by Wendy Wax
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on this,” he said, taking the final bite of his sandwich. “But I would like to reach some sort of agreement about the girls’ names.” He looked steadily at her. “I’d really like to name one of them Sofia. It would mean a lot to my grandmother. I was thinking maybe we could each choose one name. I’d pick Sofia and you could choose anything else you like.”
“So they could end up having names that are polar opposites? Like Sofia,” she said with the Italian accents and lilt that Joe’s family used. “And, I don’t know, Hildegarde?”
“Well, I’d like to believe you wouldn’t be that cruel to our daughter, but basically yes. You know, it’s called a compromise. They teach it in hostage negotiation training.” Joe’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And chances are they’re going to be very different from each other anyway given that they’re fraternal twins.” His tone remained light, but it was clear that this was important to him.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“What’s going on, Nik?”
“What do you mean?” She directed her gaze just over his left shoulder.
“I know you a lot better than you seem to think I do. It’s pretty clear your reluctance to choose names has nothing to do with the names themselves.” He reached out, placed a finger under her chin, and turned her face so that her eyes met his. “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what the problem is.”
This was what came of living with a man for whom reading faces and sweating confessions out of people were simply part of the job. He knew her all right, but that didn’t mean she was going to come out and voice her fear that even naming them would tempt fate. She knew it was silly and superstitious, had chided herself for being ridiculous a thousand times, but there it was. When the babies were born and declared healthy, he could name them after any member of his family he wanted—well, maybe not after his Aunt Zanobia, which sounded like the name of a small village in a fairy tale. “Let’s just think about it a little longer,” she hedged. Then eager to change the subject, she continued, “I spent some time with Bitsy earlier. Something serious has happened between her and Bertie.”
“It would take all of five seconds to find out what might have happened,” Joe said.
“I assume you’re not referring to some sort of FBI investigation.”
“No. I was thinking the Internet. Possibly Google. I doubt it would take more than a quick scan of the Palm Beach papers to get the lowdown,” he replied. “I’m kind of surprised none of you have done that yet.”
“It wasn’t completely unanimous,” Nikki admitted. “But we decided to wait until Bitsy told us herself.” Which Nikki, who’d been the subject of way too much gossip and currently had quite a few issues she didn’t want to talk about, was pretty much on board with.
One of Joe’s dark eyebrows sketched upward.
She studied his expression. “You already know, don’t you?”
“And so should you. She’s put you all on the spot. Is there any budget available to build out and give her a two-bedroom?”
“No. Our agreement about what she’d get in return for her ‘sponsorship’ of the next season of Do Over was a little vague,” Nikki admitted, remembering just how grateful they’d been when Bitsy had agreed to become a sponsor. “We were in serious need of the capital and were not expecting the network to sue us.” She blew a bit of bang out of one eye. “The thing is I really appreciated the people who didn’t force me to acknowledge or discuss all the ways my life fell apart when Malcolm committed his fraud. Personally, I think it’s a lot easier not to know something than to pretend not to know it.” She sat up straighter and began to lever her legs off the chaise.
“There’s no shortage of sand out there,” Joe said with a curt nod toward the beach. “But unless you’re an ostrich, sticking your head in it is almost never a good idea.”
She suspected her smile was more of a grimace as she got her feet set on the ground. “Speaking of sand, I think I’m ready for that bath now. If the tub were bigger and I were smaller, I might even ask you to join me.” It was a clumsy attempt to change the subject and she was relieved when he didn’t object, but instead took her hands and helped her to her feet.
“Come on then.” Once she was steady, he put an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the cottage. It wasn’t far and yet she was winded when they got there. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked.
“Sure. I just get a little out of breath from carrying around so much extra weight.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re seeing Dr. Payne this week.”
Nikki snorted inelegantly. “God, I wish she’d change her name already. It’s a wonder anyone goes to her at all.” She kept her tone light and did her best to breathe evenly when he slowed his pace to match hers. As he held the cottage door open for her then carefully helped her into the bath, Nikki knew just how lucky she was to have Joe in her life and his children in her belly. The acknowledgment added fuel to her fear. Happiness, if it came, had always been fleeting, not something she’d ever managed to hold on to. How on earth was she supposed to believe that this time would be different?
• • •
Renée Franklin was fairly certain there weren’t too many women her age that enjoyed playing in the dirt as much as she did. At the moment she was kneeling in it, working her trowel beneath the roots of a snake plant that had somehow slithered into a flower bed in which it did not belong. She yanked it out with enthusiasm and set it aside with satisfaction. She believed plants and flowers appreciated order and structure in the same way that children did—they might not give voice to it, but it made their lives more secure, a quality that Renée had especially appreciated given the loss and turbulence that had infused her own childhood.
