Ocean Beach

by Wendy Wax

  Kyra stilled.

  “How can you be so calm?” Kyra’s voice was as tightly clenched as her hands. “I thought we were shooting and producing a television series about redoing really interesting houses for important reasons, but we’re really just starring in a reality-TV show. The only thing missing is the professional athlete husbands and the outrageous amounts of money.”

  Watching Kyra’s troubled face, Avery saw herself, shocked and horrified by what her role on the HGTV show Hammer & Nail had become. How her then-husband Trent had become the star of the show Avery had conceived and sold, while Avery, a trained architect who had grown up on her father’s construction sites, had been reduced to pointing and gesturing and smiling—a role that had caused a whole slew of additional IQ points to be deducted.

  “It sucks,” Avery said. “But you have to remember that the sole purpose of television programs is to sell products. The more viewers, the more the network can charge for commercial time. And right now reality shows are hot—the more intimate and revealing the better.”

  “That’s what Lisa Hogan said.” Kyra wrapped her hands around her now-empty glass. Fading sunlight bathed her in its glow. “Troy and Anthony don’t answer to me—or us—in any way,” she said. “It was a major coup to get her to agree to any camera-free zones or time frames at all.”

  Kyra drew a breath and set her glass down. “I may as well tell you now that the only way I got her to agree was by telling her that we’d walk otherwise.”

  There was a shocked silence. Avery’s heart lurched painfully in her chest. Deirdre swore softly.

  “You did what?” Nicole asked. Like the rest of them, her face reflected horror.

  “I couldn’t get her to agree to anything or give us the slightest concession. And she was so smug about having us at her mercy.” Kyra was practically wringing her hands. She looked at her mother, but Maddie appeared as shocked and horrified as the rest of them. “She told me that Dustin’s fair game. That his being Daniel Deranian’s son is one of the reasons they gave us the show in the first place.”

  “Jesus,” Nicole said. “You had no right to do that.”

  “I know,” Kyra said, clearly miserable. “I know and I’m—”

  “We’re in this together,” Avery said. “No one has the right to put the show at risk like that without discussing it first. No one.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry.” Kyra shook her head. “I just…” Her voice trailed off as the first tears fell. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Maddie closed her eyes. “Thank God she didn’t call you on it.”

  They sat in silence for a few long moments absorbing what might have happened.

  Nicole refilled everyone’s glass, but no one suggested a toast.

  “Are we clear?” Avery asked when she trusted herself to speak again. “No one, not even me, takes that kind of risk without a vote.”

  Kyra nodded. Maddie reached out to give her daughter’s arm a squeeze, but it was Deirdre who turned the conversation. “Has Deranian seen Dustin? Do you speak to him?”

  Kyra shook her head, but quietly, her mind no doubt still on her confession and their reaction. “The only person I’ve heard from is Daniel’s business manager,” she said. “Daniel hasn’t shirked his financial responsibility, but he hasn’t made any effort to see Dustin either.” She took a long, glum sip of her daiquiri. “I think I’m pretty much over movie stars.”

  Maddie lifted her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Falling for Daniel wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. That’s for sure.” Kyra paused, her eyes filled with regret. “I gave him a lot more credit as a human being than he deserved.”

  “It was like that with Trent,” Avery said, going with the conversation. “Everything was great until I got to know him and actually understood him.”

  Nicole drained her glass. “That’s why the ‘strong silent type’ is so popular,” she added. “As long as they keep their mouths shut, we can imbue them with all kinds of intelligent thoughts and attractive personality traits.”

  Avery looked to Maddie, who’d been married far longer than any of them, expecting an argument, but Maddie busied herself with her drink.

  Kyra’s laugh was rueful. “I’ve screwed up all around. With Daniel. With the network. I feel really stupid for showing up here and expecting so much in the first place.”

  “Kyra, you’re twenty-four years old,” Maddie said, back in full mother mode. Unlike Avery’s “mother,” who seemed far more “faux” than full. “You’re bound to make mistakes. And if you don’t expect a lot, you can’t get it. Lowering your expectations isn’t the answer.”

  “Then what is?” Kyra met Avery’s gaze.

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Avery said. Her heart was still hammering far faster than she’d like. “But I do have confidence that we can handle the network crew. I mean if we don’t give them the conflict and hysterics and backbiting they’re looking for, maybe we can shape this show the way we want it.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Nicole asked.

  “I think so.” Avery considered the question and their situation. “Based on their skewed perception of the show, we—not the house—are the whole enchilada. But they’re going to have to shoot the things we want shot to get us.”

  “And we’ve got you,” Maddie said to Kyra. “You had no problem documenting the renovation at Bella Flora as well as all the personal issues that nabbed the network.”

  “And you have our best interests at heart,” Deirdre added.

  “Most of the time anyway,” Nicole threw in.

  They considered one another as the sun slid farther down the sky.

  “So you just make sure you get all the video you need,” Avery said. “And we’ll be careful not to give them what they’re looking for.” She looked around, meeting everyone’s eyes, holding on to Deirdre’s. “We don’t want anyone besides Max performing for the cameras.”

  “Who me?” Deirdre raised the platter of Cheez products and offered it around, completely overdressed for the ramshackle deck and the hors d’oeuvres in her hand.

  “Got it,” Kyra said, reaching for her camera.

  “Good.” Avery popped a Cheez Doodle in her mouth and chewed, but was careful not to show any sign of appreciation for its greasy, cheesy airiness. “Maddie will be in charge of our next sunset, which I’m sure will be back to our regularly scheduled one-good-thing. But right now there’s a last critical item of business.”

  The sun had disappeared behind the condos and the last bits of color leached from the sky. Avery could feel Madeline, Kyra, Deirdre, and Nicole’s expectant gazes.

  “Troy and Anthony aren’t the only stumbling blocks the network has thrown in our path,” Avery continued carefully. “They’re just the most visible.”

  “And annoying,” Kyra said from behind her camera.

  “Our budget—or rather our lack of budget—is a serious problem. And like the crew, it’s intentional. They know there’s no way we can do this house justice on the amount they’ve made available. They can’t wait to see us squirm.”

  “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-cond
itioning 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.

  Chapter Ten

  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.