Chapter Seven - A Day Together

Everly didn’t know what she was expecting when she walked up the gravelly drive to open the library at 9:30 on Monday morning. What she was not expecting, certainly, was Porter slumped asleep in his Mercedes with the top down, an enormous iced coffee perilously close to toppling from his drooping hand.

For a moment, Everly considered passing him by, opening the library and letting him sleep till noon and then awaken feeling sheepish. Encouraging him in anything more than...friendship...could be dangerous. Everly blushed to herself. On the other hand, he could be useful. And he certainly was handsome.

Everly stepped quietly over to the passenger side of the  car, looking at the morning sun glinting off Porter’s messy chestnut hair - did the boy own a comb? The precipitation from the iced coffee was now running down his hand, and Everly found herself intrigued. She’d seen people with these drinks before, but had never tried one herself. Leaning forward as silently as possible, she closed her lips around the straw and blew, just like she’d thought she’d seen everyone else do. Instead of filling her cheeks, though, enormous loud bubbles appeared in the cup, startling Porter awake.

“Hey!” He bolted upright, then smiled lazily as he stretched. “Are you stealing my coffee? Not worth it; clearly it’s not keeping me awake.”

Everly drew back, mortified. “I’m not stealing anything,” she answered haughtily. “I was just thirsty. I’m happy to buy you a new drink if you like.”

Porter laughed. He was starting to enjoy her strange reactions. “It’s fine - have some of it. It’s too big for me to finish anyway."

Everly took the cup gingerly in her hands and leaned against the car, her back to Porter. Eyeing the straw suspiciously, she once again closed her mouth around it. After few moments of inhaling and exhaling through the straw, the brown liquid finally rose. “Blecch,” she sputtered despite herself. “That is very bitter!” She handed the cup back to Porter.

“So now our coffee isn’t good enough for you?” Porter twinkled. Everly found herself returning his broad grin.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so bitter, that’s all. Anyways, I’m late.” She turned back towards the library.

“That’s true,” said Porter. “I’ve been waiting since eight. I wanted to grab some more books...and ask how your weekend was. Wait a minute,” he said, looking around. “Where’s your car?”

Everly answered over her shoulder, her voice light. “I walked. I like walking, I get to see more.”

“Walked from where? It’s cold in the mornings!”

“Not far.” There it was, that tone of finality. Porter swore to himself that he’d make it past that tone at some point. Keep it light, Biltmore. No scaring her off just when you’re getting through to her.

“So,” he said, jogging to keep up with her. “What’s your plan for today? And don’t say you’re busy all day - I know how many people are in and out of this library, and I know that legally, you have to have a lunch break."

Everly busied herself with unlocking the library door and propping it open. The sunlight streamed in, and she set her linen bag on the counter to switch the inside lights on. “There is always a lot of shelving on Mondays..."

Porter was ready for her. “Well, I can help. Libraries always have volunteers - I’m volunteering. You tell me what to do and I’ll do it. And in between I’ll do some reading until you’re free for lunch.”

Everly rolled her eyes. He was persistent, she’d give him that. No wonder the Biltmores were so rich. They just had to wear people down, which they were inordinately good at.

“Fine,” she said shortly. “You can start with this stack.”

Porter’s eyes bulged at the size of the pile of books she’d indicated, but as one of her delicate eyebrows slowly rose, he recovered. “No problem.”

His time as soccer captain came in handy, he thought, as he weaved in and out of the shelves, muscles bulging, straining to read the decimal numbers on the book spines.

Everly sat, amused, at the front desk, greeting the one or two patrons who came in and thinking hard. She would have to ascertain - fast - whether Porter was really an ally or not. And whether he could be trusted beyond a boyish crush.

Rising gracefully and fingering her golden chain, Everly wandered slowly through the shelves until she finally caught Porter setting the last of the cookery manuals in the travel section. “Porter Biltmore!"

Porter lost his footing on the stool and came crashing down, catching Everly's shoulder with his arm and pulling her with him. With her entire fall cushioned by Porter’s body, Everly felt nothing at all of the hard floor, and lingered a moment with her head on his chest. With one hand on her silky black hair, Porter marveled at how delicate she seemed, even as they both paused awkwardly. Everly quickly pushed herself up, wiping dust off her arms and avoiding Porter's gaze.

“Sorry about that...you startled me. Are you ok?” Porter asked.

