Left Turn at Paradise

by Kristin Wallace

  Gran’s eyes shifted toward the doorway, as if she were seeking an escape.

  DEFCON-3-type warning bells went off. “Gran?” Layla prodded.

  She sighed. “We can’t afford to wait.”

  “Why?” Layla asked, suspicion and unease rising in her chest.

  “The financial situation with The Paradise might be a little more precarious than what I mentioned on the phone,” Gran said, as if she were choosing her words carefully.

  Suspicion morphed into fear. Fear that her great-aunt really had fallen under the spell of some charlatan. “What has Aunt Grace done?”

  “We’ve done,” Gran said. “We’re partners. We bought The Paradise together.”

  Layla couldn’t sit still so she started to pace. “You told me she used money Uncle Howard left her.”

  “She did, but even with that she couldn’t hope to buy the place, pay for repairs and the hiring of staff, performers, and everything else needed to stage a production,” Gran explained. “So, I agreed to buy in with her.”

  A sick feeling twisted her gut. “Using what?”

  “I had most of my money saved, and I took out a second mortgage on the house.”

  “Gran…I don’t…you’re…” Layla could barely speak due to the horror enveloping her mind. She tried again. “I can understand Aunt Grace doing something like this, but not you. Why did you let her do it? And why join the insanity?”

  “Because it’s the only thing my sister has asked of me in her entire life,” Gran said. “Grace has always been there for me. She helped take care of your grandfather when he was dying, she helped raise you, she took in…” Her voice shook, and she took a deep breath. “I owed her.”

  “Well, she picked a heck of time to start calling in favors.” Layla wondered if she might throw up. “Maybe it’s not too late to undo the damage. You can still sell The Paradise before you get in any deeper. You might take a loss on the building, but at least you won’t put yourselves under completely. Didn’t you say someone wanted to build a spa there?”

  “I can’t do that,” Gran said, sounding more resolute.

  “You have to think of your future,” Layla said, aware that she was on the verge of hysteria. “What if either of you get sick? What if you need some kind of long-term care? I’m cleaned out after the disaster with Melanie so I can’t help you.”

  “I don’t think I will ever have to worry about medical care,” Gran said, a faint smile playing about her lips. “Neither will my sister if I have anything to say about it.”

  “This is so bad.” Layla held a hand up to her forehead, wondering if it was possible for her brain to actually explode. Was there such a thing as spontaneous brain combustion?

  Gran rose off the bed and went to Layla. “Baby, it’s not that bad,” she said, taking Layla’s hands. “We’re not on the verge of bankruptcy. We can pay for the repairs. As long as we don’t have any major problems, and we can get a show up and running in a reasonable time, we’ll be all right. We will need to start selling tickets soon so we can pay actors and a crew, not to mention a kitchen staff, but that’s the next step.”

  “Umm… I think that’s a critical step,” Layla said, concentrating hard on deep, even breathing. “That’s sort of the whole point of dinner theatre,” she continued, her voice rising.

  Gran framed Layla’s face. “We’re going to be fine. You have to remember who’s in control and have faith.”

  Hysterical laughter bubbled up. “Is faith going to help you put on a musical to the sound of two hundred senior citizens eating over-cooked chicken?”

  “Yes,” Gran said, without a hint of doubt. “Faith can move mountains. Or have you forgotten that?”

  She needed to sit down. Before she fell down.

  Gran stroked Layla’s hair. “This is another reason why I called you. I knew you needed a new challenge, and you are in marketing. You’ll know what to do to get The Paradise the kind of publicity it needs. My sister and I know everyone in Shellwater Key so we’ll be able to negotiate extra help as far as materials we need for repairs. I saved the lives of a lot of people in this town, and I’m sure they’re grateful.”

  A brow arched. “You sound like a Mafia don.”

  Gran actually smiled. “I’m not threatening to break any kneecaps.”

  Despite the overwhelming urge to throw up or scream, Layla smiled. “You’ll just remind them?”

