Off Season

by Jean Stone

  Or so he thought until he rounded the corner, pulled up to the driveway, and saw the FOR SALE sign.

  SurfSide Realty.

  Rita Blair.

  He stopped the Buick, took off his baseball cap, scratched what was left of his hair, and wondered what the hell was going on. Then he tossed the remnants of his cruller out the window for the gulls, backed up, and made a U-turn. Before he talked to Mindy, before he talked to anyone, he needed to find Rita. And find out why she hadn’t stayed the hell out of it, as they had agreed.

  It was a leisurely Sunday brunch, with eggs Benedict and waffles with last season’s blueberries and fresh whipped cream. The whipped cream had been Hazel’s idea. Charlie pleaded for his waistline, but Hazel said it was too late for that, that he was over forty and had already broken one too many rules.

  They laughed at that and were still laughing when the back doorbell rang. Rita waddled off to see who was interrupting their gourmet Sunday meal.

  She wished it had been someone, anyone, other than Ben Niles.

  “Rita,” he said. That was it, nothing more.

  She stood in the doorway, half-shutting the door right in his face. “Now’s not a good time, Ben.”

  He smiled. “No, I think it is.”

  She closed the door behind her and stepped out onto the steps.

  “Why did you put Ashenbach’s house on the market? I thought you were going to stay out of it.”

  “Ben, please. I’m working on something. Charlie’s helping. Trust me, okay?”

  He wanted to say something flippant like “the last guy who said that to me had me arrested,” but the look on Rita’s face said this was not the time or the place.

  “I’ll call you later,” she added.

  He began to leave, and Rita went inside. But just before she shut the door, and Ben turned around to ask her when she’d call, tonight or tomorrow or next fucking week, he saw Mindy right there at Rita’s kitchen table, and sitting next to her was none other than Fern herself.

  “After all this, I can’t believe Rita has turned against us,” Jill said, trying to console Ben, who’d arrived home with anger in his eyes and desolation on his face.

  “What’s she thinking?” he asked. “Doesn’t she know this isn’t a game?”

  “She knows, honey, she knows.” Even while she was fixing tea, Jill wondered why she thought a cup of tea solved everything. “If they’re at Rita’s for breakfast, she has something on her mind.”

  He muttered something incoherent about how they hadn’t spoken since Rita and Jill had been back from England, because they’d wanted to give Rita and Charlie time alone, and wasn’t that a kick in the ass that they hadn’t been alone at all but in the company of the “other side.”

  “Take off your jacket,” Jill said. “Sit down.”

  He did as he was told, with no resistance.

  “I phoned Rick Fitzpatrick,” Jill said. “I told him you fired Bartlett. He said he’d stop by later to talk about what we should do next.”

  Ben dropped his face into his hands. “I feel like I’ve been betrayed.”

  “Rita hasn’t betrayed us, Ben. We don’t know yet what’s going on.” She fumbled in the pantry, looking for those muffins they’d had yesterday, trying once again to feed that emptiness with calories and fat, wondering if it was beginning again—his isolation, her annoyance, a subsequent urge for her to run.

  “I was going to go to Carol Ann’s. I was going to warn them that all hell might break loose. I wonder if it already has and someone forgot to tell me.”

  She plunked a plate of muffins on the table and sat down across from him. “Nothing has broken loose, Ben.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t take it anymore, Jill. I’m going to ask Rick if I should take the plea.”

  “Plead guilty?” she asked.

  “It will be easier. Cleaner. It will get it over with.”

  She shot up from the stool as if fired from a cannon. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she said. “You will not plead guilty! Not unless I’m dead and buried and not here to stop you from self-destruction. You didn’t do anything, Ben! Maybe you made a mistake in judgment, by spending time with her alone. Maybe you made a mistake years ago, when you slept with her unbalanced mother. Or maybe Mindy would have done this anyway because she had a vindictive grandfather who hated everything about you. But as long as I’m alive, you will admit to no such thing, because you are not guilty.”

