by Judith Keim
My stomach felt as if I’d jumped out of an airplane with no parachute. “What now?” My eyes raced over the condemning words—the increased traffic, the lack of privacy on the beach, and the reference to the photo of one of the owners of The Beach House Hotel in a compromising situation. My dismay grew as I continued to read. “Is this what the community of Sabal wants? The Beach House Hotel should be more than a House of Ill Repute!” I closed my eyes as a trembling sigh left me. Brock had taken his battle with the Gold Coast Neighborhood Association board and us and made it into a foolish war.
Overwhelmed, I cupped my face in my hands.
Rhonda paced the room. “I could kill him.”
I took a deep breath. “Me too. But in this case, maybe the best defense is no defense.”
Hands on hips, Rhonda faced me. Her eyes burned with resentment. “I’ve thought that maybe we should say a little something. You know?”
I knew that look, that tone of voice. “But, Rhonda, rising to the bait will only make matters worse. After the whole mess with Vaughn, I’ve learned it’s better to just lay low.” If we didn’t put a stop to it, our battles would become worse by being played out on the editorial pages of the paper.
Rhonda nodded, but I knew by the way her hands had fisted that she didn’t like it.
###
Rhonda strutted into the office wearing a big grin. “You’re gonna like this! Take a gander!” She handed me the newspaper.
I eyed her suspiciously. “Does this have anything to do with Brock Goodwin?”
“You bet your ass.”
The whole editorial page was devoted to letters supporting The Beach House Hotel. Brock’s reputation was called into question regarding his business dealings, as well as some community events in which he’d participated. I read with growing alarm.
She gave me a triumphant look. “Well? Pretty effective, don’t you think?”
“Are all of these things they say about him true?” If not, we could be ruined by a costly lawsuit.
“They’d have to be true, or the paper wouldn’t print them. The important thing is that the good name of The Beach House Hotel has been restored. That’s what we wanted.”
At her satisfied look, I ventured a guess. “Are these people all your friends?”
Rhonda nodded. “People I’ve done favors for in the past. Believe me; they were more than happy to write the letters. It turns out that behind the glam look, Brock isn’t a very nice person. He’s hurt a lot of people along the way. There’s been a lot of gossip about him lately. Apparently, he’s got all sorts of problems with his business.”
My feelings were mixed. It was nice to have our reputation restored, but Brock was a formidable enemy, and this assault on his character was bound to come back to haunt us. I decided to say nothing more about my worries. But I knew that sooner or later, Brock would try to get back at us. It was his very nature to do so.
Work kept me busy during the day, but nothing could keep my mind off Vaughn at night. Then, images of him gazing at me intently and dark curls framing his handsome face haunted me. I could still feel his lips on mine, imagine his arms around me, hear his ragged breath as our passion swept us away. Still ... I could not call him.
Tim, who managed our website for us, confessed he’d deleted some negative comments about me, Vaughn, and the hotel. I couldn’t jeopardize the success of the hotel any further by making contact with Vaughn. Let sleeping dogs lie, I told myself, wishing with all my heart that things were different.
###
The metamorphosis of our small hotel continued. Some of the well-connected people in Sabal learned of The Beach House Hotel’s role in the negotiations between Senator Snyder and his colleague and were now eager to use the hotel in the same manner. Word spread across the country at top levels. Bookings grew, making it seem as if Vaughn had been right all along, and people had all but forgotten about the story of us in the pool together.
More and more in the weeks that followed, I found myself taking on the role of hostess to small groups while Rhonda supervised the daily kitchen activities. We’d hired cooks from other hotels, but Rhonda still wanted to oversee the kitchen until she found the right person to take over. Tim turned out to be a wonder, handling the small, day-to-day details of keeping things running smoothly and keeping an eye on the in-house staff. Dorothy was now helping out part-time five days a week and loving it. Manny and Paul kept busy maintaining the physical plant and the landscaping.
