“You ain’t sorry enough to pay me for my trouble, are you?” he sneered. “Try and buy me off with a certificate for a crappy pizza? C’mon.”
“Yeah, that was my fault. Dumb move. I apologize for that. But we’d like to make things right with you, if it’s not too late.”
“What kind of rube do you take me for? Send some kid over here with doughnuts? You shut down my life for almost a week and then insult me by offering me food?”
“Again, that was my fault. I hope you won’t blame my associates. I take full responsibility for our shortsightedness. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to see if there is any way I could, you know, compensate you for your time and trouble.”
He looked wary. “Compensate, how? I know you paid the Fleishmanns and the Erwins five hundred dollars.” He pointed across the street, at Zena. “That chick over there tried to tell me she couldn’t pay me because my house wouldn’t be in the movie. Which is bullshit.”
“I totally agree,” Greer said. “This was a major failure to communicate. But I’d like to make amends now, if you’d allow me to.”
He sat the BB gun down on the driveway. “What’d you have in mind?”
* * *
They strolled back across the street in blessed silence. “I can’t believe you gave that dude eight hundred twenty dollars,” Allie whispered. “You won’t really be able to see his house in the movie, right?”
“Right,” Greer said. “But now he’s happy. The music is history and we can get on with the show. It’s called the cost of doing business.”
“You straight-up lied to him,” Allie said. “That was awesome.”
Greer glanced over at the girl and had a sudden, unfamiliar qualm about the life lesson she’d just imparted to this impressionable teen. And then she shook it off.
It’s just business.
33
When Greer got back to the production office, she found Friday’s call sheet on her desk, which explained why Bryce had left the Manatee set for the casino.
The shooting schedule showed morning calls for Adelyn’s character, Danielle, and the sheriff, at the casino. The casino already? She’d assumed construction and set dressing would take another few weeks.
As she approached the pier on her golf cart, she spotted Vanessa Littrell’s red Jeep heading in the opposite direction. Vanessa waved, pulled over, and rolled her window down.
“Oh my God! Have you seen what they’ve done out there?”
“Just headed that way,” Greer said.
“Wait until you see. It looks just like it did in the old pictures in the family scrapbooks. Absolutely uncanny. Hey, when you get a night off, call me and let’s go out for drinks, okay?”
“Love to.”
True to Vanessa’s word, in just a few days’ time, the casino had been transformed—or reborn, she wasn’t sure which. Workers were hammering away on a deliberately aged new tin roof, painters on scaffolding were spraying the stucco facade a shade somewhere between nectarine and faded coral, and on the ground, electricians were wiring up a vintage-look rusted neon sign with scripted letters.
SUNSET CASINO—DANCE TONIGHT!
Greer found Bryce inside, seated with the production designer at a round folding table, going over sketches for the space. He seemed oblivious to the whine of power tools and the chunks of plaster raining down around him as workers patched the old ceiling.
“Greer!” He gestured around at the room. “What do you think? Isn’t it unbelievable?”
“It’s fabulous,” Greer said. “Stephen, I never dreamed you could have it this far along this fast.”
“Overtime,” Stephen said, with a grimace. “Bryce had the vision, I made it happen.”
“But how are you going to get enough done to start shooting tomorrow, Bryce? I thought we were still shooting over on Manatee.”
“I’ve reshuffled the schedule,” Bryce said. “Terry has been writing like a fiend. He’s been up two nights straight, and the pages have literally been flying off the printer. All genius stuff. It gives the story a whole new gravitas.”
“There’s a new treatment?” Alarms went off in Greer’s mind. “Can I read it? I’m dying to know what he’s come up with.”
“It’s still in process,” Bryce said. “Anyway, about tomorrow. We’re just going to do some exterior tight shots with Danielle and the sheriff, standing right in the doorway here. We won’t do the establishing shots until the entire facade is finished.”
“We’ve rented every potted palm within a hundred mile radius of this place,” Stephen said. “We’re going full-tilt Old Florida. The painters should be done this afternoon, and my sign guy says he can have the neon up and working before dark.”