Everly pushed back her hair. “Fine,” she said. “Although you won’t be if I find that you’ve misplaced all of the books I gave you.”

Porter reached over and brushed a speck of dust off her crinkled nose, then watched as her blush spread. “Sorry about that...it was just the last one,” he explained. “I got bored and wanted to come back and talk to you. Show me where it goes and I’ll replace it.”

Everly pointed, and he jogged over. When he looked back, she had already returned to the front desk.

“You could have waited five seconds for me,” Porter grumbled as he sat on the edge of the desk, peering over the cover of A Game of Thrones, to see Everly.

“Time and tide wait for no man,” replied Everly. “Author?”

Porter thought. “Shakespeare?”

Everly smiled mischievously and laid down the book. Gone was her usual hauteur; her beauty transformed into something tangible, approachable. “Trick question, I’m afraid. First reference is Chaucer in the Clerk’s Tale, but he only says ‘Ay flee’eth the time, it nil no man abide.’ The proverb was then handed down through the centuries until it appears in the 1600s as ‘Time and tide tarry on no man.’”

Porter shook his head. “Where do you come from? Are you one of those spelling bee kids who know the etymology of every word?”

Everly feigned surprise. She couldn’t help teasing him, he’d grown so amenable. “Etymology? Big word, Biltmore.” She grew more serious. “I just love reading, that’s all. We grew up reading everything - our education was literature and science and history and politics, much like you.”

Porter seized on the opening. “So you have brothers and sisters?”

Everly paused. “No,” she replied. “I have a large extended family, and everyone of a certain age studied together. I wish I’d had brothers and sisters, though...being the only child and heir is a lot of pressure."

That word, “heir,” piqued Porter’s interest. He moved closer to Everly on the desk, catching a waft of her perfume, which smelled like flowers in the ocean breeze. “Is your family in business?”

“No,” said Everly, inching away almost imperceptibly. “My mother is in government, and my father is an academic. We’re a...political family.”

“Ah,” smiled Porter. “Your parents should talk to my dad. He’s been eyeing politics for a while. On the other hand,” he grimaced, “my father can be difficult. A bit overwhelming. He’s one of the most powerful men in New York and he never, ever lets anyone forget it. And he doesn’t have friends - he has business contacts. I wouldn’t want to relegate your parents to that category.”

Everly watched him closely. “My parents - and my mother in particular - are strong personalities themselves, although they strive to be honorable and fair.”

“Which is more than I can say about my father. He always says that it’s about getting the better of people who don’t know better. Maybe that’s why I can’t stand the idea of taking over the Biltmore Fund,” Porter said half to himself. “It just seems like exploitation.”

Everly lowered her eyes. This might be a chance. “Tell me what your company does,” she said.

Porter looked at his watch. “How about I tell you over lunch? Please don’t say no,” he hurried on, touching her hand lightly. “There’s no one here, and you have to be hungry. I’m starving!”

Everly couldn’t think of an excuse. “Where would you like to go?” she asked.

“How about Mercado,” asked Porter. “Do you like Mexican food? They have amazing tacos.”

“Ok,” Everly said slowly, smiling.

“Excellent,” said Porter, jumping off the desk and grabbing her hand. “Then it’s a date.”

Everly pulled her hand away. “Porter Biltmore, having lunch together does not mean that we’re on a date.”

“Well, I asked you to lunch because I have this crazy need to hang around you despite the fact that you won’t tell me anything about yourself. You said yes, and smiled when you said it. I’m going to hold your hand all the way to the car, and from the car to the restaurant, and probably for a while in between while you tell me to keep my hands on the wheel. And I’m going to spend all of lunch trying desperately to impress you in the hope that you’ll agree to spend more time with me. Sounds like a date to me."

Everly, flustered, rummaged through her linen bag. “Porter...you don’t even know if you want to be my friend yet. Let’s just see what happens.”

Porter sighed. “Can I just say, by way of being cocky, that I’ve never had to try so hard to get a girl’s attention in my life?”

Everly looked steadily at him. “I’m not sure you’ve had to try very hard for anything in your life, Porter. So, this could yet be character-building.” To soften her words, Everly reached for his hand. “But my hands are cold, so..."

Although stung, Porter couldn’t help but marvel, once again, at the truth of her words. Gently, he lifted her hand to his lips and grazed it lightly. “Come on, Jiminy Cricket. Let’s go.”

