by K C Ames
“Enough is enough,” Benny said as he made his way over towards the problem table.
“Benny, what are you doing...” Dana began to ask, but he was gone so fast that she was left standing there alone, so she followed him over to where the action was unfolding.
The inebriated and belligerent young woman saw Benny approach and she must have liked what she saw, because she gave him a drunken half smile. Her teeth were smeared in red lipstick, so it looked like she had been chewing on a magenta-colored crayon. Her black mascara had smeared. And although she was a beautiful woman, she looked like a character out of the Rocky Horror Picture Show at that moment.
“Well, hello, handsome,” she slurred her words as she looked up at Benny from her table, batting her lashes at him. One of her fake eyelashes was barely hanging on for life.
Dana imagined the poor fake eyelash wanted to jump to escape the woman who was soused out of her head.
Benny was having none of that. He didn’t suffer fools.
“Come on, they asked you to leave. It’s time for you to go,” Benny said firmly.
The drunken woman’s dinner companion jumped from his seat, but he must have done that too quickly in his own drunken condition, because he swayed for a moment. Dana worried he would hurl, so she took two steps back.
The man finally regained his composure enough to glare at Benny.
“How dare you? This is Rose Budd, she’s an Instagram influencer with one hundred thousand followers and is going to be the big star of this season of The Island. You can’t talk to a celebrity that way!”
“Celebrity?” Dana scoffed. She put her hand over her mouth, not meaning to make things worse.
“She’s an Instagram influencer,” he said again, “what are you?” She felt his spittle land on her face and she recoiled in horror.
“Oh, gross! Say it, don’t spray it!” she said back to him.
Rose Budd spoke up again, turning to face her dinner date, who was still standing and swaying. She stayed in her chair. “You’ve said worse things to me tonight, you jerk.”
He looked at her then he kicked his chair to the ground and tossed a cloth napkin on the table. “Forget it then, just forget it. I’ve had it with you. It’s over. I’m going to make your life miserable every day on that show, and I won’t stop until you’re voted off the island. You’re a joke.”
Before Benny could say or do anything, Rose got up, picked up a glass of water, and threw its contents right into the man’s face. He flinched at feeling the cold water and ice cubes hit his face. He opened his mouth to say something but Rose Budd followed up by tossing the empty glass at him. It struck his chest and bounced to the floor, landing with a thud, but to Dana’s amazement, it didn’t break.
“Are you crazy?” the man yelled, rubbing his chest. He glared at Rose and said, seething, “You’re going to regret that.” The tone of the man’s voice sent chills up Dana’s spine, but he didn’t seem to scare Rose.
“Oh, I’m so scared. You’re just a wimp. I have more cojones than you,” she yelled, and then she began to laugh in his face mockingly.
He stood there for a moment glaring at her and then he shifted his glare at Benny and finally he stormed off, shouting obscenities as he made his way through the restaurant and out its front door towards the parking lot.
“Go home and cry to your mommy, you jerk! I’ll make sure you don’t even make it on to The Island. You’re finished, Robbie!” Rose screeched.
But Robbie was gone by then, so Rose plopped back down on the chair. She was slouched down, looking disheveled. “What a baby,” she said under her breath.
She was breathing heavily. And then just like if she had received a jolt of electricity into her body, she jerked up to her feet and screamed, “Where is that vodka gimlet I ordered? The service here is terrible. I’m a Yelp Elite Reviewer too, I’ll crucify you!”
“Out. That’s it. And you’re banned. Never come back here,” Maria said, holding back tears.
It took Maria, Dana, Julio, and Benny to escort Rose Budd from the restaurant.
And just like Robbie, she hurled obscenities the whole way through the restaurant until they got her outside.
Once outside, they gently put her on a bench on the beach, which Dana thought was very nice of them after her loutish behavior and the horrible things she had been yelling at them. If anyone deserved to be thrown out by the seat of the pants onto the curb like in the movies, it was Rose Budd.
