Beach Colors

by Shelley Noble

  “The bewitching hour. I’ll be waiting.” She followed him downstairs and smiled until he drove away, then she dropped into a kitchen chair. Surely, that had been just an expression. He didn’t love her, did he? Of course not, it was much too soon. He’d just been kidding her about her lack of interest in cooking.

  And it was too early for her to even think about anything permanent. The ink had barely dried on her divorce decree. And she had a career to revitalize.

  She’d meant to sleep in since the workshop was closed for the holiday, but she knew that was out of the question now. She made coffee and watched the sunrise. When the first family arrived at the beach, she went back to bed.

  She awoke to noises from outside. She put on her new swimsuit and went downstairs. Roger and Jude had set out beach chairs and umbrellas to claim their spot on the beach just like the dozens of other families who lived in the community.

  Bri and Grace arrived a few minutes later.

  “Hallelujah, you got a new suit,” Bri said. “I wonder who—I mean what—inspired that?”

  Margaux threw a towel at her.

  Mrs. Prescott dropped off Connor before lunch. She was spending the day with some of her friends in town, but promised to keep her cell phone nearby in case they needed her. Margaux assured her they would be fine and hoped she wasn’t being too optimistic.

  She saw a patrol car pass by and she ran to the back door, but it was only Finley. He gave her a thumbs-up and continued down the street.

  The beach was swarming with kids and Margaux hoped it wouldn’t be too much for Connor. At first he stayed on the porch watching the other kids playing. He was fascinated by a group of boys who were running with sparklers, but he didn’t seem inclined to join them, thank God.

  Finally Margaux retrieved the crab pail and a plastic shovel she’d unearthed in the shed and took Connor to play in the sand. She eased him to a place about six feet away from two children who seemed about his age and who were filling their pails with sand and dumping them out. The boy had a big plastic dump truck.

  Margaux sat down on the sand, handed Connor the shovel, and began dropping handfuls of moist sand in the pail. When it was full, Margaux turned it over and patted the bottom. She lifted the pail up, leaving a tower of sand. Soon she and Connor were surrounded by pail-shaped mountains.

  The two nearby children wandered over and sat down. The little boy and Connor began filling the dump truck while the girl scooped out tunnels in the mounds Margaux had made.

  Feeling she’d made big headway, Margaux slipped away to the porch where she could see all three children.

  “Is it too early for one of those drinks with a paper umbrella in it?”

  “How about some lemonade,” Jude said. “Afraid we don’t have any umbrellas.”

  “Sounds good. How did you manage day after day with us on the beach? I’m afraid to take my eyes off Connor. He might feel shy, get scared, wander off. It’s exhausting.”

  “You seem to be enjoying it.”

  Margaux nodded. She was enjoying it, but a part of her felt it should be her and Danny’s children out there, Jude’s grandchildren instead of a little boy she’d only known for a few months.

  Jude squeezed her shoulder. “He’s a sweet boy.”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  The two kids left and Connor came back to the porch. His nose looked pink. Margaux slathered more sunscreen on him and made him put on his T-shirt and hat. He had lunch—hot dog, chips, and an orange soda—sitting on the steps in the shade of the porch overhang.

  After lunch the two kids from the morning came over to see if Connor could play. Jude promised to watch him while Margaux, Bri, and Grace went to the kitchen to whip up a batch of watermelon martinis.

  Margaux was standing at the kitchen sink when she caught a glimpse of a patrol car moving slowly down the street. It might be Finley again, but—

  “Back in a sec,” she said, and ran out the back door.

  Nick slowed the cruiser to a stop.

  “Hi.” She leaned in the open window. “Are you allowed a little fun while you’re on duty?”

  “A very little.”

  She kissed him and moved away.

  Nick groaned. “You are such a tease.”

  “You said a little fun.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be wearing that suit.”

  Margaux looked down. She’d forgotten she was wearing her new bikini. Aqua and gold and tiny. “It’s new. At least I’m not wearing the one with the ruffles and strawberries.”

  “True. I’ve got to go. Think you can keep that on until about midnight?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Is Connor here?”

  “Yes, and he’s been playing with two other kids all day.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  He reached out the window and pulled her over, claiming a longer kiss that left her breathless.

  “You better hope you don’t get reported for enjoying your job too much.”

  “You’re right. Don’t forget me. I’ll be back.” He drove off.

  Smiling, Margaux turned to find Bri and Grace, noses to the kitchen window. They disappeared in a flash.

  They were waiting with martinis. Bri handed her one. “Now that was definitely an inspiration.”

  Adelaide picked Connor up at four. He had to be bribed with ice cream to get him off the beach. Margaux walked them to the car. When Margaux buckled his seat belt, Connor pressed sticky hands to her cheeks. “I love you.”

  Margaux smiled. “I love you too, sweetie.”

  Bri and Grace left around six, Bri to feed her animals and Grace to meet friends at the public beach and boardwalk for the fireworks.

  Roger and Jude left soon after. “We’re going to watch the fireworks from the comfort of my balcony. You’re sure you don’t want to come?”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll just take a shower and a nap.”