When the Sabal Daily News ran an article about the different kinds of people who were moving into the area, my eye caught the familiar name of Jean-Luc Rodin. He’d run a well-known French restaurant in Boston when I’d lived there. I read the article about Jean-Luc with growing excitement.
“What’cha reading?” Rhonda asked, breezing into the office.
“Listen to this. It’s in an article about all the new people coming here: ‘Jean-Luc Rodin, a retired chef from the Chat L’Orange restaurant in Boston shrugged his shoulder when asked if he might open a restaurant in the area. “I’m retired,” he said, “but a chef is always a chef. It’s in his blood. But I wouldn’t want the responsibility of owning a restaurant again. Perhaps, I will cook omelettes now and then in one of your little breakfast cafes, non?”’
Rhonda’s eyes grew big. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I grinned. “Let’s give him a call. What could it hurt?”
###
As we led Jean-Luc through the kitchen, I twisted my hands nervously. Rhonda explained the equipment we’d recently added to the kitchen, and at Jean Luc’s nod of approval, beamed at him.
We showed him both dining rooms and the outdoor kitchen near the pool. After the tour, we sat in the library with him and sipped a delicious, French red wine.
Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “So, tell me about this hotel. It’s new, yes?”
I nodded. “It’s officially been open less than a year, but the building is from the ’80s.”
“I bought and renovated it. Together, Annie and I have converted it to an active hotel. And if I do say so, it’s become the place to be in Sabal,” Rhonda said proudly.
“We’ve been able to draw successful people to it by assuring them of privacy,” I explained. “Everything we provide needs to be of top quality. That’s why we’re talking to you.”
He raised a hand to stop us. “You don’t have to sell me on the hotel or what you’re doing. I see what you have, and I’ve checked around town. So, you’re looking for someone part-time for evenings? I’m intrigued by this.” He lifted a finger in warning. “However, if I’m to work here, you must add some new equipment and cooking utensils to suit me.”
Dollar signs flashed in front of my eyes. I held back a groan. “What are we talking about in cost?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “A few thousand dollars. Maybe more.”
I quickly reworked numbers in my mind. If we held off buying the towels, umbrellas, and robes we’d planned to purchase to sell, we could use that money for the kitchen.
“What about salary?” I held my breath. Adding him to the payroll would be expensive, but his reputation could boost the number of dinner guests.
He gave me a kindly smile. “For you, lovely ladies, I’ll be reasonable as long as you allow me to cook what I want.”
I turned to Rhonda, who’d been uncharacteristically silent.
“Can I cook with you from time to time?” she asked. “And Consuela too?”
He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. As long as I’m in charge of the kitchen and you listen to what I say and do as I say.”
Rhonda nodded. “Okay. It’s a deal!”
Jean-Luc grinned at her and turned to me with a questioning look.
“Deal,” I said calmly, wanting to dance across the room.
The three of us shook hands. Observing his smile, I hoped his pleasant manner wouldn’t change over time. He was exceptionally nice, but by tradition, chefs could be
prickly in the kitchen. And after all, it was Rhonda’s kitchen.
With Jean-Luc’s assistance, we undertook catering to small, evening gatherings, providing a place where guests could hold elegant, personal dinner parties .
While the scenes in the dining room were quiet and peaceful, the activities in the kitchen were not. Rhonda, predictably, was having trouble allowing a man to take over her kitchen.
After one stormy fight, she came into the office, slammed the door, and threw her apron down on her desk. “That does it! He has to go!”
I gazed up into her angry face. “What’s happened between the two of you now?”
Rhonda drew in a breath, trying to control that temper of hers. “Jean-Luc’s trying to change my mother’s recipe for an Italian soup! Can you believe it? What in hell does he know about Italian soup? He’s a fuckin’ French frog!”
I could hear Jean-Luc muttering to himself in French in the kitchen. Well aware of the response I was about to rouse from her, I rose out of my chair and went over to Rhonda. “I hate to see you so unhappy. The time has come to get rid of Jean-Luc. It’s obviously not working out.”
