Best Beach Ever

by Wendy Wax

  But for the first time as he leaned over to kiss her, she saw him clearly. Not as a handsome prince from a fairy tale, or even as the mega movie star he was, but simply as a man. A man who had taken on a task for which he was not prepared, and who didn’t have the backbone to admit it or ask for help or work harder to master it. He was an outrageously attractive man. But he was not a long-term strategic thinker. And he was not a good director, at least not yet. And he was a truly crappy husband.

  He looked at her out of eyes that he’d bequeathed to their son, but this time they looked more “troubled child” than “bedroom.” He was the kind of man who could gift a dog without asking, throw a tantrum on set without considering the consequences, have affairs with women then go home to his wife and children. He could be fun and generous, but he wasn’t the man she’d turned him into in her mind. He was not a prince and he most definitely wasn’t the hero he portrayed so well in movies.

  When he slid his arms around her and said, “I can’t stand thinking of you with Matthews. It drives me absolutely crazy,” she didn’t fend him off. But her heart didn’t pound like it always had. And his kiss was only a kiss, not the earth moving under her feet. It was not a promise of a bright and beautiful future if only they could figure it out. It was a furtive kiss given by a married man running away from reality.

  It held none of the unfiltered emotion that had been packed into Troy’s.

  She dropped her arms and began to step back as a quick knock sounded on the trailer door, but Daniel either hadn’t heard the knock or simply didn’t care. Still locked in his arms, Kyra raised her eyes and saw Tonja in the entry.

  “Really?” Tonja said to Daniel as Kyra jumped away from him. Her eyes were trained on Daniel as she came toward them. “With all the important and necessary things you could be doing right now to ensure the success of our film—this is what you chose to do?”

  The words “it’s not what it looks like” rose to Kyra’s lips, except of course it was exactly what it looked like. The fact that it had felt so different to her didn’t seem particularly relevant to either of the Deranian-Kays.

  “Brandon’s looking for you to discuss the next setup, and then I promised the reporter you blew off five minutes of your time. I’ve set him straight and he won’t be asking you anything problematic.” Tonja spoke with total authority and to Kyra’s dismay, Daniel left without a backward glance.

  Kyra would have liked to leave, too, but Tonja’s eyes were now on her, and she knew if there was a tongue-lashing coming, or even the dropping of a nuclear-strength load of f-bombs Tonja had been holding in check, she deserved it. Because now that she’d finally managed to rip the blinders all the way off, she was deeply ashamed and embarrassed by her behavior, horrified that she had insisted on seeing herself as the victim in all her dealings with Tonja, using the actress’s aggressive and foulmouthed vindictiveness as proof that she was the evil one.

  If Kyra had been his wife and mother of his children, would she have behaved differently? Chosen her words more carefully? She forced herself to meet Tonja’s eyes. Then she braced because she owed Daniel’s wife the courtesy of listening to whatever she had to say.

  “So.” Tonja didn’t slump or droop as she leaned against the wall of the trailer, but disappointment and weariness were written across her face. “Honestly, I’m almost too exhausted to care right now. Somehow we have to make it through this movie without losing every penny we’ve put in, our reputations, and our ability to continue to act for a living. Everything’s on the line here and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Daniel is not pulling his weight.”

  “I do know. And I’m sorry. I . . . this was not what it looked like,” she said hurriedly because apparently clichés were clichés for a reason.

  “This is exactly what it looked like,” Tonja said matter-of-factly. “And this is exactly what he does when things get difficult.” She motioned toward Kyra. “You’ve lasted longer than most. You’ve been smarter. You haven’t given in completely and, of course, you gave him Dustin.” Her smile was ironic and as tired as her voice. “And even I have to admit that against all odds, he’s a great kid.”

  “Seriously, Tonja. It’s not . . . I don’t want . . .” Kyra’s voice trailed off as Tonja shrugged.

  “There’s nothing else to talk about. As far as I’m concerned, once this film is over, you can have him.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Nikki set Sofia and Gemma on the Sunshine lobby floor to play and turned her attention to the wall she, Bitsy, Avery, and Renée were contemplating. They’d already walked through the ladies’ locker room, where the volunteer models for the upcoming fashion show would dress, to figure out where the clothes racks would go. Maddie had agreed to be in charge of matching models to outfits and keeping things on track on the day of the show while Ray would “zhush” and accessorize before passing each model on to Bitsy, who would make sure they hit the runway, or in this case, the circular route around the pool, on cue with Nikki’s narrative. Which would be proofed and tweaked as soon as she could find it in the mess that now threatened to swallow the cottage.

  She gestured to a section of wall that divided the lobby from the ladies’ locker room. “I’ve been thinking this would be a great space to put a temporary vintage/retro beachwear display when the Franklin Realty people take over the front desk and part of the gift shop area the day of the fashion show. Showing and selling cottages is a top priority.

  “But maybe somewhere down the road we could break through this part of the wall and steal some space from the ladies’ locker room to add a fitting room. What do you think?”

  Avery measured the space and rapped on the wall in several spots. “It’s not load bearing, and I don’t think you’d miss the space in the locker room. And there’s no way to expand the gift shop near the entrance because it shares its back wall with the dining room.”

