Beach Town (55 page)

“Cut,” Bryce said wearily.

The fight scene between Kregg and the sheriff was shot next. Again and again, the actors and their stand-ins ran through their paces. Adelyn screamed on cue, Kregg and the sheriff cursed and issued threats. Bryce had the cameras repositioned a dozen times.

Greer wandered over to the air-conditioned tent where CeeJay was packing up her equipment to move to the pier for the afternoon's shoot.

“How's your dad?” CeeJay asked.

“Seems to be okay,” Greer said. “I talked to him briefly a while ago. He was bitching about being hungry, so I guess that's a good sign.” She looked over her shoulder and saw that the tech crews were loading their equipment into the vans. “Hey, um, what's your schedule going to be like in the next few weeks or so?”

“Not sure,” CeeJay said. “I gotta find a new place to live when we get back to L.A. I've got some music videos lined up, and then my agent says he's had some other inquiries. Why?”

“Greer!” Bryce bellowed.

“Coming,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I gotta go. I was just wondering how you feel about bridesmaid's dresses.”

“Depends.” CeeJay's eyes widened. “Don't tell me! You and Eb? When?”

“Soon,” Greer said.

“Greer! Dammit, these generators better be over there in ten minutes,” Bryce yelled.

“Talk later,” Greer said, giving her friend the briefest suggestion of a hug.

*   *   *

As she was climbing onto her golf cart, she saw Kregg and Jared Thibadeaux walking off rapidly in the direction of the Ritzy Rest-Stops. Jared had been hanging around the set all day, and she had a strong conviction that he and the
Beach Town
male lead were taking a detour on the way over to the pier location in order to “mellow themselves out,” as Jared would have put it.

Her radio crackled again and she felt thankful that Addie was still several blocks away.

“Greer?” It was Bobo, the transportation captain. “Hey, uh, Kregg just came over and told me that he and his bodyguard are supposed to drive the cigarettes over to the pier. Is that what Bryce told you?”

“That's crazy. Why wouldn't the stunt guys drive the boats over there?”

“I don't know, but the stunt guys already went over to the pier in one of the earlier vans,” Bobo said.

“Bryce never said a word about it to me,” Greer said. “And I don't think that's such a hot idea. Why don't you call Bryce and see what he says?”

“I tried, but my call went straight to voice mail,” Bobo said. “I'll call again. I don't like the idea of those two clowns playing around with nearly half a million dollars' worth of equipment. I'll call my van guy and tell him to bring the stunt guys back. If Kregg and his buddy want to hitch a ride, I guess that's okay.”

Greer was poised to pull out of the boathouse parking lot when she heard the roar of the cigarette boats. She shrugged. Not her circus, not her monkeys. She had a location to prep, three miles down the road.

*   *   *

Word had gotten out around town that the
Beach Town
shoot was almost complete. The crowds of bystanders lining the barricades across Pier Street were the largest Greer had seen. Hundreds, if not thousands, stood in the withering heat, hoping for a glimpse of something, or somebody, connected with the film's stars.

Bryce greeted her outside the casino. His eyes darted around the set, at the air-conditioned tents, the catering truck, and all the equipment vans. “All set?” he asked.

“I am if you are,” she said. She pointed toward the roof of the casino, where scaffolding and a platform had been set up for one of the camera crews. “All good up there?”

“All good up there, and the camera boats are getting ready to go out too. Thank God the water's not as choppy as the weather report predicted.”

“How's Addie?” Greer asked.

“Green. And very, very pissed,” Bryce said with a chuckle. “She'll get over it. CeeJay's got her in makeup right now. And as soon as she's done with Kregg, we'll get started.”

“Kregg's in the boat,” Greer said.

“What boat?”

“The cigarette. He told Bobo you okayed it for him and Jared to drive the cigarettes over here from the boathouse. They were leaving there when I did, about ten minutes ago.”

“What the hell? Kregg is full of shit. That's why we've got stuntmen. We don't have liability insurance for that. Jesus H.! If those two idiots fuck up those boats…”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped an icon. “Come on, Kregg,” he muttered. “Pick up the phone. Pick it up, you idiot.”

