by Claire Cook
I grabbed them on my way into the bathroom. “Oh, answer that, will you? I think it’s your mother.”
I rinsed our bathing suits and squeezed them out and hung them over the shower curtain rod along with our towels. I watched myself in the mirror for a while, and wished my toothbrush and toothpaste weren’t still in my suitcase. I wasn’t hiding, at least not in the strictest sense of the word. I was just giving my sister time to get over herself.
There was a child-size knock on the bathroom door. “Coming,” I said in a cheery voice. I crossed my eyes at myself in the mirror.
“Mom wants to talk to you,” Riley said. He handed me the phone and I made myself take it.
“Do you mean to tell me he hasn’t even eaten yet? And have you signed in for your car yet? There’s supposed to be a rental car desk in the lobby.”
I held the phone away from my ear and started moving my lips as if I were Geri. Riley laughed, then put his hand over his mouth and opened his eyes wide.
“And if Riley’s call sheet hasn’t arrived yet, can you check at the front desk to see if it’s been faxed over yet? You should get a map and directions, too. Otherwise, call me back and I’ll track them down for you. And turn your cell phone on, will you, and make sure it’s charged. Riley’s, too. And keep them on, okay?” She took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “Jesus, how old are you anyway?”
“Not even close to turning fifty,” I said before I hung up again.
Riley was still standing there looking at me. I shrugged. “Sisters,” I said.
“Yeah, I know. You should hear mine when they get going.”
I OPENED THE DOOR to our minibar, then closed it again. It was a little-known historical fact that the first minibar was invented sometime during our family vacation era. If it had been a few years earlier, I might well have been named Minibar, so I supposed I should count my blessings. The truth was I’d never quite gotten over the trauma of being told it was off-limits. As an adult, the high point of my hotel experience was eating a six-dollar candy bar for dinner. But I had Riley to think about on this trip, so most likely we should have something a little bit healthier first.
When Geri and I were kids, I remembered my mother taking everything out of the minibar and replacing it with small cartons of milk and a box of powdered sugar donuts we’d bought at the store for breakfast. I don’t remember why the donuts went into the refrigerator, since they probably had enough preservatives in them to last for centuries. Possibly it was fear of ants, which by the way, is myrmecophobia. I’d had to memorize phobias for some class in college, though I no longer remembered which one. My favorite was triskaidekaphobia, fear of the number thirteen. I just liked the way it sounded.
So anyway, Geri and I would stare at the displaced contents of the minibar with unrequited love, sometimes for days, until we left the hotel. One day Geri and I were both walking around the tiny hotel room, each cradling a candy bar as if it were a doll, when my mother looked up from her magazine.
“Don’t worry, we’re just looking at them,” Geri said. “It was Ginger’s idea.”
My father glanced up from the sports section. “We’ll get you those exact same candy bars tomorrow when we stop for gas,” he said. “Scout’s honor.”
“Maybe you girls could draw pictures of them to make sure you get the right ones,” my mother added. My mother was always trying to turn pretty much everything into a teaching moment. “Your crayons are right over there in that shoe box.”
Geri was old enough to be insulted, so she stomped off to the bathroom, but I sat down at the built-in desk and attempted to draw the Junior Mints I lusted after. But when I finally got them the next day, it just wasn’t the same. I knew now that my parents had probably spent every extra cent they had on that vacation. At the time I thought they just didn’t understand the magic of the minibar.
I found the menu and brought it over to Riley’s bed. “Take your pick,” I said. “Just get a vegetable in case your mother asks. Then we can scavenge in the minibar for dessert.”
We unpacked our suitcases while we waited for Riley’s chicken fingers and my shrimp Caesar salad. To set a good example, I even put my clothes in the drawers.
“This is for you, Aunt Ginger,” Riley said behind me.
I turned around, and he handed me a red plastic and silver metal thing. It looked like a mini cement mixer. “Thanks,” I said. “But how did you fit this in your suitcase?”