Everly waited until they were in the car, wind in their hair, before she asked. “Who’s Jiminy Cricket?”

Porter laughed. “You know that old Disney movie, Pinocchio? About the puppet?”

Everly lit up. “The marionette, you mean." Porter rolled his eyes. "I remember reading the stories of Pinocchio when I was young. His nose grew when he told lies...and he was swallowed by a shark! So ridiculous.”

“Well, in the Disney movie he was swallowed by an evil whale - what are you laughing at?”

“Whales are some of the most passive creatures on earth,” said Everly. “They’re like...cows...in the ocean. An evil shark, perhaps. An evil octopus, definitely. But an evil whale? How funny.”

Nonplussed, Porter moved on. “Anyway, in the movie, Jiminy Cricket is Pinocchio’s constant companion; he acts as Pinocchio’s conscience since Pinocchio can’t always tell the difference between right and wrong. He’s literally a tiny cricket who wears a waistcoat, a top hat, and a pocket watch. So we’re going to have to do some shopping for you...”

Everly laughed, her voice like bells in the breeze. “I’m not sure I’d look good in a top hat. And I’m not sure you need a conscience; despite your swagger, you seem to have pretty good instincts.”

“Instincts, sure. But I don’t always think through the best options before I go charging off following my instincts. Whereas I can already see that you’re far more calculating than I am.”

Everly replied evenly. “I try not to calculate when dealing with people, Porter. But you’re right - I’ve grown up learning to measure my reactions, clamp down on my feelings, and be as diplomatic as possible. It’s all part of being in my family.”

Porter’s grip tightened on her brown hand, which he indeed had not let go of during the short drive to Mercado. What was she hiding behind those opaque green eyes? He swung the convertible into a parking spot and rested his left hand on the wheel for a moment, his face more sober. “I hope,” he said, turning to Everly, “that you can learn to trust me with your feelings. Your real feelings. Because everyone needs an outlet somewhere.” He jumped out of the car, crossed to the passenger side, and opened Everly’s door, once again reaching for her hand to help her out. “And now, it’s time for guacamole.”

He escorted Everly to the door, waving off the staff who instantly came over to greet young Mr. Biltmore. “A corner table, if you don’t mind?”

They were seated quickly and perused their menus. Everly’s eyes widened at the choices in front of her, but said nothing. She’d read about some of these foods, but was apprehensive about trying them. Better start with something familiar.

“Everly, are you ready?” asked Porter, cutting through her indecision. “Or another minute?”

Everly shook her head. “No, thank you - I’ll have the...shrimp tacos, please,” she said to the waiter, bypassing the unfamiliar word “chipotle.”

“Great. I’ll have the Mexican burger. And we’ll start with the guacamole.” Porter handed their menus to the waiter and waved him off.

“Porter,” whispered Everly. “What is a chipotle?” She pronounced the word ‘chipO-tul.’

Porter smiled. “It’s a type of hot pepper,” he whispered back conspiratorially. “It’s pretty spicy. And it’s actually pronounced ‘chipOTE-LAY.”

“Ah,” said Everly. “And...what is a guacamole?”

Porter laughed. “It’s a dip made of avocado - you’ll love it. I’m guessing you haven’t had much Mexican food before.”

Everly smiled in relief. “For a moment it sounded like a type of sea monster.”

“Not you, too,” Porter chuckled. “After the party on Friday, Skylar and I ended up talking to this old man who was trying to tell us stories about mermaids and sea monsters. He was actually pretty persuasive, can you believe it?”

Everly appeared to be thinking hard. “What did he say?”

The guacamole, a chunky green pile surrounded with salty blue corn chips, arrived, and Porter loaded up a chip. Everly watched him closely and followed suit. To her delight, the guacamole was delicious - creamy and spicy and tart, all at once. She reached for another chip.

“He used to be commander of a Navy arm called the Military Sealift, which supplies other ships during war and peacetime. That part was pretty fascinating. But then he started talking about how one of his ancestors had been on a ship that had discovered sea monsters and negotiated secretly with mermaids --”

“The Challenger,” blurted out Everly in spite of herself.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, Ever-cyclopedia. Yeah, the H.M.S. Challenger - he showed us a journal that his great-great-grandfather had apparently kept, which talks about the creatures they discovered in the deep-sea, including mermaids and other sea monsters, which they couldn’t make public because it would have caused a public outcry or something like that. I’m telling you, between his scary eyebrows and the amazing chowder he gave us, he almost had me convinced.”