They heard the distant roar of two motors and turned to look. Two long, sleek cigarette boats, one white, one orange, raced into view.

“Son of a bitch!” Bryce yelled. He took off running toward the casino. Greer ran along behind him.

*   *   *

Cameramen, sound techs, production assistants, grips, even the chefs from the catering truck were drawn to the pier that ran along the side of the casino to watch the spectacle unfolding before them.

Five hundred yards out, the cigarettes skimmed across the bay at high speeds. They jumped each other's wakes, and each time a boat hit a wake it went airborne for heart-catching seconds before planing out again with a bang and a spume of water.

One of the production assistants looked over at Greer. “Who is that? Are we rolling?”

“It's Kregg and his bodyguard,” Greer said grimly. “And no, this is not part of the script.”

But Bryce was having second thoughts. “Get a camera on that,” he screamed. He turned to an assistant. “Get the second unit on the roof. Tell them to roll and don't quit rolling. Then radio the unit on the boats, tell 'em to get as close to the cigarettes as they can. I want tight shots on Kregg's face. Keep that camera on his face. Got it?”

The boats raced back and forth, jumping wakes, turning around in tight circles, and then heading toward each other again. Each time, they came closer to the casino. Greer felt her pulse quickening. Kregg and Jared were coming dangerously close. Their wake sent waves splashing over the edge of the pier. She looked around for Allie, hoping the girl was busy someplace else, but then her eyes were irresistibly drawn back to the bay.

The roar of the boats' engines was deafening. The cigarettes headed back toward the casino, closing in again, now a hundred yards off, then closer, fifty yards now, this time on an apparent collision course. Now the white cigarette cut in front of the orange boat, and the driver, apparently realizing he was perilously close to broadsiding the pier, veered away. The driver of the orange boat's instinctive reaction was to veer away from the oncoming boat. He cut the cigarette toward the pier, then made a doomed last-minute attempt to swing away. She was holding her breath, until she saw the cigarette's driver jump free.

A second later the boat slid into the pier's concrete pilings with a sickening, high-pitched scream. Greer realized her own scream echoed that of the boat, and that the crowd around her was screaming, too.

She stared at the pier and at the wreckage of the boat for only a moment before running toward the pier. “Get out! Everybody get out!” she screeched.

Cameramen stood, too stunned to move.

“Get the fuck out!” Bryce screamed. “Move the equipment. Now!”

He pulled the radio from his pocket. “Get those guys off the roof. Get 'em off!”

Greer pulled out her own radio as she ran. “Allie? Where are you?”

“I'm at the catering truck. What was that crash?”

“Stay where you are,” Greer said. “Whatever you do, don't move.”

CeeJay appeared at her side, out of breath. “We gotta run,” she said, grabbing her friend's arm. “C'mon, Greer. I smell gas.”

They heard sirens and then, a second later, an ear-shattering explosion.

 

66

Greer stared in horror at the end of the pier. Where was Jared? Was he in the white cigarette? And Kregg? Was he in the orange boat that had crashed? She'd seen somebody jump free of the boat, moments before the collision. People were shouting, screaming, running. She smelled the gas fumes and understood. She started to run toward the end of the pier, but her legs felt like rubber.

CeeJay appeared at her side, out of breath. “We gotta run,” she said, grabbing her friend's arm. “C'mon, Greer. I smell gas.” She sped away. Now Greer was running, glancing backward over her shoulder. Eb appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed her hand, started dragging her away.

“Come on, come on. It's going to blow.”

“Jared's back there. And Kregg,” Greer protested.

“Dammit, Greer—”

The boom was deafening. Eb dove for the concrete and pulled her down with him, covering her body with his. They heard a second explosion, louder than the first, and debris began to rain down around them. Chunks of plaster, roofing tile, wood. Eb was up on his knees, crawling, dragging her with him. “Come on, baby, we gotta get away.”

He pulled her toward one of the large metal city trash barrels that had been knocked over by the force of the explosion, upended it, and placed it over their huddled forms as a makeshift shield.

