Ocean Beach (16 page)

Avery awoke with her back pressed against something hard. She had a crick in her neck and a heavy arm draped across
her chest. She blinked slowly awake as memory returned. She lay in Chase’s arms, both of them tucked into the curve of one of Max’s living room sofas. Light streamed in through the blinds to dapple the scarred Moroccan tile floor. Max’s bedroom door stood open and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen.

“Hey.” She threw off the blanket someone had draped over them and rubbed sleep from her eyes. “It’s time to get up.”

“Good God,” Chase groaned. “I’m too old to sleep on a couch.”

“Tell me about it,” she said.

“And way too old to make love in the cab of a truck.”

“Ditto.” She rubbed the back of her neck and yawned once more, but had to beat back a smile. The act had been one of desperation as well as a physical challenge, but the result had been surprisingly satisfying.

“Next time I buy a truck I’m going with a bench seat,” Chase said.

“I can’t believe we couldn’t find a hotel room.” Avery yawned again, reliving the night before when they’d left after Max’s movie, assuming they’d just check into the first hotel that looked interesting.

“Or that an arts and foreign film festival could eat up that much hotel room inventory. I know I didn’t mean for our first trip up Ocean Drive together to be quite so desperate.” He lifted a hand to the nape of her neck then followed it with his lips.

She sighed as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot. “Maybe we can walk over and have breakfast at one of the sidewalk cafés and then take our time checking out the Art Deco district.”

“Sounds perfect.” Though she hadn’t even admitted it to herself, she realized that she’d been waiting to see the area for the first time with him.

There was a buzzing sound. Chase’s hand left her neck as he felt through his pockets and finally located his cell phone. He looked at the screen before he answered. “Hi, Dad,” he said, stifling a yawn. Whatever Jeff Hardin said had him straightening. He threw his legs over the side of the sofa and sat up.

“No,” he said, his brow furrowed. “I was planning to stay until tomorrow afternoon, but…”

Avery sat where she was as Chase stood and stepped away.

“No, of course. Don’t worry about it. It’s not a problem.” He listened, nodding his head. “I will.” He nodded and looked at her. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“What?” Avery asked after he’d ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Is everybody okay?”

“The boys are fine. No broken bones or emergency room visits.” His smile was apologetic. “But Dad and I were supposed to have drinks with our main investor in Pelican Point,” he said, naming the development on which they’d broken ground just before the real estate market crashed and burned. “He called to ask if we could do it today instead. He wants us to meet him at his country club this afternoon at three.”

“I hate to leave,” he said. “But I don’t want Dad to—”

“I know,” she said, swallowing her disappointment. “Deep pockets are not easy to come by in this environment. God, I hope that nibble on Bella Flora develops into a serious bite soon.”

“That’s for sure,” Chase said. “It would certainly take a lot of the pressure off.” He speared her with another smile. “I’m really sorry to have to cut our time together short.”

“You need to be there. Don’t worry about it.” She stifled a sigh. “And at least you’re going home to a bed in a room with a door.” She didn’t add how much she hated to see him leave. Nor would she ask him how soon he’d be back. The smartest thing would be to keep things light and easy. As soon as things started to get heavy, it became far too easy to abdicate or lean.

“That’s true,” he said. “I do have a bed and a door.”

“And I still get to knock down a wall tomorrow,” she said, brightening.

“Most women reserve that look in your eye for designer clothing and major shopping expeditions,” Chase said, stretching his arms high above his head.

“Well, all I need is a wall and something to knock it down with.” Avery averted her gaze from the taut stomach that was bared as he stretched again. “Demolition is better than a shot of adrenaline or mainlining coffee any day.”

“That’s incredibly low maintenance of you,” he said, pulling her close.

“Speaking of coffee…” she said, trying to keep the tone light. “I think I smell breakfast.”

They followed the scent of coffee into the kitchen, where they found Maddie, Deirdre, and Max and an electric skillet of scrambled cheese eggs.

Deirdre gave them a once-over. “You wouldn’t be looking like you just survived a near-death experience if you’d let me give you two the bedroom like I wanted to,” she said reasonably.

“You’re too old to sleep on a sofa,” Avery said, accepting
a plate of eggs from Maddie, but not feeling the rush of victory she’d hoped for when Deirdre absorbed the blow.

Back from her run, Nicole poured a tall glass of orange juice and sank down next to Max. Kyra appeared with Dustin and strapped him into the high chair. Troy and Anthony showed up next, toting all their gear. Maddie fixed them plates, much to Kyra’s obvious distress, then unplugged the skillet so that she could put on another pot of coffee.

“Allowing me to give you something doesn’t lessen you,” Deirdre said to Avery, her perfectly lipsticked mouth still tight with hurt.

“Right,” Avery said, knowing she was taking her disappointment over Chase’s departure out on Deirdre, but unwilling or unable to stop herself. She wasn’t the only one who noticed that the tone in her voice said,
Of course it does.

With a loud gnashing of gears and a clatter of metal, the Dumpster landed in position first thing Monday morning. There were shouts and more clattering as the delivery truck left and another arrived. Kyra shot video of Avery standing on the front steps sipping a cup of coffee as a crew unloaded the scaffolding and began to assemble it around The Millicent.

She also documented the spontaneous burst of applause from everyone in the kitchen when Avery led Ted Darnell, the tall gangly electrician from East Coast Electric, past them toward the existing fuse box in the laundry room. Her next shots were of Avery strapping on the worn leather tool belt that had been her father’s and reverently poking the prong through the extra hole that had been cut into it. A smattering of applause accompanied this too.

Dustin sat in his high chair while his grandmother spooned cereal into his mouth. His chubby palms were full of Cheerios, some of which he occasionally pressed into his
mouth. Sometimes the Cheerios actually stayed there when his fist came out. Just watching him made her smile.

