Fox Island (10 page)

“Call me Barbara. Come in and excuse the
mess. I just can’t seem to find a good, steady housekeeper these
days. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Mother!”

“Lemonade. Would you like some
lemonade?”

“That would be nice,” Price said.

“Melody, honey, go out there and make us
some. There’s concentrate in the freezer.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Price
insisted.

“Nonsense. It will only take her a few
minutes. Do you like tropical fish?”

Tony trailed behind the ladies as they
entered a large dining room. Here and there pieces of
gold-and-white striped wallpaper peeled away to reveal an
undercoating of green paint. A mahogany Duncan Phyfe table piled
with stacks of unopened mail and catalogues. “You have fish?”

“I’ll show you my babies.” Barbara pulled
open a tattered Hawaiian print curtain doorway into the living
room.

A six-foot-tall tank filled with milky
water, a filter, pump, lights, thermostat and dozens of darting
shapes and colors dominated one wall. A dusty bookcase filled the
other. For the next hour Tony and Price sipped lukewarm lemonade
and learned the habits of silver-and-black angelfish, emerald
Emperors, long-snouted yellow butterflies, Siamese fighting fish
and kissing gourami. With drapes drawn, the only light in the room
shone from the aquarium and one brass floor lamp with a three-way
bulb turned to the first setting.

“Tell me,” Tony said during a brief lull,
“what was it like growing up on Fox Island in the forties and early
fifties, before the bridge was built?”

And for the next hour, she told them.

Price was relieved to see Tony also
taking notes because her mind kept wandering. Barbara seemed to
stop living. Her body trudged around, but with no purpose. No joy.
No goals. Price wanted to shake her and scream,
Wake up!
She didn’t think she’d ever seen many
women more miserable.

By the time they left, Melody washed and
dried the dishes, mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed every room but
the living room, took out the trash, and finished a load of
laundry. When they reached the supermarket parking lot on their way
home, Melody managed to say, “You’ll have to forgive my mom. She
didn’t used to be so sloppy. She’s had a tough life.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Price quickly
assured her.

“No, really. My mom’s had lots of
disappointments. Grandpa was lost at sea when she was only
eight.”

“I think I read about that,” Tony said.

“Mom once said Grandpa sat her down the
night before he disappeared. He told her he was going away and
wouldn’t see her again, but that someday maybe she would
understand.”

“You mean, he committed suicide?”

“Or just left. Grandma Jessie always
insisted he was lost at sea. I confronted her with Mom’s account
one time, but she claimed it was a lie. Mom figured the war must
have changed Grandpa, because after he came back he and Grandma
argued a lot.”

“And your grandmother never remarried?”

“No. She taught school for a while. After
she retired she would just sit out on the deck and read.
Great-grandfather left a good inheritance. Anyway, she read and
read and read. That’s why there are so many boxes of books piled in
the garage. I guess that’s why I grew up wanting to be a writer. I
spent a lot of time over there. In fact, Mom and I lived with
Grandma Jessie for five years.”

Price led the trio into the supermarket and
shoved a grocery cart ahead of her as they swung over toward the
vegetables. “So your mother felt deserted by her father?”

“Yeah, well, dear old Dad didn’t help much
either. Did I ever tell you about him?”

“You mentioned you hadn’t seen him in
years.”

“When I was thirteen, he packed a suitcase
and shoved off to Alaska with papers to recover great-grandfather’s
gold mine.”

“What happened?” Price asked.

“We haven’t seen him since. Oh, I get a
package every once in a while from him, but it’s always from a
different address, and he never writes back when I send him a
letter.”

“Did your mother divorce him for
desertion?”

“Nope.”

“So she drinks a little too much?” Tony
inserted.

“Yeah... Would you believe she reads her
Bible and drinks? Weird combination, huh? She thinks that God’s
punishing her for something. Do you think God does things like
that?”

Tony took over pushing the cart as Price
piled in fruits and vegetables. “Well, there are certainly
consequences for our actions, the law of cause and effect, but I
don’t think God means us to suffer continual physical and mental
anguish.”

