by Wendy Wax
“Your daughter is with my husband right now,” Tonja Kay said. “Did you know that?”
The answer to this was yes, though Maddie had been hoping she was wrong. Still she didn’t speak. She was almost afraid of what might come out.
“I’ve got a dozen pictures of him in those ridiculous disguises,” the movie star said. “As if there’s a makeup or wardrobe person in this universe who could keep such a juicy secret to themselves.”
Madeline’s last phone conversation with the potty-mouthed Tonja Kay had been crude and unpleasant. At the time the movie star had demanded in the foulest possible terms that Kyra leave her husband alone. Her language had not improved.
“The private investigator I’ve had following him says your bitch of a daughter isn’t the only other woman he’s seeing.” She paused, presumably to let that little tidbit sink in. “But then monogamy has never been Daniel’s strong point.”
The thought of Kyra and her grandson in the middle of this mockery of a marriage made Maddie sick to her stomach. She would never wish Dustin away, but she’d had more than enough of Daniel Deranian and his wife.
“So why are you calling me, Tonja?” she finally asked.
There was no answer and so Maddie pressed on, her anger gathering steam. “If Kyra’s just one of many, why call me? Are you calling all of their mothers?” Though she knew it was childish, she made sure her tone was every bit as snide as the actress’s.
She half expected the woman to hang up. When that didn’t happen, she braced for a barrage of profanity. She was not at all prepared for Tonja Kay’s answer.
“I’m calling because your daughter is one of the few who managed to get pregnant.” She said this as if Kyra had achieved this result by herself. “And because she’s the only one who’s delivered a boy.” There was a brief silence. “And Daniel’s gone and gotten all sappy about him.” The last was spoken so softly Maddie had to strain to hear it.
Unable to stand still, Madeline crossed the living room and stared out a back window at the newly filled swimming pool. No one had been swimming yet because little of the resurfaced deck was out of camera range.
“What is it you want?” Madeline asked when the silence continued. “And why are you calling me? If there’s anything to be discussed, and I can’t imagine what that might be, the person you should be discussing it with is Kyra.”
“Oh, your daughter and I have already had our talk,” Tonja Kay said, any hint of softness gone. “But in case the little cunt tries to keep it to herself, I thought you should know that we want joint custody of Daniel’s son. In fact, we’re thinking he might be better off with us full-time.”
The comment carried far more force than any of the expletives the movie star had uttered so far. Madeline had a brief and disturbing mental picture of her grandson being carted around as part of the Deranian-Kay circus. “That will never happen.”
“Don’t take that fucking tone with me,” the movie star snapped.
Madeline straightened her spine and her resolve. She was tired of this woman, tired of Steve, tired of the wall Kyra’s involvement with Deranian had built between her and her daughter. She’d vowed when she told Steve off that she was done sitting back and taking whatever others felt like dishing out.
Madeline said, “I doubt any judge would choose a foulmouthed exhibitionist like you or your husband over a normal home and family.”
“You’ve got to be fucking joking. We’re fucking movie-star philanthropists!” Tonja shouted. “Last time I checked, fucking ‘normal’ didn’t come close.”
“I’m getting kind of tired of lecturing you about your language,” Maddie said. “But the last time I checked, ‘fuck’ was not an adjective.” She offered a mental apology to her long-ago charm class instructor, Mrs. Merryweather.
“The fuck it’s not. And I don’t think I need a fucking judge to make this happen.”
“Is that right?” At the moment Madeline might have embraced the comfort of a few hurled profanities.
“Oh, yeah,” the movie star said. “I just explained to your fucking—”
“One more ‘fuck’”—Maddie put everything she had into the expletive—“and I’m hanging up. Our conversation will be over.”
“I told your”—the actress hesitated as if unable to speak without her adjective of choice—“…daughter that the network—your network—wants me and Daniel and our children to star in a reality show. A show I’m pretty”—there was another pause where the word fuck would have been inserted—“…sure they want a lot more than some”—this time the pause was briefer—“…remodeling program.”
