I stood there for a moment and watched the last log in the fireplace turn from ember to ash. I looked down the hall to where Veronica’s spectacular butt had disappeared and shouted with false indignation. “Naked! I wouldn’t want to see you naked if you were the last woman on earth. I am not interested in seeing a woman like you naked. The idea of seeing you naked makes me want to stick pins in my eyes!”
I waited for any response but all I heard was the water running and Veronica singing “I’m Just a Girl Who Can’t Say No.” I walked to the guest shower and turned the water on nuclear hot. I disappeared into a haze of steam, any thoughts of carnal delights with Veronica going down the drain with the scalding water. I got out after only a couple of minutes. I figured the sooner I got to sleep the less confused I would be about her behavior and the events of the past twenty-four hours.
14
Veronica drove Route 3A at close to seventy miles an hour. The speed limit was thirty, checked by radar. I was following in my waterlogged Mustang. It was just minutes past eleven-thirty in the morning and her shift began at noon. The rain continued angry and cold, accompanied by a vicious wind off the sea. The sky was black as night. Miraculously, we arrived without incident at the Beach View, at which point I drew a breath for the first time that morning.
Veronica parked in front of the motel office, ran through the rain and sat next to me in my car. She kissed me chastely on the cheek and said, “Gotta get ready for work. See you tonight at eight. Souza’s by the wharf. I’ll get Kellie to be Secunda’s date. He’ll love her. She’s cute and loose. Some might even call her slutty.” Then she took my face in both her hands and said sweetly, “Thanks for last night, Sam. I had a wonderful, wonderful time.” Then she kissed me on the mouth so softly that if I hadn’t been paying such close attention I would have missed it. “You really are a gentlemen. Why couldn’t we have met earlier when life was simpler, or ten years from now when we might turn into something magical?”
She danced away through the heavy raindrops to begin her day. I thought it was magical. And if we had met much earlier in life, we both would have been just learning to read.
I began the trudge back to my room to wait for Secunda and friends. As I reached the stairs I spotted his red Alpha followed by a woody Jeep Wagoneer. Both cars arrived at breakneck speed, leaving a wide wake behind them. James and JB remained in the Jeep. Secunda quickly exited his convertible. He was wearing his trademark outfit, protected from the elements by a western duster that stopped just short of the pavement. He came up to me and offered a wide, welcoming grin and a firm handshake. “Nice day,” he said. “Did you order it special for me? Just to be safe, I’ll order dinner.” He looked around. “You’re actually staying here?”
“Yup.”
“Do I have to?”
“Rooms are already booked and guaranteed on your credit card. Also, we got you a date for dinner. I met her. She’s extremely cute and, according to local legend, extremely loose.”
As the words came out of my mouth, I realized how incredibly stupid guys were and felt some shame over being one of the pack. I sloshed over to James and JB and tapped on the window, which JB cracked an inch or two. The car smelled of weed and cigarettes. James smoked pot and JB was never without a Lucky Strike. Together they smelled like an ashtray.
“You have the stuff?” I inquired. JB nodded and James offered a thumbs-up.
“Follow me,” I said. I waded across the gravel and got into Secunda’s car. I became extremely anxious the moment we left the parking lot. I felt as if my judgment or my vision was suddenly on the line. I had talked up this opportunity for weeks now. I had waxed eloquent with Secunda and friends about how perfect the place was and now I was about to stand naked before my peers. I wished the weather were better. I was certain the place would look more inviting under a blue sky and blazing yellow sun.
Secunda was taking the old, winding highway slowly. The Priscilla Beach Theatre was three miles ahead on the ocean side of Rocky Hill Road. Old porch-front homes, small beach cottages, an occasional home trailer, and big, modern sun palaces reaching toward the sky lined both sides of the road, all standing unwelcoming under the endless gray, pelting rain. There was not a single person in sight. Secunda drove silently, taking it all in, his expression stoic and unchanging. On our left the ocean swirled restlessly some three hundred feet below. I was feeling tense and wondered if I’d oversold things.