“Easy. I just took out some shirts and stuff.”
I circled it around in my hands. “What is it anyway?” I asked.
“It’s a rock tumbler. You can use it for your jewelry. You just add water and sandy stuff, and it makes the rocks smooth. I hardly ever use it anymore.”
He’d even saved the intrucksions. I started flipping through the newsprint pages. “Do you think I could use this to make sea glass?” I asked.
“Sure. I bet it would work lots faster than rocks. Techlically, I think glass is made up of water and sand.”
“Woo-hoo,” I said. “Let’s go find some bottles to break.”
Chapter 17
RILEY AND I HAD NO TROUBLE AT ALL GETTING OUR routine worked out the next morning. I ordered breakfast while he jumped in the shower, then I jumped in while he listened for the room service knock. If I had a son, he would probably be a lot like Riley. We even both liked to read while we ate our breakfast. Riley got to work on his joke book, and I flipped through a well-worn and slightly moldy copy of A Child’s Guide to the Biz my father had picked up for me at Take It or Leave It.
“Okay,” I said. “ ‘Rate the following attributes in order of their importance to your career. Stamina, charm, punctuality, looks, connections.’ ”
“Boring,” Riley said.
“Yeah, I agree. Poor Gramps, must have been slim pickings in the book section at the dump.” I turned my book facedown on our little round table and took a bite of my omelet. “Your turn,” I said. “Flip me one.”
Riley flipped through the pages of the new joke book which, along with a cute stuffed shark, had been a going-away present from my parents. “If you’re being chased by a dozen sharks, what time is it?”
“I don’t know, what?”
“Twelve after one.”
“Pretty funny,” I said. I looked over at the clock radio. “And thanks for the reminder. We’d better hit the road.”
Even if you factored out the part about not being in Hollywood, it was more than a little bit disorienting to be following the same bright yellow plastic signs on Cape Cod that Riley and I had followed in Marshbury last week. Once again, they were tacked to utility poles and planted in freestanding buckets of cement along the edge of the road. SHARK SENSE BASE CAMP their tall block letters proclaimed as they pointed the way with black arrows.
“So,” I said when we got there. “Same thing, different beach.”
Manny Muscadel didn’t look any happier here than he’d looked the last time we saw him in Marshbury. He worked his way through the maze of cameras, lights, microphones, big thick cables, and all sorts of other equipment, right over to Riley and me.
He reached out, and he and Riley touched knuckles. “Oh, good, you’re here,” he said to Riley. “Do you and your people have everything you need?”
Riley and I both started to giggle at the idea of having people. I pulled it together first. “Thanks, we’re all set,” I said. “Too bad about those tickets to LA, though. It’s really a shame it’s too late to get the money back?” I thought the questioning tone of my voice might leave things open in case he had any suggestions.
Manny shrugged. “Not a big deal in the scheme of things.” He rubbed his jaw back and forth with his thumb and forefinger. “You have no idea.”
Since that was less than helpful, I couldn’t resist a fact-finding attempt for future reference. “Hey,” I said, “has anybody ever tried to cash in one of those first-class tickets and flown coach instead?”
Manny adjusted his ponytail and
actually smiled. “Sure,” he said. “I used to do it all the time.”
Some lessons in life were just too painful. If I ever saw that snotty reservations agent again, there was no telling what I might do.
Manny turned to Riley. “Did you bring the bat and ball?”
Riley looked at me.
“Sorry,” I said, “but we can go find one later.”
“Thanks,” Manny said. “I’d appreciate that.” He circled his fingers around and around on his temples, then reached back and pulled at his ponytail again. His baseball cap was crooked, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a very long time.
“Are you okay?” I finally asked.
He looked over his shoulder, not unlike the way my father did before he brought another garbage bag into my house. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s find somewhere to sit down.”
