Beach Town

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “She threw me out. Told me to take my gee-dee car and never come back. Looking back now, I can’t say I blame her.” He smiled sadly. “It wasn’t just the car. I was a young hothead. It hurt my pride, knowing she didn’t believe in me, in my ability to support my family.”

  Greer’s heart was beating wildly, like a trapped rabbit’s. For a moment she was back in her tiny bedroom, huddled under the pink and green quilt Dearie had made her.

  Lise was in a towering rage. In between her mother’s sobs she heard dresser drawers opening and slamming, the muttered curses. Heard metal clothes hangers scraping on the closet rod. The front door opened and closed, again and again, as Lise made multiple trips from the bedroom to the front yard.

  “I drove around town for a while, just to cool down. I slept in the car that night,” he said sheepishly. “I figured, we’d had fights before, one of us would leave and things would blow over. But when I got home, she’d thrown all my stuff in a big pile in the yard. All my clothes, tools, everything. So that was when I knew it was over.”

  “I have to go,” Greer said abruptly.

  No more toxic strolls down memory lane for this girl.

  “Okay.”

  Clint followed her back to the trailer, and then out to the Kia. He circled the car slowly, evaluating it as though it were a horse he was thinking of buying.

  “Is this a rental?”

  “Yes.” She fumbled around, trying to find the seat belt, which had retracted back into the door.

  “How’s it handle on the road?”

  “It’s okay. Not the smoothest ride.” She started the ignition. But he still had his hand planted on the car’s roof. As though that hand could hold her there, keep his daughter from her determined retreat.

  He leaned in the open door. “I came back, you know. Two days later. But she’d left you with the babysitter, Claire. The kid who lived next door.”

  Greer clamped both hands over her ears. She swore she could feel the searing heat, the agony of that long-ago infection.

  Clint gently pulled her hands down. “I’m sorry your mom is gone. And I know you don’t want to hear this. But you need to know the truth. I didn’t just walk off. I came back. I came back, and it was Lise who stayed away. You were sick, and I took you to the doctor and I got your medicine and fed you and gave you your bath and your ear drops. A week! She stayed gone a week. Finally, I didn’t know what else to do. I had to go back to work. So I called Dearie to help out.”

  His face was pink with agitation, his voice hoarse. “Lise always told you I was the one who walked out. I bet you never knew I came back. Nobody ever told you that, did they? I came back, dammit.”

  Greer’s jaw was clenched so hard it ached. She closed the door and gripped the steering wheel, trying to calm herself. Just before she put the car in reverse, she rolled the window down and turned to the sad old man with the hollow eyes.

  “But you didn’t stay, did you?”

  She did a neat 180-degree turn in the sandy yard and drove away.

  27

  Vanessa Littrell’s Sunday morning text was brief but intriguing.

  Hey! Big news. Can u meet me @Coffee Mug @10?

  It was 9:30 and Greer had just returned to her room from a run—two laps of the island equaled five miles. She peeled off her sweaty clothes and jumped into the shower.

  As soon as she’d lathered up with the pathetic sliver of hotel soap, she instantly regretted not stopping in Gainesville, at a real store, to buy some decent toiletries. She cursed the cheap hotel soap that left her skin dried out and ashy, and reserved a special curse for the scent memory that would now, forever more, be associated with her ill-advised assignation with Eben Thibadeaux.

  Vanessa had snagged a table on the patio at the Coffee Mug, away from the prying eyes and ears of the dozen or so people who were seated inside the café. Greer paid for her coffee and a blueberry muffin, and sat down at the table with her back to the street.

  Vanessa noted Greer’s wet hair. “I hope I didn’t wake you up. I always forget not everybody gets up at six to take out the dogs.”

  “With my job, six a.m. is the equivalent of sleeping in. I was actually just coming back from a run,” Greer said, stirring sweetener into her coffee. “What’s the big news?”

  “Are you still interested in the casino?”