It was a perfect late January day and ideal for gardening with an abundance of sunshine and temperatures hovering in the sixties. The scent of rain teased at her nostrils, which meant the white and orange birds of paradise she’d added to the bed that she’d created around the mammoth hibiscus would be properly doused in just a few hours. The hibiscus, which her grandmother had planted to commemorate the opening of the Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club back in 1942, sat at the junction of the main walkway that bisected the hotel’s guest cottages, directly across from the unit where they’d been living when her father died and her stepmother disappeared. With the help of the garden club, of which she’d been president more times than she could count, she’d taken cuttings from the overgrown bush and planted them in each cottage’s walled garden as part of an overall relandscaping.
Her cell phone vibrated in her pants’ pocket and she removed one dirt-caked gardening glove to answer.
“Renée?” It was John, with whom she’d fallen in love when she was a girl and he was the handsome lifeguard who’d kissed her behind a nearby cabbage palm. “Have you whipped all those flowers into shape yet?”
“Not quite. There are a few holdouts,” she said, still plucking weeds with her remaining gloved hand. Her knees on the rubber pad had gone quite numb and she sat back on her heels.
“Well, I have no doubt you’ll have them toeing the line soon enough. Just like I always do.”
She rolled her eyes though there was no one but the plants to see it. “No one’s buying you as the henpecked husband, dear. You’ll have to try a different tack.”
He chuckled. “I had a call from a family named Hirsch. They’re down from Michigan for the week and want to look at a two-bedroom before they leave on Sunday. I told them they could come see the model.”
“But Bitsy Baynard’s in it.” Renée tossed a handful of weeds onto the nearby path.
“She said she’d vacate if we needed her to, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure she meant it.”
“I’ve asked Steve Singer to set up the showing for Saturday.
That’ll give her a few days to get used to the idea.”
“But where on earth is she supposed to put all those things she brought?” Renée asked.
“We have eight empty units. Surely she can stash her excess in one of them.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure she’ll agree to that,” Renée said. From what she’d seen, Bitsy Baynard was used to giving instructions, not taking them.
“Well, no one’s going to buy a unit sight unseen,” John said reasonably. “And we’re all anxious to find buyers for them. So someone will have to find a way not to ask her, but tell her.”
Renée stuffed the pile of weeds she’d plucked into a plastic bag. No point letting them end up back where she’d pulled them from. “I’m meeting with Annelise about the upcoming family night, then I’ll ask Nicole to give Bitsy a heads-up.” The most miraculous part of the renovation of the hotel that Maddie, Avery, Nikki, Kyra, and crew had done was discovering what had happened to their father and Annelise’s mother in 1952. Finding closure on that tragedy had brought her sister back from the abyss on which she’d teetered for much of her life.
“Do you think handling the social activities is too much for Annelise?” John asked, as always attuned to her slightest inflection or hesitation.
“Well, I think she could use help but it’s such a joy to see her happy and productive.” Using their grandmother’s notes in the guest logs she’d kept for decades, Annelise had already duplicated several of Nana’s most successful entertainments and come up with a few of her own. They’d subcontracted to a local restaurant group to handle the rooftop grille and the inside dining room, and tried to handle whatever problems arose together. Renée had grown up watching her grandparents run the hotel and beach club yet had had no idea how much effort it required.
“Hold on. I need both hands to get up.” Slowly she straightened and looked around her with satisfaction. “I’m going to go find Annelise. And I’m thinking Maddie might be the one who should talk with Bitsy about clearing her things out of the unit.”
“Good idea,” John said.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Renée replied. “I’m pretty sure not even Bitsy, who’s used to having her way, is going to give Maddie a hard time. It would be too much like kicking a puppy. Or telling off Mother Teresa.”
Twelve
Kyra and Avery were sitting in the dining room at Bella Flora when Kyra’s cell phone rang at precisely 9:02 A.M. that Thursday morning. The call came from Bradley Forsyth of Forsyth, Fallon, and Montmart, entertainment law practitioners, or more precisely Forsyth’s secretary. Kyra had no doubt that the clock had started ticking at exactly 9:00 A.M. when Bradley Forsyth had instructed his secretary to place the call. “Mr. Forsyth is returning your call. Can you hold?”
“Yes,” Kyra said.
“I hope to hell we’re not paying for dialing and holding time,” Avery said. Grimacing toward Kyra’s phone, she lowered her voice. “We weren’t on speakerphone just then, were we?”
“No.” Kyra shook her head. “I’ll put us on speaker when he comes on the line. And let’s try to be clear and concise. They’re billing us at $750 per hour.”
“Jeez,” Avery said. “Do you think it’s too late for me to go to law school?”
“I’m thinking we should apply together.” Kyra managed a tight smile, but the legal fees were no joke.
Five minutes elapsed before Bradley Forsyth came on the line. Kyra noted the delay even though she suspected a refund would never be issued.
“Hello?” Bradley Forsyth’s voice was smooth and unhurried. “Kyra?”
“Yes,” she said. “Avery Lawford is with me.”
“Hello, Avery,” he said jovially. “Nice to speak with you both. I know you’ve been eager for an update.”
