Ocean Beach (13 page)

“So what do we do?” Madeline asked. “How can they expect us to renovate without money?”

“We’re going to have to find sponsors,” Avery said. “I may be able to stretch our budget to include at least partial payment for actual goods. But we’re going to have to exchange on-air exposure and publicity for a significant part of the labor and installation.”

“Will the network go along with that?” Maddie asked.

“They don’t really have a choice,” Deirdre commented. “This is where not dotting every
i
works to our advantage.”

Avery nodded. “We’re just going to do it. I have a list of possible vendors for windows and glass and we can call on Deirdre’s contacts in the design community.

“I’ve got an electrical and plumbing company I’d like to go after. They need to be first. After that, I think we’ve
all agreed that air-conditioning is most important. Plus we’ll need roofers, painters, and artisans for the tile and plasterwork.”

“And don’t forget the kitchen,” Deirdre interjected. “And furniture refinishing and reupholstering. There’s some fabulous stuff here, but almost all of it needs to be repaired or updated.”

Dusk deepened to dark as Avery blew a stray bang out of her eyes. She looked at her merry band and saw that they were focused and, she thought, willing to follow her lead. She only hoped that she wouldn’t be leading them off a cliff.

“We’ll all help with this, just like we’re all going to do the unavoidable grunt labor that we can’t afford to pay for. But I think Nicole and Deirdre should drive our sponsorship efforts. There aren’t a lot of people who can say no to either of them.”

Avery handed them the sheets of paper with the company names, addresses, and phone numbers she’d printed out. Deirdre left for her dinner engagement. The rest of them sat beneath the darkening sky drinking the last sips of their daiquiris and licking the final orangey stain of Cheez Doodle from their fingers.

Kyra lifted her camera to her shoulder and shot video of Nicole, Maddie, and Avery as they carried the remnants of their sunset down the back stairs and into the kitchen.

Max was there, resplendent in his smoking jacket, which apparently wasn’t a costume but a favored part of his “at home” wardrobe. Still trying to regain her equilibrium after
the reaction to her confession, Kyra picked up some tight shots of the gnarled fingers of his hands and the unlit cigar that he clenched between them. Slowly she pulled out to include the smiling old man and the just-popped bag of microwaved popcorn that stood open on the counter.

Avery was right. She would shoot her own version of events here at The Millicent and present them in her own way. Troy would focus on the skin and bones of the renovation of The Millicent and the people in it along with whatever eruptions he could capture. She would shoot the heart.

“You’re just in time.” Clearly happy to see them, Max gave an exaggerated wink into the camera lens. “I’m getting ready to watch
Celebrity Roundup
. Would you like to join me?”

Kyra filmed Madeline, Nicole, and Avery’s surprise at the invitation. For her part, Kyra liked celebrity-gossip television even less than she liked celebrity-gossip magazines. But she liked Max Golden quite a lot.

“I’ve got popcorn,” Max added, inviting them to inhale the steamy butter smell that was still escaping from the bag. His tone made it clear that he assumed this would clinch the deal. Maddie put another bag of popcorn in the microwave. It wasn’t even nine
P.M.
and none of them had anything more pressing to do.

Soon they were walking slowly through The Millicent toward Max’s bedroom, where the lone television resided. They did their best to allow Max to keep up, but it was surprisingly hard to walk that slowly. In fact, it felt like the absence of movement.

In Max’s bedroom the air conditioner managed to do slightly more than stir the hot air around. They followed
his directions, pulling the ottoman and the vanity chair over next to his recliner and retrieving the piano bench, which they shoved up against the side of the bed.

Kyra yawned and settled on the bench next to her mother. From there she filmed the women’s smiles and their hands dipping into the popcorn. As Max settled into his recliner, she captured his face and his fabulous smile and recorded his deep sigh of contentment.

The theme music began and the celebrity interviews and movie clips flew by. Max knew details about performers that even Kyra had never heard of and had clearly versed himself in the young comedians’ styles and careers.

“I love that guy,” he said when a brief clip of Jerry Seinfeld doing stand-up came on. “He and Larry David together, they were genius. Larry David by himself?” He shook his head regretfully.

Max kept up a steady stream of patter, and Kyra’s attention was split between him, the show, and the faces of the mostly dead celebrities who stared down at them from Max’s bedroom wall. The room was warm with the group’s body heat and redolent with the smell of popcorn. Her thoughts became unfocused and her eyelids began to grow heavy. A couple of times her eyes closed completely and she only jerked awake when her chin dug into her chest.

“Kyra?” Her mother’s voice whispered in her ear. Her fingers rested on her arm. “Honey, I know you were up early with Dustin. And tonight’s been…well, maybe you should go up to bed.”

Despite the piano bench’s lack of back, Kyra began to nod off in earnest. She was trying to rouse herself to do as her mother suggested when Maddie’s hand clamped down around Kyra’s arm and a name pierced her mental fog.

“What?” Kyra jolted upright when she heard Nicole and Avery gasp. The popcorn munching had come to a sudden halt. She followed their gazes to the television.

“Did she just say…” Kyra’s voice trailed off as a shot of the actor Daniel Deranian filled the television screen. The camera pulled out to reveal his equally famous wife, Tonja Kay, beside him. The shot widened further to include the megastars carrying and herding their four children, who ranged in age from two to seven and who appeared to have been adopted from a wide range of third-world countries, through an airport.