  She stood still, trying to catch her breath. Ben was staring at her. Then he smiled, stood up, and went to her. He slipped his arms around her. “You’re right,” he said, “I’m not guilty.”

  Then he led her from the kitchen and up the stairs, where they, at last, made love.

  They stayed in bed and were still there later in the day, when the doorbell rang. Knowing it might be Rick, but hoping it would be Rita with an explanation, Jill insisted on going down to greet their guest.

  She might have put on something other than gray sweats and socks if she’d known the guest was Addie Becker.

  The first thing Addie did was hold up the first two fingers of both hands. “I come in peace,” the agent said. Aside from the shock of seeing her at the door, Jill was startled by how tired the woman appeared: the hair under her angora hat was limp and uncoiffed, her pink cheeks were puffed with water weight, and worry lines streaked across her forehead. “Please, Jill,” she said. “It’s freezing out.”

  “I talked to Christopher last night. I have nothing else to say.”

  “Well, I do.”

  Jill supposed it was futile, so she let the woman in. Addie swept off her long wool cape and hung it on a peg beside the door, as if she came here every day. She tugged at the high throat of her turtleneck trapeze dress. “Tea would be nice,” she said. “Herbal, if you have it.” She eyed the wing chair, then the settee, then opted for the wing chair.

  “I’ll get it,” Ben said from the doorway.

  Jill sat down.

  “Shall we wait for your husband?” Addie asked. “Or does he already know that you’re overreacting?”

  Jill smiled. “I’m not overreacting, Addie. You don’t know the whole story.”

  “Yes, I do. Christopher told me. Not that he had to. I knew all along that your little story about the teenage boy was crap.”

  Jill folded her hands and tried not to grimace at the woman who seemed to always know it all. “How did you find out?”

  “I have my ways. Besides, I’m smarter than you are. At least, about some things. For example, firing Herb Bartlett was a fairly stupid thing to do.”

  “We didn’t have any choice. The child’s mother has threatened a civil suit, which will no doubt come out in the tabloids. She has threatened to use my celebrity to blackmail us. So you see, there would be no Good Night, USA, with or without Jill McPhearson. Without the show, we won’t have money to pay Herb. Not to mention that when Maurice Fischer got wind of this scandal, he’d cry ‘morals clause’ anyway.”

  Ben arrived without the tea. He leaned against the doorway.

  Addie picked a piece of lint from her large breast that strained against her dress. “Maurice already knows,” she said. “He wants you anyway. Besides, someone once said, ‘It doesn’t matter what they say about you, as long as they are talking.’ I don’t know who the hell said it, but they must have been in television.”

  Jill was stunned. “But he got rid of Lizette. Surely this charge is more controversial than doing drugs.”

  The one thing Jill had not expected was for Addie to laugh out loud. “I thought by now you’d have grown up, Jill. I thought by now you’d have realized that television is not about talent. And it’s certainly not about morals. It’s about one thing, and one thing only: ratings. The fact is, your reunion with Christopher will bring in huge numbers in the February book. A little scandal? Well, Maurice is willing to take the chance.”

  “This isn’t so little, Addie. A child is involved.”
/>   Addie turned to Ben. “Did you do it?”

  “Of course not,” he replied.

  “Then pay her off.”

  “We can’t. We won’t.”

  She sighed. “Well, if it’s money you need, you’ve got it.” She turned back to Jill. “How much did it cost you to get out of our contract?”

  Jill blinked, but did not look at Ben, because she’d never told him the full amount. “Over four hundred thousand,” she said.

  Ben’s gasp was gratefully small.

  “Well, that was three years ago, and it’s worth nearly six now. You were my family, Jill. When you left, I was angry. I wanted to make you hurt. So I took your money. But I invested it for you. Because I always hoped someday you’d come back.”

