Down and Out in Flamingo Beach

by Marcia King-Gamble

  “Good idea. I need to burn up some calories. I’ll meet you at the guardhouse in twenty minutes. Maybe we’ll skate toward the lighthouse.”

  “Twenty minutes it is.”

  That gave her just enough time to throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She found her skates in the back of the closet where she had tossed them, grabbed her backpack, put on flip-flops and took off.

  Emilie was waiting at the agreed-upon place in her tight shorts and a T-back top. She had a fanny pack belted around her waist and a cap with the bill pulled low over her eyes. Her ponytail swished as she dabbed sunblock on her creamy shoulders.

  “Ready?” she asked, removing her sneakers and tying the laces so that the shoes hung around her neck like a necklace.

  “Ready,” Joya answered, stepping out of her flip-flops and into her skates. She shoved her slippers in her backpack and whizzed by the security guard who looked at them as though they were crazy. The guardhouse, a relatively new addition to Flamingo Place, had been built as more upscale clientele moved in. There’d been an outbreak of petty thefts and the tenants and owners had pushed for a gated community.

  They skated down the boardwalk, passing everything from seniors reading the newspapers to vendors hawking anything short of their sisters. Mothers pushed strollers with gurgling babies, elderly men played chess and tourists outfitted in skimpy bikinis wandered in and out of stores as if they owned them.

  It felt good having the wind on her cheeks and inhaling the smell of brine and cotton candy. It felt good working muscles that she hadn’t in a long time. Emilie was way ahead of her, hair streaming behind, winding her way around people and vendors and garnering the attention of every male.

  The exercise was slowly helping clear Joya’s head. She’d made the right choice by resigning, and she should look at it as a new beginning, an opportunity to do something with the degree that she had not utilized. Or maybe she could try something new. She’d always wanted to be an interior designer. With all the new construction, she just might get her shot. It was certainly worth having a discussion with Emilie since she had the contacts.

  Emilie had slowed down and was bending over, hands on her knees taking deep breaths. Joya came alongside her.

  “We can walk the rest of the way,” she suggested.

  “Only if we roller-skate back.”

  Roller skates were exchanged for sneakers and flip-flops. Joya tucked her skates into her backpack and Emilie wore hers around her neck like a Hawaiian lei. Ahead of them the lighthouse was a tall white column, silhouetted against a blue sky.

  “Do you really believe it’s haunted?” Emilie asked.

  Joya’s laughter trilled. “It makes for a good story. Romance with a tragic ending seems to appeal to most. It’s like the old Romeo and Juliet story except this lovesick woman jumps through the window when she finds out her man died in a shipwreck. They’re said to roam the place calling to each other.”

  “Ohhh!” Emilie shuddered, “That gives me the chills. The kids should have fun though. They’re turning the lighthouse into a haunted house for the centennial celebrations.”

  A stream of tourists were paying the one-dollar fee a vagrant was charging to enter the building.

  “Look, old Billy is at it again,” Joya said, “He’s been doing this forever. I bet you he has a mighty fine nest egg away tucked away somewhere.”

  “Hey, it’s a capitalist world. Race you to the water.”

  Like two children, they flung their backpacks and roller skates on the sand and raced toward the bay.

  After ten minutes of frolicking, Emilie sank down on the damp sand.

  “So, what’s up with you and Derek Morse?”

  Joya rolled her eyes. “Derek and I are all about business. Shore Construction’s renovating Gran’s store. Derek and I are working out the details to make that happen.”

  “He’s something of a mystery and yummy, huh?”

  “Not in my book.”

  Emilie flipped her ponytail and tugged on the end. “You don’t sound like you like him?”

  “He’s all right, just not particularly ambitious. He seems content working construction. The guy’s smart enough and personable enough, but he lives with his grandmother. Why would any grown man live with a relative unless he didn’t have his act together?”

  “Things aren’t always what they seem. He could be saving his money or helping out Belle. Maybe he’s just content with where he is in life. There’s something to be said about that. Most of us aren’t.”