  “Of course. We’re dying to use it. The director is still dogging me about it.” She held up her phone to show Vanessa the half dozen texts Bryce Levy had sent, urging her to get the casino location nailed down. “Has Eb Thibadeaux changed his mind?”

  “We don’t need Eb’s permission,” Vanessa said. “After that farce of a city council meeting last week, I asked my lawyer to go over the old lease one more time. There has to be a loophole, I told her, that could get us out of it. And there was. I don’t know why it never struck me before, it’s so obvious.”

  “She found a loophole? What is it?”

  Vanessa smiled and nibbled at a bit of muffin. With her sleek, dark hair and pert, upturned nose, she reminded Greer of a self-satisfied Cheshire cat.

  “The city hasn’t used the casino for a municipal entertainment facility since they boarded it up, back in 2011.”

  “So? What difference does that make?”

  “It changes everything. Their lease specifically provides that if the property is not being used for purposes stated in the lease agreement, they are in default, and the lease is nullified.”

  “Huh?”

  “Standard real estate boilerplate,” Vanessa said with a chuckle. “Which I guess is why we all overlooked it. Until yesterday, when Sue Simpson, my lawyer, got her teeth into it. The clause is very clear. The city is in default. Their lease is history. And I can do whatever I want with my property. I can blow it up or burn it down, and there’s nothing they can do to stop me.”

  “That’s great!” Greer set her coffee mug down on the table.

  “I know.” Vanessa was beaming. “I’ve got Sue working on a lease agreement for you guys. She thinks she can get it drafted by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Oh. Well, the studio has a standard agreement we use, but I can take a look at what she’s done, and I’m sure we can come up with something that will work,” Greer said cautiously. “But are you sure we’re in the clear with this? I mean, isn’t there some process we have to go through?”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned,” Vanessa said. “Sue will send the city a certified notice first thing in the morning, telling them that their lease has been nullified. And in the meantime I’m going home to find my daddy’s old bolt cutters. As soon as we’ve served the city, I’m cutting those locks off and going in there. Are you in?”

  “Absolutely,” Greer said. “I can’t wait to let Bryce know. He’ll be thrilled. I’m thrilled. I can’t thank you enough, Vanessa.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine,” Vanessa said. “Or it will be, especially when I see the look on Eb Thibadeaux’s face when he finds out he’s not the boss of the free world.”

  “He seems to feel pretty strongly about the casino. Are you sure he won’t keep fighting you, maybe take you to court or something?’

  Vanessa shrugged. “Let him. He can’t win on this one.”

  “Okay then,” Greer said. “If you’re sure you can get us in there tomorrow, I’d love to take Bryce and the art director and production folks on a walk-through.”

  “I’ll take you around myself,” Vanessa said. “I haven’t been in there in years. Once the city started letting it go downhill, I couldn’t stand to see it deteriorate. As a kid, I thought the casino was my personal playhouse.”

  “Greer?”

  She turned and saw CeeJay standing there with a puzzled expression on her face.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” CeeJay said coolly.

  “Do you know Vanessa Littrell?” Greer turned to her tablemate. “Vanessa, this is my best friend, CeeJay, who just happens to be the best hair and makeup artist in the busin
ess.”

  “Hi,” Vanessa said.

  “Vanessa owns the casino, CeeJay. She was just telling me we’re in the clear to use it for the film. I’m going to try to get Bryce and Alex in there tomorrow, so we can get working on it.”

  “How nice for you,” CeeJay said. She turned, without another word, and disappeared into the coffee shop.

  “Something I said?” Vanessa said, watching CeeJay walk up to the counter.

  “I don’t know,” Greer said slowly. “I’ve never seen her act that like before.”

  Vanessa stood. “Well, I have to run. Literally. As soon as I hear from Sue tomorrow I’ll get with you about that walk-through.”

  * * *

  CeeJay sat at a small Formica-topped table, her hands folded around a steaming mug of chai tea.

  Greer pulled a chair from an adjacent table. “Are you mad at me about something?”

  CeeJay lowered her eyelashes and sipped her tea. “What makes you think that?”

  “You were kind of rude out there to Vanessa just now.”