“I wish you’d tell my mom that. I wish
someone would sit her down and confront her, face-to-face.”

As they crossed the slightly humped bridge
back to the Island, they admired the stretch of shoreline view.
Pines and firs ran to the water’s edge, down and around landscaped
houses and

docks. A few fishing boats trolled the still
surface.

Melody let out a deep sigh. “I’m really
sorry for crying and making a big scene last night after what you
said about my book.”

Tony peered into Melody’s round brown eyes
through the rearview mirror.

“Price let me have it for my complete lack
of tact. I’m afraid I didn’t do a good job of expressing myself. I
should have said..

“No, really, it’s all right. This morning I
woke up and realized I really didn’t like that book myself. It
bores me to tears. It’s just that... I want to be a writer so bad.
And it’s, sort of, the only story idea I ever had. I guess I’m
afraid to give it up. I wouldn’t know what else to write.”

Tony tapped Price on the leg as if to say,
“There’s your cue.”

“Melody, what was the first week’s lesson in
Advanced Creative Writing?” she began.

“Let me think. It’s been a while. Something
about ‘write about things you know... people you know.’”

“Write within your world. Now, where is your
world?”

“Fox Island?”

“Bingo!” Price said. “Why not write a short
story about your grandparents?”

“Or your mom and your dad and how you felt
when he took off to Alaska?” Tony urged.

“Or write about the mysterious Mr.
Bennington who suddenly shows up after fifty years looking for Jill
Davenport.”

“Oh, wow, sure! I was thinking about him.
What if he jilted Auntie Jill for a girl from the Ziegfield Follies
whose family owned property in Texas? But after making millions in
the oil business, he’s left a widower and remembers his one true
love. So he hurries to Fox Island, only to find she died soon after
he left her.”

“It’s a start,” Price said. “Why not write
that scenario? A good basis for a short story.”

“Or even a book,” Tony added. Now Price
poked him. “Just keep asking ‘what if?’”

“Like what?”

“Like, what if Bennington and your Auntie
Jill purchased a lot together to one day build a house, and he kept
the property in her name all these years, and now it’s worth
millions to a real estate developer?”

“Oh, wow!”

“Or what if the reason they split up was
because he ran across your Grandma Jessie and her husband, thought
it was Jill, and figured she was two-timing him.”

Melody squealed. “And by the time he figured
it out, he couldn’t find her. Yes! I need to write this down. What
a great story.”

“Go for it,” Tony said. “Enthusiasm is half
the battle of writing.”

“I think I will.” Melody practically bubbled
and bounced. “I can hardly wait to get to my computer.”

Tony spent most of the week digging through
boxes of papers, letters and diaries stacked in the back room of
the Fox Island Historical Museum. Price interviewed several more
long-time residents of the Island, including two former ferryboat
captains. Neither saw much of Melody, who seemed content, secluded
in her loft apartment.

With cups of hot chocolate and French roast
coffee, Tony and Price converged on the deck on a sunny Monday
morning.

“It’s been a month, babe. Do you miss
Scottsdale?” Tony asked.

“I miss the girls. I guess I’m not ready for
them to be on their own.”

Tony sipped his brew from a dark blue
porcelain mug with the word Seattle inscribed in gold. “Kathy calls
about every day. I think we’re still needed.”

“I hope Kit calls today. I’d like to find
out how she got along working with those kids in Mexico last
week.”

Tony laughed. “She probably taught them how
to tune up a V-8. 1 really figured she’d have outgrown that by now.
A daughter with grease under her fingernails and a twin with
designer nails would drive the behaviorists wild. Same identical
environment, totally different personalities.”

“The boys aren’t exactly the same
either.”

“Have you talked to our eldest recently? I
caught Josh at home last Thursday, but I missed Mark.”

“We should call him tonight after he gets
off work.”

His coffee cold, Tony stepped into the house
for a refill as the phone rang. Price trailed behind.

“Shadowbrook here.”

“Tony, hang on to your cowboy hat, dude.
Have I got great news for you.”

“Who is this?”