I picked up a few stray pieces of broken glass at the edge of the parking lot. When we got back to the hotel, I could add them to the pieces tumbling around on top of our bathroom sink. We’d managed to find and break one green beer bottle before we went to bed last night, but I wanted more variety. I hoped the housekeeping people wouldn’t unplug the rock tumbler when they came in to clean. It was a tiny bit loud, so I also hoped they wouldn’t think it was a bomb or anything.
Manny sat down on a big rock and I sat on the library book I’d brought to read today, Fantabulous Found Jewelry. He buried his head in his hands and rocked back and forth for a moment. “So,” he said when he looked up. “We’ve got the shark again, but I gotta be honest, I’m not sure we have much else.”
Riley crossed his arms over his chest. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked. Riley was sitting on an even bigger rock, kicking his legs back and forth. I noticed that his socks didn’t match. Apparently my high school biology teacher was actually right about color-blindness often being passed from a father who had it through his daughter, who didn’t, to her son, who did. I should probably start checking Riley’s socks before we left the hotel, though it was actually a good look for him. I wasn’t a fashion expert, but I thought the mismatched socks made him look kind of like a male Punky Brewster.
“Well,” Manny said. “My original plan was that the movie would go deep to the primordial fear we all have of swimming in the ocean. I wanted to capture that exact moment when the horror is so pure it becomes transcendent. Excruciatingly beautiful, really, in its own way.”
Riley nodded. “That’s good. I like it.”
Manny nodded. “And I thought it should be about evil getting loose on the innocent. About vulnerability and the onslaught of ferocity. And the velocity of that ferocity.”
“What about the monstrosity of that ferocity?” Riley asked.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” Manny said. “You’re right on the mark.”
“Well,” I said. “This might just be curiosity . . .”
Manny looked at me blankly.
“Never mind,” I said. “I was just wondering, don’t you have a script?” I’d actually picked up a thing or two reading A Kid’s Guide to the Biz over breakfast that morning.
Manny started rubbing his temples again. “Clint says a script is only a blueprint.”
“Mmm,” I said. I wasn’t sure it was a fair comparison, but not having a script hadn’t worked so well in my own life.
Manny gripped the sides of his rock. He looked like he was trying to hang on to a life raft. “Who am I kidding? I’m dead in the water here. The studio doesn’t care how many directors they have to bring in.”
It didn’t seem like the best moment to ask whether Riley would still have a job, so I just nodded sympathetically.
Riley leaned over so he could punch Manny in the shoulder. “You can’t get a hit if you’re not in there swinging,” he said in his squeaky little voice.
Manny jumped up and ruffled Riley’s hair. “Thanks, buddy,” he said.
“Man,” Riley said as soon as Manny walked away. “That guy’s high maintenance.”
IT DIDN’T EVEN SURPRISE ME to see Allison Flagg a few minutes later. She’d probably tracked down the shark herself just so the twins could still be in the movie. After Riley went off with the other kids, I saw her whispering to a group of women.
I took a deep breath and walked right up to them. “So, who did I sleep with today?” I asked Allison Flagg sweetly.
I turned on my heel and smacked right into Tim Kelly. He grabbed my hand and danced me a few steps sideways in the sand.
“Dip?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?” He dipped me, and I saw an upside-down blur of Allison Flagg and her new best friends.
When I was right side up again, I peeked over my shoulder. They were really whispering now.
“Well, that was helpful,” I said. I let go of Tim Kelly’s hand and bent down and picked up a shard of blue glass. “Hey, you don’t happen to have an electric drill and a diamond drill bit I could take back to the hotel tonight, do you?”
Tim Kelly laughed. “What for?”
“I want to drill holes in some sea glass. I tried it once before and the glass shattered, but last night I was reading that the trick is to use a diamond bit and to drill underwater.”
Tim Kelly raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know what kind of books you’re reading, but trust me, you should never use an electric drill underwater.”
“No, see, you make a donut with a tiny piece of modeling clay and press it over where you want the hole to be, then you fill that with water and drill.”