“But you thought better of it,” asked Everly noncommittally, surreptitiously tasting the salt left on her fingers from the chips. Maybe she needed to rethink her approach to Porter. Or abandon it altogether.

“Well, honestly. I can believe there are all sorts of things under the sea. But mermaids? Give me a break. Did you actually just finish that entire bowl of guacamole?” Porter demanded.

“I was hungry! I walk a lot, and I swim a lot, it builds quite an appetite,” said Everly, taken aback by Porter's tone. She was used to much bigger meals and had been surprised watching the Hamptons women eat. How did they find the strength to do anything other than gossip? Or did they?

Porter burst out laughing. “Don’t look so defensive! I think it’s awesome. No girl I know eats like that except Skylar. Let’s order another bowl,” he said, gesturing at the waiter. Everly was not going to argue.

“What do you think?” Porter returned to the subject abruptly. “You said you’re interested in marine biology, right? Have you done any deep-sea dives? Do you think these things exist?"

Everly hid her smile behind her tall glass of water. Things, indeed. “I’ve done a few dives, and certainly a lot of research. I’d say I’ve seen a few things down there that still aren’t documented. We’re still in the early days of sea exploration, don’t forget,” she continued. “I think it’s important for everyone to keep an open mind. Why would Wexford have made up his stories in such detail?”

Porter stared at her. “How did you know it was Harry Wexford? Have you met him?”

Argh, thought Everly to herself. Maintaining her composure, she took another sip of water. “I meant Edward Wexford. There...are a few copies of his memoirs from the Challenger floating around, and his stories are hard to fully discredit. I’d heard the name Harry Wexford, but haven’t met him. So he’s a descendent of Edward Wexford? Does he live nearby?”

“Oh. Yeah, next door to Skylar, actually. You should meet him, I bet you’d like his sea stories.”

“Sure, I’d love to.” Everly turned her attention to her tacos, which had just arrived with another order of guacamole. She’d have to remind him of Wexford later.  “So now tell me about your father’s company.”

Porter frowned. “Well, technically, I’m supposed to take over the whole thing eventually. You know, I feel like an idiot - I’ve known my whole life that I was supposed to run Biltmore one day. I’ve gone to all of the events, watched my father chat up potential investors and politicians whom he wanted to sign off on the Biltmore projects. But I never bothered to learn what those projects were - what the Fund really did.”

“And now?” asked Everly, her eyes streaming from the spicy chipotle sauce on her tacos. Certainly the food here was better than she’d had before. The sauces and spices they used!

“My father basically issued me an ultimatum at the beginning of the summer. Go to Stanford - his alma mater - to learn business, then come back to my spot on the Biltmore board. Or stay at an East Coast school with my friends and study what I want, but without his money or support. Part of me just wants to stick a thumb in his eye and go to Harvard or Columbia to spite him. But honestly, I don’t know the first thing about supporting myself financially. And I think I should probably figure out whether I’m really not interested in the Fund before I cut those ties forever. You know, maybe if I take over, I could turn the Fund into something I could be proud of.”

Everly kept her eyes on the half-finished bowl of guacamole. “You’re not quite as impulsive as you think you are, then.” Or as I thought you were, she said to herself. “And what have you been doing so far to make your decision?”
 

“Well, part of it was coming to the library to peruse a few different subjects that I was thinking about - finance, of course, but also politics, history, etc. To see if I even have an aptitude for finance. The jury is still out on that.”

‘Jury...’ thought Everly to herself, making a mental note to reconfirm the definition of that word later.

Porter picked at the remnants of his burger, his eyes narrowed. “I also started reading the Biltmore account books, which are just lying in the study at home. I’m...not thrilled with what I’m seeing there. Tons of profit, of course. My dad knows the biggest investors in the world. But it actually looks like Biltmore has been involved in some of the biggest deep-sea disasters in recent years...and somehow come out with a profit each time. My dad goes in on these deals using what seem like cheap materials or ships or whatever, and if something goes wrong he retains the investments. If the projects find something new, or dredge up oil, he makes a killing. It just seems...irresponsible.”

Everly sat quietly for a moment, digesting literally and figuratively. Porter was a quicker study than she’d thought, and more sympathetic. She suddenly felt a rush of feeling towards him, noting the haunted look in his eyes when he spoke about the Biltmore deals. She placed her hand on Porter’s arm, and the electricity sent a spark through him. He leaned closer to her.