We took the last S-curve and got to the theater. My worries instantly disappeared. The place was my Oz and Rocky Hill Road was built out of bright yellow bricks. My spirits soared. The old marquee, though in need of gallons of fresh paint, had great character and radiated gravitas. The drive-in movie lettering hung randomly from the signage spelling out gibberish, yet all I saw was CURTAIN AT 8. BOX OFFICE NOW OPEN!
The large, circular driveway was in gritty disrepair. The rain had left the potholes overflowing with muddy water. A truckload of white gravel, some sunshine, and a summer ocean breeze would fix that within the blink of an eye. The two large farmhouses that flanked the entire north side of the property stood strong, protective, and inviting. They too could use a coat of fresh paint but at the moment that was of little consequence. An enormous maple towered above the houses and canopied the redwood picnic table that rested nearby. A converted icehouse that functioned as a small, somewhat funky office complemented the compound. A large parking area off to the left sat opposite the houses. The lot resembled a manicured fairway and the deep, lush green grass added a wash of color to the grounds.
Straight on about two hundred yards from the road was the theater. It was dark red and weathered, but despite its worn exterior it stood nobly against the drenching rain. It was magnificent. The theater was surrounded by a railed, planked deck with benches and plantings spaced every few feet or so. Near the entrance to the building was a horizontal hatch that when pulled open would reveal a concession stand large enough to serve everything from snacks to cocktails. The magic words BOX OFFICE were lettered over a small window just to the right of the front-of-house doorway, and a breathtaking sign hanging below the ticket window read THIS PERFORMANCE SOLD OUT. About forty feet from the front entrance stood three stunning dogwoods all in full spring bloom, a blizzard of white and pink petals that only Mother Nature could have manufactured. Amazing, I thought. This is simply amazing.
We all sat for a few minutes. I knew Secunda was in the fold. He nodded his head slightly, as if bopping to some percussive beat. His stoic expression had turned into one of measurable mirth. A Chinese fire drill ensued. The car doors opened and we formed a small circle under the hundred-year-old maple. The rain bled through its leaves and landed on us intermittently.
JB wore a yellow hooded slicker. The rain popped against the plastic sounding like dozens of centipedes tap dancing. JB was short for Joan Bach. “Bach” was given to her father at Ellis Island because the officials considered his German name unpronounceable. Stanley Bach had survived Buchenwald and come to America to forget a horrid past and begin a new life. He had begun by earning chump change in a bakeshop and now owned a chain of bakeries in and around Manhattan. JB never spoke of her parents, and we never asked her why. She was a quintessential New York stereotype: fast-talking, chain smoking, loud in her speech and shrieking laugh, boorish, pushy, and manic. JB slept little, pined over men who never gave her a passing thought, and dressed her rather frumpy, short frame with considerable charm. She had been by my side these past years whispering support on each show.
James, who was Secunda’s younger brother, had kept his birth name of Feldman. Unlike Secunda he was tall and soft, with skinny arms and a potbelly that hung over his belt. He had hair that could have doubled as a dark helmet. He wore nondescript jeans, Timberlands, and a different band T-shirt every day. He slouched, and his hands were always stuffed deep into his pants pockets.
James was a genius. He had graduated Tufts in just two years, and in the fall would be attending H
arvard Medical School. His deliberate speech cadence complemented his subtle wit and reminded us all of Spock. He could fix anything and approached every chore without emotion but rather with guile and logic. He always had incredible pot, which when smoked put you into a short-term coma and then had you racing to the nearest doughnut shop to inhale two or three dozen varieties of fried dough.
JB lit a cigarette, avoiding the raindrops to do so. James did an awkward soft shoe while staring down at his feet. Secunda stood tall and straight, arms folded against his barrel chest. My gaze moved from one face to another, looking for clues to their respective thoughts. My heart was pounding. Not a word was spoken but everyone’s eyes were sharp, alert, and smiling.
