Ten Beach Road

by Wendy Wax

  For most of the day he watched whatever sports he could find. Once she was mobile again, Edna waited on him and clucked over him, complaining that Trafalgar didn’t know what they were doing and predicting that other investment firms would be beating down her son’s door to get him. Madeline assumed Edna had been given the abridged version of Steve’s departure from his previous employer and no version of their, and her, dire financial situation.

  Madeline waited for her husband to contact the insurance company to begin filing Edna’s claim, but this didn’t happen. Nor did he seem inclined to resume his job hunt or any networking activities. But he was working on memorizing the daytime television schedule and had devised a system for predicting who would be eliminated from American Idol and Dancing with the Stars. Both he and Edna had proven they were smarter than a fifth grader.

  Madeline’s hurt and anger didn’t dissipate with time. Both emotions coursed through her, mingling with her fear and panic so that her heart thudded heavily in her chest. Unable to move or motivate Steve, Madeline dug through the file cabinet in their home office until she found Edna’s homeowner’s policy and bank statements as well as their own and spent several days poring over them. Confronting the reality of their situation in black and white made her feel even worse, which hardly seemed possible.

  In fact, she began to feel very much like the Little Red Hen, from the nursery tale, as she made an appointment to meet the claims adjustor at Edna’s house and then went in to talk to their account person at the bank. She opened the bills that poured in, made note of them, then placed them in an ever-growing pile on the corner of Steve’s desk. No matter how often or how urgently she badgered him he refused to so much as look at one. When she dragged him to a psychiatrist for a session that they no longer had insurance to pay for, he refused to speak.

  They’d been limping along this way for a number of weeks when Madeline came home from the grocery store where she’d maxed out her third and next-to-last credit card, and found her daughter sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich. Two large suitcases stood in a corner. It was April first. “Kyra?”

  “Hi, Mom.” Kyra stood and gave her a hug. “I saw Grandma in the other room with Dad. I hope my room’s still available.”

  “Of course,” Madeline said. “But what’s going on? I thought you were shooting in Seattle through May.”

  “I’m not on the shoot anymore.”

  Madeline waited for the shout of “April Fools’!” Kyra had talked nonstop about the movie and the incredible cast and crew all through the holidays. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and a complete career builder. “But I thought . . .”

  “And, um, I have another . . . small surprise.”

  “Do I need to sit for this?” Maddie thought maybe running and hiding would be better based on the look on her daughter’s face, but she held her tongue.

  “Probably.”

  Madeline sank down in the chair next to Kyra’s. Her daughter sat, too. She looked gaunt and her eyes were puffy. “So, how do you feel about . . . grandma?”

  “Well, she’s not too much extra work. And she and your father do keep each other company.” And she had cut back on the Melinda thing.

  “No, I mean how do you feel about becoming one?”

  “Please tell me this is an April Fools’ thing.”

  Kyra shook her head while Madeline looked around for the hidden camera. “I’ve got it. You’re shooting a new reality show. And I bet it’s called Torture Your Parent?”

  Kyra’s jaw tightened and her chin jutted forward. “No, the torture part’s just an unexpected perk, I guess. I’m pregnant, Mom. And apparently having sex with an actor on a major motion picture set is okay; until his wife shows up and throws her weight around.”

  Once again, Madeline wished she had misheard. “Oh, Kyra, honey. How could you let this happen?”

  “Thanks for the enthusiasm and support.” Kyra’s voice was tight.

  “Kyra, that’s not fair. You have to admit this is a bit of a bombshell. And it’s not the first one that’s exploded here lately.”

  Her daughter’s face flushed with disappointment and absolutely zero interest in any problem other than her own. “Oh, God, everything was so great. And now it’s all such a mess.”

  “I know the feeling.” Madeline contemplated her daughter. Long and lanky with a mass of dark curls and her father’s wide-set gray eyes, she was more striking than beautiful. Her flair for the dramatic had become evident in the crib and had not diminished with age.

  “Who’s the baby’s father and . . .” Madeline paused, unsure how to proceed. “What role is he planning to play in this?”

  Kyra hesitated.

  “Just tell me, Kyra.” Madeline could not take another family member withholding critical information. “I love you, and I’ll do my best not to judge.”

  “It’s Daniel’s. Daniel . . .”

  “Daniel Deranian?” She named the megastar of the film Kyra had been working on. “But he’s . . .”

  “Married to Tonja Kay.”

  Madeline nodded. Tonja Kay was a huge name in her own right. Together they were one of Hollywood’s premier power couples; only a couple of rungs beneath Brad and Angelina. “And he’s . . .”

  “Older than me?”

  “I think that’s a slight understatement. He’s a good decade older than you. And he’s got a horrible reputation with women. Why . . .”

  “So much for not judging.” Kyra folded her arms across her chest.

  “Honey, I’m just saying I don’t think you have any idea how completely having a baby will change your life. You’re only twenty-three. There’s so much still ahead of you. You know you don’t have to actually . . .”

  “Yes, I do,” Kyra said. “I know what my options are. And I’m having Daniel’s baby.”

