by Wendy Wax
“That’s ridiculous. Everyone’s staring. It’s better to end this now,” Daniel said.
“No, it’s not,” she said, though her heart was still pounding and she wasn’t at all sure what she’d do if Daniel simply ignored her and scooped Dustin up and carried him away. She spoke carefully and quietly so that no one else but Dustin could hear them. “Because then he’ll think it’s okay to do this anytime he doesn’t get his way.” She stared into Daniel’s eyes and saw him realize that the comment was aimed at him and his behavior. “I can’t let you let him off the hook.”
“My God, you’re serious,” Daniel said.
She nodded. Daniel turned and left.
If not for their audience, she might already have fallen back into the director’s chair, because her knees felt like Jell-O and she had the beginnings of a killer headache. Instead she took a deep breath and looked down. Dustin was lying on his back staring up at the sky. The clothes he’d worn in the problematic scene and was supposed to wear in the next one were now wrinkled and filthy. His face was streaked with dirt and tears. Twigs and gravel stuck to his curls. Part of her desperately wanted to go pick him up in her arms and rock and comfort him. The other part wanted to disavow having given birth to him.
It was Brandon who walked over to him and offered a hand up. “If you’re done now, we need to change your wardrobe and get you cleaned up.”
Dustin sighed and accepted his hand, letting the AD pull him to his feet. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I don’t really think you’re a poopy head.”
“Apology accepted,” Brandon said drily. “I’m only a poopy head on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ve never been called one on Friday before.”
He smiled crookedly at Kyra.
“I’m sorry,” she said wearily. “I think the pressure’s getting to all of us.” She lifted Dustin up in her arms. His head fell against her shoulder and he shuddered out a breath.
“That it is,” Brandon said. “And unlike Dustin, some of us are old enough not to give in to it.” He gave her another crooked smile. “You, my friend, have nerves of steel. And you have won a day off. I talked to Tonja and she agrees that Dustin doesn’t need to work tomorrow. We can shoot around him.”
“That’s good.” Kyra smiled back at Brandon. But at this point a day off was like sticking part of a pinkie finger in a dam.
* * *
• • •
It was late that afternoon before Maddie was able to return Kyra’s call. She’d worked herself into a bit of a state imagining all kinds of worst-case scenarios by the time her daughter answered.
“Kyra? I’m so sorry I’m so late in getting back to you. We’re in Arizona and it was a free day so we went to Sedona and the Grand Canyon. I just picked up your messages. Are you both okay?”
“Well, I haven’t slit my wrists yet and I haven’t killed anyone else, either, so I think that’s a yes.”
“And Dustin?”
“Well, that’s a little more complicated. I mean, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but I spent such a short amount of time on Halfway Home and I was so starstruck while I was there that I didn’t fully get how far removed from real life a movie set is. Or how you can’t escape from the people you’re working with.”
Maddie heard the catch in Kyra’s voice. “Back at you. A concert tour is its own universe, too. And standard rules of behavior don’t seem to apply. Sometimes that’s truly wonderful,” she admitted. “But you get so insulated, so removed from everyday life. And there are all these people swirling around you and running and fetching if you even look like you might want something. I can see how easy it would be to completely fall off the rails. Anyway, what’s going on?”
“Oh, God,” Kyra said. “Just hearing your voice makes me want to cry. Scratch that. I am crying.”
“Aww, honey. What’s happened?”
“It’s not any one thing really,” Kyra said. “But we’re apparently over budget and behind schedule and Daniel, well, he’s not exactly in control of himself or particularly able to make decisions the way he needs to. It’s a mess.” Her swallow was audible. “He had this big meltdown on set the other day. And Dustin had one today. I’ve never seen him like that and I didn’t know what to do or how to handle it. And everybody was watching. I hope it doesn’t end up all over social media like Daniel’s did.” There was another shaky breath. “I tried not to give in to him, and I did make him apologize to the person he was nasty to, but I don’t know, he’s not exactly getting lessons from his father in good behavior plus he’s still twisting himself up in knots wanting to please him and get attention and . . .”
Kyra’s rush of words trailed off, in a huge exhalation of breath. “Sorry. We made it through today. And they’ve reworked the schedule to give Dustin Saturday and Sunday off even though they’re having to shoot around him. Tonja did that. Not Daniel, Tonja!” Kyra presented this as if it were one more insult or tragedy. “What should I do, Mom?”
Maddie would have liked nothing more than to hold her daughter in her arms and smooth her hair off her face like she had when she was a child. Trying to offer comfort long-distance was not particularly effective on either end. “I’m not sure there’s anything else to do, Kyra. You’re doing what needs to be done. And since you asked, I’m glad you’re focusing on Dustin and helping him with his behavior instead of worrying about other people’s reactions—or Daniel. It’s hard to do, but it’s important. And I’m glad that you’ll both have the weekend free no matter who organized it. After that you’re down to two weeks. You’re almost there, sweetheart. And you’re not responsible for the movie, or Daniel’s behavior or anything but Dustin and yourself.”
“I knew I needed to talk to you,” Kyra said quietly. “I don’t think I even realized how much.”