“Well, we’d love for you to tell us that you’ve convinced the network to drop the suit and allow us to walk away free to do the kind of show we originally intended and that they agreed to,” Kyra replied.
The attorney laughed. “Sorry.” The laughter died to a chuckle when he noticed they hadn’t joined in. “I thought you were joking.”
“None of this is funny to us,” Avery said tersely. “We need to know where things stand and how soon this can be wrapped up.”
“Certainly,” he said. “Let me see.” The sound of rustling papers reached them through the speaker.
Kyra and Avery exchanged glances. Kyra pictured him attempting to speed read the file before answering. She tried not to pay attention to the minutes ticking by. Ten minutes was seventy-five dollars wasted. “Perhaps you could just tell us what it is they really want,” she prompted.
“Well, that’s easy,” he said. “They want what they’ve wanted from the beginning. They want you back.”
“Are they willing to pay us more money and a percentage of profits?” Kyra asked.
“No.”
“Are they prepared to drop the reality TV aspect and allow us to do an actual renovation show?” Avery asked.
“Well, no.”
“So they’re not actually negotiating in any way,” Kyra replied, stating the obvious.
“No.”
“But isn’t that what we’re paying you for? To negotiate either an exit or a new contract with more favorable terms and conditions?” she pressed as she and Avery stared at each other across the dining room table.
“I know that’s what you wanted,” Forsyth conceded. “And we have tried. But they’re not interested. Each season has pulled increasingly strong ratings and they like the program just the way it is.”
“That’s because everything is in their favor and we’ve been puppets for slave wages.” Avery’s voice rose.
“Yes, well, to put this in layman’s terms, they don’t think anything is ‘broke’ and therefore see no need to ‘fix’ it.”
“Jesus,” Avery said under her breath.
Kyra attempted to draw breath into her lungs.
“I can get you out, but you wouldn’t be leaving with anything. The noncompete in the contract you signed is very clear and ironclad.” The attorney sighed. “We could have been a much bigger help to you before you signed this contract.”
“We were desperate,” Kyra said dully. Which was something of an understatement. They’d been virtually penniless with no assets but their shared ownership of Bella Flora, which had been pummeled by a hurricane shortly after they’d finished renovating her.
“Yes, it’s unfortunate, but that’s when you need an attorney the most,” Forsyth said.
“And when you can least afford one,” Avery snapped.
Not, Kyra thought, that they could really afford one now. Certainly not one that had accomplished next to nothing. “Don’t you think you should have told us this was hopeless before you took that retainer?”
“Well, you can’t really be certain until you try,” he said in a reasonable tone that made her want to choke him.
“So we paid you half a million dollars to go fishing?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” the attorney said.
“But you haven’t accomplished anything!” Avery said, her face going red.
“That’s not entirely correct,” Forsyth said. “We now know that we can get you out, but you won’t be able to do a renovation program for yourself or anyone else in any televised format. Nor do you have the right to use the title Do Over.”
“But that’s our title. We came up with it.” Kyra drew another breath.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t really matter who came up with it. Not when they can show that your use of the title could adversely impact them and their investment.”
“I don’t believe this,” Avery sputtered.
Kyra’s next breath put her perilously close to hyperventilating.
“I know it’s disappointing.” Forsyth managed to insert a tinge of disappointment
into his own voice. “But they clearly own the pilot and the completed seasons. They also have the right to put Do Over into reruns for as long as they choose, or recast the entire show.”
Kyra took another deep, fruitless breath. The anger clogging her throat made it difficult to speak. “And the documentary we shot of the renovation of the Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club?”
“We can continue to negotiate to try to win you the right to see it aired, but it’s kind of shocking how much you managed to sign away.”
“About as shocking as you managing to do nothing with all that money we gave you but fish and run the clock.” Kyra’s heart pounded in her chest. She thought it might be breaking. Or preparing to stop.
“I’m sorry you see it that way. We never guarantee a win, only that we will negotiate in good faith on your behalf.”
“I’ll give that documentary away for free before I let them have it,” Kyra said through gritted teeth. “If we refuse to go back to the show, is there anything they can do to make us?”
“No,” the attorney replied. “As I said, we can gain you your freedom, though it will take the remainder of the retainer to do so.”
“So, all we get is our freedom?”
“It’s not a small thing. And it’s hard to put a price on freedom,” he began.
“No it’s not,” Kyra cut him off. “It’s costing us exactly five hundred thousand dollars.” Which she had borrowed against Bella Flora along with the additional one point five million they’d needed to renovate the Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club. Which they could not recoup unless they sold all the cottages. Which meant it could also cost them Bella Flora. A gruesome fact that she’d kept secret and did not yet have the nerve to tell Maddie, Avery, or Nikki.
• • •
Whoever said idle hands were the devil’s workshop knew what they were talking about, Maddie thought as she watched Avery pace the pool deck at Bella Flora and listened to Kyra and Troy argue across the loggia table. So far they’d covered the network, the documentary, and Kyra’s conversation with the attorneys the day before.