  “Could you give us a price on that?” Renée asked. “The vintage and retro beachwear is selling well and I think it will sell even better after people see it on models during the fashion show.”

  “Sure.” Avery made a few notes on a yellow pad.

  Nikki looked down at her own to-do list, which seemed to be growing each day and possibly reproducing at night. “I’ve got a call into the Tampa Bay Times to see if they can include the fashion show in their local events section. I’ve also asked them to send a photographer to cover the show.” She heard a shriek and turned to see Sofia and Gemma attempting to claim and climb onto the same chair. She blew a limp bang out of her eyes and walked over to her daughters, trying to remember as she pulled them apart, plopped them on the floor, and handed them each a baggie of Goldfish crackers when she’d last washed her hair.

  “Sorry,” she yawned, reaching for the long-cold cup of coffee she’d brought with her, desperate for the extra shot of caffeine she’d come to need in a way she never had before.

  The days were just so long and the nights seemed even longer. Every morning she debated whether to call Luvie and pretend they’d just returned. And every morning after that first shot of coffee she told herself she could make it one more day. And she had.

  She hated lying to Joe, but it seemed far too late to admit what she’d done. She looked up and saw a woman passing by the plate glass who looked just like Luvie. Except she was wearing oversize sunglasses and a sunhat with a floppy brim that cast her face into shadow.

  “What is it?” Bitsy asked. “You have a strange look on your face. Like you saw a ghost or something.”

  “No. I’m just tired,” Nikki said. And possibly hallucinating. Due to guilt.

  “Well, nothing personal,” Avery said. “But you look like something the cat dragged in.”

  Bitsy snorted but didn’t disagree.

  Nikki took another hit of coffee. “Thanks. Nothing personal about that.”

  “You do look a bi
t tired,” Renée said more tactfully. “When’s Luvie coming back?”

  “I don’t know. She had some sort of complication and she has to take it easy for a while.” Nikki barely held back the groan. The lies just kept on coming.

  “Have you been to see her?” Renée asked.

  “Um, no.” Nikki glanced out the window again, but there was no sign of the woman in the floppy hat.

  “Hmmmm,” Renée said. “Maybe she needs a little matzo ball soup. They don’t call it Jewish penicillin for nothing. Where does she live? I could take some over.”

  “I don’t know,” Nikki said, relieved to be telling the truth. “I mean, Joe did a background check, and I know there was an address included, but I’ve never been there. I think she may be in Gulfport.”

  There was more shrieking. Nikki downed the last of the coffee and went to separate the girls. Which is what she spent a large part of each day doing. “I’m sure she’ll be better soon.” She couldn’t quite let herself envision how the fiction she’d created and fed to Luvie and Joe was going to go down when both of them were back. She could only hope that by then she’d be able to point to the weeks on her own as proof that she didn’t need help for so many hours a week. At which time Luvie was going to have to either settle for less time on the clock or . . .

  “Have I mentioned how much I appreciate what Joe’s doing for me?” Bitsy asked, mercifully changing the subject.

  “Of course you have,” Nikki replied. “You’re a friend, Bitsy. And that means a lot to both of us. Plus, Joe hates cheaters.”

  Of course, Joe didn’t like liars, either. As Nikki had discovered when she’d slipped away and tried to talk her brother into giving himself up instead of telling Joe where she thought he was hiding. And when she’d neglected to mention that her brother had threatened both of them when Nikki had secretly visited him in prison. And the time she’d kept her pregnancy from him, another not-so-small omission that he hadn’t taken at all well. The panic she’d been trying to hold back mushroomed inside her. She beat it back. Nothing would be gained by confessing her transgressions now.

  * * *

  • • •

  The night before Bertie’s trap was set to be sprung, Bitsy lay in bed staring up at the cottage ceiling, listening to Sherlock’s snuffling snores and trying to envision a positive outcome. Because Joe had warned her that although Bertie had committed to the deal and seemed to have no apparent qualms, things could always go wrong, that any plan, no matter how well timed or set up, could fail.

  She “woke” before dawn, though she didn’t actually remember ever sleeping, and stumbled to the coffeemaker. When the sky finally began to lighten, she pulled on clothes and got out Sherlock’s leash. They wandered through small alleyways and up and down the short streets finally settling on a bench that overlooked the bay. Together they watched the sun rise, and although she’d never been especially religious, she offered up a small prayer that Joe’s plan would go smoothly and that Bertie would finally pay for what he’d done.

  Too antsy to sit still any longer, her stomach roiling too intensely to stop for breakfast, she walked slowly back toward the Sunshine, letting Sherlock stop and sniff every bush, every flower, and what might have been every leaf of grass.

  Her thoughts were a jumble of fear and hope and memory. The past year had taught her the hot blaze of anger and the encompassing miasma of hurt and pain. She yearned for the icy cold knife-edge of revenge that would cauterize the wounds Bertie had inflicted.

