“Especially Eb,” Vanessa said, with a sigh. She gave Greer an assessing look. “You’re a pretty girl. You’ve probably been in a similar situation, where there’s this one guy—the only one you think you want, and the only one who doesn’t even know you’re alive. So it’s like a challenge—to make him want you.”
Greer thought fleetingly of Sawyer, the improbable circumstances of their meeting, and how desperately in love with him she’d been, and how desperately unhappy she’d been almost the whole time they’d been together.
“Sometimes the one thing you want is the one thing that’s no good for you,” she said softly.
Without warning, the terrier jumped up into Greer’s lap. She scratched Izzy’s ears and the dog promptly rolled over onto its back. So she scratched its warm pink belly.
“Ah. I see you’ve been there too. Want to talk about it?” Vanessa asked, nibbling on a cracker and then washing it down with another generous gulp of whiskey.
She really didn’t want to talk about her latest, greatest romantic failure, especially with a woman she’d just met, but if her heartbreak evinced some empathy from Vanessa Littrell, she would force herself to share a heavily edited version of the story.
“We met through work. Sawyer is an attorney, and different studios retain him when we’re doing complicated leasing arrangements for location shoots. I fell hard for him, he fell indifferent.”
Vanessa smiled ruefully. “Been there.”
Greer scratched Izzy’s throat and the dog gurgled in delight. “I travel a lot for my job—like, all the time—which means it was several months before I discovered he was cheating with me on his longtime girlfriend. I broke it off, he swore they were over, so I took him back. My best friend used to call him Ping-Pong Boy, because that’s what our relationship was like. Every time I thought I was over him, he’d somehow charm his way back into my bed. And then he’d cheat on me. Most miserable, toxic relationship. Ever.”
It was time to change the subject, Greer decided. Even a casual discussion of Sawyer Pratt made her feel dirty and degraded.
She looked around the room, appreciating the way the waning afternoon sun left streaks on the dark, polished floors. Izzy nudged her hand, to remind her that the dog had other territory that needed petting or scratching.
“Your home is lovely,” she said, stroking the dog’s ears.
“Lovely? Not sure that’s the word I’d use for it,” Vanessa said. She gestured at her surroundings. “My dad’s been dead for years, but somehow I just haven’t gotten around to redecorating.”
“You’ve lived right here—your whole life?”
“Mostly. Except for both of my relatively brief, unhappy marriages.” She held up a finger. “Husband number one was an architect in Birmingham. Well, he said he was. My folks supported us most of the time.” She held up a second finger. “Husband number two was a stockbroker from Kansas City. Ha! My grandma knew more about picking stocks than that loser.”
Vanessa pointed with her glass toward the portrait over the mantel. “Shoulda listened to dear old Dad and stayed single. Or just shacked up. Right? Who needs a cow when the milk is free?”
“I guess. But I’m probably no expert,” Greer admitted.
“For real? You’ve never been married?”
“Nope.” Greer took a swallow of bourbon, knowing it was already going to her head, but not caring. It had been a long week.
“Smart girl,” Vanessa said, nodding her approval. “I tell ya, Gretta—”
“It’s Greer.”
“Right. Sorry. Anyway, in my wildest imagination, I never thought I’d end up back here in Cypress Key. It’s pathetic—ya know?”
“If you dislike it so much, why live here? Your friend Cindy thinks you have enough money you could live anywhere you like.”
Vanessa threw her head back and brayed at that notion, and the goldens lying on the carpet at her feet startled slightly.
“Everybody in this damn town knows so much about my business. Or thinks they do. What they don’t realize is that none of the Littrells ever believed in selling land. Buying it? Oh, hell yeah. My father would go out to buy a six-pack, see a FOR SALE sign on a corner, and end up making a handshake deal to buy it. Even when it turned out the deal was a bad one, Dad would never just cut his losses and sell. Nosirreebob, not my old man. Consequently, I’m land rich and cash poor.”
“But not … poverty-stricken poor,” Greer suggested.