“Okay,” Greer nodded. “But what about security during the shoot? It’s getting harder and harder to keep the rubberneckers and the press away. Yesterday, we caught a photographer from Us Weekly sneaking around in the backyard over on Manatee with a telephoto lens, trying to get a shot of Adelyn and Kregg together. I think they’ve cooked up some half-baked story about a set romance. If we’re shooting outside here tomorrow, I need to start lining up off-duty cops.”
“Adelyn and Kregg?” Stephen hooted. “Oh please. I hope she has way better taste than that.”
“Kregg doesn’t have any scenes tomorrow,” Bryce said. “I want him at home memorizing all the lines for the new scenes Terry’s written for him.”
Good luck with that, Greer thought. She’d spent the past week watching the neophyte actor struggle mightily just to deliver the lines he’d been given months ago.
“I’ll still have to get a security detail,” Greer said. “Adelyn’s almost as big a draw with the kids who still watch that old Disney series of hers.”
“In the meantime,” Bryce said, “We’re going to need a place that looks like a military facility. I don’t know what you call that—an ammunition warehouse? Like a place you’d lock up explosives?”
“Is this part of Terry’s new treatment?”
“Yeah. Wait until you see the dark place Terry is taking Danielle. Adelyn has read some of the new pages, and she’s ecstatic about finally getting to play a character with some real depth and nuance.”
“Bryce, I still don’t understand the whole explosive thing. I thought we were shooting a love story—Navy SEAL comes back to his hometown, broken and scarred from a tour in Afghanistan, discovers the marriage he thought was irreparable before his tour is now salvageable. Right? Danielle and Nick get back together. I mean, didn’t we just shoot their lovemaking scene over on Manatee this week?”
“All a clever ruse on Danielle’s part,” Bryce said, with a faraway look in his eye. “She just wants Nick to think they’re getting back together. The reality is, Danielle is a coldhearted, two-timing schemer who’s looking to cash in on Nick’s inheritance.”
“What inheritance? I thought these were two kids from working-class families. Wasn’t Nick’s father a fisherman?”
“Not anymore,” Bryce said. “Terry’s still working out all the details, but now Nick’s father was from an old money New England family—like the Rockefellers—but Nick has long been estranged from them. It’s perfect when you think about it. Nick joined the Navy in a deliberate attempt to establish his independence, once and for all. He’s turned his back on his elitist family. Same thing for his marriage to Danielle, who seems to be a sweet but dumb blonde. He loves her, but part of her attraction is that she’s definitely several notches below Nick’s family’s social and economic stature.”
Greer was struggling to keep up with the plot Bryce described.
“So where does this ammunition dump come into play?”
“The original script had Nick coming home from the war, suffering from anxiety and night terrors, sort of post-traumatic stress syndrome. He’s struggling to fit back into his old world. That part is still true. Only now, Danielle and the sheriff are deliberately gaslighting him—making Nick think he’s going nuts. He’s seeing a
shrink, right? Trying to work through all his issues. Which fits into their plans to set him up.”
“Set him up how?”
Bryce waved his hands impatiently. “Terry’s working that out. Just know that Danielle and the sheriff are going to make it look like Nick got his hands on some explosives—which they actually steal from the military—to blow up the casino.”
“What’s the motivation for that?” Greer asked.
“It’s become a symbol to Nick—of his life. This is where he met Danielle. At a dance. As his world crumbles—or seems to—it’s a metaphor for all that’s gone wrong in his world.”
“So we’re really blowing up the casino? I mean, I know that was the original idea, but that’s pretty extreme, isn’t it?”
“Extreme is how you make drama,” Bryce said. “Back to the military base. I need you to get that locked down—like yesterday. Shouldn’t be a problem, right? I mean, Terry looked it up. There are all kind of military bases in this part of the state.”
Greer could, right off the bat, think of dozens of reasons this idea wouldn’t work. But she wasn’t sure Bryce wanted to hear any of them.