The actress hung up with a last strangled curse. Maddie stared down at the phone. She was still staring at it when Kyra came in the front door cursing up a storm of her own despite the fact that the baby was sound asleep in her arms.
“I can’t believe this,” Kyra hissed above Dustin’s head. “I fucking can’t believe this!”
“Kyra!” Madeline admonished her daughter. “There’s no need for profanity.” Although she was no longer sure what a couple of unpleasant words meant in comparison to what was going on.
“But there is,” Kyra said. “There’s every reason for it. Tonja Kay wants custody of Dustin. She’s pushing Daniel to go to court to get it.”
“But Daniel’s not looking for that, is he? If he doesn’t want custody, then—”
“But that’s the problem, Mom. He thinks it’s a good idea. He actually thinks they have more to offer my son than I do. I just listened to thirty minutes of everything he and Tonja can do for him that I can’t.”
Madeline took Dustin into her arms. “Just take a deep breath and try to calm down, Kyra,” she said as the two of them walked upstairs to put the little boy to bed. “We’ll figure out something.”
“Like what?” Kyra asked, all but wringing her hands. “It’s not even just about me. Tonja told me that if I don’t agree to hand Dustin over, she’s going to go to the network and get Do Over canceled before it even airs.”
Faced with the enormity of Tonja Kay’s threat, Maddie knew that there was not enough air in the universe to make breathing a reliable relaxation tool. She tried to use the very real anger that simmered inside her to combat the worry that churned in her gut, but the adrenaline turned the emotion into a fireball of panic that burned brightly inside her. Not surprisingly, she slept fitfully and spent the last hours before sunrise staring up at the ceiling listening to Dustin’s breathing and Kyra’s tossing and turning. Unable to stop thinking about the ramifications of Tonja Kay’s threat, she got out of bed bleary-eyed and on edge.
Too many cups of coffee later, Maddie sat on the scaffolding in front of the second-story window she was supposed to repair. Avery sat on one side of her in case Maddie needed any prompting. Andrew, her newly proclaimed assistant/apprentice, sat on her other.
Troy and Anthony stood on the front stoop shooting up at them, so that they could move easily between the exterior and interior, where Deirdre’s kitchen cabinets were being installed. Kyra stood on the upstairs landing shooting through the window.
“How many Do Over cast and crew members does it take to reglaze a window?” Avery quipped, but Madeline couldn’t even find a smile. Her brain scurried through worst-case scenarios at a speed that left her slightly lightheaded. She doubted anyone would be cracking jokes once they found out just how precarious things had become.
Unable to meet Avery’s eye, she looked down and noted that the number of photographers on the sidewalk had dwindled further. She attributed this to the headlines she’d seen in Max’s paper, and was grateful to the ditzy blond pop singer who had left her husband for one of her female backup singers and was now holed up at the nearby Colony Hotel. And also to the NFL quarterback who had been stopped on a DUI and emerged from his car stark naked. Madeline had never been so glad to see so much bad behavior in others.
“Are you ready?” Avery asked.
Madeline nodded, but without conviction
. As she’d discovered the previous summer, when she’d been chosen for the task, reglazing was both torturous and tedious. It required intense concentration and a gentle touch, neither of which she possessed at the moment.
Still, she managed to scrape off the old paint and glazing compound with the putty knife and pull out the first broken pane of glass. She even pried off the paint-caked diamonds of metal that held each corner of the glass in place, and scraped off the rest of the old paint and compound without mishap.
“See, it’s just like riding a bike,” Avery said. “You just have to get the feel of it back.”
Maddie’s fingers moved awkwardly in the latex gloves and sweat popped out on her brow as she set the new piece of glass in place.
Avery reached over and mopped Madeline’s brow. Mario, who’d claimed he’d just come out for some air but who stood next to Kyra watching Madeline like a worried mother hen, gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Andrew smiled encouragement and said, “Looking good, Mom.”
