Beach Town

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Keep smiling,” Eb said, barely moving his lips. “It means you can’t win on this issue. It means Vanessa is wasting her time. And yours.”

  She looked up. He looked down. Directly into her cleavage.

  Greer yanked at the neckline of her tank top.

  “We’ll see,” Greer said. She tucked her giant plastic key under her arm and returned to the next-to-last row.

  * * *

  Cindy the clerk worked her way through the city council’s agenda. There was old business to discuss: the purchase of new boots for the fire department, a report on landscaping progress in front of the town’s veterans monument, a discussion of the cost for new bike racks at the beach crossover.

  The room was stifling. Greer’s eyelids fluttered and finally closed. Vanessa nudged her again. “Showtime,” she whispered.

  “At this time we have only one more matter of new business to discuss, and it is the subject of this called meeting,” Cindy announced.

  “Mr. Mayor, Board of Commissioners? We have a citizen’s request for an appeal from Mayor Thibadeaux’s denial of a filming permit at the old Cypress Key Casino property. The citizen is Ms. Vanessa Littrell, who is the owner of that parcel.”

  Eb smiled blandly and spoke into his mike. “Why don’t we hear from Ms. Littrell then?”

  Vanessa walked briskly to the front of the room, where a microphone stand had been placed. She looked intelligent and competent in conservative black slacks, a high-necked, short-sleeved black top, and tiny gold hoop earrings. The showy diamonds she’d worn the last time Greer had met with her were noticeably absent.

  “Ms. Littrell, would you state your name and address for the benefit of the minutes, and then the nature of your business before the council?” Eb said.

  “My name is Vanessa Littrell, of number one, Seahorse Key, and I’m appearing before the council tonight not just as the owner of record of the Cypress Key Casino but also as a taxpayer and a fourth-generation resident of this town,” Vanessa said, her voice low and calm.

  She looked up at the council members on the dais, and then around at the audience in the room.

  “I recently became aware that Ms. Greer Hennessy, who the council just presented with the key to the city, arrived in Cypress Key a week ago, to secure locations for the filming of a big-budget Hollywood film. One of the main places Ms. Hennessy sought to film was the casino building, which my family owns but which is under a long-term lease arrangement with the city.”

  Vanessa paused. “As everybody in this room knows, although the city continues to pay rent on the casino, it has been closed for many years, and its condition has deteriorated during that time.”

  One of the council members, an elderly man with a silvery Dutch boy haircut and thick-lensed glasses, raised a liver-spotted hand. “Ms. Littrell, are you accusing the city of negligence in maintaining your property? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No sir,” Vanessa shot back. “I’m here because I’m dismayed by the mayor’s outright refusal to accept an extremely attractive offer from these filmmakers to use the casino. It’s my understanding that Ms. Hennessy made a generous cash offer, and in addition, her company would be willing to demolish the building and clear the property to ready it for new development.”

  She glared at Eb Thibadeaux. “I’d like to ask the mayor how this is not a win-win for the City of Cypress Key?”

  A heavyset black woman wearing a black blouse and a clerical collar, on the far left side of the dais, raised her hand.

  “Reverend Maynard?” Eb said politely. “You have a question?”

  “Yes. Can I ask how much money these movie people were offering?”

  Eb Thibadeaux shrugged and pulled the mike forward. “There were a couple numbers thrown around. I think the offer went as high as fifty thousand dollars.” He pointed toward Greer. “Is that accurate, Ms. Hennessy?”

  Greer stood. “Yes, that’s the amount we are offering.”

  Rowena Maynard whistled softly. “That’s an interesting offer, Eb.”

  “It certainly sounds good to me,” Vanessa agreed.

  Ginny Buckalew leaned forward. “Eb, did I understand correctly? The movie people want to tear the casino down? Can that be right?”

  “That’s what I was told,” the mayor replied. “In fact, Ms. Hennessy personally admitted to me that they plan to blow it up for the movie.”

  The audience erupted in a ripple of concern. “No way!” a voice called from the back.