  “And how does Daniel feel about this?” She felt silly calling a Hollywood megastar by his first name. As if she’d ever seen him anywhere besides the pages of a magazine or on a theater screen.

  Kyra shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I don’t know. I never got to tell him.”

  “Oh, Kyra.”

  “He told me he loved me, Mom. He’s not like you think. Or the way they describe him in the tabloids.” Kyra folded her hands in front of her and then stared at them as if there might be some answer hidden between her fingers. “Everything was great. But then Tonja showed up on the set, and the next thing I knew I was off the picture.” She looked up, her gray eyes cloudy with hurt. “When I knocked on Daniel’s trailer door later, his assistant told me he wasn’t available. And that was it.

  “I didn’t think it was the sort of news I should be texting or emailing.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Madeline reached for her daughter and drew her close. What right did some Hollywood Romeo have ruining her daughter’s life and then blowing her off? How could her baby have a baby? And how in the world were they going to pay for a pregnancy and support another child right now?

  “Is it okay if I stay for a . . . while?” Kyra asked as she pulled back. “I’d already sublet my apartment because I thought I’d be on location all spring. And I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” She bit her lip, worrying it, just as she had as a child when she was trying to hold back tears. Madeline felt like crying, too. She’d thought she was all cried out, but apparently tears came in an unlimited supply. She felt them pricking against her eyelids, trying to get free.

  “Of course you can stay here. You and the baby.” Madeline closed her eyes briefly, hardly able to believe Kyra was going to be a mother. “For as long as you need or want to.”

  As Madeline watched helplessly, Kyra grabbed her suitcases, dragged them to the back stairs, and then began to bump them up to her room. Which was apparently not going to become a study/craft room anytime soon.

  By the middle of April Madeline knew that her sky was definitely falling. Edna’s claim had still not been paid and living with her had reinforced the fact that E
dna could not live alone. Nor could she afford to live in any sort of senior residence even if they were able to repair and sell her house in this horrible real estate market, and even if she’d been willing to go to one.

  Steve was still in free fall and could not be begged, cajoled, or shamed into doing anything remotely helpful. He insisted he was just waiting for the economy to turn around, but Madeline had the feeling he’d simply decided he didn’t feel like working anymore. She carried the crumpled paper with the address of the beachfront property and the names of the other two owners and sat down next to him on the couch, placing the paper in his lap. “We need to go look at this and find out what it’s worth. It’s basically our only remaining asset besides this house.”

  He needed a shave and although he lay around far too much, often with his eyes closed, he didn’t look at all rested. “There is no market for real estate, Madeline. And I seriously doubt that a ‘mansion’ on a Podunk beach that we’ve never heard of would be worth anything if there were.” His mother sat nearby, leafing through a newspaper. She and Edna had never had anything approaching a heart-to-heart, but Madeline had stopped trying to pretend weeks ago that everything was all right.

  “But the market is going to recover, Steve. We can’t just sit here and lose everything. We have to at least try to save ourselves.”

  “You have no idea what it’s like out there.” His tone was as weary and defeated as his eyes. “I’ve been the breadwinner for twenty-five years, Madeline, and I just can’t stomach going out after another loaf.” He picked up the letter and handed it back to her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He raised the remote and turned the volume back up.

  “Edna?” It was her knowledge of just how close the sky was to falling that made Madeline turn to her mother-in-law. Edna shrugged her increasingly frail shoulders. “I think Steven needs this little break,” she said as if they were talking about an hour nap and not a complete abdication of responsibility. “We’ll all just have to give him some more time.” She leaned over and patted her son on the shoulder. When Madeline left the room they were both once again focused on the television screen, where a contestant was scrambling to identify the last word of the winning phrase on Wheel of Fortune.

  In the kitchen, Madeline poured herself a glass of wine; she’d slashed their household budget as far as possible, and so it was a single glass of Two Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s that she carried out onto the deck instead of a Kendall Jackson. She sipped it sparingly while she stared out over the deck railing and up the rise of the heavily wooded backyard. The pine trees stirred slightly in the early evening breeze, and she breathed in the soft scent of the camellia bush that had begun to bloom on the side of the house. She searched the sky, hoping to find at least a smidgen of serenity, but the reality of their situation made that impossible.

  Bill collectors had begun calling, and she could barely afford the store brands at the grocery store. She’d delivered the last of her lightly worn clothing to the Designer Consigner shop yesterday.

  Inside the phone rang and a few moments later the back door opened. Kyra stepped out onto the deck in a spill of light. “It’s Andrew, Mom. He wants to talk to you.” She covered the handset as she handed it to Madeline.

  Madeline took the phone from her daughter and finished the last swallow of wine before lifting the receiver to her ear. “Hi, sweetie,” she said, brutally aware that her youngest was the only family member who seemed to be where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do. “How’d that Lit exam go?”

  “Not so good.”

  “Oh?” She settled back in her chair and propped her feet up on the railing. Compared to all the truly horrible things that had happened lately, one bad test score hardly seemed worth getting worked up about. “Well, I’m sure if you study harder for the next one, you’ll be back on track. You just need to buckle down now. You’ve always been a great student.”

