The Beach House

by Jolie Campbell

  Quinn's sister, Frankie, had to postpone her visit because her 6-year-old daughter got the flu, but I met her over Skype when Quinn called her from my apartment. They looked so much alike, except the thick brown hair that he kept short was a long tumble of enviable spiral curls on her. She had the same expressive hazel eyes, hers emphasized by extra-long eyelashes. She rocked her feverish, sleepy-looking daughter in her lap as she chatted with us, stroking her hair.

  "You OK, Tessie?" Quinn crooned to the little girl, who was wrapped up tight in a blanket. She had apparently gotten out of bed just to see her favorite uncle, but doing so had exhausted her. She nodded.

  "Is that lady your girlfriend, Uncle Quinn?" she asked, pointing at me.

  "She is, baby," he said, then leaned in. "But you know you're my best girl for always, right?"

  She smiled shyly and nodded.

  At the Beach House, it turned out I was already doing most of Elaine's work. Dennis and Lauren had brought in a part-time assistant manager, Paul, who took over what had been Elaine's overnights and some of my workload.

  But without Elaine as a safety net, the stakes were higher. Plus, I didn't want to just do what Elaine had been doing. I wanted to make a mark.

  I made lists of ideas for things we could do to bring in more and varied business—offer cooking classes, host local book club meetings in our living room—and improvements that the rooms could use. I instituted a weekly staff meeting and found out there were tons of issues the staff was dealing with that were easily fixed and made things run more smoothly.

  The busier I was, the more energized I started to feel.

  One afternoon I was in the backyard, showing Allen how to water the bougainvillea, when I heard the phone.

  "Sorry Allen, can you take over here?"

  "Sure Emmy," he said, a smile brightening his broad, lined face. "I won't let you down."

  "Good afternoon, the Beach House, this is Emmeline, how may I help you?"

  "Emmy, it's Dennis, how are you?"

  "Oh, hi Dennis. I'm doing well, thanks! How are you?"

  "Good, good, thanks. Listen, Lauren and I would like to talk to you. Can you come to our offices on Thursday?"

  "Uh, sure. What time?"

  "How about 10?"

  "Dennis, you know, I'll be happy to, my only concern is that I won't be here for breakfast service, and I-"

  He laughed. "Jesus, Emmy, you'd think I would have thought of that, since I own a freaking bed and breakfast. So, how about lunch then? Lauren and I will come up with a place. Can you meet us at 1?"

  "Yes, absolutely. That would be great. Is there anything I should bring with me? I could print out the week's financial report?"

  "From the Beach House? No, no, thanks. We're going to talk about you. Just bring yourself."

  I was glad he couldn't see me, because I felt my face get hot.

  "Oh," I twittered nervously. "OK."

  "We'll email you with the place. See you then."

  Click, and he was gone before I could thank him.

  I was 15 minutes early, so after I parked I walked around West Hollywood for a while, trying to calm down. It was stupid to be nervous, they hadn’t invited me to lunch to fire me, I knew that. This was going to be a good conversation, they were obviously happy with me. In six-plus years they had never taken me out for a meal, never asked to discuss my future beyond the conversation over drinks I’d had weeks ago with Lauren.

  But I was still nervous.

  Finally I was done pretending to window shop and made my way to The Palm. In my head I heard my mother telling me to stop fidgeting as I tugged at the waist of my chocolate-brown wrap dress, but I figured it was better than chewing on one of my nails.

  “Hi Lauren,” I said with a smile as she sailed into the entryway just after I entered, looking elegant as ever in a form-fitting sleeveless charcoal dress and black patent pumps. The hostess greeted her by name and brought us to a coveted center table, where Dennis was already seated, one hand holding a glass of iced tea as he spoke intently into a headset. He smiled at us, giving me a quick wave, then gave us the “one sec” index finger gesture.

  “Let’s go ahead and look over the menu. He might be a few minutes,” Lauren said, her eyes sweeping over it.

  After we ordered, lobster salads for Dennis and me and a grilled chicken Caesar for Lauren, Dennis ended his call and smiled at us.