  “I suppose.”

  “But you’ve seen him two nights in row?” Emilie said, eyebrows arched.

  “It’s business and I’m seeing him again tonight. He’s coming over later with paperwork and to collect a check.”

  “Hmmm. That would make three nights in a row.”

  “Stop being a wise ass.” Clearly time to change the subject. “What’s happening with you? The last I heard you were actively looking for a date to go to Quen and Chere’s wedding.”

  Emilie stuck her legs straight out ahead of her. “I have my eye on someone, but he’s affiliated with the resort so I’m reluctant to ask. If things get sticky it could be awkward. You still shopping?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why don’t you ask Derek Morse?”

  “No.” Emilie had clearly lost her mind.

  “Betcha he cleans up well.”

  “No.”

  But even as Joya said the vehement no, she realized the wedding was only a week away and she’d need to find a date soon. No way was she going by herself. In a pinch Richard Dyson, the owner of Dyson Limousine Service could be counted on. Dickie never said no, to an attractive woman or free food. But then she’d have to deal with the consequences, and she wasn’t that desperate yet.

  Joya rose and began brushing the damp sand off her clothing. “If we’re forking out a buck to get into the lighthouse, we might as well get it out of the way,” she said.

  “I changed my mind. Too many tourists. Let’s walk down the beach a bit and roller-skate home.”

  “Going to tonight’s jam?” Joya asked as they started back.

  “I think so. You?”

  “Yes, after I check on Gran. Look for me, I’ll get there eventually.”

  The weekly Twilight Jam session featuring local talent was something of a tradition. It gave the towns-folk a place to be on a Saturday night and drew a good-sized crowd.

  As they started back, Emilie kicked the incoming surf and frolicked through the water. Joya joined her. Emilie’s mood was easily contagious.

  “You have to go back to work soon, don’t you?” Her friend had to ask, reopening that can of worms.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “What does uh-uh mean?”

  “I’m officially unemployed.”

  “What?”

  Joya explained why she’d been forced to resign.

  “What are you going to do for work?” Emilie asked, looking at Joya carefully for a reaction.

  What was she going to do for work?

  “I still have some savings. While Gran’s recuperating I’ll run the store and decide whether I’m staying on in Flamingo Beach or not. Maybe I’ll try my hand at interior design. I’ve always had a good eye for fabric and color. I was going to ask you if anyone at the resort needed an assistant. I work cheap.”

  “I’ll check around,” Emilie said. “You’re a hard worker. Hey, isn’t that Derek coming toward us?”

  Joya snapped to attention. “Where?” Hearing his name had the strangest effect on her. Her whole body now tingled.

  “Over there.” Emilie pointed to the boardwalk where a long-limbed, dark-skinned man jogged.

  Joya squinted in that direction. “Your eyesight’s great.”

  “It’s hard to miss anyone who looks like that, not with that body.” Emilie’s voice had gone all high and she swept several wisps of hair off her face. “Tell me you’re not just a teenie-weenie bit interested in him? The guy is a walking bill
board for sex.”

  “He’s not my type,” Joya said tightly.

  Emilie gave her a sideways look. “Okay, since he’s not your type maybe I’ll ask him to escort me to the wedding.”

  “Didn’t you say you had someone else in mind?”

  “Yes, but…”

  Emilie was already racing toward the steps leading up to the boardwalk. She plopped down at the top and quickly put on her roller skates then pushed off in the direction that Derek was jogging. Joya’s choice was either to follow or to head home.

  By the time she caught up, Derek was jogging in place as Emilie circled him. A damp T-shirt clung to his broad chest and stretched across his washboard abs. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face and settled in the crevices around his mouth. He was breathing hard.

  “Emilie Woodward,” Joya heard Emilie say. “I met you and Preston Shore when you guys put in a bid for those waterfront villas.”

  Derek gave Emilie a slow, appraising smile. “Of course I remember you. How could I forget? Love the more casual look.”