  “No, Mom, it’s too late for that.”

  She drew a deep breath, less worried now about serenity than not exploding.

  “How can it be too late? You’ve got another month left and a final exam still to take.” She fingered the stem of her wineglass and looked at it with real longing, but there was not even a fraction of a drop left.

  “I’ve got a fifty in that class.” There was a brief pause. “And a sixty-five in History. I may be able to pass, but my academic scholarship’s finished.”

  Madeline heard the words, she processed them, but she simply couldn’t believe them.

  “If I take them again this summer and get a B or better, I could get my GPA up where it needs to be by the end of next fall and re-qualify.”

  Madeline reminded herself to remain calm, but it was a tall order. “You knew what you had to do to maintain that scholarship,” she said. “And the work is certainly not too difficult for you. How did this happen?” She had asked this question far too many times lately. And never once gotten a good answer.

  “I guess I just got a little lazy,” he admitted sheepishly, as if he’d forgotten something insignificant like returning a library book on time. “If you just send me the tuition money for summer session, I’ll . . .”

  “No.”

  “What?” Clearly it had never occurred to him that his request might be refused.

  Madeline couldn’t remember the last time they’d said no to Andrew, which just might be the problem. “No,” she said, careful not to raise her voice. “No.” She stood and paced the deck, knowing that there was no other answer she could give. “No scholarship, no Vanderbilt.”

  “Aw, Mom, that’s not . . .”

  “That’s the way it is. You’ll do everything you can to get those grades up and then you can come home and spend the summer working to earn next year’s tuition. Next year is on you.”

  “But I can’t afford private school tuition. There’s no way I can . . .”

  “Neither can we,” she said. “Not anymore. If you can’t make enough to go back, you’ll have to apply in state.”

  “But . . .”

  “There are no buts, Andrew. That’s just the way it is.”

  “Put me on with Dad then,” Andrew said. “He’ll send me the money.”

  “Your father’s not available.” This was the understatement of the century. “And he’s put me in charge of our finances.” This was far too true. “So I wouldn’t waste any time lobbying. Especially when you need to be spending that time studying.”

  She said good-bye then, and for the first time in pretty much forever she didn’t feel at all guilty about saying no. She was in charge of their finances, by default perhaps, but nonetheless in charge. And she would have to figure out what to do next.

  Treating herself to one last glass of wine, she carried it into the office and sat down at the desk. Pulling the crumpled letter from her pocket, she spread it out in front of her and reread it carefully. On the computer, she did a Google search of Pass-a-Grille and saw that it was a tiny comma-shaped spit of land that curved out into the Gulf of Mexico about midway down the west coast of Florida.

  Then she Googled the names of the two other owners and discovered that one of them, Avery Lawford, was a host of Hammer and Nail—the remodeling show on HGTV that Edna liked to watch. The other was Nicole Grant, who was listed as founder and owner of Heart Inc., an elite matchmaking service with offices in New York and Los Angeles. Her résumé listed at least fifty marriages to her credit as well as a bestselling book on dating dos and don’ts.

  Madeline spent another thirty minutes looking at both women and another fifteen trying to find a photo of the house they owned, but although she found its location, she was unable to get a clear look at it on Google Earth.

  She could tell she had nothing in common with these women other than being taken by Malcolm Dyer. They were younger and far more glamorous, and she sincerely doubted that either of them was as desperate financially as she was. But surely they’d at least want to take a look at their asset? Or better ye
t, maybe one of them would like to buy out her share? Either way would give her a shot at covering their most pressing expenses until Malcolm Dyer was found and the remainder of their money returned.

  “Please, God,” she thought as she dialed the first number. “Please let them catch him soon. And please don’t make these women too difficult to deal with.

  “Oh, and while you’re at it,” Madeline Singer, who was now channeling not only the Little Red Hen but Chicken Little asked, “could you please keep the rest of the sky in place for a while?”

  Four

  Working with your ex-husband was almost as much fun as a double root canal. Without anesthesia. Doing it in front of television cameras was four impacted wisdom teeth thrown in.

  Avery Lawford stood between her ex-husband, Trent, and a Sub-Zero refrigerator on the studio set of a partially remodeled kitchen. Behind them the key grip adjusted their backlights. Arranged in a loose triangle in front of them, three cameramen ran through their moves. Trent leaned against a nearby counter, reading through his lines on the teleprompter while their makeup woman, Dorothy, carefully mopped his brow and applied a fresh dusting of powder. Avery got a quick pouf of her shoulder-length blonde hair and a smear of gloss on her already heavily painted lips.

  “When we’re back in, we’re going to get a close-up of Avery smiling and motioning to the corner cabinet that Trent just installed. Dottie, spray her hair some more so that it can’t fall forward. It’s hiding her, um, profile.” This was Jonathan the director’s euphemism for cleavage, which always seemed to get more close-ups than the rest of her.

  “Camera one, I want you to stay with Trent. Camera two, you’re going to start tight as he explains the installation and then pull out to a two shot. Three, you’re tight on Avery. I’ll cut to a shot of her looking up at him impressed.”