With a Southern Touch: AdamA Night in ParadiseGarden Cop

by Jennifer Blake

  “And what is that?”

  “That it was a damned good night. A great night.”

  “A stopover on a road show,” she said, a slightly desperate note in her voice.

  He leaned down, his whisper brushing her ear. “Admit it was a great night.”

  “All right,” she whispered back with passionate anger. “Then morning came. Now let me go!”

  “Aurora, why—”

  “When are you going back to New York? Tonight?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Well, if I don’t see you again, have a great flight. Excuse me. The reception is winding down, and I have a rehearsal I have to get to tonight, but there are a few more things I want to do before I can leave.”

  She escaped his hold and walked across the floor. Another number had begun. She pulled Mr. Hollenbeck out on the floor. He didn’t respond, but he didn’t withdraw his hands from hers, either.

  From a distance, Max thought he saw the old man smile.

  Aurora sat, stage center, legs curled beneath her, and looked at her watch. They were ready to begin the last rehearsal before the performance tomorrow and Jon Smith had still not arrived.

  She picked up her cell phone, ready to call him, when the door burst open and Jon entered.

  On crutches.

  She stood, staring at him. “Jon! What on earth happened?”

  “Daisy,” he said with a groan.

  “Daisy?”

  “I crashed into her hospital table when I was trying to help her back into bed. Nothing broken. Major sprain.”

  She stared at him in dismay. They could find a substitute, but he would never be as good as Jon. “Oh, no. I mean, I’m sorry, of course, I hope you’re not in much pain. But…if I pull Scott from the light booth…”

  “It’s all right. I’ve found a replacement,” Jon said.

  Her eyes widened as Max Wulfson walked in behind him. Her heart sank.

  “You act?” she asked sharply.

  “Only under great duress,” Jon answered for him. She stared hard at Jon. So that was where he had come from. The New York stage. Where he had apparently known and worked with Max. “He’s willing to take on my role for tomorrow, and at this late date, he’s your best option.”

  “Look, Aurora,” Max said, arms folded over his chest, “if you don’t want me to take the role, I won’t.”

  “Max!” Angie cried out delightedly from the wings. Nancy, Shelley and Tom Long, the prince, emerged behind her, clapping.

  Scott hopped down from stage center to the left aisle. “Wow, Max Wulfson—in our play. You’re the Max Wulfson—right?”

  Aurora felt like a fool. Had everyone else recognized the name immediately? But then she had forgotten that Scott’s real dream was playwriting.

  “Aurora, what are we doing? Time’s a-wasting,” Jon said. “We need to get in two full run-throughs.”

  “Let’s go, then,” she said, looking at Brandy Dillon, the stage manager.

  Brandy nodded. “Places!” she called, heading stage left.

  At first Aurora didn’t think she would live through it. She was off. Her timing was bad; she missed two lines.

  But by the second act, she was back in stride. Because Max was good. He had learned the lines, and he had timing.

  By the second run-through, the play clicked, and the cast and crew came out laughing and happy.

  She thanked them all. Though it was late, well past ten, they all seemed elated and wanted to go to the coffee shop up on the highway toward St. Augustine. She refused to be coerced into going, then was irritated when Angie agreed to join them—right after Max did.

  She had almost made it into her car without a confrontation with him when she realized he had followed her. She couldn’t close her door—his body was blocking it.

  “What?”

  “How about saying thanks?”

  She stared out the windshield. “Thanks.”

  “You owe me.”

  She looked at him. “I owe you?”

  “Sure. I finished your play, now I’m acting in it.”

  “But you’re the all powerful Max Wulfson. Naturally you can act just as well as you do everything else. This is just another piece of cake for you.”

  “I hate being onstage.”

  “Why? You’re a natural,” she found herself saying.

  “I like writing and getting involved in production. I’m not an actor.”

  “Well, you could have fooled all of us.”

  “Then you owe me.”

  “Fine. I’ll act in one of your plays sometime,” she said dryly.

  “How about you help me write one of them, instead?”

  “Help you write? Yeah, sure.”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “I’m not going to bed with you again.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. Tomorrow night. I know the theater is closed—Jon told me you’re not even casting the first show of the season until next week. Tomorrow night, and maybe Saturday, as well. You’re going to work for me.”

  “Wait a minute. I never made any bargains with you.”

  “You need an ogre tomorrow, don’t you?”

  “Are you bribing me? Or threatening me?”

  “You figure it out. I need help. And guess what? I know how to ask for help when I need it, and I’m damned glad to get it. So say ‘Thanks, Max.’ And plan on returning the favor tomorrow night.”

  Jon and Aurora sat having coffee in the rec room after the stage had been set. They had fifteen minutes before the occupants of the home, and whatever family members were coming, began to pile in for the performance.

  As she looked at Jon, he said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re going to tell me that we’re going to keep on doing this. Because you like doing it. Because some of these people, who almost never saw their relatives, get family visits on Fridays now, because their grandkids and even their children like to come see the shows.”

  “You’re good,” Aurora admitted.

  He shrugged. “You’ve always known that. Know what else I’m thinking?”

  “I’m not sure what I want to know.”

