Ocean Beach (9 page)

By the end of their first week, The Millicent’s rolled-up-and-forgotten-bathing-suit smell had been banished, replaced by the potent scent of eau de Pine-Sol. Cobwebs had been ripped out of corners, floors had been swept and mopped multiple times, vinegar and water had been used on every reachable window and piece of glass. Every stick of furniture had been polished.

It would be a stretch to say that the house gleamed or shone, but the improvement was noticeable. Avery drew in a great gulp of air and was delighted to discover that it was now safe to breathe through both nostrils.

Needing some time and space to herself, Avery left the house on foot, and with no clear destination in mind, she headed south. As she walked she drew in deep breaths of warm salt air along with the tropical foliage and the mix of residential and commercial structures that drew her eye. Within minutes she found herself at South Pointe Park, which lay beyond a towering condominium building and turned out to be a pedestrian-friendly mixture of green space and waterfront promenade that ran along Government Cut, a man-made channel designed to provide a direct route
from the Atlantic to Miami’s seaport. Fisher Island lay stranded across it.

She strolled past Smith & Wollensky’s with its outside bar and bayside tables. Keeping the Government Cut on her right, she followed the walkway to the very tip of a long narrow jetty. There she stood, wrapped in a current of warm air, gazing out over the turquoise expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. To her left lay the very beginning of Miami Beach, which seemed to stretch into infinity.

Her cell phone rang and she answered it.

“Avery?” Chase Hardin’s voice sounded warm and loud in her ear. “Are you there, Van?” Avery wondered how he managed to turn the very nickname that had so incensed her into an endearment.

“Yes.” She turned her back to the wind to block the noise and stared out over the ocean and the beach that bounded it.

“I kept thinking I might hear from you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she was. But she was far too intent on proving herself to give even the appearance of asking for help. “It’s just been nonstop here.”

There was a pause in which he waited for her to go into specifics. When she didn’t he said, “So, tell me about the house.”

“The house is great,” she said. “It’s Art Deco Streamline—a perfect example of it. With incredible lines and insanely fantastic nautical accents. And it’s a frickin’ Henry Hohauser.” She let that sink in. “Built in 1939.”

“Seriously?” Chase asked.

“Completely,” Avery replied. “I mean I couldn’t have found a house I’d want to work on this much if I’d had the whole world to choose from.” She paused, thinking. “Which
kind of worries me. I mean why did they pick a house this perfect for me in particular?”

Chase laughed. “Count on you to look for the tarnished part of that silver lining. Maybe they just happened to find a great house that they knew you could make better.”

She wanted to believe it was as simple as that, but nothing about this project felt anywhere near that simple. “I don’t think that’s it,” she said, filling him in on the network camera crew and the whole reality-TV nature of the shoot.

“So there’s not much that has to be done?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that.” It felt good to talk to someone who understood. Maybe too good. She knew that Chase’s love of and appreciation for a well-designed home rivaled her own. She wanted to share the house with him. What she didn’t want was unsolicited advice.

“The Millicent is a mess,” she said. “There was a kitchen fire that was never dealt with, the floors are a nightmare, the upstairs has been carved up into apartments—someone stuck a really awkward wall at the head of the stairs. And, of course, everything’s been horribly neglected.”

Avery watched a cruise ship angle its way into the channel. Close up, it looked immense; the people lining its railings were tiny in comparison.

“What about the electrical?” he asked.

“Completely insufficient,” Avery said. “It’s all knob and tube and pretty much anything you plug in blows a fuse. We can’t put in air-conditioning or do much of anything else until that’s taken care of.”

“I think I know a guy down in Davie that—”

“Thanks, but I’m all set,” she said quickly. “I’ve got an electrician scheduled to put in a breaker box and rewire. Everything will have to be brought up to code.”

The ship cruised past and she studied its wake, white and frothing.

“And the plumbing?” he said. “I once worked with a—”

“I’ve got a plumber,” she said. “He’s scheduled to come in after the electrician.”

“I’m assuming there’s a flat roof.” Chase tried again.

“Yes,” she said. “And it needs an overhaul. And I’m still looking for a good plaster-and-tile guy—there’s a ton of both in this house and it’s going to take skilled artisans with a delicate touch.”

“How about En—”

“I’ve got Enrico Dante’s number.” She named the roofer who’d brought a number of talented family members in to work on Bella Flora. “I know his grandfather worked in Palm Beach for Mizner back in the day, and I’ve got my fingers crossed that at least a few Dantes migrated south.”

Avery made her way off the jetty and followed the promenade, heading back the way she’d come. The cruise ship had passed out of sight like it had never been. Seagulls swooped and cawed over the water.

“If you’d like I could…” Chase began.

It seemed she’d been too subtle. “I appreciate that you want to help. But I don’t need it, Chase.”

There was a beat of silence followed by the creak of what she knew was the old office chair that his father had once sat in.

“It’s my license and my reputation on the line,” Chase said, clearly stung. “As far as the state of Florida is concerned, I’m responsible for everything that happens on that job. And I don’t think either of us should forget that.”

Avery stiffened at his tone but kept her voice even. “I’m not likely to forget it,” she said. “But the last thing I want
is for the network to think that I need someone male to help me figure out what to do. In ten seconds flat I’ll be Vanna again and you’ll be the big buff construction guy.”

There was another pause and Avery knew her rejection of his help was not going down easy. She girded herself for battle. With Chase, you never knew for sure. She let out a sigh of relief when he said, “So you think I’m buff, huh?”

“Completely,” she said.

“Well, I guess that’s something,” he replied. And then added a grudging, “You do seem to have things under control.”

“The biggest issue is the budget,” she said, wanting to offer something.

“It always is,” Chase agreed.