“Don’t come back to my restaurant ever again,” Maria said, her voice trembling from anger.
“Like I would want to choke down that vile trash you’re trying to pass for food at your crappy restaurant. I’m used to the finest eating establishments in Los Angeles and New York City,” she said, slurring and now hiccupping.
Maria took a step towards Rose, but Dana gently put her hand on her arm.
“She’s not worth it, honey,” Dana said.
“Besides, she probably won’t remember a darn thing in the morning,” Benny said.
“I’ll remember! And I’m a social media influencer and an Elite Yelper. I’ll destroy your stupid restaurant,” Rose cackled.
“So we’ve heard,” Maria and Dana said, almost in unison. That cut the tension, and they all started laughing. Except for Rose Budd. She didn’t laugh. She just slumped over to her side and passed out on the bench.
Just then, a black Range Rover pulled up behind them, its headlights shining brightly. A man in his early fifties with a George Hamilton tan and a Gordon Gekko haircut jumped out from the backseat.
“What’s going on here? What are you doing to Rose?” he said in an accusatory tone.
Henry Robertson, the assistant producer, exited from the driver’s side and stood behind the Gordon Gekko wannabe.
“Rose and her date Robbie made a scene at my restaurant. Breaking glasses. Hasn’t even paid her tab. So I’ve kicked her out. She’s lucky I don’t call the police,” Maria said.
The man’s voice and demeanor quickly changed. “No need to call the police. So sorry about that. I’m Russ Donnelly. I’m the Creator and Executive Producer of The Island. Rose Budd and Robbie Gibbons are part of this year’s cast. I’ll make sure they won’t cause any more problems in this beautiful little town,” he said with a bit of condescension as he flashed a car salesman smile with teeth that were too bright to be natural.
Donnelly then reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a wad of bills. He peeled off three one-hundred-dollar bills, and he proffered them in the air, saying, “This should cover the bill and any damages incurred.” His manner and voice were even more condescending than before.
Dana watched Maria hesitate taking the money, so she yanked the cash from Donnelly’s hand and gave it to Maria.
“Covers some of the damages, at least,” Dana said. Donnelly looked at her, confused.
Maria smiled then said, “One more thing. I don’t want those two lunatics back at my restaurant. We told them they’re banned, but in case they don’t remember that once they sober up, please let them know they’re not welcome back.”
“They’re also banned from Books, Bagels, and Lattes,” Dana added for good measure.
“Absolutely. We shoot in a few days anyway, and tomorrow, Rose and the rest of the cast and crew will be on the island and out of your hair until we wrap up shooting in a few weeks.”
Donnelly looked over at the bench where Rose was snoring loudly, her short skirt revealing way too much. Donnelly’s face turned to stone as he glowered at her. “Her antics are wearing me thin,” he said under his breath as he shook his head. He nodded at Henry, who then tried to wake her up. When that failed, he picked her up in a fireman's carry and dumped her into the backseat of the Range Rover.
“Good night,” Donnelly said as he climbed into the vehicle.
The car took off, and Dana just stood there with everyone else for a moment in shock.
Five
The next morning, Dana went for a run. She l
iked to go in the morning when the temperatures were cooler and most of the town was asleep.
She got dressed in her running shirt and shorts. She laced up her light blue ASICS running shoes. She loaded up an audiobook on her phone. It was the latest Rizzoli & Isles novel by Tess Gerritsen.
“You want to come for a run?” Dana teased her cat, Wally, who yawned and gave her a dirty look.
She went outside, and it was a crisp and cool morning, but there was a tinge of humidity in the air already, so it would be another hot day in the tropics. She looked up at the gray sky, but Mother Nature was holding back the rain for now.
She exited her property through a side gate that spilled out into a pedestrian footpath that led down to the beach.
Her routine was to walk briskly down the footpath through the woods that spilled out right onto Main Street. It took just a few minutes, but it was a good way to loosen up. From there, she would begin her run. She ran past Ark Row. All the retail stores were closed, including her own, although Mindy and Leo would soon arrive to prepare for the early-morning rush.
