“Now I might have to beat up all the fancy fuckers just because,” Jo told her.
“That’s my job. I’m the punisher,” Harriett reminded her. “And while I’m out there, I plan to settle a score of my own.” She patted the pockets of her olive-green flight suit, which Jo now noticed were bulging.
“What the hell do you have in there?” Jo asked as the doorbell rang. She wondered just how far Harriett was willing to go.
“It’s a surprise.” Harriett wiggled her eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
Chase Osborne was leaning against the side of his silver Mercedes, dressed in a blue blazer, white polo shirt, and madras shorts. He gave his ex-wife a once-over as she emerged from the house.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked incredulously “You look like Amelia Earhart.”
“And you look like a douchebag,” Harriett told him. “But I assume that’s what you were going for, so bravo—you really knocked it out of the park. Chase, meet my friend Jo.”
“Hello.” Jo shook his hand.
Chase recoiled from her touch and wiped his hand on his pants. “Are you ill?” he asked. “You feel feverish. I don’t want to be rude, but—”
“Then don’t be,” Harriett said, putting an end to it. “Anything you catch today will come from having your nose wedged in a billionaire’s ass.”
Jo watched the exchange with growing amusement. She’d assumed nothing could penetrate Harriett’s celestial stoner vibe. But it seemed there was one person left who was determined, at least temporarily, to drag the goddess back down to earth.
“Is this what it’s going to be like all afternoon?” Chase asked.
“No,” Harriett told him. “Because you’re going to remember how grateful you are that I saved your career.”
Driving down Danskammer Beach Road, they passed an uninterrupted line of luxury vehicles parked along the shoulder and left the Mercedes with a valet at the Culling Pointe gate. As they strolled up to the guard post, Jo was fully prepared to be turned away. Chase was the only one with a real invitation. Even in her flight suit, Harriett could pass for a member of the upper class, but Jo was certain the guards would recognize her as an impostor. She felt a rush of relief when their entire party was waved through without trouble. A fleet of idling golf carts waited to ferry guests to their destination. The three of them climbed into the cart at the front of the line.
“Welcome to the Pointe!” The young man at the wheel flashed a pearly white smile that suggested he’d never been denied healthy meals or expensive orthodontia. “We’ll be at the house in less than ten minutes.”
Soon the cart took a turn and the first mansions appeared. A single road ran all the way from the gate to the tip of the Pointe, and homes lined the beaches on either side. A flock of rowdy children on bikes rode beside them for a few minutes before they disappeared down one of the mansion’s drives.
Everything looked a little too perfect, and Jo found the effect uncanny. There was no gum stuck to the sidewalks or patches of brown grass marring the lawns. The architecture was tasteful. The pools were turquoise and the tennis courts made of clay. It must have taken hundreds of people to rake all the yards and clean all the pools. Where were they hidden? And where were the maintenance vehicles? Jo wondered if the Pointe’s workers traveled around via underground passages like the ones beneath Disney World. Then the billionaires who lived there could pretend their world was always this way, and the sight of the sweating, aching humans who made it all possible wouldn’t ruin the illusion.
“It’s too beautiful,” Jo said out loud. She didn’t add that it was also creepy as fuck.
“Thank you,” said the kid at the wheel. “We feel very blessed to live here.” He was one of them.