“Thanks,” Maddie said, but her thoughts were consumed with a barrage of unanswerable questions: How long would Tonja Kay give them before she went to the network? What possible chance was there of surviving and winning a custody battle against two such public figures? Was there any chance at all that a network would choose an unproven show like Do Over over a PG-rated version of Deranian-Kay and Friends?
Her hands shook as she considered Nicole and Avery and Deirdre’s circumstances. Unless Bella Flora sold before they got dropped, what would everyone live on without the Lifetime series they’d pinned their hopes on?
She fumbled twice, unable to affix the point to the corner of the new glass as her mind filled with images of Daniel Deranian and Tonja Kay displaying Dustin for the cameras on their new reality show. The glass cracked in her hands. “Shit!”
Avery handed her a new piece of glass. “It’s okay,” she said in a soothing tone. “You can do this. You just need to concentrate.”
Andrew took the broken piece of glass and set it out of the way.
“Okay.” Madeline drew a steadying breath and reached for the glazing compound, demonstrating for Andrew how to roll it into a thin, snakelike piece and press it around the edges of the glass.
“Cool,” Andrew said when she managed this without breakage. “What happens next?”
“We go inside to straighten the seams and seal the pane.” She wanted to smile at him, but her lips, like her fingers, felt wobbly and out of control. “And then we move to the next broken pane and go through the whole process again.”
She did not want to think about reglazing as a metaphor for her life, but it was hard to miss the similarities.
“How many of these do we have to do?” Andrew asked.
Madeline appreciated the use of the word we. Unlike his father, who had once again retreated when she needed him most, Andrew had stepped up to the plate. He performed the tasks he was given to the best of his ability and without complaint.
“A lot,” Maddie answered. “But if we split it up between us—I do the outside portion and you do the finishing steps inside—it’ll take half as long.” Yet another life truth.
“Good idea,” Avery said.
“I’m really glad you’re here, sweetie,” Madeline said to Andrew as they climbed down the scaffolding and made their way inside. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on the positive, and no matter how deeply she breathed while she was doing it, the worry and panic refused to recede.
The move into the pool house took a little over an hour if you didn’t count the time it took to negotiate who would stay where and why. Kyra had suggested that the Lifetime crew move to a hotel, but in the end Max invited Troy and Anthony to bunk in his room, Andrew took over one of the couches in the living area and Avery, Deirdre, and Nicole took one room while Maddie, Kyra, and Dustin took the other. The bathrooms, now divided by gender, were nicely updated, but like the rest of the building were not designed for nine adults and a baby. Nicole’s idea of heaven was rapidly changing from financial security and a once-again-thriving business to a bathroom of her own. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.
“Is it my imagination or are the walls bulging?” Avery asked.
“I don’t know, but there’s stuff everywhere,” Madeline said.
“Well, at least most of us have beds,” Deirdre pointed out.
“Which is a lot better than the mattresses on the floor at Bella Flora,” Kyra added.
Nicole winced. They were all so damned eager to look for that silver lining.
“It’s just for another few weeks,” Madeline added. “Right, Avery?”
“Yeah. Pretty much,” Avery said.
“Could you be a little more specific?” Nicole asked.
“Well, I’m figuring the reglazing should be done by tomorrow.”
Madeline nodded and managed something approximating her usual smile. Nicole knew she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed its absence. Andrew sent up a fervent “yahoo!”
“And the kitchen?” Madeline asked.
“The bottom cabinets, the countertops, and the new backsplash are in. The wall-hung cabinets should go up in the morning. The appliances will be delivered in the afternoon,” Deirdre said. “I’m just waiting for the banquette to be reupholstered and the light fixtures to be delivered.”
“So, after tomorrow I’m figuring somewhere between ten days to two weeks to paint the interior and refinish and reseal the floors.” Avery counted it out on her fingers. “Then the exterior gets painted—we’ll do the cut-ins and Sunshine Painting will handle the rest, like we’re doing inside. Another day or two for the landscaping—a master gardener at the Miami Beach Botanical Garden has taken over the coordination.” Avery considered her tally. “Yes, I think we should be done in about three weeks, which will put us right before Labor Day. Assuming Mother Nature cooperates.”
