by Wendy Wax
Nicole and Deirdre looked up in surprise. Troy, who’d been trying to teach Dustin how to high-five reached for his video camera. Max smiled, but kept eating.
“I don’t know how you got them to stay still long enough to slather on the barbecue sauce, but…wow!” Chase added.
“It’s true,” Avery said, examining the rib she’d been eating. “There’s hardly any insect flavor at all.”
Maddie wiped her sticky fingers on a wet nap. “You’re never going to let me live that text down, are you?”
“Not a chance,” Avery said. “Or any of the other gems you’ve sent.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Kyra added.
“We’re clearly missing something here,” Troy said, lifting his camera and aiming it at Maddie.
“It’s nothing,” Maddie said, looking away from the lens. The last thing she wanted to do was clue the world into her inability to control her thumbs and her phone. “Certainly nothing that anyone who expects to be fed by me needs to discuss on camera.”
Kyra laughed and applied a damp washcloth to Dustin’s face, which was streaked orange from the pureed carrots that he seemed determined to turn into a finger food. “Let’s just say that shortly after my mother texted from the gourmet grocery store to ask if we’d like her to bring baby black bugs for dinner, I posted her text to damnyouautocorrect.com and whenparentstext.com.”
“Ah,” Nicole said, motioning with a rib. “So these are baby black bugs.” She aimed a teasing smile at Maddie. “I had no idea how tender they would be.”
“I’ve never seen them on a menu before,” Deirdre added. “But then I imagine they’re quite a delicacy.”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “Can I help it if my thumbs are too big for that tiny keypad?”
“You should have been in Atlanta right after she got her iPhone and texted all of us her plans to ‘masterbate penis primavera,’” Kyra said, unsnapping Dustin’s bib and scooping him up out of the high chair.
Chase snorted with laughter. Maddie could see the curve of Troy’s smile beneath the camera.
“It seems clear that people over forty should not be allowed to text,” Kyra said.
“Fine,” Maddie said. “Go ahead and make your jokes. You can all yuck it up while you’re on KP duty.”
Max smiled. “If I were still performing, I might write those down. Millie and I often used to play on words. Not dirty ones, of course,” he added. “The audience would never have stood for anything close to profanity from Millie.”
Max pushed his plate aside and Maddie passed wet naps around the table.
“Thank you so much for the wonderful dinner,” Max said with a look to Troy, who set down his camera and nodded. “I’ve asked the boys to set up my film projector and screen in the living room. In case you’d like to see just a little bit of Millie and me in action.”
“That sounds great,” Maddie said, glad for a change of subject and eager to see Max’s Millie. She took Dustin from Kyra and hugged him tight against her shoulder. “I’ll put the baby to bed,” she said. “Kyra, since your young fingers seem to be so much more agile than mine, you can be in charge of cleanup.”
By the time Maddie had changed Dustin’s diaper and snapped him into his pajamas, his lids were heavy and his thumb had found its way into his mouth. She laid him gently into the portable crib, tucked his quilt around him, then carried her cell phone out onto the loggia.
For a brief moment she considered texting both Andrew and Steve, but after all the teasing she decided to phone instead. Andrew’s phone went immediately to voice mail and Maddie left her son a message promising to try him again soon.
Steve’s phone rang for what felt like forever. She sat, listening to the disembodied sound, wanting to share what Chase had said over dinner—that there’d been an inquiry about Bella Flora and that their Realtor, John Franklin, had scheduled a showing.
What she really wanted was to hear the sound of Steve’s voice so that she could try to gauge where they stood. When the call went to voice mail, Maddie felt a stirring of unease. Was Steve punishing her for not believing in him? She didn’t want to think so. Nor did she want to wonder where he might be on a Saturday night that would prevent him from taking her call.
The living room was dark except for the puddle of light from the foyer and a low-watt table lamp. The ancient sixteen-millimeter projector had been propped up on an end table and aimed at an equally ancient screen. Kyra patted an empty spot beside her on the sofa and took the baby monitor as Maddie sat. Deirdre, Max, and Nicole sat on the opposite sofa while Avery and Chase shared the piano bench.