Rhonda’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding? We can’t do that! He’s a wonderful chef! Our guests love him!”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Okay. The two of you are going to have to work it out.”
Rhonda sighed. “Aw, Annie. You know me. I like to run the show.”
“Really?” I teased.
She gave me a sheepish grin. “It’s just that he’s such a damn know-it-all.”
“That’s why we hired him. Remember?”
She nodded, grabbed her apron, and opened the door. “Jean-Luc? I’m back!”
“Ah, oui,” he answered pleasantly.
I smiled. As much as they quarreled, they really liked each other.
And the food was delicious.
While Rhonda remained busy behind the scenes, I dressed up for the private dinners that were held more and more. I greeted guests, oversaw our new wait staff, offered drinks and wine, and generally treated our guests as if they were part of an exclusive event in a lovely estate. During some of these dinners, I met interesting, well-known people and was often privy to confidential conversations. It became exciting to see who I’d become acquainted with next.
Memories of Vaughn still lingered in my mind, but I tucked our wonderful moments of being together in the back of my mind.
Time flew by. As many times as possible during the day, Rhonda and I greeted guests on the front steps as they arrived. Now, as we awaited the arrival of Senator Byers, Rhonda and I chatted, happy for a few moments alone together.
As he stepped out of his limousine, the senator looked just as handsome as his photographs. A tall, muscled man in his early fifties, he exuded the self-confidence that skillful politicians do. He smiled up at us. Rhonda and I descended the front steps to greet him and his party. I approached him and paused when he blatantly stared at me, undressing me with his eyes.
Trying my best to ignore my discomfort, I offered my hand. “Welcome to The Beach House Hotel.”
He clasped my hand in both of his. “That picture of you certainly didn’t do you justice.”
Put off by his words, I tried to pull out of his grasp. He hung onto me and lowered his voice to a whisper. “How about coming up to my room later? A senator learns a lot of things in Washington. More than most soap opera stars could ever dream up.”
Shocked, I jerked my hand away from his and frantically looked around for Rhonda. She was greeting his other guests, but she caught my eye and hurried over to us.
“Greetings, Senator Byers. I’m Rhonda DelMonte.”
I made my escape, went into the hotel to the office, and, still shaking, collapsed in a chair. I’d thought all that business with Vaughn was behind me. The idea that it was a senator of the United States who’d treated me that way made it even more humiliating.
Rhonda burst into the office. “Are you all right, Annie? I saw the way the senator was holding onto you.”
I let out a shaky breath. “He told me the picture on the internet didn’t do me justice. He wanted me to come to his room like some kind of whore.” Tears filled my eyes.
Rhonda gave me a hug. “Aw, honey! He’s an asshole! Just forget him.”
I managed a weak smile, but I was mortified. This was a facet of the hotel business I hadn’t expected. When I’d worked with Robert, no one had even hinted at making a pass at me. Now that I was a woman alone, it seemed the whole world had become a jungle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Rhonda came into the office one late-May morning and sat down with a sigh. “We’re so busy at the hotel that Will and I have decided to postpone the wedding until September.”
Alarmed, I asked, “Are you all right with that? Really?”
She nodded. “Will and I spend all our free time together, so it isn’t like delaying the wedding is keeping us apart. Jean-Luc and I are working better as a team, and I figure we hafta take advantage of the dinner business we’ve got.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. With all my administrative duties on top of the new, social aspects of my job, I’d been feeling stretched to the limit. September was slated to be slow. It would be a good time for Rhonda to be away on a honeymoon.
The girls came home from school for a few days before once again going off to their New Hampshire camp as counselors for the summer. And then, too quickly, I was alone again.
On a slow afternoon, Rhonda found me in the library. “There’s a call for you, honey. It’s something I can’t handle, but I’m pretty sure you can.”
