One Good Thing

by Wendy Wax

  • • •

  Nikki stared up at the ceiling and breathed deeply, which brought her far closer to hyperventilating than relaxing. “Okay, whoever is lying on my bladder needs to move right now.” There was a sharp kick to what she thought was her kidney. One or both of them pushed off her lower back as if it were a trampoline.

  She groaned and tried to reposition herself, but there were only so many positions that were still possible and none of them were comfortable. Her cell phone rang and she snatched it up. “Joe?”

  “Yeah. It’s me.” She could tell from the way he said it that things had not improved and that he probably wasn’t sitting on a plane about to barrel down a runway. First they’d waited for a new plane. Then there’d been a problem with the second plane’s landing gear. When that had been fixed, a crew member had fallen ill and they’d had to wait for a replacement to arrive. Joe had finally made it out of San Francisco just ahead of a severe weather front, but he’d arrived in Denver long after the midnight flight for Tampa had left. He’d managed to talk himself onto a 6:45 A.M. flight that would have arrived at 8:30. If the front hadn’t caught up with him. “I can’t actually believe I’m saying this, but the heavy winds and snow have arrived. Every flight that hasn’t been canceled has been delayed.”

  “For how long?” Her voice broke but there was nothing she could do about it. It was two P.M. and she’d been lying here alone all morning praying that Joe was actually in the air. Maddie, Bitsy, and Kyra had each checked in on her, bringing food she couldn’t eat, escorting her to the bathroom, taking Sherlock out. But everyone had rushed in with their minds on what was going on at the showdown, and all of them had had to hurry back to their responsibilities. Which had left her lying here staring up at the ceiling. Wanting Joe. Attempting to will herself into labor. Desperate to get to the part where it was all over and everything—and everyone—was okay.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does,” he said. “But it’s not looking good.”

  She commanded herself not to cry and was very glad they were not FaceTiming, where the sheen of tears that were welling might be visible. “So what happens now?”

  “I checked in with some friends here, but even the FBI transports are grounded. There’s not a ton I can do until the weather clears. But if I can’t get on a plane in the next couple of hours, I’ll rent a car and start driving. Or I’ll stick out my thumb and start walking.”

  “You can’t drive in that kind of weather,” she said. “And assuming you could, what’s driving time from Denver to Tampa?”

  There was a brief silence. “Twenty-eight hours and fifty-eight minutes. Then another thirty to forty-five minutes from Tampa to St. Pete Beach.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “Of course, walking would take a little longer,” he added drily.

  “Oh, Joe.”

  “I know. But I wouldn’t have to actually drive all the way. I’d just need to get outside of the front. It seems to be moving west to east. I could head south and—”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want to worry about you on the road exhausted and trying to outrun that kind of weather.” The tears fell then, but at least they were silent ones.

  “I promised I’d be there and I will,” he said. “In the meantime maybe you could have a word with the girls and ask them to stay put a little longer.”

  She heard the smile in his voice and pictured the quirk of his lips that had probably accompanied it. She felt a stab of love and longing when he said “the girls” as if they were already real to him and he’d already fallen in love with them.

  “Yeah, I’ll be sure and do that,” she said. “Because they’ve been so obedient when I’ve asked them to stop kicking and tromping on my vital organs.”

  He chuckled and she felt as if she’d scored some important point. “I want you here more than anything,” she said, swallowing in a vain effort to dislodge the emotion that jammed her throat. “And I know you’ll do everything you can. But please don’t do anything stupid.”

  While she might be able to deal with him arriving late, she could not allow herself to imagine that he might not make it at all.

  • • •

  Dustin’s head rested on Kyra’s shoulder. His sun-warmed, sand-coated body hung limp against hers, supported by her interlaced hands beneath his bottom. The kids had finished their sand castle earlier, swum in the pool like maniacs, then chowed down on hamburgers and hot dogs. Nonna Sofia had passed out ice cream sandwiches for dessert. Relay races farther down the beach had followed.

  It was just past three o’clock in the afternoon and the simpler sand sculptures were finished. The Deirdres were posing for pictures beside the sand version of their idol, who lay on her side, her head propped on one hand. She was clothed in white linen, her neck was wrapped in a blue silk scarf, and her blond wig had been tucked beneath a stylish straw hat.

  Renée and her garden club had finished their “landscape,” which culminated in the walled garden of Hardin Morgan’s tiny house sand cottage. The final structure lacked furniture and the fourth wall had been left out so that it resembled a soundstage or TV set. But the cottage footprint and square footage had been faithfully reproduced and its walls displayed an impressive array of built-ins.

  Kyra had been shooting still frames of it all day so that she could put together a stop-frame version of its construction. When the real cottage was fully built-in, she planned to produce a video that melded the real and the sand versions. She could see it in her mind’s eye as Ray Flamingo stepped into the sand structure and began to decorate it with the style of a magician and the patter of a master showman.

  Much of her day had been spent avoiding the conversation Daniel had so clearly come here to have. Every photographer and tabloid reporter had asked her whether Dustin would appear in The Exchange. Her answer to each had been “No comment.” But she wouldn’t be able to avoid Daniel indefinitely. Somehow she was going to have to find the strength to look him in the eye and say no with enough conviction to make him understand she meant it.

