Too hurt to run after him, Jacqui walked away, catching her high heels in the dense thick mud. Several South American polo players returning to the field walked by her, chattering to each other in Spanish and Portuguese.

"Preste atenco a sua etapa," one said, catching her as she tottered.

"I know where I'm going!" Jacqui hissed. She brushed by them, completely oblivious to their appreciative stares.

"Bonita, mas olha miseravel" Nacho Figueroa, the handsome team captain, shrugged. So what if she was gorgeous? She was miserable.

Jacqui walked off in a daze and found herself in front of a white linen table manned by a tuxedoed bartender.

"Bacardi. 151. Straight up. Double," she ordered, and downed four shots in quick succession.

She returned to the Perry table, where Eliza and Mara were in the middle of arguing about whether it was time to take the kids home yet.

"I swear, they won't mind!" Eliza pressed. She wanted to hightail it out of there before Taylor and Lindsay spotted her playing Mary Poppins. "Look how tired Zoe is."

"But Anna and Kevin didn't say anything about it," Mara said doubtfully.

"Do you really think they care if the kids see the end of the game? Look around you, Mara, everyone's leaving!"

It was true. Now that the TV cameras and the photographers from the society rags had departed, many of the guests decided they'd had quite enough themselves.

"Hey, Jacqui, where've you been?" Eliza snapped, then instantly regretted it when she saw the look on Jacqui's face.

"What's wrong?" Mara asked, concerned. They had never seen their self-possessed roommate so unnerved. Jacqui was shaking, her eyes were red, and she looked like she was about to cry. And she smelled like a rum distillery.

Mara put a hand on Jacqui's shoulder. "Jeez, you're so cold!" Mara said.

"What happened?" Eliza demanded.

"It's . . . Luca. . . . He . . . he has a girlfriend. . . . He's been lying to me . . .," Jacqui choked out.

"What?!" Eliza exclaimed.

"That's terrible!" Mara said.

"I just saw him . . . across the field. . . . He said it was someone he used to date . . . but it's not. . . . Deus bom . . . that's why he never wanted to take me out anywhere. . . . I was just . . . a fling . . . barato and I thought . . . I thought . . ."

"What a dickwad!" Eliza declared.

"Don't," Jacqui said. She felt even more depressed by their sympathy. "He's right behind you."

Eliza turned around and saw Luke van Varick with Karin Emerson.

"That's your Luca? Jacqui, you should have told me earlier! That's Luke van Varick. He's like the biggest player in New York. A total jerk. I've known him for years. He and Karin have been dating since eighth grade, and he's been cheating on her ever since."

Jacqui nodded and bit her lip. She knew something like this was coming; she just hadn't wanted to believe it. Now she was stuck in some godforsaken place in the States when she could have been in Rio with her friends.

"There was no way you could have known that," Mara consoled.

"He always plays that whole nerdy thing, like he's not interested, but it's all a ploy. He's totally cocky and arrogant. Ugh. He's the worst," Eliza said. "You're better off without him. Good riddance!"

"O que quer que, I'm going to get another drink," was all Jacqui said.

Eliza and Mara looked at each other helplessly, and then they did the things that came most naturally to them in times of crisis. Mara took a tissue and wiped the mascara from under Jacqui's eyes, and Eliza handed Jacqui two half-drunk flutes of champagne. For now, it was the best they could do.

jacqui knows that the best way to get over somebody is to get under someone else.

AN HOUR LATER JACQUI STOOD IN FRONT OF THE BAR, nursing her drink. The bartender had put a cheerful umbrella on her mojito, but the sight of the jaunty little paper parasol just made her feel worse. She rested her drink on a nearby cocktail table and fished in her purse for a cigarette.

"Excuse me," a guy said, placing an empty glass next to hers. He'd been heading toward the parking lot before he stopped. "Jacqui?"

She looked up to see Leo-Luca's sweet friend Leo-standing there with a goofy grin on his face. He was wearing a similar seersucker jacket to the one Luca was also wearing that afternoon, with the sleeves scrunched to the elbows, and baggy blue jeans with the top of his flannel boxer shorts showing. It was very hip-hop Wasp, a big look in East Hampton that summer.

"Good to see you-hey, something wrong?" he asked when he saw the look on her face.

"Nothing," she said. She didn't want anything to do with him, especially anything or anyone who reminded her of Luca.

"C'mon, you can tell me," he said gently, placing a hand on her bare shoulder.

"Seriously. No e nada. Maybe I'm a little homesick," she said. She realized once she said it that it was true. She missed home. The Hamptons were fun and all, but without Luca it was just another overpriced American city. She missed her grandmother, a stubborn old lady who worked long hours as a manager of a textile factory to keep her only granddaughter in school.

"You want to get dinner somewhere?" Leo asked. "There's a place not too far that has the best fish tacos."

"I don't know. I should probably get back to work," Jacqui said, scanning the emptying tent for the Perry kids and her roommates.

"C'mon, seriously, it will make you feel so much better. C'mon," Leo said, taking her arm.

By then she was too drunk to argue.

He drove her to a taco stand in Amagansett, where they shared Baja fish tacos underneath a rickety straw roof. Leo was right, the food did make her feel better. She was still numb, angry, and hurt in a way that she didn't even want to think about-she felt stupid and embarrassed on top of feeling lonely and miserable.

There had been signs, of course. The picture. His weird aversion to hanging out in the Hamptons proper. His constant excuses and absences. She was being played for a fool. Jacqui should have known better than that.

She looked at Leo across the table as she chewed on the spicy, delicious mahi-mahi taco. He kind of looked like Luca, with that same glossy honey-colored hair. He even smelled like him-like Chanel Egoiste and aftershave. He dressed so much like Luca that Jacqui even made a mental bet that those were Tartan boxers underneath the baggy Fubus. He even talked like Luca. In fact, if she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was still with her Luca.