  “It’s already falling down,” Vanessa protested.

  Eb banged his gavel on the table.

  “Thanks, Ms. Littrell,” he said.

  Vanessa returned to her seat in the audience.

  Eb looked around the room. A low buzz of conversation had broken out. “I’m going to reserve my rebuttal until we hear from any other interested citizens.” He looked around the room. “Would anybody else like to speak on this matter?”

  At the front of the room, a thin black man rose slowly to his feet and inched toward the microphone.

  He had a high, gleaming dark forehead with salt-and-pepper hair and was dressed, Greer thought, for church, in neatly pressed dark slacks, a yellowing starched dress shirt, and a bright purple bow tie—appropriate, since they were all seated in pews.

  “Mr. Samuels,” Eb said, beaming at his constituent. “Happy to see you, sir.”

  The old man cleared his throat nervously. “Yessir. My name is Solomon Samuels and I live at 614 and a half Oak Street. I was born right here in this county in 1937. I am a Korean War veteran and a registered Democrat. And I’d just like to tell these two ladies here…” He bowed slightly in Vanessa and Greer’s direction. “As pretty as they are, I don’t want no kind of jackleg Hollywood movie folk messing around with our casino. And I sure as goodness don’t want ’em blowing it up, neither.”

  Applause rippled through the audience. Solomon Samuels removed his wire-rimmed glasses and polished them with a starched handkerchief he pulled from his trouser pocket.

  He smiled shyly. “No sir. Like a lot of folks here, that casino is a special place to me. Maybe a little more special to my people, and to me, because I met the future Mrs. Samuels there.” He took a deep breath and continued.

  “It was 1965, and me and my friends, we wanted to see Little Anthony and the Imperials. Y’all are mostly too young to remember ‘Tears on My Pillow’ or ‘Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop,’ but those were some mighty popular songs back then. They were going to put on a show at the casino, and that was the first time that black folk could see a show at the casino, or any place around here. Before that, black folk couldn’t mix with whites. Mr. Lloyd Littrell, who I reckon was Ms. Littrell’s granddaddy, he just up and decided he would sell tickets to who anybody who wanted to come.”

  Greer gave Vanessa a sideways glance, but Vanessa’s face remained impassive.

  “Anyway, we went to that show, and at intermission I went to the snack bar, and I met this pretty little old gal, her name was June, and that was the girl I come to marry. And for a long time after that, every year, me and my gal, we went to the casino for our anniversary. Didn’t matter if we went to a show, or roller-skating, or later on, bingo. That was our special place. The casino’s been shut up for a while now, but the mayor, Mr. Thibadeaux, he says he’s gonna get the state or the Congress or somebody to give us some money to fix it up and make it a center for seniors like me. And I just think we don’t need to be messin’ round with no movie people who we don’t know.”

  He gave an apologetic half-bow in Greer’s direction. “No offense or nothin’, but if the mayor says he’s gonna get the casino fixed up, I say we don’t let nobody blow it up, for no amount of money.”

  Solomon Samuels bowed again. The audience clapped its approval, and he sat down with that same shy smile.

  Before the old man could be seated, Ginny Buckalew was speaking.

  “Mr. Mayor, fellow commissioners, I
see a lot of folks here tonight, but for myself, I believe I’ve made up my mind on this matter. I’d like to call for a vote.”

  “Big surprise,” Vanessa muttered.

  “I’d like to propose a vote to affirm Mayor Thibadeaux’s decision to deny a permit to film at the casino,” Ginny said.

  The city clerk spoke into her mike. “All in favor?”

  Each of the commissioners raised a hand.

  “The motion is affirmed,” Cindy said. The room erupted in applause, cheers, and loud chatter.

  Vanessa jumped to her feet and turned to Greer. “Unbelievable. I need a drink. C’mon. Let’s head over to the Inn.”

  16

  Vanessa and Greer found a table in the main dining room, and before Greer could object, Vanessa ordered a pitcher of martinis.

  Greer eyed her glass with longing. Condensation beaded on the outside. Two plump olives rested on a spear. “I shouldn’t,” she said with a groan. “We’ve got a four a.m. call.”