  On a makeshift stage beneath the stand of palm trees where he’d performed for the Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club’s grand opening, William Hightower did a microphone check. Above on the roof deck people crowded the Plexiglas railing so they could see as well as hear. Those no longer sculpting sand gathered around him.

  “It’s a real pleasure to be here today,” Will said. “And I appreciate the opportunity to practice before Hightower heads out on tour.” His left hand moved up and down the neck of his guitar while his fingers began to pick out an instantly recognizable tune. There was a groundswell of applause as people recognized the opening strains of William Hightower’s seminal hit, “Mermaid in You.”

  Maddie leaned against the main building just beyond the audience. Will shot her a wink above the heads of the crowd and her face split into a silly smile. Kyra’s father stopped leafing through paperwork to seek out her mother, and Kyra saw him note the exchange. There was no smile, silly or otherwise, on his face. But as Kyra watched, she saw him shake it off and go back to what he was doing. How long did it take to get over a quarter of a century marriage? And how much worse did it feel knowing that if you’d only had the strength, you might have saved it? She’d been so certain her parents’ marriage was built for the long haul, but if they couldn’t make it, who could? And what if she’d married Daniel as she’d once hoped? Would it have been the happily ever after she’d imagined or just the beginning of a long and rocky road?

  She felt someone step up beside her and caught the scent of Daniel’s spicy cologne.

  “Here.” He reached for Dustin. “Let me take him. He’s heavy.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He dropped his hands but he didn’t step back. “You’re going to have to talk to me, Kyra.”

  “No, I’m not. I have no intention of talking to y
ou.”

  “You are, actually.”

  “Only to tell you I’m not talking to you.” She shifted slightly and kept her eyes on William, determined not to let Daniel know how completely aware of him she was.

  “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have ambushed you like that,” he said.

  “I made my position clear. I didn’t say I’d think about it. I said no.” She shifted Dustin in her arms to get a better grip.

  This time Daniel didn’t ask, but simply reached out and took him, resettling him on his own shoulder. “I just thought putting it out in the open might help you come to your senses.”

  “My senses? There’s nothing wrong with my senses.” She continued to speak quietly so as not to wake Dustin, who would no doubt once again lobby to “hact” with “Dandiel.” “You had no right to put me on the spot like that, and you certainly had no right to use your son that way—as if he were a trained seal performing the way you told him.”

  He stepped around her so that they were face-to-face. He held Dustin gently and with experience. He and Tonja had children, and despite the one nanny per child scenario that Tonja had instituted, Kyra knew that Daniel did diapers, baths, playtime, and all kinds of other fatherly things that she did not want to think about. Because Daniel Deranian the loving, hands-on parent was even more devastatingly sexy to her than Daniel Deranian the movie star. And so much harder to resist.

  “Look,” he said. “I need him. We need him.”

  “Meaning you and Tonja.” She stiffened at the thought. Hated imagining the conversations they must have had about her and her son.

  “We’ve both put money of our own into this film. And it’s clear that having Dustin play my son would—”

  “Provide a huge amount of publicity,” she finished.

  “Yes.”

  “And bring people out to theaters just to see you and your son together.”

  “Yes.”

  “And to watch just how good an actress Tonja Kay really is. Because they’ll be trying to tell how much it’s eating her up for the world to see the child you created with another woman. When she couldn’t give birth to one.”

  He closed his eyes and she thought about what Troy had said. That the studio hadn’t wanted to let Daniel direct. That he needed more than just his and Tonja’s names to make the film succeed. Their son, Daniel’s and hers, would spark off a media frenzy that could translate into huge box office.

  “Tonja asked me to tell you that you would be welcome on set. You could come and be there with Dustin and she would personally make sure you were comfortable and treated well.”

  “By her?” She thought of the ugly phone calls Tonja had placed, the obscenity-laced threats she’d made and meant, her attempts to take Dustin away from her and to get the network to dump them and Do Over. “No.”

  “I can pay the million dollars up front.” He watched her face and she wished she was as good an actor as he was because all she could think was how that would solve so many of their problems. How it would allow her to pay back enough of the loan to hold on to Bella Flora. But then she would be doing exactly what Daniel was trying to do. Using their son for monetary gain.

  “I can’t,” she finally said. “It’s not right. He’s too young. I won’t do it.”

  She looked up then and saw all the cameras aimed at them. Realized that anyone who could had gone in for a close-up. Remembered that these people were undoubtedly world-class lip readers. She saw the surprise on their faces. No doubt they had thought they were in on a carefully choreographed announcement and not an actual disagreement. A few of them looked panicked and she imagined they might have already called in the story that Dustin’s participation was a done deal. She turned her back.

  “Come on, Kyra. A million dollars is a lot of money. And he wants to do this.”

  “He wants to please you. That’s not the same thing at all. And even in today’s world, three-year-olds don’t make these decisions—parents who are supposed to have their best interests at heart do. And if this wasn’t something you personally needed, you would agree that this would be a very bad idea.”