“Do you want me to come, Kyra?” Maddie made the offer without even thinking of Will or his reaction, but this time she was fairly certain it was for the right reasons. And not out of fear.
“No. I . . . I’m sorry my first instinct is to call you when something goes wrong. It’s not very grown up, is it? You just happen to be the wisest, most together person I know.”
If Maddie had been standing, the burst of love she felt might have knocked her down. “Considering that I’m still grappling with what I want to be when I grow up, I think you’ve got plenty of time to figure it out, sweetie. And I think you’re doing a great job with Dustin.”
Emotion clogged Maddie’s throat. “I’m very grateful that we’re close enough for you to want my advice. And honored that you think I’m ‘wise and together.’” A smile twisted her lips. “Guess I fooled you.”
“Completely. And here I thought for sure you had all the answers.” Kyra’s teasing tone turned into a sigh. “I don’t even think I have the strength to get us home. But I hate the idea of staying here.” She hesitated. “Do you think it would be wrong if I invited Troy to come up here for the weekend?”
“Wrong because?” Maddie asked.
“I don’t know,” Kyra replied. “Wrong because he seems to be so sure what he wants, but I’m way too hazy on who I am at the moment let alone exactly what kind of relationship I might want with him?”
Maddie smiled once more. “If absolute certainty of who we are, what we want, and what’s supposed to come next were requirements for being in a relationship, I’d have to give up Will this minute.”
As the words left her mouth she realized just how true they were. She’d been so worried about finally finding a purpose, figuring out what she should do, that she’d acted as if her life up until now was somehow less valid than whatever came next. But she’d nurtured her family, raised two children who’d become stellar adults, and she had refused to give up when the life they’d known crumbled.
That was who she was. That was the foundation on which she would continue to build. No matter what path she chose now or whom she chose to travel it
with, she would always be a mother and grandmother first. And that was nothing to be ashamed of.
Thirty
The last thing Avery expected to do that Saturday was have a good time. Especially since the day started with a very loud and persistent pounding on her door. When she threw it open, the completely unapologetic and uninvited Ray Flamingo and Bitsy Baynard marched in, poured coffee down Avery’s throat, then practically pushed her into the shower. When she came out clean, but still fuming, a second cup of coffee awaited. So did an outfit that she never would have worn on a normal Saturday. With shoes. Completely accessorized.
“Put it on!” Ray’s voice carried from the living room. “Or one of us will come in and dress you!” There was laughter. “Don’t make us draw straws!”
She’d come out dressed and grumbling, then whined all the way out of the cottage and into Ray’s classic powder blue Cadillac convertible that matched the cashmere V-neck sweater he was wearing.
“Where exactly are you taking me? And why?” she demanded as they “helped” her into the backseat. “You do realize kidnapping is a felony, right? Because I happen to know someone who works for the FBI.”
“This is an intervention,” Bitsy said. “Because you need to get out.”
“We’ve got a whole day planned for you. It’s meant to be fun,” Ray added. “So I suggest you try to enjoy it.”
“I was enjoying being in my bed,” she huffed as Ray turned onto Pass-a-Grille Way. “And I’m not sure if you noticed or not, but I was asleep. And I was really enjoying that, too.”
Ray took the Bayway to 275 and she tried again. “Seriously, where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” Ray said.
“A good one,” Bitsy added.
The whining slowed as they exited to downtown. It stopped altogether when they were welcomed to the Parkshore Grill and seated at a prime sidewalk table beneath a bright blue umbrella with a view over Straub Park to the yacht basin. Lunch was long and leisurely. Dessert turned out to be a private tour of the nearby Salvador Dalí Museum, which was perched on the waterfront.
Their docent was a cheerful and knowledgeable client of Ray’s named Ingrid, who let them linger outside to admire the building, a magnificent thick-walled rectangle that seemed to flow upward into a free-form glass bubble known as the “enigma,” which Ingrid informed them was intended as a tribute and reference to the dome atop Dalí’s museum in Spain.
Avery could have spent the rest of the day and those to come marveling at the work of art that architect Yann Weymouth had created as well as the spectacular works inside, but she made no protest at all when Ray and Bitsy informed her that it was time to move on. The day had been so unexpectedly spectacular that she didn’t even ask, or care, where they were going next.
When they got out of the Caddy she looked across Second Avenue. Her eyes widened to take in the massive building. She clutched Ray’s arm as they crossed the street. “I’ve driven by it a couple of times, but I’ve never been this close before.”
“Didn’t I tell you she’d react this way?” Ray said to Bitsy as they crossed the street.
On the sidewalk he turned to Avery. “I knew you’d like it.”
“Like it?” She still clutched his arm. “I love it. If it weren’t so big I’d hug it!”
“Big” was an understatement. The building took up a large part of Second Avenue South and Fifth Street in an up-and-coming part of downtown. Like the Don CeSar and Bella Flora on St. Pete Beach and The Vinoy in northeast St. Petersburg, it was built in the Mediterranean Revival style with thick plaster walls, arched windows, wreathed columns, iron balconettes, and a multilevel roof and jutting bell tower. Unlike those other properties it had not yet been restored. A No Trespassing sign hung on a locked wire fence that stretched across the main entrance steps. Doors and windows were boarded up; her walls were chipped, pockmarked, and marred by graffiti. Her barrel-tiled roofs were covered in a patchwork of tarps. But all Avery saw were the beautiful bones of the structure. Its potential.
