Life Guards in the Hamptons Read Free Page B

someone I love is in danger. All I know about the threat is its name is Stu. Be careful. Watch out. You know how I worry.”
    “Sure, Dad.” That may have been another reason for the divorce: my father’s constant fretting and half-assed presentiments. What they lacked in sense, they made up for in sincerity. “I’ll avoid any man named Stu, and stewed prunes and stewardesses, just to be safe. Love you.”
    By now I’d peeled the nail polish off, slathered on all three anti-itch creams again, and took an allergy pill for good measure. But every time I sat down I felt a new bite. Chances were I’d already contaminated my clean laundry, too, and I’d forgotten to buy clear nail polish at the drugstore. Tough. I used the red again. I was tired and cranky and I hated this day. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. I’d never make it for a week.
    So I knocked on Mrs. Abbottini’s door. She and I shared the third floor of the old brownstone. I had the front unit, my parents’ old apartment where I’d lived most of my life. My front windows overlooked the street. Mrs. Abbottini’s apartment faced the sooty back of the building behind us. She resented that. Still, she and my mother were good friends. The old lady visited Mom at Paumanok Harbor every summer after my parents split. Maybe she knew about chiggers.
    “They gave your father a heart attack, your mother says.”
    “Chiggers,” I shouted, “not chippies.”
    “Chicago? Never been there.”
    I turned down the TV so she could hear me yell “chiggers.” Now the whole building knew I had bugs.
    Her false teeth clacked. “What were you doing, rolling around in the grass with one of your lovers? Your mother told me all about you and your carrying on this summer.”
    Okay, I’d spent time with a couple of different guys recently. I was thirty-five and unattached. My personal affairs—not that I’d call them affairs, of course— were no one’s business but mine. Besides, I dared any female,pushing Mrs. Abbottini’s eighty or not, to resist Agent Grant from DUE and the British peerage, or Ty Farraday, the famous equestrian rodeo star, or Piet Doorn, the intrepid firefighter. All three were secret superheroes, with supernatural talents, and super sexy. And nice. I don’t regret being close to any of them or loving each of them in his own way. What I do regret is how we all lived such different lives that nothing could come from the relationships but a summer romance.
    “Bug bites, Mrs. A. Not my love life.”
    More clacking and cackling. “Too bad. If you married that Englishman and moved to his castle, I could have had the front rooms.”
    “Maybe I’ll die of cooties.” I headed for the door. “You can always hope.”
    “Oh, sit down. I’ll go get my razor.”
    Holy shit. “It’s not that bad! Sorry I bothered you.”
    “Maybe you ought to do it yourself anyway. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”
    Neither was my heart rate. I was halfway across the hall before she shouted directions. “You shave the bites really close to open the hard crust.”
    I was nauseous already.
    “Then you pour in peroxide to kill the buggers. Or is it alcohol? Maybe vinegar. I’d go with scotch.” She licked her thin lips. “Hmm. I think I will.”
    I went home and tried to work, but nothing came to me except a fierce itch where I’d been sitting. I took a long walk down Third Avenue so I’d be tired enough to sleep, but couldn’t. I started to read a book, but got bored and put on the Yankees. They lost. That’s how things were going.
    I didn’t sleep all night. The bastards liked the dark. Now I had welts up and down my legs, my thighs, my stomach.
    Little Red didn’t even ask to sleep on my bed. He curled up on the sofa and licked his toes.
    I gave up, conceded defeat, and called my grandmother. I loved her. I knew she loved me. We just couldn’t get along. She knew what was best for everyoneand told them so, often and loudly. She thought every child