  “Too bad, because I’m going to tell you anyway. I don’t know what approach you decided to take, but you went to see Max.” He didn’t even bother to phrase it as a question.

  Aurora wondered how she could be an actress and still give herself away with such a crimson glow. But she wasn’t answering. “Why don’t you tell me your story first, Jon? You knew him in New York, right?”

  Jon shrugged and took a long swallow of coffee. “I was the toast of Broadway for many years. Just like old Gus, the theater cat.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “Pushing sixty.”

  “So how was I lucky enough to hire you?”

  He laughed. “Let me not be too immodest. Good things come to good people. I came down on vacation. A hiatus. Hell, I was out of work. They’d given the role I wanted to a younger man. I was actually in St. Augustine. You have to hunt for Paradise, you know—it’s not a big star on the average tourist map. I came to one of your productions, saw the ad in the paper the next day, and came in. I know my worth. And I know that being in the arts is risky. But I like this place, and I like you. I like fishing, and I like the water. They say there are no seasons down here, but you can feel it when the air cools just a little and it’s fall. And in winter… I love those days when we’d think it was pleasant up north and everyone down here is whipping out their winter coats. I love the fact that I don’t have to trudge to work through slush and snow. Sometimes I miss the excitement of Broadway, or the days when the shops on Fifth Avenue are decorated for Christmas and the tree is up at Rockefeller Plaza. So I take a week and go up. And then I come back—to Paradise. But as to Max, yes, I’ve done several of his plays. I met him when he was a raw kid, pushing his work around town. He’s worked hard, I can tell you that. I can tell you more than maybe you need to
know. Mike hit it rich with a sunken Spanish galleon twenty years ago. But Max would never take his money to stage a show. Never. So don’t go thinking he was worried about his inheritance. Mike tried to float a few of his projects, but Max was determined to make it on his own or not at all. So how was the sex?”

  The question, so casually put at the end of his speech, took her off guard. “Great,” she murmured without really thinking. Then she stared at him. “You old bastard.”

  He laughed. “Good news.”

  “No it’s not. He’s still an an idiot. He’s played me for a fool ever since he’s been here. And now he says that I owe him,” she added indignantly. “Because he’s taking over your part.”

  “Sorry about the ankle. Of course, he did finish the play for you, too.”

  “It was his fault it needed finishing. I lost all kinds of stuff in the computer because of him, and I didn’t have any time because of him—”

  “And life shouldn’t be all work. You may owe him, but you owe yourself more, Aurora.”

  She sat back, staring at him. “So this guy breezes into town, we have a wild fling—and then he goes back north and I’m more aware than ever that my personal life sucks.”

  “Hey, you’ve admitted it. That’s the first step.”

  “But it’s not true. I love my theater.”

  “You buried your husband, you raised your daughter, and you made a dream come true. You’ve been the damned Rock of Gibraltar. Aurora, you have nothing to prove. You’re a strong woman, but the best part of being human is that we’re social creatures. We need people. Let yourself need someone. And not an old theater cat like me.”

  Aurora stood up as the door opened and Scott came in, ready to work the lighting. The rest of the cast and crew would be right behind him.

  “I needed someone once. He got into a plane and crashed it. Needing people is a luxury. I let myself need this one, and he’ll get in a plane and fly away.” She kissed his cheek quickly. “I do love you, you old theater cat,” she told him. “And I’m incredibly grateful that you didn’t get that role you wanted, even if that’s selfish of me.”

  Jon didn’t have a chance to respond. The cast began to assemble, and Aurora slipped into the bathroom and changed into her witch costume.

  It was the best performance they had ever given at Paradise. In fact, Bart told Aurora, there had been so much fun and pleasure crammed into two days, with the wedding and the show, that he was afraid some of the really old folks might have their hearts give out on them at any time, with so much excitement.

  Max might not have cared for being onstage, but he really was one hell of an actor. The ogre had received the most laughs in the entire production, and he had certainly received the best response when he and the witch realized that beauty was, indeed, in the eye of the beholder and walked away, arm in arm.

  It was six by the time the props, sets, lights and other paraphernalia had been dismantled, packed and sent back to the Paradise Playhouse. Aurora went into the new room where Mike and Mary were now living together, husband and wife, in their twin hospital beds. Max was there with them, his ogre makeup washed away, his hair damp and glistening the way it was after a shower. He had been in deep conversation with the two of them, and she realized that the discussion had been about the house they’d decided to build. Mary’s doctor had already said that he would release her after another week of therapy, though Mike had another couple of weeks left, so they needed to make arrangements for their private lives. She entered the room in time to hear Max explaining that though he did have to go back to New York, he would see to it that construction was started before he left.

  “Lovely show, dear,” Mary said. “The best yet.”

  “Aye, me beauty,” Mike agreed, using his best pirate accent. “The best. Now, you two get out of here. Mary and I are newlyweds. We need our quality time together before we drift off to sleep.”

  “Yes, do get going,” Mary said. She beamed at Aurora. “I hear that you two have work to do, anyway.”

  “I’m sorry?” Aurora said, trying not to stare at Max.