“Right. But usually that’s because there
is
no money,” Avery said. “This time I think it’s intentional. The network wants us desperate. I mean what’s a reality-TV show without stress and conflict?” She was going to have to find some way around the money thing. She was not going to turn The Millicent into “Do Over on a Dime.”

“Reality shows need sex, too,” he said. “Lots of it.” His voice brightened. “I could definitely help with that.” There was a pause. “Assuming that’s not too intrusive of me.”

Relieved that he seemed to have regained his sense of humor, Avery laughed. “That would be a little easier if we were actually in the same place at the same time. And I weren’t sharing a bed with Deirdre.”

“It may take me a little longer than I’d like, Van. But I’ll be there…” There was a beat of silence and then: “I’m having a hard time picturing you and Deirdre duking it out over mattress space,” Chase finally said. “And frankly I’d really prefer you were sharing that bed with me.” A
smile had stolen into his voice and she could picture it lighting up his face.

Avery felt her own face go hot. She was a lot more eager to share a bed with him than she should be. But she was not about to get all mushy and moony about Chase Hardin. Not until she’d proved herself here. After that she could figure out where, if anywhere, she might fit into his overfull life.

His tone turned teasing. “Maybe you should see what you can do about getting Deirdre out of your bedroom before I get down there. I’m a pretty open-minded guy, but there are a few things I’m going to want to ‘discuss’ when I get there that are definitely going to require some privacy.”

“As long as it’s not construction advice, you’re welcome to ‘discuss’ away.” Avery smiled and hung up, his chuckle of amusement echoing in her ear.

Sunrise that morning took place at 6:55. Maddie knew this because she was wide-awake and out on the ship-styled sundeck when the sky began to lighten and the sun’s first rays pierced the low-lying clouds.

It was quiet outside. The morning dew clung to the tubular railings and to the leaves of the palms that jutted up around them. She couldn’t see the Atlantic Ocean over the tops of the buildings, but she could feel it in the heavy air and the faint scent of salt and the not-so-distant cries of seagulls.

She’d slept badly, every toss and turn reminding her just how much her muscles ached from the week spent cleaning. Kyra’s sleep had been equally troubled and even the baby’s whimpers had sounded fitful. The settling of the unfamiliar house had woken her on and off through the night. Each time she’d toss and turn some more, wincing at the sharp soreness before willing herself back to sleep.

She’d woken up completely at five, then lay there quietly,
not wanting to wake Kyra, while random thoughts zoomed through her head: Steve’s weeklong silence that had begun to feel like a rebuke, Andrew’s last weeks at college before the summer break, the network and their intention to turn
Do Over
into something none of them had agreed to. Max Golden’s celebrity photos and the wife that he’d lost.

When it became clear that going back to sleep was no longer an option, Madeline got up, pulled on a robe, and made a pot of coffee out on the loggia. Quietly, she had carried a cup of coffee outside to watch the day begin.

Now she did her best to banish the swirl of thoughts from her mind by focusing on the sun’s slow but steady ascent into the pale blue sky. When that didn’t work, she focused on the day ahead and spent a good thirty minutes thinking about what kind of meals she could cook in Max’s kitchen that didn’t require a working oven, stove, or uninterrupted electricity.

With a sigh she lifted the cup to her lips. The coffee had cooled but she sipped it anyway, searching for something positive with which to start her day. The best thing she could come up with was that her lips still seemed to move normally. They were the only part of her that she hadn’t strained during the relentless days of cleaning.

Inside, Madeline pulled on clothes and brushed her teeth. She was about to head down to the kitchen when she remembered that Troy and Anthony could show up with camera and microphone blazing and she went back into the bathroom to put on makeup.

Madeline found the back kitchen door unlocked and Max sitting at the kitchen banquette freshly shaved and dressed. A copy of
Variety
lay open on the glass tabletop. That day’s
Miami Herald
was folded beneath it. A cup of
water looked to be boiling in the microwave. A jar of instant coffee and a ceramic mug sat on the counter.

“I like to keep up on what’s happening in the business,” he said as Maddie entered. “Although I hardly recognize it anymore.”

Madeline held up the coffeemaker she had carried downstairs. A bag of ground coffee and filters were tucked under one arm.

“I see you come bearing gifts,” Max said.

“Do you mind if I put on a pot?” Madeline asked. “There are people on our crew that aren’t safe to be around until they’ve had at least one cup.”

Max smiled. “I appreciate the warning. And the coffee.” He folded the paper and pushed it aside. “I never could face a whole pot after I lost Millie. Especially not here in her kitchen. Somebody gave me one of those single-serve ones—you know, as a gift. It just made me feel more alone.”

Madeline set up the coffeemaker. She’d rinsed the carafe upstairs and now she measured out the coffee and water. The microwave beeped that Max’s water had boiled. “Do you want a cup of the instant or would you like to wait for the pot I’m brewing?”

“I’ll wait, thanks.”

Madeline opened a cupboard. With Max’s permission, she’d emptied the cupboards and drawers yesterday to give everything a good scrubbing. Allowing her to clean was one thing; taking over his Millie’s kitchen seemed like a much larger intrusion. Pulling the half-f carafe, she poured Max a cup.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked as she carried the cup of coffee over and set it in front of him. “I have donuts and granola bars. I know those things don’t
sound like they go together, but then neither does our crew.” She smiled as she remembered how out of sync she, Avery, and Nicole had been when they’d first moved into Bella Flora; three broke strangers in a broken-down house. “We’ve also got eggs and bread and…” Her voice trailed off as she realized she’d bought both sausages and bacon. “Do you keep kosher, Max?” she asked, chastising herself for being so unaware. “I didn’t even think to ask yesterday. I should never have assumed that—”