Kyra’s good mood fled when Troy Matthews backed into the kitchen, camera rolling, with Anthony beside him, their camera and microphone aimed toward Max, who followed in their wake. The old man wore his version of work clothes—crisply pressed jeans, a short-sleeved denim shirt, and a red bandanna tied jauntily around his neck.

Max came to a halt when Troy and Anthony did. He reached for the back of the banquette, his movement casual, his knuckles tightening as he grasped it for support.

“I’m ready to knock that wall down,” Max said heartily into the camera, though his legs wobbled a bit beneath him. He held his smile until Troy lowered his camera, then dropped onto the banquette cushion with all the finesse of a stone.

Avery and Maddie exchanged glances and Kyra knew she wasn’t the only one questioning Lisa Hogan’s directive to put a sledgehammer in the ninety-year-old man’s hands. She had no doubt that Troy Matthews would be ready, willing, and even eager to carry that directive out.

Maddie jumped up to get Max breakfast. On her way she shot Kyra a look and nodded toward the film crew.

“Can we talk?” Kyra took Troy by the arm and led him to the far end of the kitchen. Anthony, who had the personality of the teddy bear he resembled, set down his microphone and went over to the counter to study the contents of the donut box.

“So I’m assuming we’ll both shoot the wall coming down, but from different angles,” she said when they were out of earshot. If she could keep Troy downstairs on the other side of that wall from Max, she could control Max’s exposure.

“That’s kind of ridiculous. There’s no point in shooting everything twice all the time,” the cameraman said. “I’ve been getting everything we need.”

“Possibly,” Kyra replied. “But I haven’t been invited to a screening yet. So I only have your word on that.”

Troy’s slightly squared jaw jutted. His video camera dangled at his side—an unconcealed weapon. “I don’t have permission to share footage at this point in time.” He spoke to her in the tone of a parent to a child.

Kyra gritted her teeth. The others’ eyes were on them. Not wanting to upset Max, she reined in her irritation and lifted her lips into what she hoped would pass for a smile.

“Well, that seems odd considering we’re working on the same show. But then, from what I can see, our goals couldn’t be more different. You’re sensationalizing whatever you can and trying to pass it off as reality. I’m trying to document what’s really happening.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t want you to be so busy trying to make us look bad that you missed the wall coming down. Given the symbolism of it reuniting the two halves of the house and everything.”

His eyes narrowed, but Kyra rushed on before he could interject. “Even if you get permission to share the footage with me at some point—and I can just imagine how hard you’re trying—you may not have anywhere near what I want or need.” She sniffed as dismissively as she could. “There’s no way to
do over
the important parts if you miss them.”

“Are you questioning my ability to cover the material?” he asked stiffly.

“You bet,” Kyra said. “And I’m also questioning your ability to cover us in a way we can live with. This shoot is
your job. But this”—Kyra motioned around her to include the house and all the people in it—“this is our life. We can’t really afford to put it in the hands of someone who’s only worried about his paycheck.”

The tick in the cameraman’s cheek grew more pronounced, but Kyra didn’t care. Her whole damn body was ticking.

“My mother and Avery and Nicole are here because this series is a way to get back on their feet. And so am I,” Kyra said. “You may not have noticed, but I have a child to take care of.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Troy said. “I guess sleeping with the star of a movie doesn’t get a person as far ahead as it used to.”

Kyra felt her mouth drop open as the anger steaming through her searched for an escape.

“On the other hand, what do I know?” Troy continued. “Maybe it helped you get this show. Just like being female and good-looking helped you get on the Daniel Deranian movie in the first place.”

“You did
not
just say that,” Kyra said, fisting her hands at her side to keep from slapping his smug face.

Troy shrugged and raised his camera to his shoulder. “He does have a reputation for surrounding himself with beautiful women. Brains are often optional.” Insolently, he panned his camera from what had to be an extreme close-up of Kyra’s angry face, across the banquette, to settle on Dustin, who was waving his arms happily at Max and holding the squishy oversize baseball that Troy had given him.

Avery came over, took Kyra by the shoulder, and led her back to the table. “So much for working this out between yourselves. I’m going to make sure you’re the one shooting Max. We don’t want him embarrassed or hurt.”

Kyra nodded, but she didn’t see how this was going to happen.

“Just follow my lead. And try to look angry at what I suggest.”

“So…” Avery turned to Troy. “I’m thinking that Kyra can shoot all of us getting ready upstairs with our sledgehammers,” she said, “while the
real
film crew”—she sent Kyra a warning look—“can be set up below to get the shot of Max breaking through the wall. Does that work for everyone?”

Kyra scowled angrily. No acting was required.

Once Troy was sure she hated the idea, he nodded. “That sounds good,” he said. “Max is the money shot. Let’s make sure he breaks through first with a big enough hole for the audience to see him clearly.”

“So much for documenting what’s really happening,” Kyra muttered.

“What was that?” Troy asked.

“Nothing.” Kyra smiled brightly.

Upstairs, Kyra shot a series of close-ups that could be cut in later: the sledgehammer, bits of the handle, the impact as it crashed repeatedly into the wall. Under her direction, Max huffed and puffed into the wireless microphone on his lapel as if he, and not Avery, were wielding the sledgehammer. On cue, he provided carefully timed grunts and one heartfelt
“oy, vey!”

When the wall looked like it needed only a final blow, Avery put the sledgehammer in Max’s hands. Despite the grin of bravado, he dropped to his knees the moment Avery let go of the tool.

“Here, grab him under the arms,” Nicole mouthed as she and Maddie pulled Max quietly to his feet.

“Everything okay up there?” Troy called up the stairs.

“Absolutely!” Kyra framed the shot as Avery wrapped her hands around Max’s and dragged the hammer upward.