Her first complete thought was, I’d give anything to get my hands on this building. Her second, Chase would absolutely love it.
“I know what you’re thinking right now,” Ray said smugly beside her.
“Do not.” She continued to study the building. Itched to get inside it. With Chase.
“Do too,” Ray said. “You could call him right now, you know. Or text him a shot of the exterior and invite him to come walk through it with us.”
Avery tore her eyes from the building. “Walk through it? We get to go inside?”
“I’ve done work for a Realtor who’s a good friend of the current owner. She said she’d let us in.”
“Even though we’re not buyers.”
“Even so.” He smiled. “I had to think of something that would cheer you up. Bitsy suggested the Dalí Museum. Maddie suggested maybe touring one of the older neighborhoods. Then I thought this might be even better.”
“You were right.”
Ray’s Realtor friend Justine was a tall, trim, silver-haired woman with genteel good looks and a ready smile, which she flashed when she launched into an enthusiastic and docent-worthy description of the property.
“You are looking at what was originally a YMCA completed in 1927 with the help of $550,000 in community donations. It was designed by Minnesota professor Clarence Brown and local architect Archie G. Parish, who designed many of the original downtown structures. It’s approximately 51,000 gross square feet and is four stories tall, with an original basement pool and a fifth-story bell tower. Many of the original Spanish tiles were imported from Seville, and it was designated a historic landmark in 1991.”
Justine unlocked the padlock and led them up the concrete front steps to the first-floor entrance. “The building has changed hands quite a few times. There’ve been plans to turn it into condos, a boutique hotel, a music museum, and a performance venue.”
She paused in the tiled lobby and Avery took in the cypress beams, the arched doorways, the ten-light, paired and ribbon steel casement windows with their decorative arches and lintels. The bricked courtyard sat firmly in its center.
“As you can see, a lot of interior demolition has already been done and some restoration work has been started. But things tend to get stalled out. People run out of money and enthusiasm.” The Realtor smiled. “In my opinion, it’s just waiting for the right person to come along. Someone who recognizes the building’s true potential.”
“Is it for sale?” Bitsy asked.
“Not at the moment,” Justine said. “But I think it could be. For the right price. And the right buyer.” She looked around. “My friend really wanted to see this building brought back to life.”
“Any idea what the right price might be?” Bitsy asked.
“Well, I can tell you that my friend paid 1.4 million and planned to put another six million into it, but real estate is all about supply and demand. There aren’t too many buildings of this ilk. But then not everyone is willing to consider preservation.”
Avery closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine it. It was one of the few times in her life she wished she were wealthy. “I wouldn’t mind having seven or eight million disposable dollars to put into this beauty right now.”
“Me, either,” Bitsy said.
“If things work out, you could,” Ray said to Bitsy.
“Well, if that happens and there’s actually a serious amount of money left, I’ll buy it for you, Avery. It could be a birthday present.”
“Why thank you, Bitsy.” Avery smiled. “That’s very friendly of you, but I think a tiny house would be easier to wrap.”
They laughed. But as they moved deeper into the building, Avery looked past the peeling, water-stained plaster, the missing ceilings and windows, the scarred floors and broken tiles to focus on the ornate decorative iron and cast stone
panels and carvings, the basement pool, the central courtyards, the fabulous curved walls that led out to the rooftop terrace.
“The way downtown is growing I could see this as a really great mixed-use space,” Bitsy said as Justine escorted them out and re-padlocked the gate. “With all the fabulous charm and historical details restored.”
After they thanked and said good-bye to the Realtor, Avery stood staring at the building. For a moment she let herself imagine what it would be like to take on this project with Chase. What a dream that would be. Not to mention a restoration worth documenting and maybe even televising.
“Call him.” Ray’s words yanked her out of the daydream. “This is breaking my heart. You’re breaking my heart.”
“Then I think you need to toughen up a little, Ray,” she said, stung.
“No, I don’t,” he protested. “You just need to locate your backbone. Your mother would not want to see you wussing out like this. It’s depressing. Deirdre made some really poor choices and plenty of mistakes. But she didn’t waffle.”
“Don’t bring Deirdre into this,” Avery sputtered. “You spent all day forcing me to relax and forget and now you’re ruining it. Why did you even bother to get me out of bed?” She turned to Bitsy for help.
“Sorry,” Bitsy said. “But Ray’s right. It’s so hard to find the right person. When the shoe fits you’ve got to wear it. Or at least put your foot in it.” She snorted. “Okay, enough with the shoes. But when you love someone you have to at least try. I had some really great years with Bertie, a good life. Right up until the moment he fled with another woman and everything I owned. I would have hated to miss those good years.”
“You can stop helping now,” Ray said. “But I think the shoe analogy wasn’t bad.”
“God, when did everybody get so pushy and philosophical?” Avery cried.
“When you started being afraid of your emotional shadow.” This came from Ray, but Bitsy nodded in agreement.