  Emilie preened and made another wide circle, pushing out her already impressive boobs. She was working it, making sure Derek got a good view of her cleavage, short-shorts and long, long legs. Her curly red hair fanned out behind her. She was larger than life and sexy to boot. Joya felt like an ugly little gnome beside her. Derek up until now had still not acknowledged her existence. She would not be ignored.

  “Hello, Derek. You didn’t show up today. How come?” she asked.

  “Hey, Joya, girl is that you?” Derek’s eyes lit up as if he recognized her for the first time. “I had no idea you were the athletic type.”

  He had stopped running in place and was doing a series of stretches and bends. He had this incredulous expression on his face.

  “I was going to call you later and apologize,” he added. “We ran into some problems at the Vintage Place, one of the guys hit a pipe and by the time the mess got sorted out you’d closed up.” He tossed her another of those narrow-eyed looks as if he couldn’t believe it was her. “I had no idea you roller-skated. Do you run?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Well, well.” Derek placed both hands on his hips, looking her over while Emilie continued to skate circles around them.

  “I need to get home,” Emilie said abruptly.

  “What’s the hurry?” Joya asked. Emilie seemed suddenly impatient to get going. She hadn’t mentioned needing to be anywhere before.

  She made a huge production of glancing at her watch. “I completely forgot about my hair appointment. See you later at the jam.”

  Off she whizzed, red hair creating a curtain behind her, leaving Joya to face Derek. Alone.

  Chapter 11

  “Are you in that much of a hurry?” Derek asked as if sensing she was about to bolt.

  “Uh…”

  “I’ve got the paperwork you need to sign in my truck.”

  “But I don’t have my checkbook with me. Won’t you need your deposit?” she argued.

  “One of two things can happen,” Derek said, seemingly unperturbed. “I can pick up the check later or you can drop it off.”

  There wasn’t an excuse in the world she could give without being rude. She couldn’t just walk away from him especially not if she wanted work to start Monday.

  “Okay, let’s get it over with. I’ll drop off the deposit later if you don’t mind.”

  “Or I can pick it up. Whichever is easier for you,” Derek countered.

  “I’ll stop by your house.”

  In such close quarters Joya could smell the musk coming off him. It wasn’t an unpleasant scent, and she tried to blink away the erotic vision of that hard, muscular body lying on top of her. Derek had runners’ legs, muscles bunching in all the right places, and biceps that most men would kill for. She couldn’t seem to come up with a response and she couldn’t get his naked body out of her head.

  If she allowed him to stop by her place who knew how that might end? One little kiss had gone to her head. It couldn’t happen again. She couldn’t risk it. Better to drop the check off at his home. She’d ring the doorbell, hand it to him and be on her way.

  Derek pointed to someplace up the boardwalk. “Belle’s house is off to the right, but I suppose you know that. Just let me know what time you’ll be by. I’d hoped to catch the Twilight Jam.”

  “Me, too, after I go home, shower, change and visit Granny J at the hospital. Will seven be okay? The musicians usually don’t start playing until eight.”

  Derek tilted his head to the side as if contemplating something. “Why don’t you and I go together?”

  “Um…Okay, sure.”

  She hadn’t been able to come up with an excuse quickly enough. And truthfully, she wanted to find out more about the man. He was a heck of a lot more complicated than she’d given him credit for, but he was good company. Joya’s conscience warred with her. Would she be misleading him, letting him believe he stood a chance? No, he was just being friendly, she decided, and she could be friendly back.

  “Great. You bring a blanket to sit on and I’ll bring a nice bottle of wine.” He tapped her on the shoulder.

  So much for stereotypes, she’d had him pegged as a beer drinker. No denying at glance number one there’d been chemistry between them, and more sparks than an electrical fire. In Derek’s presence Joya felt edgy and wired. While words usually came easily, when he was around she was rendered damn close to inarticulate. She turned into a teenager again, awkward and unsure of herself. He was way too virile.