Nicole noted Avery’s omission of the tropical storms that continued to crop up. And the fact that hurricane season kicked into high gear here in August and September. She wished she could omit last summer’s memories of them cowering in a bathroom while a storm named Charlene pummeled the Gulf coast of Florida. She looked from face to face and knew that she wasn’t the only one currently stifling fears of a repeat performance.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Max insisted on making dinner that night and he did so on a George Foreman Grill that had fallen out of the back of a kitchen cabinet as it was being tossed into the Dumpster. Nicole’s appetite was not stimulated by the ingredients Max layered between the slices of rye bread and was stamped out completely when the smell of hot, pressed sauerkraut began to fill the air.
“Voilà!” Max exclaimed into Kyra and Troy’s camera lenses, behind which the two had taken refuge. “Behold the Golden Reuben!” He garnished each plate with potato chips and a dill-pickle spear and, with Madeline’s help, handed the plates around before joining the women at the table. Andrew, Troy, and Anthony set their plates on the coffee table and hunkered down to eat on the sofa.
“I offer these sandwiches with thanks for all the meals Madeline has made and served,” Max said gallantly. “And to all of you for working so hard to make The Millicent a home again.”
Maddie’s smile was shaky as she nodded her thanks. But then all of their eyes were kind of misty. Dustin, who was standing upright by steadying himself against his grandmother’s chair leg, smiled happily, his new teeth—all three of them—on display, and said, “Gax!” As they watched he moved a hand to Avery’s chair and took another careful step to the side.
“Well done, Dustin!” Max said to the little boy. “Before you know it, you’ll be ready for your own Reuben.”
Everyone but Madeline laughed. Nicole peered at her more closely and noticed that she held her sandwich in a death grip and seemed to be having trouble swallowing. Kyra, too, was chewing extremely slowly and looked more than a little anxious, but Nicole chided herself a few moments later for looking for trouble. For all she knew it
was as simple as a dislike of sauerkraut. Or an understandable twinge of claustrophobia.
Dessert was a bag of chocolate chip cookies and a pot of freshly brewed decaf. The guys found a baseball game on the television while Max sat with them at the table. Kyra settled Dustin on the couch next to Andrew and brought her laptop to the table. Nicole knew she’d been tweeting their progress and posting updates to the Do Over Facebook page along with occasional blog posts from each of them.
“Are there any loose ends that need to be tied up?” Madeline asked.
“I’m still working on finding Pamela Gentry before I give up and go with something else in the foyer,” Deirdre said. “Max, did you ever hear anything about her after she and Millie lost touch?”
Max took a bite of cookie and chewed thoughtfully. “Someone we knew did run into her on a trip to Chicago. I think she’d gotten married and opened her own design firm.” He sipped his coffee, then set down his cup. “Not too surprising that she’d be in business for herself, really. She was quite aggressive for a woman of that time.”
“Do you know what her married name was?” Deirdre pressed. “I guess I’ve gotten a little obsessed about that chandelier, but having such a unique custom piece in the foyer is a hard thing to let go of.”
“It was something with an ‘M.’ Malgrin…Martin?” Max’s brow creased in concentration. “I’m not sure.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin as he tried to remember. “Or wait, maybe it was…Mitson? No.” He rubbed his jaw. “Madsen? Yes, I think that sounds right.”
“Can you Google Madsen Design, Chicago, or Pamela Gentry Madsen, Kyra, and see if you come up with anything?” Deirdre asked.
“Sure.” Kyra’s fingers flew over the keyboard. They watched as her gaze skimmed down the screen. She typed some more.
“Look at this.” She turned her screen so the others could see. “This is from an awards ceremony in 1973.”
Nicole and the others looked at the photo. Someone was presenting a statuette to Pamela Madsen of Madsen Interiors.