Anthony threaded a spool of film through the projector, receiving pointers from Max. Troy moved deftly around them, filming the proceedings from a variety of angles. Maddie followed Kyra’s gaze as it followed Troy; her daughter’s body hummed with tension; her lips were compressed in a thin, tight line. The cameraman had an easy way with Dustin and often spoke to him as if he were a peer; his interactions with Kyra, though, were rarely “easy.”
A rectangle of light appeared in the center of the screen and the film began to spool through the projector. At first the rectangle filled with fuzzy gray-and-black shapes that moved and jiggled, but then the images became more focused and a scratchy audio track began to play.
Maddie leaned forward as the couple standing side by side on a brightly lit stage sharpened into focus. One was a young Max Golden, looking much as he had in the celebrity photos that lined his bedroom wall—with a full head of dark hair, expressive dark eyes, and a lit cigar clenched between his fingers. Although of average height, he had several inches on the petite blond woman in the formfitting strapless gown. Even in black and white you could tell she had milky white skin and lively blue eyes and that her blond hair was more honeyed than platinum. Her lips were painted a deep color, most likely some shade of red.
“She’s beautiful,” Madeline breathed as Millie’s lovely face creased into a smile and she laid one hand on her husband’s sleeve. “And so are you, Max.”
Maddie looked back and forth between Max’s face and the screen. The prominent cheekbones had fallen and the angled jaw had gone slack. The once pronounced brow line above the deep-set matinee-idol eyes drooped, the skin beneath them cratered into deep pockets.
“Look at her,” Max said. “She had ‘no hands.’” He turned to the group, the pride evident in his voice. “That’s an old theatrical expression that means a performer’s so natural she never even thinks about her hands. The only woman who ever played ditzy better than my Millie was Gracie Allen.”
There was a roar of laughter from an unseen audience. On-screen, Millie blinked and looked surprised.
“Now watch,” Max said as Millie shrugged and went about her business. Young Max puffed on his cigar. “Me, I had my cigar. I had to puff on it to let people know I’d told a joke. I was the straight man. We didn’t start out that way, but the audience didn’t want to see anyone, especially me, poke fun at Millie. They were very protective of her. They wanted to see her come out on top.”
Millie smiled and folded her arms across her chest. When she asked Max where he kept his money and he answered “in a bank,” she asked him what interest he got. Max said “four percent” and she said, “Ha. I get eight. I keep it in two banks.”
“She was different than the other ‘Dumb Doras’ that were popular then because she played her as if her answers made sense.”
“The camera just ate her up, didn’t it?” Kyra asked Max.
He nodded and fiddled with his cigar.
“She was a natural,” he said quietly. “She barely needed me onstage. I was just there to feed her lines. The best part of my act was her.”
They watched the rest of the routine in silence, sitting in their seats long after the last frames of film flickered through the light and flapped to a stop.
“God, I miss her,” Max said, almost to himself. “I don’t really know what the point is without her.” He struggled up off t
he couch and onto his feet and looked around him as if he’d forgotten they were there.
Maddie’s vision blurred at the pain and loss in Max Golden’s voice. She’d always thought she and Steve would last a lifetime together like the Goldens had, but she was no longer sure of any of the things she’d believed.
She swallowed thickly as he bid them good night and shuffled toward his bedroom. Troy followed Max’s progress with the lens of his video camera. The camera remained on Troy’s broad shoulder long after Max’s bedroom door clicked shut behind him.
Avery awoke with her back pressed against something hard. She had a crick in her neck and a heavy arm draped across her chest. She blinked slowly awake as memory returned. She lay in Chase’s arms, both of them tucked into the curve of one of Max’s living room sofas. Light streamed in through the blinds to dapple the scarred Moroccan tile floor. Max’s bedroom door stood open and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen.