James spoke first. “If we’re going to do this, then let’s do this!” He grabbed his toolbox and a crowbar from the Land Rover. JB shrieked a laugh and followed with four huge flashlights while Secunda removed another two from the trunk of his Alpha.
“Let’s start in the barn,” James said, “and see what we have there.”
JB suggested we move the cars. We were about to break in, which was obviously a crime, and she thought it best not to attract attention. She even suggested we call Barrows and get actual permission.
“Not happening,” I said. “It will take too long and I want to do this before we’re all too old to care.”
“Fuck it,” Secunda said. “The only one out on a day like today is Noah, and he can’t get a warrant.”
The rain came down harder.
James approached the front door of the old barn and surveyed his options for entry with a quick sweep of one of the flashlights. The three of us watched intently while he took something small from his toolbox and poked around for a few moments. The door popped open. James gathered up the remaining three lights and entered the building.
“Wait there,” he barked. We huddled against the rain. Minutes passed. “Okay, come on in,” James instructed at last.
The inside of the theater was lit up like a movie premiere. James had taken a small generator from his toolbox and somehow connected it to the house lights, which now lit the entire building with an amber wash. Wow! Pow and boom!
We walked quietly through the building. I checked my emotions to try to keep things in perspective. JB shrieked a laugh and lit her next cigarette before the last went cold. Secunda climbed the steps to the stage and clapped his hands to check the acoustics. I thought that stupid but said nothing. He paced the stage, walked center and put his arms up with dual peace signs, hunched over like Nixon, and said, “I am not a crook.”
James had wandered backstage and reported with enthusiasm on the fly space and the specifics of the system, telling us that it was more than we would ever need. JB shrieked from behind the back wall that the dressing rooms were really nice and then shouted that the scene shop off left was “far out.”
I stayed near the back of the house and listened as my friends reported their discoveries. Secunda walked from the stage to an alcove house right and said with great conviction, “We can put the orchestra over here.” James had begun a quick inventory of equipment and read off a yellow pad. “We have at least two hundred fifty lights, and I see three spots up in the balcony.” JB reported with dismay that the restrooms were disgusting.
I sat in the third row center and motioned for my friends to join me. The seats were from an old movie palace, purple velour with ornate armrests and high wooden backs. There was no center aisle but rather one on each side of the house with plush purple runners that matched the seats. Everything was a bit worn, but nothing bordered on seedy. There was a “crystal” chandelier that hovered over the house; it was incongruous in an old barn, yet it added a certain elegance to the rustic room.
“Okay, what do you all think?” I asked.
“It’s a fucking disaster!” Secunda said.
“Yes, that’s true,” JB replied, “but it could be our disaster.”
“James, what about you?”
“It’s perfect. It has just enough charm and just enough decay to make it attractive. It’s a deluge out there and there is not a hint of water in here. The stage is solid. I also checked out the basement. There are enough props and furniture to do shows in an amphitheater. Big brother, you are an asshole.”
“Whoa and whoa. I said it was a disaster but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’m in full bore. Sammy, what do we need? Where do we stand?”
The side door of the building suddenly burst open. At first I thought it was the wind. Unfortunately I was wrong. Two police officers entered. They wore long, black slickers, highway patrol hats, carried drawn nightsticks, and led with deep angry scowls.
“What the hell is going on here?” asked the short, stocky one.
“Back up against the wall and let me see some ID!” demanded the other.His hand was perched on his pistol.
We did as they said. James was mellow, although I couldn’t understand how. If they searched his car they’d find enough weed to send him up the river. Surely he’d miss medical school. Secunda was surly but obeyed. JB was insanely flirtatious, and to my surprise it was with the short, stocky cop rather than the taller one with blue eyes. I was polite and handed my driver’s license to JB’s newly intended. Eying his name tag I said, “Officer Donahue, sir, I have been working with Dr. Barrows this past week to reopen the theater this summer . . .”