So when they stumbled out of the restaurant and Leo suggested maybe she might want to, um, hang out a little more, see his, um, guitar collection or something, she didn't say no. And when they got there and his guitar collection consisted of two wimpy Fenders and he tried to kiss her instead, she kissed him back. And when he lifted up her shirt and unzipped his jeans, she didn't protest. In Brazil they had a saying: The best way to get over somebody was to get under someone else.

"So, it's really over between you guys?" Leo asked when it was over and they were lying in his bed watching Jimmy Fallon needle the hapless host on SNL.

She nodded.

"Good, because I don't want to get in the way of that, you know what I mean?"

"Si."

"You know, I was so into you the moment I saw you," he said.

"Me too," she lied.

He squeezed her tighter.

She was about to tell him that this was a mistake, that this was all wrong. That they shouldn't see each other again. It would hurt Luca's feelings if he knew she had hooked up with his best friend.

Wait.

It would hurt Luca. Or at least, put a huge dent in his pride.

Jacqui had an idea. Suddenly Leo didn't feel like a mistake after all.

mara finally gets a backbone.

THE NEXT MORNING MARA WOKE UP TO THE INTER minable refrain of her cell phone melody.

"Herrhhhoo?" She wiped the sleep from her eyes. "No, I'm awake, I'm awake. Hi, Jim." Mara held the phone to her ear with a hand across her eyes. Jim's enthusiasm was unbearable at such an early hour.

"Enough is enough. I've got a great plan-you'll love it! My parents are going away for the weekend, so I've got the homestead all to my lonesome. Anyway, I was thinking, you know, I really want my girl-my Mara to be there, you know? Coz it's going to totally rock! I'm going to have a party for sure. And you know, I'm going to need someone to help me clean up afterward!" He laughed at his joke.

But Mara was beginning to realize Jim wasn't really kidding. "Jim, I'd love to, but I can't," she told him.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't. I have to work. It's not like I get the weekends off, you know. This job is full-time, twenty-four hours a day."

"That's what you always say," Jim grumbled. "I don't believe it, Mara. Those rich losers you work for won't even let you take one stupid weekend off? What are you, some kind of slave? That's ridiculous!"

"It's not ridiculous. You always think what I do is stupid, and it's not. It's really important. I'm making a lot of money here, and you know my parents can't cover my whole college tuition."

"Whatever, Mara. Something's up. I can just tell. You're, like, different now, and I don't think I like it."

"What do you mean?" Mara propped her head up against her pillows.

"I dunno, it's like you're all hoity-toity all of a sudden. . . ."

"Excuse me?"

"You're acting kind of selfish, you know? It's like all you think about is yourself. It makes me sick, really it does."

Mara sat up at that. "I'M SELFISH? I'M SELFISH?" she yelped, suddenly very angry. "Oh, and I suppose when I hand-washed your football jersey for the big game instead of studying for my English final, I was just thinking of myself? And what about when I gave you my hamster when Bobo died, that was selfish? Or the time I let you and your stupid friends into Ye Olde Tavern so you guys could see what nineteenth-century ale tastes like? Or the time I had to go to the ER when you had to get your stomach pumped and I had the SATs the next day?" Mara could keep going like this for hours. "Or, I don't know, Jim, what about the time I sold my antique dollhouse so you could buy new hubcaps for your car?"

"Oh, right, sure, Mar-"

But Mara had had enough. "You know what, Jim? You're right-I have changed-and I'm not going to do this anymore!" And then, with as much force as she could muster, she pressed her thumb on the end button of her cell phone. It didn't have the same drama as slamming a receiver down, but she pressed that button with just as much fervor.

"Arrggh!" Mara screamed at the empty room.

ryan isn't exactly having breakfast in bed, but . . .

MARA RAN DOWN THE STAIRS AND OUT THE DOOR OF the au pairs' cottage, slamming the door behind her. God, what was wrong with Jim? Selfish? Selfish?

Mara scurried across the lawn toward the main house. It was almost noon-God, they'd been out late last night!-Ryan usually got back from his morning surf right about now.

He was probably in the kitchen making one of his favorite double-decker submarine sandwiches-the housekeeper always made sure to pick up fresh mortadella, prosciutto, bologna, and salami from Papassini's just for him. He and Mara had shared a big fat hoagie every Saturday morning now, so her timing was probably going to be about perfect.

She walked quickly up the stone pathway to the glass-enclosed kitchen. Sure enough, Ryan was there-still wearing one half of his wet suit (the other half he'd peeled down from the heat). In his right hand he wielded a dinner knife thick with yellow mustard and in the other hand . . . he was holding the waist of a very pretty girl in a matching folded-down black wet suit and red string bikini top.

Mara was certain she had seen that girl somewhere, and with a sick twist in her stomach she realized it was the girl from the polo match. The redhead Ryan was talking to while she was arguing with Jim on the phone.

"Ryan-stop-no!" The girl squealed, giggling as Ryan pretended to flick mustard on her cheek.

"You love it." He grinned.

He popped a cherry tomato in her mouth and chased it with a kiss.

Oh.

Mara stood in front of the kitchen window, completely taken aback and unsure of what to do. She was so surprised to see him with someone.

Someone else-that is-but she tried to ignore it. C'mon, it wasn't as if I was expecting him to . . . It wasn't as if I thought of him as . . . And there's Jim, although . . .

But just as Mara's face was beginning to contort with some strange understanding of what was really going on here, Ryan looked up.

"Mar-"

But Mara was already halfway down the back stairs, more embarrassed and confused than ever.