  “Oh? Was I rude to your new best friend? So sorry. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, after standing me up for coffee yesterday, you end up here all cozy with her.”

  “Stand you up? What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t get my text yesterday? Telling you I wanted to meet you here?”

  “I got it. And I texted you back that I wasn’t around so I couldn’t meet you.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “CeeJay, I did!” Greer pulled her phone from the pocket of her shorts and pulled up her text history. She found the last text from CeeJay, and the response she’d typed—but never sent.

  “Shit,” she said, sliding the phone across the table. “My bad. I ended up driving over to Alachua yesterday. I was right in the midst of texting you when I got interrupted.”

  “Where’s Alachua? What were you doing there?”

  “It’s about an hour from here. On the other side of Gainesville. I, uh, decided to go see my father.”

  “Wha-a-at?” CeeJay’s kohl-rimmed eyes widened. “What prompted that?”

  “It was totally a guilt trip. Lise kept nagging me about calling him, after she got sick. They’d reconnected on Facebook, and she even gave him my contact information—including my phone number. Wouldn’t you know it, he lives not that far from here, and he’d seen on my Facebook page that I was working in Cypress Key. He called and texted a couple times, but I never responded. Yesterday morning I was at loose ends, and I got in the car, and the next thing I know I’m parked in his driveway, texting you. There’s a tap on my window and I look up—into the face of dear old Dad.”

  “Lise wanted you to get in touch with your old man? I thought she hated his guts.”

  “So did I. For years she wouldn’t even say his name. She referred to him as ‘the sperm donor.’ Then, on her deathbed, she decides maybe he’s not that bad.”

  “Weird.”

  “Creepy,” Greer corrected her.

  “How was the visit?”

  “Different. Let’s talk about something else. Like why you decided to stand me up for dinner Friday night. I was kinda ticked, you know?”

  CeeJay nodded. “It was a lousy stunt. I broke the sacred golden rule of girlfriends, ditching you for Bryce. I’m sorry. I suck.”

  Greer smiled. “Hold that thought. I need more caffeine.”

  When she got back from the counter with her refill, she leaned back in her chair. “You were saying how much you suck?”

  “It’s just, Bryce has been so moody, all week. We get here and he’s all pumped up about the film, staying up half the night, working on rewrites, giving notes to Kregg and Adelyn, firing off e-mails to everybody.”

  “Including many, many midnight texts to me,” Greer pointed out.

  “I know. Then Friday he’s in this huge funk. He knows Terry’s drinking again, because the script is totally only half finished, and he’s been watching the dailies and I think it’s just occurred to him that Kregg can’t act his way out of a paper bag, and he’s worried about this casino thing.…”

  “The casino thing is now officially taken care of,” Greer said. She leaned closer. “What else? What aren’t you telling me?”

  CeeJay stared down into her mug. “He uh, well, this morning he asked me to move out of the house. I actually just came from the motel. Looks like we’ll be almost roomies.”

  Greer grabbed CeeJay’s hand. “Why?”

  Tears sprang up into CeeJay’s eyes. “He says he’s just feeling crowded. That it has nothing to do with me, or our relationship. He’s stressed and he just needs his space.”

  “Jeez!” Greer slapped the tabletop. “What a cliché. He can’t come up with anything more original than that?”

  “Guess not,” CeeJay said. She dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin. “He swears this won’t change our relationship. Says he still loves me, and once the film is finished we’ll be right back where we were. Only better.”

  “Blah. Blah. Blah,” Greer said with a sigh. “Men suck.”

  CeeJay nodded. “They really do.”

  “Which room did Ginny give you? Not one of the ones by the pool, I hope. The drinkers and smokers hang out there all night, and you can hear every word they say.”

  “Ginny?”

  “The manager. She also co-owns the motel, with the mayor.”

  “Huh. Eb Thibadeaux checked me in. He was really sweet, too. Helped me carry my stuff in, gave me extra towels.”

  “Did he give you the towels that feel like extra-fine sandpaper?”