She chose her words carefully. “The thing about the military is—it’s the military. These guys invented red tape. We’d need endless requisitions, authorizations, ad nauseam, which would probably have to go who knows how high up the command chain. Maybe all the way to the Pentagon. It would take months. And there’s no guarantee they would actually approve our request. Especially since we don’t have a finished script they can read.”
Bryce shrugged. “So scrub that idea. You’ll just have to find us something that looks vaguely official and military. Stephen’s guys can do the rest. I mean, look what they’ve already accomplished right here.”
“Bryce is right,” Stephen chimed in. “This should be a no-brainer for you, Greer. You get us the real estate. Once you spray something Army drab green, or camouflage, that automatically telegraphs military.”
What else could she say? “What’s the time frame?”
“Immediately,” Bryce said. And she knew he was dead serious. At least now she had a good idea of where to start searching for this abandoned military installation: her favorite local real estate agent.
34
She was just emerging from the shower after the end of another long, hot day, when her phone rang. Greer dove for her cell, which was on the nightstand.
“Hey,” CeeJay said. “I’m at La Parilla, that Mexican take-out place on the other side of the bridge. I thought I’d make it up to you for missing girls’ night out last Friday night. Dinner’s on me. The usual?”
“You’re a lifesaver!” Greer said, flopping down onto the bed. “I was just trying to decide whether my dinner entrée would be Cheez-Its or cottage cheese, because I’m too damn lazy to go find some real food. Yes, the usual, please.”
“I’ll pick up some wine or margaritas, too. Your place or mine?”
“How hot is it outside now?”
“Mmm. It’s cooled down some, and there’s probably a breeze coming off the water. You want to eat by the pool?”
“Sounds good. It’s too depressing eating in my room.”
“See you in fifteen,” CeeJay said.
* * *
Greer and CeeJay’s favorite cheap Mexican restaurant back in L.A. was Candela Taco Bar on LaBrea, which they referred to as Dollar Taco, because they usually met there on Wednesdays, otherwise known as Dollar Taco Night.
CeeJay unloaded Styrofoam containers and foil-wrapped packets from a plastic bag onto the concrete patio table by the pool. It was after eight, and the only other guest in sight was a buff male swimmer making endless laps across the shimmering turquoise waters of the pool.
“They had your fish tacos,” CeeJay said, peeling back the foil on one of the packets. “But they looked at me like I was crazy when I asked about a creamed corn one. So I got you a chicken special.”
“Chips and guac too, right?”
“Of course,” CeeJay said. “Green salsa for me. And,” she said, with a triumphant flourish, “premixed margaritas!”
She placed a container that looked like a waxed milk carton on the table and produced two plastic cups. “Sorry. They’ve got some crazy liquor laws in this county, so this was the best I could do.”
Greer couldn’t speak, because her mouth was full of fish taco. Instead, she nodded enthusiastically. “Not bad,” she said, when she’d finished chewing. “I’d kill for a Candela spicy shrimp taco. But then, anything’s better than Cheez-Its. Again.”
CeeJay poured them each a cup full of the margarita mix, then attacked her own dinner.
They were both so hungry they didn’t even start gossiping until both had destroyed their first tacos.
Greer dabbed at a bit of sour cream on her lower lip. “How’s it going with Bryce? Have you been together at all?”
“You mean have I slept with him this week? No. But he texted me while I was at the restaurant. He wants to have me over to dinner tomorrow night, which probably means he wants to have me. Which is okay with me. How’s your week been?”
“Nuts. Bryce and Terry have apparently trashed the original script—what there was of it. Now, they’ve gone in a completely different direction. Bryce loves what he’s seen so far, so I guess that’s good. Except for me, since I just found out late this afternoon I’ve got to magically come up with a military-looking location for the new script.”
CeeJay picked apart her vegetarian taco, separating out all the onions with her fingernail. “Speaking of Terry, did you know he’s running around with April, in wardrobe?”
“I hadn’t heard that. I can’t believe he can find the time. Bryce told me he’s got Terry on lockdown until the script is finished. He claims Terry’s pulled all-nighters at least two nights in a row.”
