

"What's going on, Lucky?" Ryan said, laughing. "How's Frederic?" Like everyone in the Hamptons, Ryan knew Lucky Yap as uber-party-photographer Frederic O'Malley's right-hand man.

"He's all right. In Cannes for the festival. Leaving me with the B-listers! There's no one here! I haven't even seen your sisters all night. Let me get a photo of the two of you instead!" Lucky ordered.

Ryan and Mara looked at each other questioningly, then Ryan put his arm around Mara's shoulders and they both turned to the camera.

"Perfect! Marvelous! Sexy!" Lucky enthused. Afterward he let them take a peek at the results on his digital viewfinder. Lucky whipped out his notebook. "Ryan Perry and Mara Waters, right?" he said, scribbling their names.

Ryan raised his eyebrows at Mara, impressed that the town's most social shutterbug already knew her name.

Mara only smiled mysteriously.

somewhere in the sticks (aka hampton bays), jacqui is getting in touch with her feelings.

JACQUI VELASCO WAS . . . WHAT WAS THAT WORD that Mara used? Bummed? Yes, bummed. Really, truly bummed.

She should be really, truly, totally, completely happy at being reunited with Luca. In fact, she had spent the last month telling herself how perfectly happy she was, how glad she was that everything was working out just like in her wildest dreams. But that was the problem-Jacqui knew that if she really felt happy, she wouldn't have to keep reminding herself how happy she was. As the weeks dragged on, miserable seemed like a more accurate description of her feelings. Yes, miserable, Jacqui decided.

Luca had negged on the romantic dinner again. Instead of taking her to the Farmhouse, he'd suggested a "romantic" clambake on the beach. They had driven an hour to a small, rundown restaurant where Luke had bought two soggy oyster po'boys and picked up a six-pack of beer. They weren't even alone. His friend Leo had met them on the beach.

At least the boys had made a roaring campfire, or else Jacqui would have frozen in her silk and lace. She shivered under her thin cotton sweater and wondered when she would be able to go home.

The other thing that was making her miserable: Luca wasn't even paying her the least bit of attention. That was the heart of the problem. She wouldn't have minded at all-they could eat at Burger King every night and she wouldn't care, but she was beginning to realize that maybe he wasn't quite the guy she had met in Sao Paolo. In fact, all he'd done all night was roll a couple of fat stogies filled with tobacco and pot and smoke them by himself. He'd offered Jacqui and Leo a few puffs, but pot made Jacqui's head ache, and Leo had declared himself fine with the beer.

"I'm out of rolling papiere!. Nobody panic!" he said, laughing hysterically at his own joke.

Jacqui watched him silently. He was the love of her life, but when he was like this, she had to face it, he was kind of a jackass.

Luke got up from the blanket and ran down the beach to where he'd parked the car behind some sand dunes.

"You having a good time this summer?" Leo asked, propping himself up with his right arm and looking up at her. He didn't have Luke's startling blue eyes or fine, Roman nose, but he had a kind face.

"Yes. Is been nice," Jacqui said politely, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Don't mind Van Varick. He can cut up kind of rough sometimes," he said gently.

Jacqui nodded, not really sure what he'd said.

"So what's Brazil like?"

Jacqui thought about it. What a question. But soon enough she was telling Leo all about her life back home-her two younger brothers, who still lived at home in Campinas, her life in the big city with her grandmother, who was sending her to the prestigious Santa Anita convent, where the president's daughters were educated, how her family wasn't rich, so she had gotten a job at Daslu to help pay her tuition.

Leo was an avid and interested listener, asking her all the right questions and prodding her for more details. Jacqui found herself feeling so much better just to have someone who was actually interested in what she had to say.

The two of them were laughing at some particularly funny soccer play-by-plays she was recounting when Luke rounded up the hill.

"What's so funny?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing-nothing," Jacqui said, still chuckling at the David Beckham fumble.

Luke looked pointedly at his friend, who shrugged and turned away. Jacqui knew that look. It said: Easy, man.

Luke crouched next to Jacqui and whispered in her ear, "Hey, babe, you wanna go for a walk? So we can get a chance to talk without this clown around?" he asked, winking lasciviously.

Jacqui nodded and let Luke help her up.

"Just going to take Jacqui for a moonlight stroll," he said to Leo.

Luke led her to a secluded spot near the bushes. "Come down here with me," he said, patting the sand.

"Look at the moon," Jacqui said as she sat down beside him. "Remember how you told me that poem about the stars?" she mused.

"Mmm," Luke said, not having any idea what she was talking about.