“So, Jiminy. You’re smarter than I am - what do you think I should do?” His blue eyes gazed into Everly’s wide-set green ones, and she moved back with an effort. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

“I think...we should order more food while we think about it,” Everly replied lightly. “What is ‘Mexican street corn’? Corn grows in fields, right?”

Porter stared at her, then laughed out loud. He reached out slowly, and ran a finger down her cheek slowly. Everly shivered, but didn’t move away. “I really don’t know what to do with you...here I am telling you all about my life, and I still can’t figure out where on earth you’re from or what you’re doing here. I’m just going to assume from now on that you’re here specifically for me. Ok with you?”

Everly looked away and sighed. She hadn’t counted on the complications. “I’m here to learn, Porter. And if you’ll help me, then I’ll let you assume whatever you want.”

Porter laced his fingers through hers. “Fine. But don’t think I’m giving up on figuring you out. And yes,” he said in reply to her inquiring look, “let’s get you that street corn. Anything else?”

“Just the crab empanadas, please,” replied Everly primly, pronouncing the words carefully. She couldn’t wait to find out how these people ate crab.

An hour and several plates later, Porter amusedly paid the massive bill over Everly’s protests, and they headed back out to the car.

“Back to the library?” Porter asked. “No chance you’d come back to the house with me? We could hang out on our beach...”

“No,” Everly said reluctantly. “I really do have a lot of work to do. But you should head home...”

Porter closed her door after her, and slid into the driver’s seat. “Tomorrow, then?” he asked as they sped back along the Montauk highway. “Let me take you to dinner?”

“I can’t have dinner with you, Porter. I have to be back home in the evenings.” That tone again. Porter wondered how strict her family was, or whether she was avoiding being alone with him.

“Ok. Well, I’m supposed to attend a gallery opening with Skylar tomorrow - but I don’t suppose you’re interested in another society event after the white party?”

Everly shook her head. “Perhaps after some time. I do find these events interesting, but I wouldn’t want to cause any awkwardness between you and your friends just now, and you should certainly go if you’ve already agreed.”

Porter laughed shortly. “I don’t care about them, Everly. I just want to find a way to spend time with you. And if you don’t want to go, then neither do I. But,” he said, noting her mutinous look, “if you insist, I’ll go. Skylar would probably kill me anyway for deserting her.”

Everly interrupted before he could come up with another plan. Better to take things slowly, she repeated to herself, as unexpectedly hard as it was. “I won’t take time off my work - it’s important to me. But I only work in the mornings on Saturdays,” she finished. “What about Saturday afternoon?”

‘Five days away!’ yelled Porter’s brain. He exhaled slowly, reining in his impatience. Everly noted it with satisfaction. “Okay,” he said slowly. “In that case, please come over to my house for brunch after work? My housekeeper Loretta makes the best pancakes in the Hamptons, I promise. And she can even make enough for your mammoth appetite,” he teased.

“Only if you invite Skylar,” said Everly with a smile. “I promised I would...hang out...with her soon.”

Porter rolled his eyes. He wanted her all to himself, but he'd take what he could get. “Fine, if that’s what you want. I’ll come and pick you up at noon.” He pulled into the library parking lot and turned towards her, running his hand along her slender arm. “Thank you. For giving me a chance, and for listening to my ridiculous problems.”

Everly smiled at him, and his heart raced. “I don’t think they’re ridiculous. And I promise I’ll try to help you figure them out. What are friends for?” Before Porter could lean in, before she lost her famous control, she jumped out of the car. “I’ll see you on Saturday!” she called back to him, her black hair flying behind her.

Once she was safely inside the library, Everly leaned against the door and closed her eyes. She couldn’t ignore the feelings anymore - her work here had the potential to be, strangely, both much easier and much harder than she’d ever imagined. Taking a deep breath, Everly steadied herself. “I don’t come first,” she whispered to herself fiercely. “The mission comes first. The service comes first. Never myself.” She’d need more time to figure out how to use Porter. She'd have to ask Rasily more about Julian Biltmore and his strange fixation on deep-sea exploration - her mother must have left something out of the background she'd given Everly. And she’d need to have a serious talk with Harry Wexford, to see what he knew about the new Biltmore project and how he could help.