Kyra knew that Maddie, Avery, and Nicole were looking at her, but she couldn’t look away from the screen. She actually felt her heart lurch when the host said, “Deranian and Kay arrived in Miami yesterday and are set to star in the already controversial film
Mirage,
which begins shooting Monday on South Beach.”

The host flashed her perfectly capped teeth and turned to another camera. “Batten down the hatches, Miami,” she said gaily. “Hollywood’s most beautiful power couple has arrived!”

“Holy crap,” Kyra muttered as the group shot of the famous family dissolved into an extreme close-up of Daniel Deranian’s handsome face. Kyra wanted to look away but she was powerless to break the connection. The dark eyes held her spellbound, she remembered how those lips had felt on hers. She stared at the image for what felt like an eternity, wide-awake now, but barely breathing. Until it finally faded away.

Avery stood on the upstairs landing, where dust motes floated in what midday light managed to pierce the huge rectangle of glass block and the filthy plate-glass porthole window.

The once white plaster walls were dirty and pockmarked. A low bookcase built into the stair buttress had only half its molding. But at the moment her attention was focused on the wall that had been added at the head of the stairs to separate the first and second floors. She ran a hand up the pockmarked plaster and contemplated the awkward gap between the top of the wall and the domed oval ceiling above it.

She made a mental note of its dimensions and estimated what it would take to remove it. It was neither original nor load bearing. She could hardly wait to bring this sucker down.

The doorbell rang as she was examining the scarred oak flooring. Footsteps sounded down in the foyer and she could
hear the front door opening as she turned her attention to the hardware on the bedroom doors, which was original chrome from the 1930s. Every bit of it was dull and scratched.

“Avery?” Nicole’s voice rose from downstairs. “Someone’s here to see you!”

Since she knew virtually no one in Miami and had no appointments scheduled, she walked quickly through her bedroom and looked out the window to the driveway. Her body stiffened in surprise when she spotted Chase Hardin’s truck.

Taking the back stairs two at a time, she practically mowed him down as she rounded the garage.

“Nicole wasn’t sure if you heard her or not,” he said, drawing her into his arms.

“But what are you doing here?” she asked. “How did—”

His lips were warm and firm on hers. The scent of him filled her nostrils and her arms stole up around his neck. But when he went to deepen the kiss, she stilled.

“What’s wrong?” She heard his puzzlement as he nuzzled her neck. “I’ve been thinking about doing this, and a lot more, for the last hundred miles.”

It took all of her will, and a little bit of leverage, to shrug out of his arms. “I don’t know where the film crew is,” she said with a warning look. She did not want to look up and see them filming her unexpected reunion with Chase. It would take so little for them to spin that into her needing Chase to get the job done. “I can’t believe you’re here. What happened? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I wasn’t sure until this morning that I’d actually be able to get away.” He leaned down and kissed her again, not at all worried about being caught in lip-lock on national
television, but then he hadn’t been living under constant scrutiny like she had. And no one was going to consider
him
unqualified if they saw him kissing her.

She stepped out of his arms and led him out to the front sidewalk, where they could get a straight-on look at The Millicent without the jungle-that-had-not-yet-been-tamed annihilating their view.

“So, what do you think?” Avery opened her arms wide to encompass The Millicent. “Isn’t she fabulous?”

With a crooked smile he took in the overgrown yard, the peeling paint, and the mismatched and broken windows. But Avery also saw his experienced gaze skim over the structure’s finely drawn lines and curves, and take in the rounded concrete overhangs called “eyebrows” that shaded the windows. His eyes glowed as they settled on the porthole windows and the observation tower that topped the circular entry.

“She’s beautiful all right,” he said. “But it’s going to take a ton of work and money to bring her back.”

“I know.” She walked him around the property, pointing out her favorite features, explaining her plans to circumvent the roadblocks the network kept throwing up.

He listened intently. For the most part he smiled and nodded. Just a year ago he’d treated her as if she didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. They’d come a long way since then, but he seemed to be having a little trouble with the concept of keeping his suggestions to himself.

They were standing side by side in the living room examining the fireplace. She’d just described the construction schedule and was leading him toward Max’s room.

“Have you got a printed copy of that schedule for me?” he asked.

“No.”

“I guess you could just e-mail it to me later so I can sign off on it.”

“Um.” She pretended to think. “No.”

“Because?” He looked genuinely baffled.

“Because I’ve just shared it with you as a courtesy. I’m not submitting it to you for approval.” She reached up to knock on Max’s door.

Chase wrapped his hand around her fist before she could make contact. “I know you want to prove yourself,” he said as her hand dropped to her side. “But I assumed there’d be
some
collaboration.”

“We
are
collaborating,” she replied. “I’ve just informed you of my plans and my projected schedule. And you’re impressed as hell but for some reason still trying to figure out how to show it.”

They stared at each other and she knew that if she didn’t address this now, he was going to remind her yet again that it was his license and reputation on the line. And she was going to remind him that she’d grown up on the same construction sites he had and that she had an architectural degree. They’d spend the entire summer locked in their own personal version of
Groundhog Day.