In a matter of minutes, it was over. They heard two, three, four different sirens racing toward the pier. Eb stood up and pulled Greer to her feet. Her knees and hands were bleeding. He was bleeding from a cut near his eye. They stood among the piles of wood and metal and glass and stared at the pier. Acrid black smoke billowed and obscured everything from sight.

“Jared?” Greer's throat was raw from the burning fuel.

“Was he in the white boat?”

Greer nodded. “He was when they left the boathouse.”

Eb pointed across the bay. The white cigarette boat rocked violently in the wake from the explosion, but they could see the silhouette of a man standing on the bow.

“Looks like Jared dodged yet another bullet,” Eb said.

As they watched, they saw a black and white sheriff's boat racing across the bay. It slowed a hundred yards from the end of the pier, and an officer in the bow of the boat tossed an orange life preserver overboard. They saw an arm waving from the water. The uniformed officer paused, then dove overboard and swam toward the flailing figure in the surf.

“Looks like Kregg made it,” Eb said.

They turned their attention back toward the end of the pier. Through the smoke plumes they saw flames shooting up through blasted-out windows. They heard a sharp cracking noise, and suddenly the tile roof seemed to fold inward on itself. A moment later, the stucco walls collapsed, sending white clouds of plaster into the oily black air. Fire trucks sped past, knocking aside the metal security barricades, and firefighters leaped off and began hooking up hoses to the hydrants at the end of the pier.

But they both knew it was too late. There would be no more dances or movie nights or skating parties for the Cypress Key Casino. No more rock concerts or senior citizens' bridge tournaments.

Greer looked anxiously up at Eb's face, trying to gauge his reaction to the devastation. Eb tightened his hold on Greer's shoulder and turned her gently around.

*   *   *

Arnelle Bottoms met them at the foot of the pier and waved them toward one of the
Beach Town
tents that had already been commandeered by the EMTs.

“I'm going to find Allie,” Eb said.

“I called her, right when they started racing, to make sure she wasn't watching,” Greer said. “She was over at the catering truck.”

“Let's take a look at your hand,” the male medic said, seating her on the edge of a table meant to hold coffee and doughnuts.

“I'm okay,” Greer insisted. “What about the splinter crew that was on the casino roof? And the camera crew in the boat?”

“All okay,” a young female medic assured her. She made Greer sit still while she cleaned and bandaged her cuts. “We transported one of your guys to the hospital with a broken ankle, and a couple other people had facial lacerations from flying debris. Luckily, nobody was inside the casino when the blast happened.”

A thought occurred to Greer. “Where's Bryce? The director? When I saw him, he was running toward the building, right before it blew.”

“I don't know,” the medic said. “Was that the guy screaming at the firefighters to get out of the way? White dude? Kinda short with wavy gray hair? Waving a movie camera at the fire?”

“Sounds like Bryce,” Greer said wearily.

*   *   *

When she'd finally persuaded the EMT that she could walk under her own power, Greer was irrevocably drawn to the end of the pier. The firefighters had commandeered the metal barricades, and a growing knot of people stood quietly behind them. These were not the laughing, jostling movie fans who'd gathered here earlier for a peek at Hollywood magic.

Older couples stood hand in hand, watching as steam rose from the rubble of their youthful memories. Middle-aged couples trained cell phone cameras on the scene, and teenagers exchanged breathless play-by-plays of the big explosion.

She was turning to go when a television news van from the NBC affiliate in Gainesville arrived. An attractive twentysomething black reporter in a sleeveless green dress positioned herself with the still-burning casino in the background and began interviewing the witnesses.

Greer turned to go, but then she heard the reporter announce that the casino's owner, local businesswoman Vanessa Littrell, wanted to make a statement about the fire.

Sure enough, there was Vanessa, pushing her way in front of the camera. Her makeup was freshly applied. She wore blue jeans and a spotless white blouse. And a serious, tragic face for the cameras.

“As the last member of the Littrell family, I am of course heartbroken by the loss of my family's heritage today,” Vanessa said, blinking back shiny, perfect tears. “But I thank God that nobody was injured in this unforeseeable tragedy. I pledge to this community that we will rebuild. And the development that will rise in the place of the casino will be a point of pride for everybody in Cypress Key.”