  “He helped you, so you’re helping him. You do know that he has to finish a new play by Monday morning? Well, you must, you’re helping out. So go. You two don’t have much time left.”

  “You two are really all settled in?” Aurora asked.

  “Yes, go,” Mike said impatiently.

  Max, who had been seated in a chair between the two beds, rose. He kissed his grandfather on the forehead and Mary on the cheek.

  “We’re out of here,” he told them. Aurora lingered after he had moved, giving Mike a kiss, as well, and fussing over her grandmother.

  Max came back into the room and slipped his hand around her elbow. “Debt time,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

  He didn’t release her elbow. When they were out of the building, she reminded him that she had her own car. “You don’t seem too eager to pay up,” he told her. “If you get in your own car, you might drive away. I’ll bring you back for it later.”

  She gritted her teeth but allowed herself to be seated in his rental car. She found herself irritated to note that he was a very competent driver. He lived in New York. He shouldn’t be able to zip around Paradise so easily.

  The little five-speed sports car zoomed and roared as he drove. She closed her eyes for a minute as the wind rushed around her. Something of the movement seemed to feed her fantasies. They would get his hotel room, and there would be no script waiting to be written. He’d simply fallen so far in lust with her that he couldn’t bear it. He would sweep her into his arms, practically rip her clothes from her body and then they would be all over each other. The light would be dim, the drapes would be closed, and…

  “We’re here,” he said curtly.

  She opened her eyes and stared at him.

  “You were dozing.”

  “Sorry.”

  He walked ahead of her to the room, opened the door and immediately flicked a switch that flooded the room with light. He walked over to the desk, turned on the computer and picked up the bound play next to it. “First, read this. Then I’ll explain why I’m not doing it, and you can see what I’ve started.”

  He practically thrust the script into her hands, then immediately sat down at the computer. Aurora stared at him for a minute, then took the script and sat down in a chair across the room. Within the first few minutes, she found herself absorbed in the play. It was very dry, and very funny. She twisted on the chair, looked around, and realized he was hard at work. She fidgeted, then got up and sat on the foot of the bed. By the end of Act I, she was completely engrossed in the characters.

  By the middle of Act II, she had curled up comfortably on the bed, with a pillow at her side. And Max had stopped. He was staring at her.

  “Do you want anything? Coffee, anything to eat?”

  “Coffee would be great,” she said, straightening to a sitting position. “Do you want me to get it? There’s no room service here, you know.”

  “I’ll run out. I’ll pick up a pizza, too.”

  He had started for the door. She called him back.

  “Max?”

  “What? You don’t like pizza?”

  “I love pizza. No, I… I was going to tell you that this…it’s one of the best things I’ve ever read. Why are you rewriting it?”

  “I’m rewriting because a director friend and I were financed in a very big way that I admit, to my great shame, compromised us entirely. We’re contracted to use a certain actress for the lead. And though she’s a fine dramatic actress, she doesn’t have a sense of timing to save her life. I can’t give up the production, because too many other people are dependent on it, not to mention that I signed a contract myself. So, for the actress’s benefit and my own, there has to be a new play. All right, coffee, pizza…anything else.”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Why won’t you just let Mike finance the play you want to do?”

&n
bsp; He shook his head. “Can’t.”

  “I see. So you don’t actually want to need anybody.”

  “What do you like on your pizza?”

  “Anything. It doesn’t matter.”

  He went out and shut the door. She went back to reading the play.

  She finished quickly, then imagined herself getting to stage a production of it.

  Never. It was intended for the big time. Not Paradise.

  Where was Max? She rose and stretched, then opened the drapes and the doors to the beach. A huge moon rode high in the sky. The water and the heavens touched. The breeze poured in, mingling with the air-conditioning. She lay back down on the bed, hugged a pillow, then shocked herself with her fantasies. She should just get naked. Crawl beneath the covers. Drape them just so. Wait for him to walk in and…

  He’d been all business tonight, though. He hadn’t asked her to sleep with him again. Hadn’t even hinted at it. Maybe she wasn’t that good. That appealing. Maybe she even seemed old to him.

  She leaped out of bed. She didn’t need any further humiliation at his hands.

  She walked over to his computer, went to the beginning of the file and started to read.

  She realized immediately why he was such a successful playwright. This piece was entirely different, but just as effective. The first piece had been a sophisticated comedy set in New York City. In this one a family had gathered at a nursing home, where the patriarch was dying. The granddaughter, who truly loved the old man and had been with him for ages while other family members waltzed in and out, couldn’t bear his suffering.

  At the end of Act I, he was dead. She had given him an overdose of morphine.

  In Act II, the other family members realized what had happened, the police were called in, and things went from bad to worse.

  He had left off in the middle of a speech the granddaughter, Rebecca, had been giving to one of the police officers. She found herself hesitating, then picking it up. After all, she had spent a great deal of time at the Paradise home. And she had seen the old slip away, some in agony, some peacefully, and she had seen the way loved ones—and heirs who hadn’t paid particularly compassionate attention—behaved.

  She never heard Max come back into the room. She was too involved in the story, her fingers flying over the keyboard, and though she didn’t have the answers to life and death, she certainly had many of the questions, and the arguments.