  “Busy day. You’ve done wonders for that child. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” She walked them to the door. Jude kissed her goodbye, and to her surprise so did Roger.

  Margaux showered and changed—leaving the bikini out in case she needed it again—and went to watch the fireworks from the porch steps. She could have gotten the full effect by walking to the jetty or even sitting on the sand. But both were dotted by couples or groups of friends or families, and though Margaux didn’t feel alone, she didn’t feel like joining in.

  The first spray of fireworks had just lit the night sky when she was startled by Nick, changed into jeans, walking across the porch and sitting down beside her.

  “Charlie Briggs needed the overtime, so I let him have the rest of my shift.” He unclipped his pager and set it on the step. “I’m on call.”

  Another boom reverberated in the air, followed by silver medallions that exploded into pink and green. Margaux barely noticed, because Nick had pulled her close and was kissing her like she couldn’t remember being kissed before. And she didn’t want to remember any kisses before Nick.

  She wasn’t aware that the fireworks were ending until the last barrage of explosions lit the whole sky.

  “I hope Jude’s watching the fireworks,” said Margaux against Nick’s mouth.

  “Why?”

  “She usually has her binoculars trained down here.”

  “I say we go inside.”

  “Good idea.”

  Twenty-four

  What we have here,” Linda said, gesturing to the bare walls of Margaux, “is a freaking empty dress shop.”

  “Boutique,” Margaux, Bri, and Grace said in unison.

  Linda grinned. “I don’t see no boo-teek anywhere. Just some dust bunnies and a secondhand armoire.”

  “She’s right,” Margaux said. “I’ve been so focused
on the show that I let the Margaux opening slide.”

  “Maybe you could postpone the opening until after the show and decorate then,” Grace suggested.

  “Product. We’re talking about product here.” Linda walked away from them, turned back abruptly, and threw her hands wide. “They see product, they want to buy it. They don’t want to see product, make a memo in their BlackBerry to go buy it in a couple of weeks, maybe three, if they’re still in town whenever we get around to opening this joint. Uh-uh. That’s not the way it works.”

  “Thank you.” Bri high-fived her. “At least two of us know what’s what.”

  Margaux threw the legal pad she’d been making notes on at her. “I get the point.” She looked around. “We could use the garment racks I got at the flea market in a pinch.”

  Linda groaned. “The Baptists didn’t even want them. Anyway, we need them upstairs. Try again.”

  “You’re right. I should have ordered fixtures, but hey, I’m new at this.”

  “It’s too late to order things,” Bri said, looking around. “Besides, maybe you’ll be better off without the standard accoutrement.”

  “You mean untraditional displays?” Margaux said. “I’ve been thinking of that myself.”

  “So how can we help?” Grace asked.

  They discussed it over lunch while Margaux made lists and handed them out. “Let’s see how far we get with these and meet back here at six.”

  “Better make it eight,” Bri said.

  It was almost nine before everyone returned. Nick and Margaux were unpacking baskets she picked up at several import stores. They were surrounded by a dozen more shopping bags and an assortment of distressed bookcases they’d found in a local “antique” furniture store.

  “How about these?” Linda asked as she wrestled two metal baker’s racks through the door. Nick relieved her of both of them and placed them in the center of the floor.

  “I got the white ones ’cause I thought they would fit in with the atmosphere better than the shiny ones, but they’ll exchange them.”

  “No, these are perfect,” Margaux said.

  “Good. ’Cause there are two more in my car. Come on, Chief, Harlan is working tonight.” Nick followed her outside.

  “She’s amazing,” Bri said.

  “She is that,” Margaux agreed.

  Grace came in a few minutes later carrying two large boxes. “Sorry I’m late but I got stuck in traffic.”

  “Traffic? I thought you were going to the party store to get tissue paper and mesh bags.”

  “I did. Here’s the paper and the bags, I got large and small ones.” She slid the top box on the floor next to Margaux. “Then I got to thinking.” She put the other box down and opened it.

  “Grace Holcombe, there’s hope for you yet,” Brianna said, taking one of the delicate tissue sheets from the box.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Margaux.

  “Made from mulberry fibers or something. Anyway, I talked to the manager at EcoPapier. I helped her with a zoning problem once. She has enough of the paper in stock to get us started. She can order more.” She opened one of the shopping bags. “They also had these nifty little gift boxes, made of something natural, I forget what. Anyway, these are brown and green but they come in different colors.”

  “Yowza,” said Linda. “Those are expensive. I hope she gave you the saved-my-ass lawyer discount.”

  “She did.”

  “Perfect,” said Margaux. “I’ll call her tomorrow and place an order.”

  Grace puffed up. “See, Ms. Bri, I do have an artistic bone in my body.” She exhaled. “Though I think I just used it up.”

  They moved bookshelves, unpacked bags, and considered where to put things. It was after midnight when Grace lifted an unwieldy bundle from one of the bags. “What’s this?”

  “A fishing net.” Margaux shrugged. “I might have gotten carried away on that one.”

  “Not to worry,” Bri said. “You can always open a branch of Margaux in Palm Beach. Add a few seashells and they’ll eat it up. And pay a fortune. Hmm. Let me crunch a few figures.” She wandered away muttering to herself.

