Ocean Beach

by Wendy Wax

  “So I’m going to go ahead and leave,” she continued even as she felt around inside her purse for her car keys. When she finally found them, she positioned them in her fist with the sharp ends poking out between her fingers like she’d been taught in self-defense class. “Thank you very much for the drink.”

  Very careful not to cut and run, though everything inside her was screaming for her to do so, Nicole edged toward the hallway under cover of looking in her purse for the keys that she’d already turned into a potential weapon as she waited for him to speak.

  When he didn’t, she forced herself to look him in the eye and to keep her shoulders squared and her chin up. She smiled with lips that were practically quivering. “No need to get up. I’ll just see myself out.”

  And then despite the knees that threatened to buckle and the trip-hammer of her heart in her chest, she walked as firmly and as slowly as she could bear back down the central hallway to the front door, listening intently for any hint of him behind her.

  At the door, her fingers wrapped around the dead bolt and she uttered one last prayer as she finally managed to unlock it. She didn’t breathe again until she’d made it out through the courtyard and into her car, where she hit the autolock, fumbled the key into the ignition, and drove down the street, out past the gate, and off Star Island as fast as the Jag would take her.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The sky was dark. Rain pounded on The Millicent’s roof, which had—thankfully—already been repaired, and seeped through the crumbling caulk that surrounded the ancient windows, which—unfortunately—had not.

  Avery could barely see the pool house through the curtain of rain, and none of them wanted to slosh across the backyard to “command central” more often than absolutely necessary.

  Avery held the phone tight to her ear, trying to maximize the reassuring sound of Chase’s voice without letting anyone, including him, know that that was what she was doing. He hadn’t been able to make it back in the month since the premiere party and he had spent much of this conversation and the ones before it apologizing for not knowing how long it might still be until he returned.

  The more time Chase spent apologizing, the less time he had for directives, advice, and suggestions. Who said she couldn’t see the silver lining?

  “I’m really sorry, Van,” he said again. “I’m overwhelmed at the moment. Dad can’t do anywhere near what he used to, although we keep pretending that he can. And the boys are at an age where I don’t want to leave them too much to their own devices.” He sighed and she could picture him running a hand through his dark hair, distracted. She did not want to be an additional pull on his time or another obligation he needed to find a way to fit in.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” she said. “The rain’s causing a few delays.” She pushed ahead before he could ask her for an e-mail or fax of her revised schedule. “But it’s no big deal. I just hate being cooped up.” She didn’t like how many early tropical storms had begun to form, either. She’d sworn that she’d never again pour her heart and soul into a house that sat on the tip of a barrier island—not after Mother Nature’s assault on Bella Flora last summer. Yet here they were again. Only this time they weren’t eyeball to eyeball with the relatively benign Gulf of Mexico, but with the far more aggressive Atlantic Ocean.

  “The chances of dealing with another hurricane again so soon are statistically infinitesimal,” Chase said. The man might be overwhelmed up in Tampa, but on occasion he seemed alarmingly able to read her mind.

  “Can you put that in writing and send a copy to the National Hurricane Center?”

  “Gladly,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  A silence fell between them and she felt what she thought might be an actual ache of longing.

  “Why don’t you come up to Tampa for a few days?” Chase asked, as if he were once again reading her mind. “From what little I hear”—he paused to let the jab sink in—“you all are making good progress. And we could sit down with John Franklin. He left a message that he’d had another showing of Bella Flora.”

  If only it were that simple. There was nothing she’d like more than to just pick up and go.

  “I can’t,” she said. “The new windows are ready to go in as soon as the weather breaks. And if I take time off, everyone else will want to, too.” Now it was her turn to run a hand through her hair.

  Another silence fell. There was really nothing else to be said, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say good-bye. She heard another phone ring in the background. After the second ring, Chase said, “I’m sorry, Avery. I have to take this call.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “Take care.”

  “You too.” The warmth was there in his voice, but it was clear he needed to get off the phone. “I’ll take a look at my calendar and see what I can move around.”

  “Great,” she said.

  “Okay, then.”

  Still she couldn’t bring herself to hang up. A moment later Chase’s voice had been replaced by dead air.

  After that, Avery paced The Millicent like a caged animal—through the shell of a kitchen and the dining room, where Maddie had left the polishing station set up and Deirdre had spread out Millie’s “House” envelopes, around the ladder in the foyer that Deirdre had set up to photograph the damaged chandelier and not yet put away.

  She paused briefly in the living room, where Nicole, who had raced out to retrieve the Sunday paper, was attempting to blow it dry section by section. Kyra and Maddie were on the living room couch. Dustin sat on the floor between them, his hands on the coffee table as he worked to pull himself to his feet. Maddie stared down at her phone screen, shaking her head.

  Avery did a circle through Max’s room, where newly refinished doors leaned against his newly-patched-but-not-yet-painted walls. His furniture was piled in the center of the room and covered with drop cloths. His bathroom had been stripped of all chrome and mirror.

  She plopped down briefly on the piano bench, but stood moments later, too antsy to stay put. She could feel Deirdre’s gaze on her and was relieved when she didn’t comment.