“No. I’m definitely not going hungry. But if I could just unload that damn casino, I would totally blow this town. For good.”
“Really? You hate it here that much?”
Vanessa upended the bourbon bottle and emptied it into her glass. She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. “There is nothing left for me here,” she said flatly. “My family’s mostly gone. I have a few cousins on my mother’s side, but we were never close. Friends? C’mon—do I look like the type to hang out at the Friday night fish fry at the fire station? You know what I do for fun? I work out. I run, or drive to Gainesville to play tennis with a couple of my old sorority sisters. And forget about dating. I’ve slept with all the eligible men in town, and honey, there’s not a single one I’d let hang his jeans on my bedpost a second time.”
She put an arm around each of the goldens and hugged them to her chest. “These guys are the only men in my life these days.”
Vanessa released the dogs, then pulled herself slowly up from the leather armchair, stumbling a bit on the edge of a rug before steadying herself. “Wow.” She grinned and held up the empty bottle. “There’s more where this came from. You in?”
Greer put her half-empty glass back on the silver tray. “No, sorry. I’ve still got to drive back to the Silver Sands, and make some calls to the coast. My people are coming to town Monday, and I’ve still got a lot of loose ends to tie up.”
“You sure?” Vanessa asked, obviously disappointed. “It’s Friday night. You don’t necessarily have to go back to that dump hotel.” She waved her arms expansively. “I’ve got plenty of room right here. You can have your own wing.”
“Maybe a rain check,” Greer said, moving toward the front door. Izzy followed along, nipping at her heels.
“Stop, Izz,” Vanessa ordered. She scooped the dog up into her arms.
“But about the casino—I’m not giving up on that,” Greer said. “If you’re serious about wanting to let us demolish it for the film, I’ll keep working on the mayor. Or maybe another member of the city council. There’s got to be a way around Eb Thibadeaux.”
Vanessa laughed that braying laugh, and Izzy barked. “So you’re a schemer. Good. I like that in a woman.”
10
She had a restless night. The room was a little cooler, but the air conditioner still rattled in the window, and although she’d sprayed the entire can of Ginny Buckalew’s insecticide around the perimeter of the space, she awoke at least three times in the night, flailing her arms to ward off imaginary cockroaches.
At 7:15 a.m. she got up and, ignoring the tiny, cheap, one-cup machine on the bathroom vanity, went looking for coffee and food.
Greer walked a block up from the Silver Sands, and turned right on Pine Street. Cypress Key’s main business thoroughfare was quiet this Saturday morning. A truck drove by, trailing a long, white fishing boat. The driver lifted one finger from the steering wheel in a casual wave. Greer nodded and kept walking.
She’d spotted the Coffee Mug the previous day, on her way to city hall. The lights were on inside, and she saw the back of a man sitting at a long counter.
Inside, she sat at the opposite end of the counter, placed her cell phone on the counter, and looked up at the menu scrawled on a wall-mounted blackboard. The waitress, a young woman barely out of her teens, wore jeans and a faded green Coffee Mug T-shirt. She stood poised with an outstretched pot of steaming coffee.
“Yes, please,” Greer said, holding out the empty mug at her place.
The woman filled her cu
p. “Anything to eat this morning?”
“One egg, poached, over toast. Do you have multigrain bread?”
“We got white and we got wheat.”
“Wheat, then.”
“Bacon or sausage?”
“Bacon.”
“Grits?”
“No thanks,” Greer said quickly. “But do you have any fruit?”
“Nope, but I got some good-looking tomatoes I can slice up for you. Local grown, if you care about that stuff.”
“I do,” Greer said, surprised. “Tomatoes would be good.”
* * *
Her food arrived ten minutes later. The egg was cooked nicely, the wheat toast was still warm, and the bacon was crisp and salty. The tomato slices were a deep, meaty red, the best Greer had eaten in a long time.
She hadn’t had any real dinner the night before, settling for a bag of microwaved popcorn she’d picked up at a gas station convenience store on her way back from Seahorse Key.