  The whistle on the teakettle blew. Jill looked at Ben, and Addie stood up. “Forget the tea,” she said. “The money is yours to pay off that woman. If you don’t want to do it, then I suggest you use a chunk of it to rehire Herb Bartlett. Either way, any way, it’s yours. Think about it. In the meantime, I’ll be at the Charlotte Inn. Herb is still there, but we’re leaving tomorrow at noon. With or without you, there’s a show that will go on.”

  She moved into the hall, swept on her cape, and departed as quickly as she had come.

  • • •

  “My God, Jill, I had no idea she took you for so much money.”

  “It looks like she didn’t. This is incredible.”

  They had moved back into the kitchen; she again made tea, because tea could fix everything, including shock and disbelief.

  “She’s not even using it as leverage to get you to reconsider doing the show.”

  At first it surprised Jill that Ben thought Addie would be so ruthless. Then again, what else should he think? All Jill had ever done was tell Ben what an ogre she was, a horrible, pushy woman. She’d never once told him how Addie had taken a chance on Jill, how she’d groomed her and paraded her and made sure she was the best she could be, network quality, just as Jill once wanted.

  But, no, Ben’s opinion of Addie Becker had been formed around the words witch and bitch, which hadn’t been fair.

  “Three years ago,” Jill said, “I was so angry at her. She was only concerned about what she was losing. She wasn’t excited for me that at last I’d found peace and love.”

  Ben sipped his tea; he made no comment.

  “If I take the money, I’d feel like I have to go through with the show.”

  Ben smiled. “Maybe she’s counting on that.”

  “Would it be so bad?” she asked. “Would you feel as if I were deserting you at your neediest hour?”

  “That depends. You’d be gone for Valentine’s Day. Are you going to let Mr. Celebrity buy you dinner that night?”

  “Not if you send me roses,” she said. “Big fat red ones. Three dozen.”

  “Three dozen?” He whistled. “Looks like you really need to get that money back.”

  She laughed, marveling at the way Ben could find lightness in a tense situation. It had been a long time since she’d felt that; it was almost as if the rush of new love was returning.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to pay off Fern Ashenbach,” she said. “I’d rather use it for Herb Bartlett.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that. Besides, we may need him even more if Rita’s changed sides.”

  It was something Jill did not want to consider. And yet it was nearly dark now, and Rita still hadn’t phoned.

  “The bottom line is,” he interrupted her thoughts, “it’s your money. Your choice.”

  “No, Ben, it’s our choice. Just as the decision to go on Good Night, USA should have been our choice. I’m still not very good at this business of sharing. I had to make so many decisions alone, struggling as a single mother for so many years.”

  He leaned forward on his stool and looked into her eyes. “Take your time,” he said. “I’ve got the rest of my life.”

  Fern Ashenbach looked like she needed a break, or so Rita told her after brunch, when Hazel was in the other room showing Mindy how to knit booties and Charlie had walked down to the tavern to check on the heating system because the Vineyard was being attacked by an unusual deep freeze. And because Amy was still in England.

  Rita had handed Fern a dish from the dishpan and hoped she’d finished whining about how cold it had become, and that it was much warmer in the islands where she usually was this time of year.

  “I just had an idea,” Rita said, which was a lie, because she’d had it yesterday, and it was the reason she’d invited Fern and Mindy there today.

  “Charlie has signed the papers for your house, so now there’s that infernal waiting period for inspections and title searches and all that. Why don’t you use the time to take off for the islands? Go see your friends. Have a little fun.”

  Fern wiped the dish with the terry towel hand-painted with ducks. “I can’t leave right now. Too much to do.”

  “That’s just it!” Rita said. “There’s nothing for you to do. It’s only red tape now. Red tape and a few weeks. Six to eight, as a rule.”

  “Six to eight?” Fern groaned and took another dish. “God, the Caribbean season will practically be over by then.”

  She said “Caribbean” with the emphasis on “Car-ib-be-an,” not on “Ca-rib-e-an” like people with class. Rita scrubbed the eggs Benedict pan. “Exactly,” she said. “So take advantage of it now.”