“Hmm.” CeeJay arched one eyebrow in a knowing expression. “Well, I saw the two of them sneaking out of the wardrobe trailer last night, and it looked to me like Terry’s wardrobe had recently been hastily removed.”
“Yuck.” Greer giggled and scooped up a glob of guacamole with a corn chip.
“Do you know how many calories are in a tablespoon of that glop?” CeeJay asked, pushing the bowl of guacamole away. She had her phone in her hand and was scrolling through e-mails and her Twitter feed.
“No, and I don’t want to know, either,” Greer said, licking her fingers.
“Uh-oh.” CeeJay looked up from her phone. “Oh shit.”
“What?” Greer took a sip of the premixed margarita and grimaced. “Ugh. This stuff tastes like battery acid.”
“Take a look at this,” CeeJay said, handing over her phone.
Greer found herself staring down at a grainy color photo the size of a postage stamp. “TMZ? I can’t believe you read this garbage.”
“I’m easily amused. Anyway, I have to keep up with world affairs.”
“What’s this picture supposed to be?”
Greer squinted, and now she could see that the image was a side view of a couple on a Jet Ski, skimming across the waves. The male driver had very short hair, was bare chested, and had a distinctive tattoo on his bicep. A girl clung to the back of the Jet Ski, her arms wrapped tightly around the driver’s waist. She wore only a pair of tiny bikini bottoms, and her face was obscured by a pair of oversize sunglasses and a floppy hat.
“Oh God. That’s Kregg, isn’t it?”
“Yup,” CeeJay said. “I wonder who the lucky lady is.”
Greer groaned. “Please don’t let it be who I think it is.”
“Who?”
“Allie Thibadeaux.”
“Gimme that.” CeeJay took the phone and squinted down at the image on the phone. “I can’t tell from this tiny picture. Hang on. I’m gonna go up to my room and get my laptop.”
Five minutes later, CeeJay placed the laptop on the table. Her expression was serious. “Sorry, but I think you’re right. It’s gotta be Allie.”
Greer looked at
the screen. “Oh God.” She shook her head. “This is not good.”
“It gets worse,” CeeJay said. “You haven’t even seen the item that goes with this picture. TMZ makes everything sound so … smutty.”
She pulled the laptop back and started reading aloud.
“‘Kregg’s Flick Does Trick for Topless Chick.’”
“I feel nauseous already,” Greer said.
“‘Bad boy rapper turned actor Kregg was spotted zipping around the Gulf of Mexico this week in Cypress Key, Florida, with a long-legged mystery lady who was apparently airing out some of her lady parts during a Jet Ski romp.’”
Greer slapped her hand on the tabletop. “No. No. No.”
“‘Kregg is in Florida doing a star turn in director/producer Bryce Levy’s upcoming action movie Beach Town, which is being filmed on location. As usual, Kregg is making waves on the set. Word is he was recently detained for drag racing in the predawn hours, and locals say when he’s not in front of the camera he parties hard with his entourage in local bars, and with his lovely lady friend, whose name we didn’t catch.’”
“At least they didn’t print Allie’s name,” Greer said.
CeeJay closed the cover of the laptop. “No, but I guarantee, they will. They have spies everywhere. And I hate to tell you this, but if TMZ is running this now, you can bet that Perez Hilton and Entertainment Tonight and all the tabloids will be running the same pictures and story.”
“Oh God. We caught a photographer from Us Weekly skulking around the set on Manatee Street earlier in the week. I thought they were working on a story about Kregg and Adelyn. If only.”
Greer crumpled the half-eaten remains of her taco into its foil. Her stomach felt sour.
“If Eb finds out about this, he is going to go ballistic.”
“Eb?” CeeJay eyed her friend.
“The mayor. And Allie’s uncle and guardian.”
“I know who the guy is. I was just thinking that the way you said his name just now sounded pretty cozy.”
Greer blushed and looked away.
“Why, Mary Ann! Are you getting cozy with the Professor here on Gilligan’s Island?”
Beach Town Page 22