While she ate, she leafed through a newspaper somebody had left on the counter.
The Cypress Key Citizen wasn’t exactly the Sunday New York Times. It consisted of six pages. The front-page lead story was about the local high school cheerleading squad’s thrilling third-place finish in something called the Sunshine State Cheer-off. It was accompanied by four photographs of the squad, and jumped to page three of the paper.
Right below the cheerleading story was a headline that promised Major Hollywood Film Comes to Community. But it was the sub-headline that made Greer want to slam her head down on the countertop.
HIP-HOP MEGAHIT KREGG WILL STAR, STAY IN CYPRESS KEY
Informed officials confirmed to The Citizen this week that a big-budget movie will be filmed in and around Cypress Key in the coming weeks, bringing millions of dollars of revenue—along with Grammy Award–winning pop vocalist Kregg, who will make his acting debut in the as-yet unnamed movie.
In an exclusive interview with The Citizen, Cypress Key Mayor Eb Thibadeaux confirmed Friday that a California-based location scout has been in the community this week, making arrangements for the film, which is expected to start shooting next week.
“We look forward to working with the production company and have been promised that Cypress Key will be prominently featured in the film,” Thibadeaux said. He added that many of the cast and crew members will stay at the Silver Sands Motel, which was chosen because of its beachfront location and luxury accommodations.
“Luxury my ass,” Greer muttered, pushing aside her empty plate in order to turn the page.
In addition, The Citizen has learned that the film scout, Greer Hennessy, of Los Angeles, has leased two homes in the exclusive Bluewater Bay subdivision, where the movie’s producer-director, Oscar-nominated Bryce Levy, and his young star, Kregg, will live during the filming. Sources confirmed exclusively that work has already begun on a security gate and guardhouse at the entrance to the subdivision.
“Dammit.” Greer shoved her coffee mug so hard it splashed coffee all over the page. “So much for secrecy.”
She heard a buzzing, and the screen of her phone lit up. The caller’s number and area code were not ones she recognized. She hesitated, then pushed the Connect button.
“Hello?” she said warily.
“Hi. Is this Greer Hennessy?”
“It is,” Greer said. “Who is this?”
“Hi, Greer. This is Cathryn Mitchell with Entertainment Weekly’s Atlanta bureau. We understand you’re down in Florida—in a place called Cypress Key—is that correct? I was wondering when you expect Kregg and his people to arrive down there for your upcoming project?”
Greer felt her face flush. “What’s your name again? And how did you get this number?”
“Cathryn Mitchell. Spelled with a Y. You know how this business works, we have sources. Speaking of sources, I’m looking at an Associated Press story quoting the mayor of Cypress Key as confirming that shooting starts next week, and that Kregg is definitely lined up to star, with Bryce Levy set to produce and direct. Can you tell me who the female lead is? Help me out here, okay?”
“No way.” Greer clicked the Disconnect button.
Her phone rang again, and the caller ID panel listed a number with an L.A. area code. She let it go to voice mail. She didn’t need to know who called. It would be another reporter—Variety, The Hollywood Reporter, the L.A. Times. Didn’t matter which, because she didn’t intend to speak to any of them.
* * *
The waitress hurried over to mop up the spilled coffee and refill her cup.
She gestured at the newspaper’s ruined front page. “I guess you saw the big news, huh? We’re fixing to have a movie made here. Hey. Maybe Kregg will come in here for breakfast. I mean, we’re the only place in town open for breakfast, so there’s a good chance, right?”
“Right,” Greer said.
As if.
“I hear sometimes they hire extras when they make movies. That’d be a blast, wouldn’t it, being in a movie with Kregg? My girlfriend and me, last year drove all the way down to Miami to see him in concert. We paid two hundred dollars apiece for those tickets, and you know what? If I had the money, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. He is one fine-looking dude. Know what I mean?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Greer said, trying to sound noncommittal.