She hadn’t gotten too far when she noticed a bevy of activity down by the pier and the only boat landing stage in town, so she stopped to look at the throng of people and equipment out on the pier.
The pier’s platform and pillars that led out from the shore into the ocean were made from wood. Dana always thought it looked too weatherworn and rickety for her comfort level.
Since it was Mariposa Beach’s only pier, it had been aptly named Muelle Uno. The Spanish moniker for the pier—Muelle Uno—didn’t get a rise from most people, but its English translation, Pier One, did. Amused tourists would giggle and ask if the Pier One of Mariposa Beach carried wicker ottomans and bowl-shaped chairs.
The locals had heard the same joke so many times that many of them would roll their eyes and reply with some variation that all they had to do was to walk towards the end of the pier until they hit the water and they would find the retail store down there underwater.
It was the favorite comeback to the question about Pier One sales of Gerónimo Díaz, the old, crusty, self-appointed pier master.
The landing stage for boats was small, allowing two boats to dock there at one time.
Pier One was mostly used by Don Gerónimo, a tico—a Costa Rican—and Bill Kingman, an expat from the Florida Gulf Coast who moved to Mariposa Beach six years ago.
They were the only professional captains in town who took out tourists on deep-sea fishing trips, whale watching, or leisure sunset boat rides in their catamarans.
Dana stopped and watched at the mayhem down below. It looked like the production company had hired both captains to ferry the cast and crew to the island. And from the look of all the gear lined up on the pier, they were going to haul a ton of equipment too.
Dana shuddered, thinking about all that weight on that flimsy pier, but smiled, thinking how thrilled Don Gerónimo and Bill were about the steady work being provided by the production company during the slow tourist season.
Dana was taking it all when she saw Big Mike mingling with the Hollywood invaders.
She called out his name. He looked up, spotting her, and smiled and waved at her as he made his way towards where she was standing.
Big Mike was one of the Ark Row merchants, the owner of Big Mike’s Surf Shop. He was a former professional surfer who was born and raised not in California, Hawaii, or Australia like one expects a professional surfer to be from, but from the doubly landlocked state of Kansas, where Oklahoma and Texas stood in his way to the Gulf of Mexico. Not that it stopped him from becoming a professional surfer.
Big Mike’s real name was Mike Pavlopoulos. He was about five feet six and scrawny, so Dana—just like probably everyone else that first met him—wondered why his nickname was Big Mike. She had learned when she first met him that he got that nickname for surfing the big waves like at Mavericks in Half Moon Bay, California, not because of his physical appearance; if his nickname were based on that, it would be Little Mike, not Big Mike.
“Hey, girl,” he said, sporting a big smile as he walked on over to where she was watching the mayhem unfold.
He was in his forties. His skin was tanned and leathery looking from decades of living on the beach—a reminder for Dana that she needed to be applying the right sunscreen and stop forgetting her wide-rim hat at home when she was out and about in the tropics.
“What are you doing down there with the production crew?” she asked, feeling a bit embarrassed for being so snoopy. You’re dangerously close to becoming an honorary member of the Gossip Brigade, she thought.
“Oh, I got a job. It’s pretty groovy,” he said, smiling. As usual, he flashed a Hawaiian hang ten hand gesture at the same time.
“It’s a one-month contract as a technical advisor for the show. I’ll help them out with the waters out here and I’ll be helping them design some of the challenges for the show. It’s wild stuff. But I can’t say much more than that, since I signed a thick non-disclosure agreement,” Big Mike said as he put his index finger to his lips and hissed shh.
“What about your store?”
“Carlitos and Connie can hold the fort down for me. Besides, this is just a part-time gig, so I’ll be at the store most days when I’m not needed on the island.”
Carlitos and Connie were surfing cousins that worked for Big Mike.