“Barrows know you’re here?”
“Well, not exactly, but I had a meeting with Mrs. Barrows Sunday evening to discuss the transaction and met with her yesterday to sign a letter of intent. In fact, the Barrows foundation is funding the whole project.”
The tall, blue-eyed officer jumped in. “Listen, fella, the whole town knows about your meeting with Barrows’s wife, and from what I heard it didn’t seem like you was talking business. Now, you either have a right to access or you don’t.”
JB approached her beau, examining his name tag. “Officer Thomas Donahue, may I call you Tommy?” The cop nodded and slowly put away his nightstick. The blue-eyed cop had removed his hand from his gun. “You can call me JB if you like, or Joan if you’d prefer. Perhaps we should have gotten permission for access, but we haven’t done anything except inspect the premises, and if you would give us a moment I’m sure Sam could get Mrs. Barrows on the phone.” Her eyes batted at Tommy and he was now more than relaxed.
Blue-eyes remained a pit bull. “I’m certain Mrs. Barrows would be accommodating.” He used the word to suggest something more. “She always is. Always. But as of now I have you for breaking and entering and I’m bringing you down to the station.”
Even Tommy seemed taken aback by this news. Secunda jumped in. “Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice draped in sarcasm. “You have nothing better to do today than harass us because we’re checking out an opportunity here in this town. Why don’t you call Barrows before you book us? Better yet, drive over to his place and speak to him and his wife. You may find that you’re looking pretty stupid after a wee bit of investigation. Maybe on the way over you can cuff some old lady for walking too slowly across the street.”
“Shut up, Secunda!” I pleaded.
JB moseyed over to the man she was going to marry and said, “Officer Tommy, can’t we settle this down a bit? We’re not looking for any trouble. Just the opposite, we plan to be here all summer. You guys can come by anytime. Bring you wives and we’ll leave you free tickets.”
“I’m not married,” Donahue said. “Neither is Officer Cutler.”
“How terrific is that?” JB said, beaming. “Cute, single guys coming to the theater! What’s your favorite show?”
“Officers,” James said, “may I suggest something?” No one objected. “We are all staying at the Garden’s Beach View down the road. In fact, Mr. August has been there for several days. If you have the station call perhaps that would prove we’re well intentioned. We won’t run way while you check into our story.”
Cutler stared at me with su
rprise. “You know Veronica?” His question was imbued with distrust and a touch of “you lucky bastard.”
“Yes, sir, I do. I think if you speak to her, she might even have some good things to say about me.”
He shook his head as if to shake away any ill will. He was smiling now without reservation. “So you know Veronica Chapman and Lizzy Barrows. You poor, hopeless bastard. You’d be better off if I arrested you.”
He chuckled, rechecked my ID, and offered me a bemused release. “Okay, Sam, I’m letting you go. But if I find out you’re BS-ing me, I’ll be by the motel quick as day. Now get your friends out of here. Tom and I will close up.”
“Welcome to Plymouth,” Secunda muttered under his breath.
James packed up the lights and other equipment. Secunda helped with contempt creased across his face. They walked to the cars.
“Officer Donahue,” JB said, “my friend Josh is taking us all out to dinner tonight at eight o’clock at a place called Souza’s. Is it nice?”
“Yeah, Souza’s is great, ain’t it, Walter?”
JB flashed him a smile. “Wonderful. Perhaps you’ll join us tonight at eight. It would nice to see other friendly faces. Also, perhaps you could show me how to crack my lobster.” She said this last line with a wink.
Officer Donahue nodded, his tongue practically hanging out. JB sauntered out, and I marveled how someone lacking in the A-list physical tools of flirtation could be so expert at it. I lingered a moment. “Thank you, officers,” I said, and then with a slight bow I headed back out into the rain.
Little Did I Know Page 7