  “Don’t be crazy. I can’t believe you could possibly say no. I do have rights here. I didn’t want to force you to do this.”

  “No, you thought you’d embarrass me into saying yes. Or, I don’t know, blind me with the excitement and money of it all? You’ve called me crazy and senseless today, but I’m not. I’m just not going to allow it.”

  “Fine.” Although his voice communicated his anger, his smile never faltered. “We’ll do it the hard way. Tonja thought it would come to this, but I really thought you’d see the sense of it.”

  She took Dustin from Daniel. Dustin’s arms went reflexively around her neck and he snuffled slightly in his sleep. He was what mattered. Not her needs and certainly not Daniel’s.

  Daniel had come here after discussing strategy with Tonja. Because Tonja was his wife, costar, and partner in every sense of the word. Which made Kyra the fool.

  “I tried to find the kinder way,” he said quite earnestly. “But unless you change your mind over the weekend, you’ll be hearing from my attorney on Monday. I do have parental rights that I haven’t exercised. I’m afraid I’m going to have to exercise them now.”

  Twenty-six

  Bitsy collapsed into a chaise shortly after sunset. She had no intention of moving. Ever.

  The participants and their audiences had gone. The paparazzi had followed Daniel Deranian to his limo and, she assumed, on to wherever he’d been headed. The Giraldis had left to see Nikki then gone on to their apartment. As soon as the sand cottage had been completed, Chase and Josh had helped Jeff into the truck and taken off to drive the area one last time. So far, Jason had not responded to any of their calls or texts.

  Randy and his group had begun cleaning up. Bitsy considered asking for a drink but that would have required moving. And possibly speaking.

  Steve Singer walked in her direction with a drowsing Dustin in his arms. Maddie and Will came with John and Renée Franklin, Annelise, and Ray.

  “Thank you for everything, Bitsy,” Renée said. “You did an incredible job. The day ran like clockwork.”

  Annelise smiled her agreement. “We’re all so grateful to you for stepping in.”

  “My pleasure,” Bitsy said, a bit surprised at just how true this was.

  “Thanks to everyone’s efforts, we sold a two-bedroom unit, and have a verbal commitment on a one-bedroom built-in to Avery’s specifications, not to mention several other parties who expressed real interest,” John said. “We took in three thousand dollars in entry fees and also sold fifteen family memberships and got a ton of exposure.”

  Kyra watched her father’s face. Hers was harder to read as he said, “It won’t take care of everything, but it does put us in a somewhat better position.” He shifted Dustin in his arms. “John and Renée offered to drop Dustin and me back at Bella Flora. I’ll put him to bed so you all can do your toasts and celebrate.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Kyra said in a voice that didn’t sound at all celebratory. “Let me grab his things.”

  Steve nodded good night to the group in general without looking directly at Maddie, who stood with Will’s arm around her.

  “Don’t move,” Maddie said a few minutes later. “I’ll be back. Will’s car is here. I’m going to walk him to it and check on Nikki on the way back.”

  “I’ll go ask Randy to make some celebratory drinks,” Ray offered.

  “That is a great idea,” Bitsy said gratefully. “Moving’s out of the question. Drinking is not.”

  “I’d offer to help, but I’m not sure I have the strength,” Avery said from a nearby chaise. A yawn followed.

  “Stay put,” Ray said. “I’ll be right back with liquid nourishment.”

  He and Kyra returned together. Ray carried a tray
of very pink and very frozen strawberry margaritas elegantly balanced on one raised palm. Kyra carried a second pitcher. Ray presented the tray with a flourish. “I didn’t just park cars in LA when I was getting started. I served at more than a few A-list parties.” He lowered the tray, positioning it between Bitsy and Avery. Avery helped herself.

  Bitsy sighed. “I don’t think I have the strength to pick it up or get it to my lips.”

  “No problem. Allow me.” Ray set the tray on a side table then brought the glass, knelt next to Bitsy’s chaise, and positioned the rim between Bitsy’s lips. “You’ve earned it.” He tipped it gently so that all Bitsy had to do was swallow. She felt a glow of satisfaction and a new, unfamiliar cache of confidence that came not from what she possessed but what she was capable of. She had led an easy life, but she was not a quitter. She was strong. Resilient. She could move forward and forge a life for herself. Her first step would be finding Bertie and making him sorry he’d ever been born.

  “Oh. My. God.” The drink was thick and cold and tart. “This is the best margarita. Maybe the best drink I’ve ever had.”

  “I think you’re right,” Avery said, licking her lips but not the frothy pink mustache that remained. “It is absolutely frickin’ lovely.”

  Ray smiled. “Randy does know his way around a blender.”

  “If Maddie doesn’t come back soon, I may have to drink hers for her,” Avery said.

  “If I had an ounce of strength left, I’d fight you for it,” Bitsy replied even as the sip she’d taken slid down her throat.

  “No need, ladies,” Ray said, holding the glass so that Bitsy could drain the last drops. “Randy promised to keep blending as long as you need him.”