  “Well, look at me, dining with the most beautiful ladies in the place,” he sighed, taking a drink of his iced tea. “Emmy, how are you?”

  “Good, thanks. Thanks for taking the time with me, both of you,” I started.

  “Not at all,” Lauren said. “Emmy, as you know, Dennis and I have been keeping our eyes on you lately. Since Quinn’s arrival”—she whispered that part—“and then with all the, well, issues with Elaine. You’ve done a great job. We were already pleased with you as a cook and assistant manager, but you’ve proven yourself to be a truly valuable asset.”

  I couldn’t help but blush.

  “So now we want to talk about what’s next with you, Emmy,” Dennis chimed in. “Lauren says you’ve talked with her a bit about having ambitions beyond what you’re doing, and that you're planning to go to culinary school to polish your skills. Would you like to tell us what your thoughts are about it?"

  “Well, since things have, ah, changed so much lately at the Beach House, I wanted to ask you about whether there was any, um, flexibility in terms of my schedule, so I could-” I started.

  “Yes, there is,” Lauren interjected. “There is flexibility."

  “Which schools are you interested in?” Dennis asked, eyeing me intently. “Do you have your sights on one in particular?”

  A very young man arrived carrying a large tray with our salads, set our plates in front of each of us without having to ask who got what, offered and delivered fresh pepper, then disappeared.

  "If you can bring us some information about what school or schools you’re interested in, what you know about the success of their graduates, what types of programs they offer in terms of scope as well as their schedules, we can figure out from there what would work best,” Lauren said, picking up her fork to spear a piece of chicken.

  I hesitated.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Of course, Emmy,” Dennis replied.

  “I’m happy to share all of that school information with you but. Well. I just, um- I’m not sure why it matters? Beyond the schedule part, I mean? I mean, I really appreciate your interest, and any guidance you want to give me, but-”

  Lauren put her fork down. “No, I’m sorry, Emmy. I should have been clearer. Dennis and I want to help with your culinary school expenses.”

  Close your mouth. Close your mouth! Don't look shocked.

  “I- I don’t know what to say.”

  “This will be a business arrangement, Emmy,” Dennis said. “If we’re able to come to an agreement, then Lauren and I will cover part of your tuition, offer whatever flexibility you need in your schedule to make your education possible, and then in exchange you’ll agree to work for us for a predetermined amount of time after you’ve finished. Graduated? Whatever it’s called with culinary school. We can figure out how much time once we’ve seen what the associated costs are, and we'll draw up a contract. You can continue to work at the Beach House, or we can discuss opportunities with some of our other ventures. But first things first, we need more information about the culinary schools you’re considering,” he concluded with a nod.

  Speechless, I stared at both of them.

  Lauren looked at me expectantly. “Emmy? Are you all right? You haven’t said anything.”

  She resumed eating her salad.

  “I’m sorry- I. Yes, I’m all right. Thank you. I still… don’t know what to say. Except thank you,” I stammered.

  Dennis and Lauren exchanged a look, then both smiled at me. “Thank you, Emmy,” Dennis said. “We really appreciate all you’ve done for the Beach House, and fo
r us. It’s hard to find people who are talented and also care as much as you do. We’d like you to work with us for a good long while.”

  CHAPTER 25

  "Em! Where are you? Em?"

  I was on the tiny back porch, pulling fresh mint out of my little window box full of herbs for limeade.

  "Hi! Be right there!" I shouted, smiling at how happy he sounded.

  Suddenly I was being turned around and lifted into the air.

  "Em! I couldn't wait to see you," Quinn spun me around, then put me down and wrapped me in a huge hug, nuzzling my neck.

  "Hey now! What's going on?" I laughed. "Not that I don't love this greeting, but I did just see you, like, six hours ago."

  He pulled back to look into my eyes. "Something's happened," he said intently, squeezing my shoulders.

  "I'm starting to get that," I replied, grasping his forearms. "Tell me! What is it?"