  Together they started down the boardwalk, Joya trying her best to ignore the knowing looks and muttered speculation, often loud enough for them to hear. Every now and then they stopped to acknowledge someone they knew. She’d bet phones were ringing all over town. Some probably already had them married off.

  Just wait until they showed up at tonight’s jam session, then the whole of Flamingo Beach would have them sleeping together. She couldn’t let that bother her. A lot worse had been said of her in the past. She’d been called all kinds of names when she’d left Quen. It had been said she’d left him for the town stud, and when that had failed to prove true, the rumor spread she was a lesbian.

  An awkward silence ensued. She and Derek had run out of things to say. Think, Joya, think. What’s a good safe topic? His job. People liked to talk about their jobs.

  “What is it about construction you like?” she asked to ease the tense silence.

  Derek thought for a moment. “I like working with my hands and I like it that I don’t have to attend meetings. I finish the job I’m given and that’s that. Basically I come to work stress-free and I leave that way. My biggest worry is making sure my crew meets the required deadline. It’s up to me to turn nothing into something and take an eyesore and turn it into a palace.”

  “But it must be backbreaking, tiresome work,” Joya commented, liking the thought he’d put into his response. Derek was no one’s fool.

  His brown eyes lit up as he warmed to his subject. “It can be, but when you’re done you feel proud of what you’ve accomplished. Even though you’re working within certain confines you’re able to bring creativity to a project. It’s like an artist putting a personal stamp on a piece. You’re leaving a legacy behind.”

  “And there’s something to be said about not having to play the political corporate game. It’s one of the reasons I liked being a flight attendant,” Joya added. “I showed up for work, flew from point A to B, went home and collected my check. My boss was the senior flight attendant on that crew and if we didn’t see eye to eye then I traded the next trip and got a new boss.”

  “You’re speaking in the past tense. Didn’t you like the autonomy of being master of your own fate?”

  “Yes, but I’m no longer with the airline.”

  “You quit?” Derek said, putting it into words and making it sound final. “I just can’t imagine you not getting along with anyone.”

  It occurred to Joya that
he was being snide.

  “There are people that set my teeth on edge,” she said, looking directly at him. Let him imagine the worst.

  He chuckled softly, apparently finding humor in her words. “I hope I’m not one of them. You’ve always been civil, even when those two winners your grandma employed were trying to get over on you. You could have been hell on wheels but you weren’t.”

  “You mean Deborah and LaTisha?”

  “Yeah. Those two pieces of work.”

  Joya’s cheeks heated up. A compliment from Derek? Backhanded as it was. She was enjoying the back and forth. And much as she hated to admit it, she was enjoying spending time with him.

  Derek paused in front of the raised stage used for outdoor performances. A hopeful guitarist strummed a guitar that needed tuning. The case lay at his feet with pitifully few coins in it.

  “I have to go,” Derek said. “I’m ripe for a shower and there are a couple of things I need to do before tonight’s gig. I’ll see you a little after seven then?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Derek began a slow jog, heading for his grandmother’s house, a stone’s throw from the boardwalk. Joya took off in the opposite direction. She was already thinking about what to wear to the Twilight Jam. She’d seen the way Derek looked at Emilie, quite obviously he was interested, and she’d felt a twinge of jealousy. She wanted him to look at her the same way he’d looked at Emilie, and she couldn’t fathom why.

  At Flamingo Beach General Granny J was being examined by Dr. Benjamin.

  “Are you done poking at me?” she groused, “I’m liable to be black and blue all over.” She’d had enough of lying in bed trying to digest inedible food. She wanted out.

  “All done,” the doctor said, patting her upper arm. He was treating her like a child, or even worse, an old lady who needed to be patronized.

  She wasn’t about to be appeased or dismissed. “Okay. I’m alive, so when can I go home?”

  “Didn’t I say tomorrow?” Dr. Benjamin flipped through the clipboard he was carrying. “You’re doing very well, and you’ll do even better if you stick to the recommended diet and get some exercise.”