  “If need be.” She patted Layla’s hand and stood up. “Now, as soon as we have breakfast we’ll head over to The Paradise. Come on down when you’re ready.”

  Great. Time to see what she was in for. “Okay.” Layla rose to shower and dress. Then something stopped her. Something prodding the back of her mind. “Gran…”

  She looked over her shoulder. “Yes, dear?”

  “What did Aunt Grace do for you?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “You said you owed her,” Layla said, facing her grandmother and searching for a clue. “What could she have possibly done that required you to buy a dinner theatre?”

  Gran froze. “I told you, she helped care for your grandfather, and you.”

  “I know, but it seemed like something more.”

  “That was… between sisters.”

  Gran wasn’t going to say. Layla had never known her grandmother to be less than forthcoming. “Something personal, you mean?”

  Gran nodded.

  “You can’t tell me?” she asked, not knowing whether to be hurt at being shut out or worried about whatever horrible thing Gran had needed help with.

  “I’m sorry,” Gran whispered.

  Then Gran was gone, disappearing through the doorway without another glance. Leaving Layla alone with her fears and the knowledge that she somehow had to save her elderly relatives from utter ruin.

  The Paradise Dinner Theatre had seen better days. Much better days. The old girl had probably never been a beauty. Not on the outside at least, which was nothing more than a large, square-ish box with minimal embellishments. The exterior had once been a cheerful butter-yellow befitting a Florida beach town, but the color had faded to a nondescript butter-blah, making The Paradise look pale and sickly.

  Make that splotchy and pale and sickly, as a good deal of the paint had flaked off, so that the building was reminiscent of a tourist who’d gotten severe sunburn and then started to peel.

  The marquee along the side of the road was missing a few sections, and the parking lot needed the serious attention of a weed whacker, not to mention a new layer of asphalt. The tall, arched entryway was by far the most glamorous feature, though the industrial strength chains on the doors diminished its impact.

  They hadn’t even gone inside, and already Layla was on the verge of hyperventilation.

  “You two must be out of your mind,” Layla said. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t use up all your money in a few days. I don’t want to think of how much work the inside will need in order to put on any kind of a production, let alone something people will pay to see.”

  “The inside isn’t so bad,” Aunt Grace answered.

  “She means we won’t have to gut the place and start over,” Gran added in an aside. She seemed to have forgotten that her money was wrapped up in this scheme, too. She’d been offering an acerbic play-by-play ever since they’d left the house, and the dry comments were not helping to ease Layla’s growing anxiety.

  Layla turned to her practical, don’t-sugar-coat-it grandmother. “How bad is it?”

  “The carpet needs to be replaced, the walls repainted, the floorboards will have to be ripped out, the dining room furniture looks like something out of the Disco era, and the kitchen wants a complete upgrade,” Gran said, like an auctioneer seeking the highest bid. “The theatre part looks mostly sound.”

  Grace jumped in. “Barbara McCarthy, you can’t boil water. How do you know what the kitchen needs?”

  “I’m not an astronaut either, but I know you can’t orbit the earth without a space shuttle.�
��

  “I thought you said the inside wasn’t so bad,” Layla said, wondering if there was a paper bag in the car. She had a feeling she might need one soon.

  “Mostly cosmetic things.” Gran waved her arms like she was swatting away the bad news. “Except for the kitchen. The structure is sound, the roof was replaced a few years ago, and…” she paused and allowed a small smile “…the air conditioning works.”

  “Thank goodness for small blessings,” Layla murmured.

  “AC is a big blessing,” Gran said.

  Sweat pulled at the small of her back as Layla’s mind started calculating costs. There was the initial investment for repairs. Renovating a commercial kitchen would take thousands of dollars alone. There were insurance premiums, permits needed in order to serve food. All of those things hinged on whether or not they could mount a show. They’d need to hire a director, actors, people to build sets, design costumes.