“Hey.” She threw off the blanket someone had draped over them and rubbed sleep from her eyes. “It’s time to get up.”
“Good God,” Chase groaned. “I’m too old to sleep on a couch.”
“Tell me about it,” she said.
“And way too old to make love in the cab of a truck.”
“Ditto.” She rubbed the back of her neck and yawned once more, but had to beat back a smile. The act had been one of desperation as well as a physical challenge, but the result had been surprisingly satisfying.
“Next time I buy a truck I’m going with a bench seat,” Chase said.
“I can’t believe we couldn’t find a hotel room.” Avery yawned again, reliving the night before when they’d left after Max’s movie, assuming they’d just check into the first hotel that looked interesting.
“Or that an arts and foreign film festival could eat up that much hotel room inventory. I know I didn’t mean for our first trip up Ocean Drive together to be quite so desperate.” He lifted a hand to the nape of her neck then followed it with his lips.
She sighed as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot. “Maybe we can walk over and have breakfast at one of the sidewalk cafés and then take our time checking out the Art Deco district.”
“Sounds perfect.” Though she hadn’t even admitted it to herself, she realized that she’d been waiting to see the area for the first time with him.
There was a buzzing sound. Chase’s hand left her neck as he felt through his pockets and finally located his cell phone. He looked at the screen before he answered. “Hi, Dad,” he said, stifling a yawn. Whatever Jeff Hardin said had him straightening. He threw his legs over the side of the sofa and sat up.
“No,” he said, his brow furrowed. “I was planning to stay until tomorrow afternoon, but…”
Avery sat where she was as Chase stood and stepped away.
“No, of course. Don’t worry about it. It’s not a problem.” He listened, nodding his head. “I will.” He nodded and looked at her. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“What?” Avery asked after he’d ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Is everybody okay?”
“The boys are fine. No broken bones or emergency room visits.” His smile was apologetic. “But Dad and I were supposed to have drinks with our main investor in Pelican Point,” he said, naming the development on which they’d broken ground just before the real estate market crashed and burned. “He called to ask if we could do it today instead. He wants us to meet him at his country club this afternoon at three.”
“I hate to leave,” he said. “But I don’t want Dad to—”
“I know,” she said, swallowing her disappointment. “Deep pockets are not easy to come by in this environment. God, I hope that nibble on Bella Flora develops into a serious bite soon.”
“That’s for sure,” Chase said. “It would certainly take a lot of the pressure off.” He speared her with another smile. “I’m really sorry to have to cut our time together short.”
“You need to be there. Don’t worry about it.” She stifled a sigh. “And at least you’re going home to a bed in a room with a door.” She didn’t add how much she hated to see him leave. Nor would she ask him how soon he’d be back. The smartest thing would be to keep things light and easy. As soon as things started to get heavy, it became far too easy to abdicate or lean.
“That’s true,” he said. “I do have a bed and a door.”
“And I still get to knock down a wall tomorrow,” she said, brightening.
“Most women reserve that look in your eye for designer clothing and major shopping expeditions,” Chase said, stretching his arms high above his head.
“Well, all I need is a wall and something to knock it down with.” Avery averted her gaze from the taut stomach that was bared as he stretched again. “Demolition is better than a shot of adrenaline or mainlining coffee any day.”
“That’s incredibly low maintenance of you,” he said, pulling her close.
“Speaking of coffee…” she said, trying to keep the tone light. “I think I smell breakfast.”
They followed the scent of coffee into the kitchen, where they found Maddie, Deirdre, and Max and an electric skillet of scrambled cheese eggs.
Deirdre gave them a once-over. “You wouldn’t be looking like you just survived a near-death experience if you’d let me give you two the bedroom like I wanted to,” she said reasonably.
“You’re too old to sleep on a sofa,” Avery said, accepting a plate of eggs from Maddie, but not feeling the rush of victory she’d hoped for when Deirdre absorbed the blow.