At another interruption, I let out a groan and picked up the phone. “This is Ann Rutherford. May I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m at a charity event in Orlando, and I was wondering if I could get a room at The Beach House Hotel this weekend. I’d like to fly over there Saturday night.”
My heart pounded so fast I grew dizzy. The phone fell out of fingers gone numb. I grabbed it up. “Vaughn? Is that you?”
“Hi. Ann. I’ve got a couple of free days, and I’ve missed you. I’ve been flubbing my lines like crazy on the show, and everyone knows why. Roger told me not to come back until things were settled between us.”
Elation filled me. Over the past six months, no matter how much I’d told myself to forget him, I never could. “Don’t worry. We’ll make space for you. I can’t wait until you’re here,” I said breathlessly. “But, Vaughn, I have to warn you that Rhonda and Will are going to the Keys this weekend for a well-deserved break. I’ll be very busy on my own.”
“That’s okay. I want to see you. And if you need an extra hand, maybe I can do something to help. Anything.”
I grinned. “Well, I know you’re good at carrying suitcases,” I teased. “I’ve seen you haul a few of your own.”
“Right now I feel like I could move mountains, just knowing I’ll be seeing you!” he replied playfully.
Amused, I laughed. “Oh, Vaughn, it will be so good to see you!”
We hung up, and the day seemed brighter, more beautiful.
###
Rhonda and Will left for the Keys in a flurry of activity. Flanked by Consuela, Manny, and Tim, I stood on the steps of the hotel waving goodbye to them. After their car disappeared through the gates, I turned to the others. “Okay, we’re on our own. The house is full. Let’s do a terrific job for Rhonda.”
Tim placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ann. Just because Rhonda is gone, it doesn’t mean the whole place is going to fall apart.”
I gave him a sheepish grin. “You’re right. We’re a good team. The chef is lined up for dinners, and with the extra help we’ve hired for the weekend, we should be fine. I’ll be in the office if anyone wants me.”
I was deep in paperwork when the phone rang. My mind was still on the latest pricing package from the printer when I reached over to answer it.
“Hello there,” came Vaughn’s rich voice. “I just wanted
to check in with you. It looks like everything is on schedule, so I should be there late tomorrow night.”
His arrival couldn’t come soon enough. “How’s the Mayor? And all your sinful children?”
“As tired of me as I am of them,” Vaughn replied. “I’m going to skip out of tomorrow’s reception by nine o’clock and catch a private flight over. Then, I want you all to myself.”
A tingle of sexual anticipation traveled through me. “I’ve planned a light supper for us at my house. I intend to enjoy as much time with you as possible.”
“Great. That’s what I was hoping to hear.”
I hung up, lost in sensual thoughts about him—things we could do for each other, things I’d never done with Robert. My body responded with a need only Vaughn could fill.
Tim poked his head in the doorway. “You’d better come take a look at the laundry room. It’s a mess!”
I was brought back to earth in a dizzying rush. “What’s wrong?”
“Something broke on one of the washing machines. There’s water everywhere.” He wore a worried frown. “It looks pretty bad.”
Heart pounding, I hurried out of the office and followed Tim to the commercial laundry area in the garage.
Ana was standing in the middle of the laundry room. Water swirled over the tops of her sandals as she tried to push it with a mop toward the drain in the middle of the concrete floor.
“It’s not a broken hose. I checked. And I’ve shut off the water to the machine.”
“Better help Ana mop. I’ll run inside and see if we can get someone to come and take a look at the washer right away.”
A few minutes later, I returned to Tim in the laundry room. “I’ve called everyone I could think of. No one can come until Monday to fix the machine. I even offered to pay somebody extra on the side.” I let out a ragged sigh. “Everyone I talked to has a list of repairs a mile long. We should have paid the maintenance contract fee.”
Tim frowned. “There should be enough clean sheets for today. We can try to make it through with the two other machines we have.”
“We’ll just keep plugging away at it. That’s all we can do.”