  “I guess. I know you think he’s a dweeb, but you know who he kind of reminds me of?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Remember that old show, Gilligan’s Island? Don’t you think he looks exactly like the Professor?”

  “No.” Greer shook her head vigorously. But CeeJay had struck a nerve. With his tousled hair and glasses, he did kind of look like the Professor. Damn. Another image of Eb Thibadeaux which she would really rather forget.

  28

  Monday morning’s shoot hadn’t gone as planned.

  The old elementary school auditorium was being used as a stand-in for a courthouse. What should have been a tense, emotion-packed confrontation between the fictional judge and the character of Kregg’s lawyer had been interrupted half a dozen times by problems big and small. A garbage truck backing up on the street behind the school could be clearly heard. There was a wardrobe malfunction when somebody noticed the lawyer’s white dress shirt bore a huge coffee stain. Finally, when it was clear after dozens of takes that the actor playing the judge had not memorized the long monologue the scene required, Bryce Levy lost his cool.

  Greer was standing out of camera range, at the back of the courtroom set, but she clearly heard everything.

  “What the fuck?” Bryce exclaimed, striding up to Michael Payne, the elderly character actor playing the judge. “Michael! It’s twelve lines. Twelve fucking lines that you’ve had weeks to work on.”

  Payne stared straight ahead, while the other actors looked away in embarrassment.

  Bryce whirled around to address one of the key grips. “And Jesus, Kevin, can you do something about the glare in here? We’ve got light bouncing all over the fucking room.”

  “I’ll take care of it right now,” Kevin said.

  “Break for thirty minutes, then everybody get your asses back in here and do your fucking jobs,” Bryce snarled.

  * * *

  Her cell phone rang. It was Zena, calling from the house where interiors and exteriors for the next day’s shoot were scheduled.

  “Hey, Greer. We got problems over here on Manatee. The dude that lives down the block threatened to call the cops on me because some of the crew were parked on the street in front of his house.”

  “Were they blocking the guy’s driveway, or otherwise on his property?”

  “No! The guy’s just a jerk. He’s been raising hell
since we got over here,” Zena said.

  “He can call the cops if he wants, but we’re fully permitted to shoot over there,” Greer said. She glanced down at her watch. “In the meantime, round up all of our people and tell them to move their cars over to the base camp. I’ll rent some more golf carts and we’ll start shuttling people and dropping them off. Okay? I’ll get over there as soon as I can, or I’ll send somebody else to deal with the locals.”

  On her way to the catering tent, Greer called Island Hoppers, one of the local golf cart rental places, and arranged to have four more carts delivered to the base camp.

  She found CeeJay seated under the tent, peeling a tangerine. “Wow. Bryce really is in a foul mood.”

  “Makes me glad I won’t be around tonight,” CeeJay said somberly. “When he gets like this, he’s totally irrational.”

  “I’m not looking forward to tomorrow, when we shoot at that tiny house,” Greer said, thinking ahead. She was looking around the area as she spoke, and she spotted Allie Thibadeaux leaning up against a brick wall, flirting with Kregg.

  The two were so intent on their conversation that they failed to notice Bryce’s determined approach until it was too late. The director grabbed Kregg’s arm, and she could tell by both men’s body language that the conversation wasn’t pleasant.

  Allie drifted away toward the table lined with soft drinks and snacks.

  “I hate to see Allie get mixed up with a guy like that,” Greer said. “I tried to talk to Ginny, to sort of warn her that Allie’s playing with fire, but she just said Allie is smart enough to know what’s up.”

  “Seventeen? Ha!” CeeJay said. “When I think about the shit I was getting into at that age? I’m amazed I made it to twenty.”

  “Me too.” Greer watched while Allie plucked a can of Red Bull from a tub of ice. “I’m gonna go talk to her,” she resolved.

  “And tell her what? Stay away from asshats like Kregg?”

  “Mmm. No, I’m just going to give her enough stuff to do that she hopefully won’t have to loiter with the cast.”

  “Why do you care so much about this girl?” CeeJay asked.