  The next day, Nick brought his friend Jake McGuire, a master carpenter and woodworker, to build dressing rooms. Margaux had seen his work. It was exquisitely detailed and expensive.

  When she tried to ask him about his fees, he shrugged. “Nick and I have been friends since forever. He’s happy. I owe you.”

  As pieces were finished, they were brought downstairs. Margaux marveled at how much had gotten done as the shelves and racks filled with her designs. It seemed that each remnant had been transformed into a camisole or a scarf and without looking like they were anything but carefully conceived.

  Margaux sometimes just sat in the center of the room, amazed at herself and her friends and the staff of seamstresses she hadn’t even met until a few weeks before. She was grateful, but also a little stultified when she overheard them talking about the fall and how they would soon need a larger workspace.

  “You’re really making this work,” Nick said as he looked around the finished boutique.

  “Yeah.” It was happening and Margaux suffered new moments of terror. Not the gut-wrenching disappointment and fear she’d brought home, but the exhilarating butterflies that attacked right before you stepped into the unknown.

  He kissed her. “Gotta go. Don’t worry.” He passed Bri on her way into the shop.

  “I’m here for my fitting.” Bri’s voice held less attitude than usual and Margaux wondered if she was having second thoughts about emceeing. She wasn’t about to ask. “Come with me.”

  They went up the stairs. Adelaide took her into the last unused bedroom and shut the door. After what seemed like an eon, Adelaide came out. “She’s taking a moment.”

  Margaux frowned. “Is she—”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  A few minutes later, Bri stepped out into the hallway wearing Margaux’s specially designed “Storm.” Silver iridescent harem paints, overpainted with mauve, deep purple, and eggplant. The pants buttoned at the ankle and were cinched at the waist by a flowing double scarf encrusted with crushed prism stones. It was topped by a sheer clinging camisole in heliotrope and an open jacket of the same fabric as the pants. She looked incredible.

  Margaux burst into tears. “You’re beautiful.”

  Bri nodded and she started to cry.

  “Come get out of that outfit before you get it all wet,” Adelaide said, and sniffed as she trundled Bri away.

  That afternoon, Margaux locked herself away with Adelaide. She had come in early to dye one more length of fabric, one she intended to make into a dress for herself.

  “A simple sheath,” she told Adelaide. “Do you think you’ll have the time?”

  “Of course. It’s beautiful and so simple, but what is that?” She pointed to a place on the fabric.

  “Something special for Connor. It goes front left near the hemline.”

  An hour later they had the fabric draped.

  “It’s perfect,” Adelaide said. “Perfect.”

  Three days before the opening, the models arrived. Bri brought them by the store to introduce them and schedule fittings for the next day.

  “Annalise is a genius. I described what kind of girls I wanted and she nailed it.”

  An African-American with close-cropped hair, a blonde, straight and long, a brunette, short and curly, and a redhead, wavy and silky. Pretty girls, not too harsh but not too wholesome.

  Margaux and Bri sat over coffee in Linda’s kitchen and scripted out the descriptions of the clothes that would be modeled.

  “I’ll do hair and makeup,” Linda offered. Her coal black hair was spiked more than usual that day. She was wearing purple eye shadow and false lashes and carrying her ever-present cup of tea.

&nbs
p; Bri’s eyes widened in horror.

  Linda sprayed a mouthful of tea. “You should see your face.” She pulled the lashes off and dropped them on the kitchen table. “I really had you going. Don’t worry. I can do sub-tile.”

  Margaux nodded. “Hard to believe sometimes, but she can.”

  The show was scheduled for a Thursday night. On Tuesday Margaux and Bri oversaw a professional photo shoot with the models at the inn. There would be other photographers at the show but Margaux didn’t want to take a chance of not getting any usable stills.

  Wednesday morning, Margaux woke up to storm clouds. “No,” she pleaded.

  Nick stirred beside her, then jolted upright. “What?”

  “Look.” She pointed to her bedroom window.

  “Oh. It won’t rain.” He pulled her down and captured her arms and legs.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know.”

  “How?”

  He groaned, propped himself up on his elbow, and looked down at her. “AccuWeather. Now let me show you how to relax before you go to work.”

  That afternoon they carted everything to the inn. Joe Mangioli, the manager, showed them to a banquet room where they could dress and leave their supplies. While Bri and the models tested the runway the hotel had constructed, Margaux went over the hors d’oeuvres list with the kitchen. Catering was part of the package. And it wasn’t cheap.

  The dress rehearsal was held the afternoon of the show. Not in the dark and not in time to fix anything major, but it was all Margaux could afford. It was a disaster, but as Margaux knew, a bad dress rehearsal was supposed to mean a good show. She just hoped that was what it meant this time.

  When they returned to the workshop, Linda whisked a protesting Adelaide into Le Coif and shut the door. The other seamstresses went home, but would be at the inn that night in case of any last-minute snafus.

  Margaux was left alone in the boutique. She had to admit it was impressive, especially considering the way it started out. But she was shaking with nerves. What if no one came. What if no one bought. What if she was making a huge mistake.