  "The meeting I had today. I wanted to tell you all about it before. In a way it was your doing. I mean, what you said really made me think about what was holding me back and-"

  "Quinn."

  "Yeah," he laughed, shaking his head.

  "Start from the beginning."

  "I can't! I have to tell you the punch line first."

  Smiling, I raised my hands in an "I don't get it" gesture, and he grabbed my hands again.

  "I'm going to do it, Em. I'm going to try. I met with Griffin Johns, the director? He's making a biopic about The Who, and he wants me to play Keith Moon."

  My mouth fell open. "You're kidding! That's amazing, I'm so excited for you!"

  "Thanks," he laughed, then started talking in a rush. "I really thought about what you said about needing to feel safe. I've never worked with Griff before, but we know each other and he's just a really good guy. He called me and said he needed to talk to me right away. He heard about the meeting with the studio, and what they said to me about being toxic. He said—get this—‘If you’re toxic to those morons, you’re fucking gold to me.’ Isn’t that brilliant? He says they’re dead wrong about my ability to draw box office. And the best part was-"

  He stopped to kiss me. Just as he pulled me closer and started to deepen the kiss, I pulled back.

  “Quinn, tell me!”

  “The best part was, he said… shit, what did he say?” Quinn laughed, still gripping my shoulders. “He said, ‘You’re going to fucking kill this part. I can’t wait to see you do it.’”

  “You will! You’re going to be amazing,” I grinned at him. “It’s incredible!”

  He threw his head back, then hugged me again. "Em! I'm so excited I don't know what to do!"

  Releasing me, he took my face in his hands and kissed me again, fiercely this time. Groaning, he bent his knees and shoved his hands under my skirt, grabbing my backside and squeezing. As he ground against me I could feel that he was hard and it made me instantly hot and breathless. He started to hitch one of my legs around him, when suddenly the screen door creaked.

  "Oh my! What's this?" Dan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

  I tried to straighten myself. "Dan! Hey, how are you? Can I get you anything?"

  He stared at us, shaking his head. Quinn gave a nervous little laugh, adjusted his pants and ran a hand through his hair.

  "Martin!" Dan called over his shoulder. "Get out here."

  "Dan, look, this is my fault. I-" Quinn started.

  Dan raised his hand in a "stop" gesture, and Quinn shut his mouth abruptly.

  Just then, Martin appeared in the doorway.

  "What is it, darling? Oh, hi you two."

  Dan sighed dramatically and said, "I just caught these two locked in a passionate embrace. I'm still a bit flustered," he said, fanning himself, amusement mixing with sarcasm in his voice.

  Martin laughed. "Oh, please. I haven't seen you flustered since about 1978. Now, pay up."

  "All right, all right, no need to be a poor sport," Dan said, shaking his head as he pulled out his wallet.

  Quinn and I looked at each other, puzzled.

  Dan handed Martin a dollar and they looked at us.

  "It took you two long enough," Martin said. "We've had a bet going since Quinn got here. I said it would happen before Thanksgiving, Dan bet it would be after. I knew when we found you two having dinner together with you"—he pointed at me—"in that pretty dress that I had it in the bag."

  Silently I glanced at Quinn, who was shaking his head.

  "All right already! We're happy for you!" Dan whooped, reaching out to grab Quinn in a hug while Martin embraced me. As we switched, Dan said, "Though you could have waited a few more weeks and saved me a buck."

  Martin took Quinn's mouth in his hand and said, "You be good to her, you hear me? Or you'll have to answer to us."

  "You know, it's funny," Quinn said. We were a tangle of arms and legs, lying naked in my bed. The passion he felt for this new project was going to be great for our already amazing sex life, if the last hour and a half was any indication. I was spent, sweaty and still floating on post-orgasmic endorphins.

  "What is?" I sighed, stroking his forearm gently.

  "That meeting at the Beach House. All that planning. Just the stress of it. And then all the pain. The rejection."

  "Yeah, it was hilarious," I said sarcastically, looking at him like he had gone crazy.