He nodded. “Okay, that sounds safe. But I have to warn you, my tools never go anywhere without me. We’re a package.”
I looked at him. He looked at me.
I took another deep breath. I recognized this. It was the fork in the road where I always took the wrong turn. “Thanks,” I said. “But I don’t allow gaffers in my hotel room. I’m becoming an artist.” I closed my eyes and made myself think of Noah. “It’s a lot like being a monk,” I heard myself saying.
“Hot and funny,” Tim Kelly said before he walked off. “Just my type.”
ALLISON FLAGG CAUGHT UP to me as I was heading up to the top of the beach. “Well,” she said. “You certainly don’t waste any time. Usually it takes a day or two for the OLAs to get started.”
I wanted to ignore her, but I wanted to know what an OLA was more. “Not that I’m really interested,” I said, “but what exactly is an OL-whatever-you-said?”
She gave a furtive look around and dropped her voice to a whisper. “On location affair. Everybody looks the other way and pretends it’s not happening, but nobody misses a thing. Movie locations are a lot like adult summer camp, and when the summer’s over, everybody goes back to the real world.”
It was kind of an intriguing concept. “Give me a break,” I said. “It was only a dip. The most you can accuse me of is an OLD. Get it, on location dip?”
“Time will tell,” Allison Flagg said.
I walked up to the top of the beach and stood beside the bathhouse. I had a clear view of Riley from here. They were wrapping his real arm tight against his body and attaching a bloody stump to him. At least one of us was having a good day.
I found my cell phone in my shoulder bag and called Geri. She answered on the first ring. She probably had her cell phone Velcro-ed to her, although then where would she keep her BlackBerry? “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“You’re turning into Mom,” I said. “Why does something always have to be wrong?” It was cooler on the Cape than it had been in Marshbury yesterday, but you could still smell full-blown summer in the air. And the light was gorgeous. The light was always the best thing about being near the ocean. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe the light was actually brighter, or maybe it just seemed like there was more of it because of the reflection of the water. God, I was forty-one and there was still so much I hadn’t figured out yet.
“Why does something have to be wrong?” Geri repeated. I could hear the clicking of Geri’s keyboard over the
phone. I had to give her credit—she had great typing skills. “How about because you actually called me?”
“Oh, yeah, good point. Well, Riley’s fine. They’re covering his arm in blood right now.”
“Did he have a good breakfast?”
“No, but he can just chew off the other arm if he gets hungry.”
“I was just asking. You know, it’s not that easy being here while you two are down there having all the fun.”
I leaned back against the cold cement wall of the bathhouse and imagined myself stretched out on a towel on the beach below. Maybe even next to Noah. I tried to picture his face, but I couldn’t quite get it. Then I tried to picture his dog. Clear as a bell.
I sighed. “Allison Flagg is here.”
“Is she still talking about you?” Geri asked. The clicking had stopped, and now I could hear her crunching away on something that sounded healthy. It was quite possible she’d lost the ability to do one thing at a time.
“That would be my guess,” I said. From here, I could just barely make out Allison Flagg, who had rejoined her posse. Maybe she’d have to head back to Marshbury soon. I mean, surely the Beautification Commission had important work to be done.
“Welcome to my world. You should hear those soccer parents. Oops, I have to go.”
“Nice talking to you, too,” I said to the dial tone.
The phone rang again just as I was starting to put it away. My heart did a little flip, maybe that tiny optimist part of me thinking it might be Noah. The rest of me wasn’t surprised when I heard my father’s voice.
“Hiya, Toots.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Just wanted to let you know Champ here and I are holding down the fort and everything is fine and dandy.”
“That’s great, Dad.”
“Here, somebody wants to say hello. Come on, Champ, you don’t want those young whippersnappers to show you up, do you?”
“Hi, Boyfriend,” I said in one of those sappy voices people use to talk to their pets on the phone.