  With thoughtful precision, Fern wiped the plate, making small circles on the front, then on the back, her blue neon fingernails flicking, making this domestic chore seem tedious for a queen such as her.

  “Well, it’s a good idea, but I can’t. There’s so much crap in that house, it’ll take me a year to clean it out, let alone six to eight weeks.”

  Rita did not say that it did not matter, because Charlie had not bought the house, but had signed dummy papers in order to string Fern along and create a reason for them to become friends. Rita could not tell the truth so instead she said, “Oh, God, Fern, no one cleans out houses anymore. They have people who do that. They hold estate sales to sell what you don’t want, then they take a cut and you’re rid of all the headaches. Besides, it’s probably a bunch of musty old junk. How long did old Ashenbach live there?”

  Fern laughed. “A hundred years? Who knows. I think there’s a cellar, but I’ve never been down in it.”

  “Yuck,” Rita said, snapping off her rubber gloves and draping them over the faucet. “I know a million people who can help out with this stuff. You can take off for a couple of weeks, then I’ll call one when you get back. It’s perfect.”

  She shook her head. “Not exactly. I’ve got a kid in the other room who no longer has a grandfather to stay with.” She laughed. “And believe me, if I go to the islands, one thing I don’t need is a kid tagging along.”

  Rita hated that Fern acted as if Mindy were an obstacle in her life. For all the craziness in which Hazel had raised Rita, Rita had never once felt unloved. Which could be why she’d never had to make up stories to get attention.

  She dried her hands and did not dare ask Fern what she intended to do with the “kid” once the house was sold and the trial was over. “Well, I could use some help around here,” Rita said softly.

  It took Fern a minute, but finally she got it. “What?”

  Rita shrugged. “I’m almost seven months pregnant and fatter than a cow. There are things to do around here that I can’t manage myself. My mother’s too old, and Charlie is a man. Need I say more?” She plunked a bowl of leftover blueberries into the refrigerator.

  “Doing what?” Fern asked. “Like laundry and dusting?”

  “Sure.” She tried to act not overly pushy, as if she could take or leave Mindy.

  “For a couple of weeks?”

  “As long as you like. I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem for her to take the school bus from here. We’re a little cramped, but Charlie could fix up the den for her bedroom.” Which, on account of the tw
ins coming, meant Charlie would have to move into her room.

  “Well, hell, honey,” Fern said, tossing the dish towel down on the table, “you might just have yourself a deal.” She whooped. “Aruba here I come!” She headed into the living room. “Melinda!” she shrieked. “How would you like to stay with these nice people a spell?”

  Rita leaned against the sink, folded her arms, and wondered what Charlie Rollins was going to think about sleeping in her bed.

  Chapter 30

  Ben had kissed Jill good-bye and sent her off to New York with confidence that she would return—to what he did not know, but she would return, nonetheless.

  In the meantime, he got on with his life.

  On the first Tuesday of February, he awoke before dawn and headed to the town hall to stand in line for one of the two building permits that they needed for Sea Grove.

  If he got one permit now, and one in March, they would be ready to start building about the time the spring thaw was ready to let them.

  He had not heard from Rita, nor spoken with Charlie. But Jill advised him to forget it, to trust that both of them knew what they were doing and would reemerge when they were ready. She had also reminded him that at least Charlie and Rita were finally together, as if that excused it all.

  Which was partly why Ben trudged through the early morning now, so that Rita and Charlie wouldn’t have to be bothered.

  He was also trying to keep himself busy, to stay positive, focused on the future, as if there were no chance he’d be seeing the future from behind bars. April, of course, was only weeks away now.

  As Ben turned down the next street, he could see that the line at the town hall had already formed, like a line at a convenience store when the Megabucks jackpot reached heady heights. He sighed, glad he had all his paperwork in order, hoping he’d be lucky enough to receive one of the coveted permits on this crisp February morning.

  He stepped into line behind a tall, wide-shouldered man he recognized from town meetings but whose name he couldn’t recall. The man turned around.