  He laughed. "No, I don't mean ha-ha funny. Strange funny. Funny how things work out. If it had been a success, I would never have met with Griffin. I wouldn't be playing Keith Moon. A dream fucking part. And this whole adventure wouldn’t be about to begin," he cupped my cheek and gave me a leisurely, sensual kiss that made my toes curl.

  I smiled, shivering lightly from the kiss. "That's a great way to think about it. An adventure."

  "It is an adventure," he squeezed me as he spoke excitedly. "I've been to London before, but never for that long, just a week or so at a time. I love it there. And I have to learn the drums, which will be fucking awesome."

  I felt the ground fall out from under me.

  "London? As in England?"

  "Yeah! I said that before, didn't I?" He looked at my face, which must have telegraphed my shock. "I didn't? We're shooting in London."

  Coming back down to earth with a thud, I felt tears sting my eyes. "Um, no. You left that part out." Don't cry don't cry don't cry! "But it's exciting."

  "It is, right? I mean, I always love shooting in cool places. But while working on a really interesting project, taking on a challenging role and doing it there, a place I really want to explore, it’s just, ah! It’s too much!"

  He kept talking, and I wanted to take in every word, since he was so enthusiastic. But I couldn't help it, all I could think about was the fact that he was leaving. For months, maybe longer.

  Things were just turning around for me, life was just starting to look up. Quinn and I were just getting started. And now he was going away.

  Suddenly my world felt very small. He was embarking on this great international adventure, living his dream, and the biggest thing going for me was that I was now in charge of the little inn I had basically been running already.

  Beyond that, Quinn just made my world so much brighter. It took us so long to get past all the misunderstandings and barriers, we had finally gotten together and things were so good and right between us. And now he would go off, probably fall in love with his costar or some sexy royal somebody, and I'd still be-

  "Em?"

  Shit, I had just missed the last few minutes of what he was saying.

  "Sorry, what? I'm sorry, I just-"

  "Where did you go?" he chuckled. "I was just blabbing away, I didn't realize you had tuned out until I asked you a question."

  Don't cry don't cry don't cry!

  Too late.

  He shifted, moving down so that his head was on the pillow and he was facing me. His hands on my hips moved me over so I was facing him.

  "Holy shit, you're crying. What is it? What's wrong?"

  I
buried my face in my hands.

  "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. Ignore me, I'm fine. Please, tell me again what you were saying," I looked up at him again, wiping my eyes.

  He shook his head. "No, crazy girl. I'm sorry. This is a lot of news all at once, and I just dumped it on you without stopping for one second so you could react," he said, softly brushing his thumbs over my cheeks to wipe away the fresh tears that had fallen. "Talk to me. Why are you crying? What are you thinking about?"

  "I'm happy for you, Quinn. So happy. Thrilled. Really!"

  "But?"

  "But," I hesitated. "I'm sorry, I know it's awful and selfish of me. But I'm just... Sad, too. I'm... I'm just-"

  I hesitated, and he stared into my eyes. Tears streamed down my face again.

  "I'm going to miss you so much." I sniffled.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it and shook his head. He leaned over and kissed me again, harder this time.

  "Em, Jesus. I totally fucked this up," he whispered, his face just inches away, his eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry. I don't want to go without you. You’re coming with me."

  "What?" One kind of shock was quickly morphing into another.

  "Of course I want you to come with me," he said, laughing softly but with his brow knitted. "Do you really think I'd be lying here yapping away about this with you if I didn't want you there?"

  Speechless, I pulled back a bit and rolled onto my back. "I don't know. I'm still processing the fact that you're going. And now you're talking about us going," I shook my head. "I- I don't know what to think."

  He rolled on top of me, supporting his weight on his elbows. "Think about what to pack," he said, kissing my cheeks, my neck and finally my lips.

  I kissed him back, but pulled away after a minute. So many thoughts were flying through my head, I couldn't focus.

  The sadness I had felt about him leaving was quickly turning into panic.

  "What is going on in that head of yours?" Quinn murmured. He rolled off me but stayed right next to me, pulling my body tightly against his, his forehead up against mine.