  “I can’t believe I texted that,” Madeline said with quiet horror.

  Kyra rolled her eyes. Avery could see her trying not to laugh.

  “I actually texted Mario from the patio store on Friday and asked if he could measure the dick.”

  “That would explain how eagerly he was waiting for you to get back,” Nicole said.

  “But he didn’t say anything when I got here. He just kept smiling at me.” Madeline groaned with embarrassment.

  “I think we discussed the importance of double-checking your texts before you hit send,” Kyra said even as a snort of laughter escaped. She kept a hand at Dustin’s back as he stepped along, holding tightly to the table for balance. Avery was glad to see mother and daughter laughing over anything. Ever since they’d come back from the park earlier in the week, there’d been an unusual distance between them that all of the others had noticed.

  “Right, well, what do I do now?” Maddie asked. “I can’t exactly text back and tell him I wanted him to measure the deck, not his dick.”

  “Well, you could.” Nicole laughed. “But I suspect he figured that out on his own.”

  “I’m kind of curious whether he sent you any dimensions,” Deirdre said drily.

  “Good grief,” Maddie said. “I’m never texting again. It’s too dangerous. Or maybe I need to have my thumbs shaved.” She looked up. “I don’t suppose there’s a procedure like that?”

  There was laughter and the mood in the room lightened.

  “Maybe we should go out to a movie this afternoon.” Nicole put down the hair dryer and opened the entertainment section of the paper. “I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Maddie said. “We could use a girls’ afternoon out.”

  Deirdre didn’t say anything. She looked down at the sheet of paper in her hand.

  “What do you thi
nk, Deirdre?” Madeline asked.

  When Deirdre didn’t respond, she repeated the question.

  “Sorry,” Deirdre said. “You know I’ve been trying to track down the glass artist who created the chandelier. I finally found this sketch of it in one of Millie’s envelopes and I found a notation in what I’m pretty sure is Pamela Gentry’s handwriting that indicates it was commissioned in 1958 or ’59.” She held the paper up to the light and squinted at it in an effort to make out more detail. “The ink’s so faded I can’t make out the artist’s name or much of anything else. I thought if I could track him down, he might be able to create replacement panels. Or failing that, maybe there are other pieces that were produced around the same time in a similar style.”

  “Any luck?” Maddie asked.

  “No. But I’m really tempted to try to find Pamela Gentry. Assuming she’s still alive and has her wits about her, she could probably point us in the right direction.”

  “If you found her, it might be kind of cool to put her back in touch with Max,” Kyra said.

  “I don’t know,” Madeline said. “Max didn’t seem all that gung ho about her. And there was something weird about Millie dropping her the way she did when they’d been friends for so long.”

  “It’s been fifty years. It’s hard to imagine anyone holding a grudge that long. She’d probably like to know that The Millicent is being brought back to life.” Kyra sat up straighter, clearly intrigued. “Maybe we could even interview her about her work on the house. That could be a really nice addition to the opening program.”

  “That’s an interesting angle,” Avery said. “There could be some real promotional value in that too, couldn’t there?”

  “Absolutely,” Deirdre said.

  “Do you remember where Max said she moved to?” Avery asked.

  “Chicago,” Maddie said. “Maybe she went to work for a design firm.” She turned to Deirdre. “Do you know anybody in the design business there?”

  “Yes,” Deirdre said thoughtfully. “I do. I have a friend there who’s active in the American Society of Interior Designers. I could e-mail or give him a call and see if the name Pamela Gentry rings a bell.”

  A few nights later the rain had finally stopped. Dustin was already sound asleep in his crib as Maddie watched Kyra get dressed to go out. Kyra hadn’t offered an ounce of information about where she was headed. Which was almost as worrisome as the short black cocktail dress she’d put on, a clingy knit that hugged her newly svelte body and barely covered the breasts that were still abundant from nursing.

  “So where are you going?” Maddie asked as Kyra used a compact mirror to apply a bright red lipstick and paint her eyelids in smoky shades of brown.

  “To a party,” Kyra replied, snapping the compact shut, but not meeting Maddie’s eye. “Andrew and Max offered to babysit, so you’re off the hook. I expressed two bottles of breast milk and put them in the freezer.”

  This was an even worse sign than the revealing clothes and overdone makeup. Did she really intend to be out so late that she might miss two feedings? And who did Kyra know well enough to end up on their guest list?

  “Where’s the party?” Maddie asked.

  “At one of the hotels a little bit up the beach.”

  Madeline noticed the details that sounded like specifics, but weren’t—a technique Kyra had added to her innocent routine when she turned sixteen.

  “I’d like to know which one,” Maddie said, watching Kyra’s face. “In case of an emergency.”

  She could see Kyra mulling over her answer and decided not to back off. “And I’d like to know whose party it is,” she added, even though she was afraid she knew.

  Kyra drew a breath and it became clear that the dress had not been designed for a nursing mother. “Daniel’s giving the party,” she said. “Tonja’s out of town and he’s having a little get-together.”

  Madeline waited for the rest, but Kyra was looking down at her phone.

  “Which hotel, Kyra?”