“Terry. Terry Davidian.”

“Is it August yet?”

“Wait ’til you hear what happened last
night. I was at this party in Malibu, one of the beach blasts
everyone attends. And I’m talking to David Irving Silvers. THE
David Irving Silvers ... and he mentions the studio is taking a
look at a couple of possibilities for doing a western. But he said
all the material he’s seen is so stilted to political correctness
that it’s lost its zip, and I say, ‘Have I got a story for
you.’”

Tony shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“What’s the bottom line?”

“Wait. I mentioned
Shotgun Creek,
and Silvers said he was familiar
with your work and would take a look at the story.”

“He did?”

“He even asked if you were a member of the
Screenwriter’s Guild. You are, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Not a problem. I can take care of that.
What he did want to know was if you had representation, so
naturally I made it sound like we were working together. Now,
here’s the thing. I’ve got an appointment with Silvers, but I can’t
go in there without being an authorized agent. So, what do you want
me to do? Is that 15% thing a deal?”

“Ten percent, and you don’t get a penny
until I have money in hand.”

“But, Tony, baby, I can’t work all day and
not get paid until way down the road.”

“So do I, every day of my life.”

“Make it 15% and we’ll go from there.”

Tony glanced at Price who
mouthed,
Get it in writing.
“Make it 10%. When I get paid, you get paid.”

“You’re a tough man, Shadowbrook. But we’ve
got a deal. I’ll call you after I talk to Silvers.”

“No, we don’t have a deal. I want to see the
agreement in writing first.”

“What?”

“I want a written contract with all the
terms and limitations spelled out.”

“But, Tony, this is hot. I need to....”

“No contract, no representation.”

“Okay, okay. Give me your fax number and
I’ll get you something to review by noon.”

“I want a contract in the mail. FedEx it, if
you want. I want the real thing. Then I’ll send it to my publisher
and my book agent. After the lawyers have looked it over and we
settle with them, then I’ll sign it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. We don’t have
that kind of time. Let me get in the saddle with Silvers, then we
can plow through the paperwork.”

“I don’t do business that way, Davidian.
Send me the papers and I’ll see they get shipped to New York.”

“Tony, Tony, Tony. You can’t make it down
here unless you play by the rules. Hollywood rules.”

“I play by a lot higher rules. I’ll look for
the contract in the mail.”

“I tell you, you’re kissing off hundreds of
thousands, maybe millions here. You think it over and I’ll call
back this afternoon.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Wait... listen...”

“Bye, Davidian.” Tony hung up the phone and
grimaced at Price.

“You did good, Shadowbrook.” Her smile
dimpled both sides of her well-tanned face as silver earrings
flashed in the afternoon sun.

“You don’t mind if I pass up millions?”

“Potential millions,” she corrected. “We do
all right the way it is.”

“I thought you wanted me to hook up with
Davidian?”

“Not if you have to cut comers.”

“The whole deal keeps sounding a little
thin. You know what I mean?”

“Maybe you should let Liz and the lawyers at
Atlantic-Hampton handle it.”

“That’s my feeling exactly.”

Melody burst through the front door,
swinging a brown leather purse with one hand and car keys in the
other. Gold dangle earrings hung to the straps of her dark green
tank top. “Hi, guys. Can you get along without me the rest of
today?”

“We’ll manage,” Tony said.

“I’ve got to go talk to a psychologist at
the convalescent home. She called to say Grandma Jessie’s been in a
severe depression for several days. She wants to talk to the family
about it. Mother agreed to go with me, but I figure it will be a
long session.”

“Be sure and give us a report,” Price urged.
“We’ll be praying for you.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll need it ”

They both stared out the front door glass
panels until Melody’s car chugged up the steep driveway to the
road.

Tony sighed. “I hope we haven’t been the
cause of her grandma’s setback.”

“She’s never made peace with her past.”

“Did you ever notice how this happens every
summer?”

Price glanced in the hall mirror, admiring
the gold filigreed frame as she brushed her hair back from her
face. She remembered she’d forgotten to put on perfume. “What
happens?”