“Well, that sounds cool. I can’t wait to watch the show now that I know it’s being shot here and that you’re involved with coming up with those challenges.”
“Yeah, I will make the beautiful people on the cast want to run back to Mommy and Daddy after going through one of my creations,” Big Mike said with a sly grin.
“We’ll have to plan a viewing party when it airs,” Dana said excitedly.
“That would be awesome. Well, I have to boogie. Later, Dana,” Big Mike said, flashing another hang ten hand gesture as he turned to head back towards the pier.
“Have fun,” she said, waving at him.
She felt like a sailor’s woman sending off her man to sea. She shuddered at the thought of her and Big Mike as anything more than good friends and business neighbors.
She watched for a moment longer and was just about to get to that run when she heard Doña Amada’s high-pitched shrilly voice from behind. “What a bunch of nonsense.”
Dana turned to face Doña Amada and Doña Chilla, two of the four old ladies that made up Mariposa Beach’s infamous Gossip Brigade.
“All that hoopla over a stupid show?” Doña Amada said, sounding miffed.
“Oh, hush, Amada,” Doña Chilla said, surprising Dana, since she rarely stood up to the de facto leader of the group. “I think it’s wonderful. It brings a little of that Hollywood glamor to our little beach town, and it’s great for the local businesses, isn’t that right, Dana?” Doña Chilla said, looking down towards the hubbub at the pier.
She was always the sweet and positive one of the Gossip Brigade, Dana thought. “You’re right, it’s great for business. A godsend during the slow wet season.”
Doña Amada scoffed even louder, and Dana could have sworn she heard her snort. “Hollywood glamor? Please. It’s not like it’s Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe down there, just a bunch of wild youngsters eager to make fools of themselves for a few minutes of TV fame.”
Doña Amada had a well-deserved reputation for being the town’s loudmouth. She was a crusty, feisty, and ill-tempered curmudgeon, but Dana agreed with the firecracker octogenarian about her assessment of the cast for these types of reality shows.
She also knew these old biddies loved to fight and argue with each other so she decided she would head out before their latest verbal wrestling match went to the mat.
“Okay, ladies, I’m going on my run. Have fun,” Dana said.
Both ladies barely acknowledged her as she took off.
“You’re crazy, how can you say that, look at all that over there, it’s a touch of Hollywood, right here in our little town.”<
br />
“Oh, please, a touch of Hollywood trash, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you—” was the last Dana heard as she put her ear buds in and began running once again, chuckling.
Six
It had been two days since Dana saw the cast and crew gathering around Pier One. And just as Russ Donnelly had promised that night at the restaurant, the cast and crew had left Mariposa Beach to the island and things quickly quieted down and got back to normal in town.
As a resident, Dana welcomed the peace and quiet. As a business owner, she missed the uptick in business the production company brought to her bookstore slash coffee shop.
Dana woke up to the sound of loud purring. She opened her eyes and her cat was sitting on her chest, staring at her.
“What do you want?” she said, yawning.
The cat stretched and went into downward dog yoga pose right on her chest. “Hey, I’m not your yoga mat.” Dana laughed. Wally licked his lips and yawned again.
“I guess it’s time to get up, huh Wally?”
He meowed. Dana assumed that meant yes.
She got out of bed, fed Wally, and got into her running clothes.
She hadn’t gone out since the last couple days, and that run had been cut short when she became distracted with the Hollywood invaders getting into the catamarans to head out to Santa Rita Island.
So she planned to run longer on that morning. She had her running routes down to a T. The longish one had her running out her back door and up the footpath up the mountain towards the Tranquil Bay Resort, which was located about a mile up the mountain.
Gustavo Barca was the bigwig rich guy in town who owned the five-star resort. The footpath led from Casa Verde past a yoga retreat, a bed and breakfast, and then up to the resort.
In the other direction, the footpath led the resort’s hoity-toity guests from their posh accommodations down to the local retail stores in town and onto the beautiful white-sand beaches and the warm, calm waters of Mariposa Beach.