  Gran was right. They’d have to start selling tickets right away. Like tomorrow. And what if no one bought a ticket? Who in their right mind would shell out good money to see a show in a dinner theatre out by the highway? Especially in this economy?

  Did people even go to dinner theatre anymore? The whole concept seemed so old-fashioned. Most cities had cultural arts centers, but they featured traveling Broadway shows and symphonies from around the world. Did local or regional theatres have a chance when compared to megaplexes and technology that beamed movies directly into people’s living rooms?

  How would they get an audience? There would have to be a major marketing push, not only in Shellwater Key, but in neighboring towns and cities as well. Radio, print, maybe even television. That would take more money, and advertising wasn’t cheap.

  The burden of keeping her relatives solvent tightened around her neck like two beefy hands. The Paradise had major disaster written all over it.

  “Aunt Grace… no,” Layla said, thinking someone had to be the adult and put a foot down. “I can’t let you do this.”

  Layla’s great-aunt went from biddable to belligerent in the blink of an eye. “Layla McCarthy, I am not an idiot. I know exactly what I can spend and how far I can go. The Paradise is important to me, and I’m going to see to it that she’s brought back to life if it’s the last thing I do. Now, you—” Her glance took in Gran. “Both of you can either help me, or get out of the way.”

  “I’m your partner, Grace,” Gran said. “I’m already in, and I’ll be darned if I lose my entire life savings. We can do this.”

  Layla knew a trap when she stepped in one. She could almost hear the sharp clink of metal clamping around her ankle. “All right. If you’re so determined, I’ll help.”

  Grace smiled. A full, wide grin that went from ear to ear. She took Layla’s hand. “Thank you, my lovely. Now, come on. Once you see the inside you’ll understand.”

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a key chain shaped like The Paradise marquee.

  Layla’s eyes widened. “What is that?”

  “They used to sell these in the lobby,” Grace explained. “They had a whole counter with keepsakes. T-shirts, mugs, postcards—”

  “Tacky key chains,” Gran muttered under her breath.

  “There isn’t an ounce of romance in either of your souls,” Aunt Grace said, clutching the trinket to her chest. “I think it’s cute.”

  Layla slipped an arm around her great-aunt’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry. It is rather sweet.”

  It took all three of them to get the heavy chain off the door. Layla thought restraints strong enough to hold an elephant were overkill. She doubted anyone wanted to get inside The Paradise that much.

  They opened the door and stepped from bright sunshine into a cavern of gloom. The lobby, with its glass-encased ticket booth and empty tourist trap trinket counter, seemed morose enough, but the main room was even more depressing. Aunt Grace had pegged the place right last night. Except, The Paradise didn’t weep. It sobbed in despair. The dining area was a cavernous space, with thirty-foot-high ceilings and large Greek-inspired columns. The outside might be Plain Jane, but the interior was outfitted like a Hollywood starlet stepping out to a big premier. An aging, leave-me-alone, Greta Garbo starlet, but a silver screen goddess nonetheless.

  The columns had intricate moldings at the top and bottom. Between the pillars were arched buttresses, which also had carved embellishments. The whole area curved around in a semi-circle to frame the empty stage, which looked like a giant, yawning mouth in the darkness. The only color came from the heavily tarnished Comedy-Tragedy masks that were mounted above the stage like the aged crest of a clan that had long since disappeared from the earth.

  The only illumination came from a large skylight. At night, the partially-glassed ceiling would allow guests to see the stars overhead. Now, all it did was reflect the millions of dust particles floating in the air.

  “She looks sad,” Aunt Grace said.

  Layla stared at the abandoned stage. “Depressed.”

  Lonely, deserted, unwanted.

  Layla’s heart started to pound as a part of her soul reached out to wrap around the room. On some weird level she felt connected to The Paradise. She’d been deserted, too. Felt unwanted and abandoned, and heaven knew she’d experienced loneliness.