  Vanessa knocked back her own drink in one swallow and poured herself a second. “Oh, come on. One won’t hurt. Especially after that freak show we just endured.”

  Greer took a cautious sip. The cold temporarily froze her brain. She set the glass back down on the tabletop and reached for the bread basket. “That’s all for me until I get something to eat.”

  When the waitress came, Vanessa ordered broiled flounder and steamed broccoli. “I’m absolutely famished,” Greer apologized, before ordering herself a filet mignon, medium rare, baked potato with everything, sautéed spinach, and a Caesar salad.

  She buttered a roll and watched while Vanessa sipped her martini. “Looks like round one of the Battle of the Casino went to the mayor,” she observed.

  Vanessa fished an olive from her glass. “This was only the beginning. I’m not giving up yet. There’s too much at stake to just walk away. Anyway, Eb Thibadeaux does not know who he is messing with.”

  Greer’s stomach growled loudly. She looked around the dining room, forcing herself not to gobble the roll in one bite.

  “Speak of the devil,” she said, watching the mayor stroll into the room.

  Vanessa turned to get a look. Her face flushed pink. “Dammit. He saw us.” She tossed back the rest of her martini, poured herself another, and topped off Greer’s barely touched glass.

  Eb lingered at the bar, got a bottle of beer, and chatted briefly with two men sitting at a nearby table, slapping one on the back. He table-hopped around the room, stopping at a long table of middle-aged women and joining in to sing “Happy Birthday” when a candle-topped cake arrived.

  “What’s he doing?” Vanessa asked, staring down at her glass as she chewed her olive.

  “Glad-handing.”

  “Asshole,” Vanessa said, fuming.

  Greer was just about to cut into her steak when Eb Thibadeaux arrived tableside.

  “Ladies,” he said jovially, pulling up a chair from a vacant nearby table. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Beat it, Eb.” Vanessa glared at him with undisguised loathing.

  He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “Aw come on, Vanessa. Don’t be such a sore loser. No hard feelings, right?”

  Greer took a bite of her steak. It was salty and greasy and rich with a mushroom wine glaze, and she nearly swooned with happiness. She chewed slowly, watching while her tablemate slowly went ballistic.

  “The hell you say.” Vanessa nearly spat the words. “I’m sick to death of your regressive, antibusiness tactics. You’re so terrified of progress coming to this burg, you can’t see that the town is dying.” She gestured toward the street outside.

  “Look around, Eb. More than half the buildings out there are empty. That casino building is crumbling even as you sit here with that big goofy grin on your face. You just turned down fifty thousand dollars in cold, hard cash. When’s the last time anybody made the city an offer like that? You keep talking about preserving our community’s heritage. I got news for you, buddy. There’s nothing left to save. It’s gone. What business in its right mind is going to come in here? Who’s going to bring jobs that pay more than minimum wage?”

  Eb shook his head impatiently. “Despite what you believe, Vanessa, we’re not just sitting around, waiting for the casino to fall into the bay. We’ve had a feasibility study done, and right now we have three major grant proposals pending with the state and the Feds. That money will let us purchase and restore the casino for a community center that’ll be worth ten times the money these film people are offering.”

  “Pipe dreams!” Vanessa said, waving a dismissive hand.

  “It’s not a pipe dream,” he insisted. “We can restore the casino and redevelop the whole pier district, and that will bring in real growth and clean businesses that we can sustain.” He glanced over at Greer. “It’s tempting to want to grab the quick buck, but that’s happened way too often in Cypress Key. We believed the paper company when they said they were going to be good corporate citizens and do the responsible thing, and where did that leave us? Right where we are today.

  “I know what you’re up to here, Vanessa. These movie people think you’re on their side, but they don’t know you like I do. You’ll sell this town and that casino out to the highest bidder in a heartbeat, and never look back.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing, Eb,” Vanessa said heatedly. “I still own the building, and I have no intentions of selling it. Not to the city, anyway.”