"Walt Whitman. You read it to me when we were camping outdoors. 'The Astronomer' . . . 'the Astronomer' something?"

"'When I heard the learn'd astronomer,' " Luke said impatiently.

In So Paolo, Luke had recited this poem to her when they were looking up at the night sky.

Yeah, Dalton had taught him something, but he wasn't about to repeat that poem-or that moment with her now. He had other things on his mind, and before she could ask him another question, he was on top of her, slipping a hand up her shirt. She flinched as he stuck his wet tongue in her ear. He smelled like shellfish.

"You know how pot makes me so horny . . . and you look on fire tonight, babe. God, you don't know what you do to me," he said, slobbering all over her neck and shoulders.

Jacqui blinked up at the fat, white moon and the perfectly silent stars. It wasn't romantic and it wasn't making her happy, but somehow, she wanted her Luca all the same.

ryan finds out mara is full of surprises.

THE PARTY WAS OVER. CHAUNCEY RAVEN AND HER thirty-person entourage were long gone. The only people left at the club were desperate single people who were still hoping to go home lucky, hard-core alcoholics, and a stray cocktail waitress or two. Even the publicists and the gossip columnists had gone to bed. Eliza had taken the Mercedes SUV, though, so Mara was still there, sitting alone in the back room with Ryan.

"I guess we should go," Mara said as the overhead lights blinked on and off.

"You think?" Ryan grinned.

They walked out to where he had parked the Aston Martin convertible, one of the few cars left in the lot. Even the valet guys had punched out. Ryan opened the door and Mara stepped inside. "I didn't realize it was so late," she said.

She rubbed her eyes, smearing her eye makeup all over her face.

"God, I look like a mess!" she said, pulling down the visor to check out the damage in the mirror.

Ryan turned. "You make a pretty cute raccoon."

She wiped her face with tissues, amazed at how much makeup came off. Jacqui had really outdone herself.

They drove back to the house in comfortable silence. The night air smelled fresh and a little wet, and in the quiet of the night Mara could feel what made this place so special. Yes, all that posturing all the time was a little much, but it was beautiful.

"Well, good night . . .," Ryan said, helping Mara up the steps.

"Good night." She smiled at him sleepily. She walked down the garden path toward the servants' cottage.

Ryan lingered at the doorway, his forehead knit in a frown. "Hey, are you going to bed?" he called.

"I was . . .," Mara said tentatively.

"I thought maybe I'd build a bonfire on the beach. It's a nice night, and, well, I've got some sleeping bags."

Mara smiled into the dark. "That sounds great. Just let me change."

A few minutes later Mara watched as Ryan dug a hole in the sand and filled it with firewood and kindling. She was wearing a T-shirt and pajamas and had scrubbed off all the makeup.

He struck a match. The newspapers flared up, but the firewood didn't catch.

"I think they're a little damp."

"Here, let me help," Mara said. She was an expert at building fires. Her parents liked to heat their house with their woodstove through the harsh New England winters; they thought it was quaint, even though Mara knew there wasn't much quaint about their single-story ranch. "You just need a little more kindling . . . and blow on the smoke. . . ." She arranged the sticks into a teepee over the newspaper, and when the initial blaze died down, a few red embers remained.

"Blow, blow!" she told Ryan, and the two of them huffed and puffed on the small sparks. The sparks became larger and finally the wood caught fire. Mara and Ryan cheered.

"I found some marshmallows in the pantry," Ryan said, opening a bag. He grabbed a long stick from the cattail bushes and stuck one on. He handed it to Mara. She held it over the fire, watching the sugar melt into a brown glaze.

"When I was little, I always left the marshmallows in too long and they would burn and fall off," Mara said, taking a bite.

"But you have to leave them on for a long time! That's when they taste best!" Ryan argued.

He left his stick in the fire, and the marshmallow sizzled and fell into the flames.

"See, I told you!" Mara laughed at his dismayed expression.

Ryan speared another marshmallow. "This time you're not getting away!" he said sternly to his food.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Mara dug her bare toes into the cold sand until it started to feel wet a few inches down. She could see the smallest orange reflection of their fire as the waves rolled in again and again. Behind them were the biggest houses she'd ever seen, but it was the beach that impressed her the most.

"I always thought I'd stay here forever," Ryan said, breaking Mara's silent reverie.

"What do you mean?"

"Growing up, when we used to come out to the Hamptons, I never wanted to leave come September. I promised myself that when I was older, I would live here year-round."

"It must get so cold, with the ocean right there."

"Oh, it's awful," Ryan said cheerfully. "But there's no one here. That's what's so great about it."

"But now?"