  “It’s at the Setai.” She named an elegant and expensive hotel on Collins Avenue. “He’s taken the penthouse suite.” Kyra’s voice took on a note of pride.

  “Oh, Kyra, honey. This is a bad idea.”

  “I don’t care.” Kyra’s chin jerked up. “I haven’t been to anything resembling a party in more than a year. It’s no big deal.”

  “Kyra…”

  “And besides, Daniel’s gone to such lengths to see Dustin, he really wants to be a part of his life.”

  “And yours?” Madeline asked. “Does he expect to be a part of yours too?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Maddie sighed. “I hate to see you starting something. Especially something we both know is not going to end well.”

  “I’m not starting anything, Mother. I’m just going to a party, that’s all.”

  “You do remember how he behaved last time, don’t you?” Maddie asked. “You know that he’s not going to leave Tonja Kay and their ‘lifestyles of the rich and famous’ to marry you.”

  Kyra shrugged. “It’s okay, Mom. I have no expectations. I’m just going to a party where I hope to have a good time.” She said this as if the party couldn’t have mattered less and added the innocent look, but her clothes and the excitement in her eyes belied both.

  Madeline studied her daughter, who’d spent the last year trying to get her life together just as desperately as Maddie had. And who had become a mother far too early. Unfortunately, being a mother didn’t always ensure making the best personal choices.

  Still, it wasn’t as if she could forbid Kyra to go out or keep her from attending a party. If she wanted to get involved with Daniel Deranian again despite the man’s proven lack of integrity, Maddie couldn’t really stop that either. And both of them knew it.

  There was a tap of a horn outside and Kyra’s face lit up. “No need to wait up,” she said as she tucked her cell phone into a tiny evening bag that someone must have loaned her. “You can text if you need to reach me.” She laughed, her confidence growing now that she knew Maddie wasn’t going to throw herself in front of her to prevent her leaving. “On second thought, maybe you should ask one of the others to do the texting. So that I’ll be able to understand it.”

  Madeline stayed where she was as Kyra’s high heels clacked down the stairs and across the tile floor. Then she moved to look out the window and saw Kyra slide into the passenger seat of an expensive-looking sports car. She stood there a few moments after it roared away, thinking.

  Then she went to marshal the troops and scout for something appropriate to wear. She might not be able to stop Kyra from going to the party, but that didn’t mean she had to roll over and disappear either. Sometimes you had to do whatever it took to protect the people you loved. Even if you were protecting them from themselves.

  “I can’t believe that I’m arriving at a private party thrown by a mega–movie star in a beige minivan,” Nicole said. “Please don’t use the…valet.”

  “We don’t have time to look for parking,” Maddie said, pulling up to the valet stand in front of the oceanfront hotel.

  Nicole tried not to notice the surprised look on the valet’s face when the back doors automatically slid open and the four of them spilled out. Nicole, Madeline, Avery, and Deirdre had dressed as rapidly and as splashily as possible, mostly in some version of what they’d worn for the premiere, but none of them looked remotely like the young things in skyscraper heels who were traipsing up the hotel’s front steps and being ushered through the front door. No amount of prep time would have made that possible.

  Inside, they walked through the Shanghai-paved Art Deco lobby, taking in its Asian influences, breathing in the combined scents of elegance and money. Once Nicole wouldn’t have thought twice about that distinctive smell; it had been a part of her everyday life.

  “Do you know which room it’s in?” Avery asked. “It looks like there’s more than one bar here.”

  “She said he had the penth
ouse suite,” Maddie replied.

  Deirdre walked over to the concierge and came back a moment later. “It takes up the whole top floor of the tower building. The elevator’s over there.”

  They rode up in the elevator in silence and walked down the hallway to the suite’s entrance, a massive double door guarded by two burly bodyguards. A velvet rope held back a line of truly beautiful people, many of them brandishing invitations.

  Nicole bypassed the line and led them up to the least beefy guy. “We’re here for the party,” she said, gesturing to include them all. “Daniel invited us.”

  The guy looked them up and down, one at a time and then as a group. It was clear that he found them wanting. “Seriously?” he said, “Are one of you like his mother or something?”

  Nikki’s jaw clenched at the insult. Deranian was forty, though he often played midthirties. Deirdre could have been his mother, but Maddie would have had to give birth at ten. Avery looked off over one bare shoulder as if she were not all that interested in being allowed inside, which was how Nikki had felt until this great big buffoon had started with all that attitude.

  “No,” Madeline said, way too politely for Nicole’s liking. “But my daughter is a friend of his.”

  He shot a look over toward the other bodyguard and called over to him. “Hey, Jeff! Come get a load of this. I think we got a group of, what’s the word, geriatric party crashers!”

  “Excuse me.” Deirdre stepped directly in front of the guy. She was small but elegant. The only tip-off to her irritation was the eyebrow that had practically arched up off her forehead. “But there’s no need to be insulting. Our friend told you that we were invited to this party. We all know Daniel. Her daughter is inside.”

  “Don’t get your granny panties in a wad,” the beefiest one said as he crossed his ham-size arms across his gorilla chest.

  A few of the people waiting behind the velvet rope tittered with amusement.