  Eb took a sip of his beer. “I have two words for you, Vanessa. Think about them.” He held up two fingers of his right hand. “Eminent. Domain.”

  Vanessa’s eyes bulged. “Fuck you, Eb Thibadeaux!” She shoved her chair back from the table. “You think the city can just condemn my property and take it without a fight? Hell no.”

  She tossed the last remaining drops of her martini into the mayor’s face and stomped out of the dining room, with every eye in the room following her progress.

  Greer handed Eb her linen napkin, and while he mopped his face with it she sighed and took another bite of her baked potato.

  Eb eyed her curiously. “What about you? Don’t you want to throw something at me? Maybe organize a lynch mob of your cohorts to come after me?”

  Greer finished chewing and took another dainty sip of her martini. But it had lost its chill, and therefore its charm.

  “Nope.”

  “You agree with me?”

  “Nope.” Greer reached over and snagged a spear of broccoli from the plate Vanessa had abandoned. “I still think you’re dead wrong about the casino. But I can’t figure out your motive in all this.”

  “You think I have some kind of ulterior motive?” he asked, obviously amused.

  “Everybody has an ulterior motive,” Greer said.

  “What’s yours?”

  She chewed and thought, then dabbed her napkin to her lips.

  “Me? My motives are pretty transparent. I want to get this movie made. I want Beach Town to be such a huge success that I’ll never have to look for work again.”

  Eb sat back in his chair. “That’s all you care about? Work? Getting this movie made, and then the next and the next?”

  “You make it sound like I don’t have a life,” Greer protested.

  “Do you?”

  “I love my work, okay? But I have a life. I have friends.”

  “What do you do for fun?” Eb asked.

  “I make movies. I love what I do. I love films, and despite all the craziness involved, I love making them.”

  “Seriously. If you had a day off, right now, today, how would you spend it?”

  She shrugged. “Today? I guess I’d go hang out at the beach. I like being on the water. Or I might meet CeeJay for lunch, maybe hit the Rose Bowl Flea Market, if the timing’s right. Or I might just catch a movie.”

  “CeeJay. Is that your boyfriend?”

  “My best friend. Short for Claudia Jean. She’s a hair and makeup artist, and she’s actually here, working on Beach Town.�
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  “And what do you buy at this flea market?”

  She considered him. “Old stuff. I like midcentury California art pottery. CeeJay buys girly stuff like compacts and sterling silver hair brushes.”

  “So you actually go to the movies—even though you’re in the business?”

  The question took her by surprise. “Of course. Why else would I be in the business, if I didn’t love movies? You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

  “I’m interested in you,” Eb said.

  “Why? I’m not that fascinating.”

  “Sure you are. You’re cute, you’re smart, you have an interesting job. And you don’t back down easily. I don’t meet a lot of women like that around here.”

  “You do realize I can’t be charmed out of doing my job, right? And my job is locking down the casino for the film, so that we can blow it up in a few weeks.”

  Greer took another sip of the martini, then pushed it away and grimaced.

  He noticed. “You want something else to drink?” He turned and waved the waitress over.

  “I’ll have another beer. You like red wine?” he asked, looking over at her nearly empty plate. “Burgundy? Merlot? I’m a little hesitant ordering wine for a California girl. What would you like?”

  “I’m no wine snob,” Greer assured him. “Maybe just a glass of rosé? I actually shouldn’t have anything else to drink. We’ve got an early call.”

  When the waitress returned with their drinks, Greer decided to turn the tables on him.

  “Okay, I told you my motives. Now you tell me yours. You’re obviously an educated guy. You’ve got some business savvy, owning a motel and the grocery store and that boatyard. I know you’re the mayor and this is your hometown and all, but what the hell are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?”

  He threw his head back and laughed that laugh again. It was a good laugh. Not phony. Not ironic. Nothing held back. You didn’t hear a lot of laughs like that in her line of work.

  “You don’t beat around the bush, do you? Not exactly a very Southern way to phrase a question,” Ebb said.

  ‘I’m not Southern.”