  At nine thirty A.M. she ended up back at the cottage with a panting Sherlock mostly because she couldn’t think of anywhere else to go and eleven A.M. seemed a lifetime away. She found Avery and Nikki standing outside watching the girls toddle in the still-damp grass.

  “I’ve got coffee and donuts.” Avery held up a box and bag from Dunkin’ Donuts.

  “And I’ve got Kahlúa and cream to go in the coffee. Or we can just drink it on its own.”

  Bitsy felt the sting of tears. “I think I could use a little something to steady my nerves.” She swallowed. “And something to drown my sorrows just in case.”

  “No, we’re only thinking positive thoughts today,” Avery said. “That’s a direct order from Maddie. And she made us promise to text or call her . . . after.”

  Within minutes the coffee had been poured and doctored, and though relaxation was not in the cards, the Kahlúa and coffee did take a bit of the edge off. Bitsy was grateful for the distraction and the much-needed reminder that whatever happened this morning, she was not alone.

  At ten thirty they were huddled on the sofa, making stabs at conversation. At ten forty-five a text dinged in from Joe. Her eyes narrowed, part wince, part fear. She didn’t breathe again until she’d read it. All systems go. White hat standing by.

  Relief washed briefly through her. Then her pulse skittered. Her heart pounded with the force of a drum. Nikki and Avery scooted closer on either side of her until their shoulders and thighs touched.

  When the phone rang at 11:10, her hand was cramped and sweaty around her cell phone. Fear shot through her. She wasn’t sure she could answer. Avery pried it from her hand, hit “answer,” and gave it back. Bitsy managed to raise it to her ear.

  “Hello?” The word was a wobble.

  “Hi.” Joe didn’t identify himself but there was no mistaking his voice. There was a brief silence that made her breath catch in her throat. And then Joe said, “So, I’m thinking you might want to check your bank account. Although he doesn’t know it yet, your husband just sent you a little something.”

  She swallowed. “Th . . . th-thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Joe hung up.

  “What happened?”

  “Did it work?”

  Nikki and Avery’s voices were as shaky as her hands as she nodded and logged on to her account.

  She cried when she saw all the zeros. Cried even harder when she thought of Bertie, how much she’d loved him, how much she’d once believed he’d loved her.

  Nikki and Avery and ultimately, the twins, cried with her. Because friends didn’t let friends cry alone.

  Her tears slowed as she realized all the things she’d learned because of Bertie’s betrayal. That she was someone in her own right. That she was more than her net worth. That she could survive without wealth.

  But she was beyond happy that she didn’t have to.

  Thirty-two

  That night’s concert had just ended as Maddie rearranged the platters of food and straightened the stacks of plates and silver on the buffet table set up in the greenroom. After stepping back and eyeing it in part and as a whole, she added the floral arrangement and fruit basket that she’d taken from Will’s dressing room.

  “The craft service people are starting to look uncomfortable.” Lori materialized at her side. “You could just tell them what you’d like done and let them arrange things.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. In fact, she was grateful to have something to do besides hanging out once the concert was over. “There’s another fruit basket at the hotel that could serve twenty, and Will doesn’t really notice the flowers. I hate to see these things get wasted. And this way everybody gets to enjoy it.”

  “True,” Lori conceded.

  “And you’ll make sure the flowers and leftover fruit go to the children’s hospital I found, won’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you.” Maddie looked up and saw Griff Monroe, a mountain-size man who’d been on the road with one band or another since the early seventies, approaching.

  “Please tell me he’s not looking for advice on his love life,” Lori said.

  Maddie smiled. “That would be privileged information.” But in truth the man had a romantic streak wide enough to drive a truck through and a penchant for women who needed saving. He was a surprisingly gentle giant who reminded Maddie of Fer
dinand the bull in the children’s book she’d read to Kyra and Andrew.

  “Have a minute, Maddie?” Griff asked.

  “Always.” She accepted a friendly fist bump and moved to a quiet corner where they wouldn’t be overheard.

  A lighting tech named Janis, who had piercings that Maddie was careful not to look at too closely, was next. Lloyd the guitar tech cued up after that. Considering what they did for a living and how much time they spent on the road, their concerns weren’t particularly wild or crazy. She’d learned that however people decorated themselves, whatever they had inked or stapled to their skin, they were all looking to make sense of who they were and the world they lived in.

  The line evaporated, crew members dispersing like pigeons when a human settled on a nearby bench. The reason was Will. Who now stood where the line had been.

  “I couldn’t tell if I was supposed to take a number or not,” he said drily.

  “Oh?” she asked. “Did you have something you needed to discuss?”

  “I don’t know, what do you charge per hour?”

  “I’m willing to settle for ‘in kind’ services from you,” Maddie said, trying not to give in to the smile tugging at her lips.

  “So, I’d be trading, say, sexual favors for emotional support?” The post-performance adrenaline poured off him and she felt its pull. He was hot and sweaty. A towel hung around his neck. And she couldn’t have cared less.

  “Yes. Is that a problem?” Her eyebrow went up.

  “Hell, no,” he said, closing the gap between them. “But I’m afraid when you’ve fixed everybody you’re going to want to leave. I’ll have to hire a whole new band and crew.”