“I know right where that house is at where he’s stayin’,” the waitress continued. “Me and my old boyfriend used to kinda break into those houses and, uh, you know.…”
To forestall any more alarming confidences, Greer grabbed the check, tucked a five-dollar bill under her plate, and darted toward the door. She couldn’t wait to track down Eb Thibadeaux and chew him out for spilling the beans about the upcoming movie shoot.
Her cell phone rang just as she stepped out onto the curb. A glance at the caller ID screen told her she wouldn’t need to wait to blast the mayor—because it was the mayor calling.
“You!” she said accusingly. “You just had to go and talk to the damn press, didn’t you? Couldn’t wait to blab the news about Kregg.”
“Where are you?” Eb Thibadeaux asked. “I knocked on your door just now. If you’ll let me explain—”
“I just left the Coffee Mug,” Greer said, her voice icy. “The waitress there knows exactly where Kregg is staying. Apparently, everybody in town knows now too. And not just people in Cypress Key. A reporter from Entertainment Weekly called too. The story is on the newswires, which means it’s everywhere.”
“Let’s not do this over the phone, okay? Are you headed back to the motel?”
“You mean to the luxurious Silver Sands? Yes. I’ll be there in five minutes, but I doubt anything you can say is going to change my opinion of you as a double-crossing blabbermouth.”
“I don’t give a goddamn about your opinion of me,” he said heatedly. “But I would like the opportunity to clear the air.”
“Whatever.”
She clicked the Disconnect button and accelerated her pace from stroll to stride. While she walked, her phone continued to ring, until she finally turned it off.
* * *
Eb was standing outside of the Silver Sands office when she got back to the motel. He was dressed as he’d been the first time she’d seen him, when she mistook him for a maintenance worker—sweat-soaked white T-shirt, cargo shorts, running shoes. He had what looked like a two-day growth of beard, and an expression of barely contained rage.
“We can talk in my office,” he said, pointing down the breezeway.
The door of a room opened, and a mother shepherded out two small children dressed in bathing suits and smeared with white sunblock. “Why don’t we just talk out here?” Greer said loudly. “You don’t seem to have a problem with oversharing. Why not let all six other guests here in on the source of our disagreement?”
The mother shot them an anxious glance, then hurried her children off in the opposite direction.
Eb clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Can we please just have a rationa
l discussion in my office?”
The door to the Thibadeaux Realty office was open, so she marched in and found herself a seat. The mayor launched himself into the remaining chair, behind a large wooden desk.
He leaned across the desk and looked Greer squarely in the face. “I’ll tell you again. I had nothing to do with that story. The reporter called me repeatedly yesterday, and I purposely did not return her calls. Finally, she did what you did. She tracked me down—at the grocery store. There was no way to escape her.”
“So you say,” Greer replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “And yet, this morning, I read all about it in the local newspaper.”
The room got very quiet. His gray eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m saying you’ve made it clear from the start that you wanted nothing to do with having a film made here, and now you’ve conveniently managed to sabotage it by leaking confidential information about the project,” Greer said, feeling the heat rising in her face.
“I leaked nothing. The reporter already knew all the details when she called me. Including which houses you’d rented.”
“But you didn’t try to scare her off the story, right? No way you could just tell her she had her facts wrong? You just had to be a big shot and comment.…”
“Despite what you think, I’m not in the habit of lying. To anybody, for any purpose,” Eb said. “She asked me point blank if what she had was factual. I asked her not to run the story, and I explained that you and your people had real security concerns about Kregg. I even hinted that if she went ahead with the story it could actually jeopardize chances that the movie will get made. Which, apparently, made her all the more eager to run with the story.”
“Well, if you didn’t tell this reporter, who did?” Greer asked.
“I don’t know,” he said sharply “Word travels fast. And you’ve talked to a lot of people locally. The chief of police, Milo, the clerk’s office…”
“I swore all of them to secrecy,” Greer said, knowing it sounded lame.
“And they probably turned right around and swore somebody else to secrecy too—and that’s how the coconut telegraph works on a small island.”
Beach Town Page 7