Back from her run, Nicole poured a tall glass of orange juice and sank down next to Max. Kyra appeared with Dustin and strapped him into the high chair. Troy and Anthony showed up next, toting all their gear. Maddie fixed them plates, much to Kyra’s obvious distress, then unplugged the skillet so that she could put on another pot of coffee.
“Allowing me to give you something doesn’t lessen you,” Deirdre said to Avery, her perfectly lipsticked mouth still tight with hurt.
“Right,” Avery said, knowing she was taking her disappointment over Chase’s departure out on Deirdre, but unwilling or unable to stop herself. She wasn’t the only one who noticed that the tone in her voice said, Of course it does.
Chapter Twelve
With a loud gnashing of gears and a clatter of metal, the Dumpster landed in position first thing Monday morning. There were shouts and more clattering as the delivery truck left and another arrived. Kyra shot video of Avery standing on the front steps sipping a cup of coffee as a crew unloaded the scaffolding and began to assemble it around The Millicent.
She also documented the spontaneous burst of applause from everyone in the kitchen when Avery led Ted Darnell, the tall gangly electrician from East Coast Electric, past them toward the existing fuse box in the laundry room. Her next shots were of Avery strapping on the worn leather tool belt that had been her father’s and reverently poking the prong through the extra hole that had been cut into it. A smattering of applause accompanied this too.
Dustin sat in his high chair while his grandmother spooned cereal into his mouth. His chubby palms were full of Cheerios, some of which he occasionally pressed into his mouth. Sometimes the Cheerios actually stayed there when his fist came out. Just watching him made her smile.
Kyra’s good mood fled when Troy Matthews backed into the kitchen, camera rolling, with Anthony beside him, their camera and microphone aimed toward Max, who followed in their wake. The old man wore his version of work clothes—crisply pressed jeans, a short-sleeved denim shirt, and a red bandanna tied jauntily around his neck.
Max came to a halt when Troy and Anthony did. He reached for the back of the banquette, his movement casual, his knuckles tightening as he grasped it for support.
“I’m ready to knock that wall down,” Max said heartily into the camera, though his legs wobbled a bit beneath him. He held his smile until Troy lowered his camera, then dropped onto the banquet
te cushion with all the finesse of a stone.
Avery and Maddie exchanged glances and Kyra knew she wasn’t the only one questioning Lisa Hogan’s directive to put a sledgehammer in the ninety-year-old man’s hands. She had no doubt that Troy Matthews would be ready, willing, and even eager to carry that directive out.
Maddie jumped up to get Max breakfast. On her way she shot Kyra a look and nodded toward the film crew.
“Can we talk?” Kyra took Troy by the arm and led him to the far end of the kitchen. Anthony, who had the personality of the teddy bear he resembled, set down his microphone and went over to the counter to study the contents of the donut box.
“So I’m assuming we’ll both shoot the wall coming down, but from different angles,” she said when they were out of earshot. If she could keep Troy downstairs on the other side of that wall from Max, she could control Max’s exposure.
“That’s kind of ridiculous. There’s no point in shooting everything twice all the time,” the cameraman said. “I’ve been getting everything we need.”
“Possibly,” Kyra replied. “But I haven’t been invited to a screening yet. So I only have your word on that.”
Troy’s slightly squared jaw jutted. His video camera dangled at his side—an unconcealed weapon. “I don’t have permission to share footage at this point in time.” He spoke to her in the tone of a parent to a child.
Kyra gritted her teeth. The others’ eyes were on them. Not wanting to upset Max, she reined in her irritation and lifted her lips into what she hoped would pass for a smile.
“Well, that seems odd considering we’re working on the same show. But then, from what I can see, our goals couldn’t be more different. You’re sensationalizing whatever you can and trying to pass it off as reality. I’m trying to document what’s really happening.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t want you to be so busy trying to make us look bad that you missed the wall coming down. Given the symbolism of it reuniting the two halves of the house and everything.”