  Aunt Grace wandered over toward the wall and flipped a switch. A fluorescent light flickered to life on the stage. The harsh, white illumination did little to ease the gloom. If anything, it highlighted exactly how much needed to be done. Calculating the work had her picturing a bank ledger, with a slowly depleting balance.

  And that made her eyes sweat and her head pound.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. She turned her head to see that Aunt Grace had walked up on the stage to stand under the light.

  “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo…”

  Layla’s mouth fell open as her great-aunt recited Juliet’s famous balcony speech. For a moment, the years fell away and Grace-Anne might have been a teenaged girl experiencing the first throes of love. Her voice rang loud and clear in the empty room, the ache and desperation apparent in her every word, every gesture. She was amazing, Layla realized in shock.

  How could she not have known her great-aunt had this kind of hidden talent? In all the stories about Derek the Wonderful, Aunt Grace had never mentioned she’d acted herself.

  Grace reached the dramatic climax of the monologue. “…I’ll no longer be a Capulet,” she said, with her hands clasped to her breasts.

  Layla and Gran burst into applause.

  Grace blinked, almost as if coming out of a trance. Her cheeks colored, but a pleased smile bloomed across her face. “That was fun. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a stage.”

  Layla felt a touch on her hand and looked over at Gran. Layla squeezed back and smiled. In that instant, Layla determined The Paradise would be brought back to life no matter what she had to do to make it happen. In this room were the two most important people in her life. These two women had put their entire lives aside to help raise her. They’d sacrificed everything. Gran and Aunt Grace had offered a way for Layla to find her feet again, and she couldn’t let them down.

  Layla had been forced to let LM Concepts drown at sea. The Paradise Dinner Theatre would not go the same route.

  Not on her watch.

  Chapter Three

  Layla sat with her grandmother and Aunt Grace at the kitchen table. On the wall above them hung one of her great-aunt’s quilts. Layla loved to stare at the intricate pattern of shapes and colors. Morning sunlight flooded in through the sliding glass doors, painting a streak of golden color across the Spanish tile. Out on the patio, one of the many neighborhood cats Aunt Grace insisted on feeding was grooming itself.

  Inside, the antique clock that had once belonged to Gran’s mother began to chime the hour. Layla looked toward the wooden sideboard where the piece had rested for as long as she could remember. Nine o’clock. A good portion of the morning wa
s already gone, and they had so much to do.

  In one hand she held an English muffin, and with the other, she jotted down notes. For the first time in weeks, she felt more like her old business self. Gulping down a quick breakfast while juggling a conference call, or running on the treadmill as she planned a marketing campaign, had become second nature to her. She had always been the queen of multi-tasking.

  Aunt Grace approached the table carrying a tray laden with coffee mugs and cream as well as a teapot and a porcelain cup.

  Layla jumped up to take the tray. “Here, let me help.” She looked down at the tray and smiled. “I see you two are still fighting the coffee versus tea wars.”

  “Tea is a civilized drink,” Aunt Grace said, with a proper British accent.

  “Tea is nothing but colored water,” Gran said, reaching for one of the mugs. “I need my coffee.”

  Aunt Grace winked as she sat down. “We agree to disagree,” she said, pushing the sugar bowl across the table.

  Gran ignored the jibe, except for a soft hurumph and proceeded to doctor her coffee. “I think we need to hire a carpenter or a handyman. Someone who can do the heavy lifting, help with painting, and eventually work on sets. We can’t do it all ourselves.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Layla said. “The most I can do is hang a picture, and even then it’s never straight. I can submit a help wanted ad in the paper and make flyers to put up around town. Gran, I know you said the roof had been replaced, but what about the wiring? I think we’ll also have to bring in someone to inspect it to make sure it’s even safe to hold a production there. And what about the theatre stuff? And that kitchen? You said it’ll probably have to be redone.”

  “Theatre stuff?” Gran repeated, with a soft laugh.

  Layla ignored the teasing. “Yes, you know. All that equipment and the rooms backstage. They’re a disaster. I don’t think they’ve been cleaned out in over a decade.”