Sunshine Beach (39 page)

“What does that mean?” Annelise asked.

Shadows lengthened as Avery and Maddie described what they had in mind, with occasional clarifications or additions from the others. While Jeff Hardin and Steve Singer looked on approvingly, Troy Matthews and Kyra Singer shot video. Daniel Deranian sat with his son on his lap and seemed, at least to Renée, in no hurry to get back to the world he normally inhabited.

“So you're saying you want to not just renovate, but re-create the Sunshine Beach Club?” Renée asked when they'd finished. It was the last thing she'd been expecting when they arrived. From the look on Annelise's face she, too, had been taken by surprise.

“Yes,” Maddie said eagerly. “With the same kind of activities and personal treatment families used to get in your grandparents' day.”

“But who on earth would run it?” Annelise asked.

“You could sell the club,” Nikki suggested. “Or hold on to it and hire a management company.”

The shadows lengthened. Each answer seemed to beget more questions.

“I don't see it,” Annelise finally said. “Those days are over. People have their own pools now. And anyone can go to the beach. Why would they come here to do those things?”

“I think families would enjoy it,” Daniel Deranian said.

“You'd bring your family, then?” Troy asked archly. Kyra gave him a death stare.

“Part of my family,” Daniel said.

“I can't help feeling that ‘retro' is just a new word for old-fashioned.” Annelise remained unconvinced. But Renée found herself picturing Nana, remembering the personal connection she'd forged with all their guests. She had had only one child, but in a time when entire Jewish families had been exterminated, she had created an extended family right here on Sunshine Beach.

“No,” Ray insisted. “Retro is all the rage. And the structures here are a perfect example of midcentury modern.”

“The architecture is fabulous and with Renée's help the grounds will be, too. But it's not just the structures,” Maddie said. “Young families are yearning for those old kinds of connections, a way to anchor their children to the family in this fast-paced world.”

Annelise sat very still. Renée could feel her resistance. But a sense of rightness, of a calm certainty she hadn't felt in decades, settled over her. Renée turned to her sister. “They're right,” she said. “The Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club was never about the buildings.” She looked at the hull of a pool and the torn-up concrete, at the low-slung building that sagged and gaped but had been the scene of so many celebrations. “It was always about the people. The families. Including ours.”

She reached for her sister's birdlike hand and her husband's stronger one. “We've both been hiding from our memories in different ways. But I don't want to tear it down and forget it anymore. I want to remember and share those memories. And maybe give new memories to the guests who
come here.” She met her sister's eye. “Think what an honor it would be to Nana and Pop Pop. And to our parents.”

“But no one would take the time to do the things Nana did. Or even know how to make it feel like it used to.”

Renée saw the tears in her sister's eyes and felt them gather in her own. But this was a chance to turn the pain and uncertainty they'd lived with for so long into something good. She was casting about for an answer when Madeline Singer spoke.

“But we do know how,” Maddie said as the sun oozed into the water leaving a red-streaked sky behind. “Because your Nana left very explicit notes and instructions. And a long list of guests whose children and grandchildren already have wonderful memories of the Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club that they might want to build on.”

Annelise nodded and smiled. She gently squeezed Renée's hand in agreement.

The grand reopening of the Sunshine Beach Club took place on a postcard-perfect October day under blue skies and taffy-pulled clouds. Guests mingled on the new white concrete pool deck enjoying the salt-tinged breeze off the Gulf and temperatures that hovered in the midseventies. Hawaiian-shirted bartenders mixed tropical drinks for the adults and nonalcoholic versions for the children all topped off with brightly colored paper umbrellas. Similarly clad waiters passed family-friendly hors d'oeuvres right out of the fifties: mini burgers, hot dogs, and pizzas, along with deviled eggs and celery stuffed with cream cheese and Cheez Whiz. There was not a pâté or a foie gras in sight.

Adults chattered in ever-moving and morphing groups as children cannonballed into the pool under the watchful eye of a lifeguard who sat atop the retro lifeguard stand Ray had insisted on ordering. Others raced onto the beach and back again whooping with delight.

A sizable crowd enjoyed the proceedings and the sweeping beach and bay views from the rooftop deck with its modular cushioned seating and movable wheeled planters. Small hands
and noses pressed up against the deck's Plexiglas sides enjoying the same view of the pool and beach as their parents and taller siblings did. On a makeshift stage set up in front of the cabbage palms, William Hightower and his band broke into their current hit “Free Fall.” A largely female audience crowded around them. Bitsy Baynard stood at the very front swaying to the music and singing along, number one fan and cheerleader.

Renée, John, and Annelise stood near the ribbon-wrapped glass doors of the main building in what had turned into an impromptu receiving line.

“I can't believe how many original guests have family members here today,” Renée said as she accepted a hug from Sheila Rosenzweig, who'd been a small child when she'd first come with her parents, and who'd arrived with two of her six grandchildren. Fran Lebow chatted with Jan Rothstein's grandson. Myra Shonenbaum had only heard about the Sunshine Hotel; she and her husband had come to see it for themselves.

“Wait until they get to go inside,” Annelise said. “I love the photo wall Ray created. And the soda fountain is just the way I remember it.” Her sister's face had filled out in the last months and her smile had become more ready. Every once in a while the fanciful child she'd once been shone clearly in her eyes.

“I hope we have enough ice cream sandwiches,” Renée said, noting the vintage ice cream coolers that Ray had tracked down and borrowed for the occasion.

“We have enough ice cream sandwiches and Good Humor bars to feed every family in Florida for a year,” John teased, but he, too, had thrown himself into the details of this party. All three of them had been a part of the phone tree Maddie and Nikki had organized, and had called many of the invited guests personally.

“The grounds look beautiful,” Carol Franks said.

“I know that's your doing,” her sister Margie said. “You always did have a green thumb.”

Renée flushed with satisfaction. Months of pruning, paring, and transplanting had tamed the chaos into a lush tropical paradise. Guests followed hibiscus-lined paths accented with birds-of-paradise and frangipani, which wound through the brightly painted cottage shells where Franklin Realty associates stood ready to explain the time-share and ownership options. A long line of excited guests stood in line reading brochures and studying renderings while they waited to be escorted to Nikki, who was the “keeper of the contracts” and sat at a shaded table on the covered patio that bracketed the main building. Joe Giraldi stood talking with Officer Jackson nearby.

“Are you ready?” Maddie escorted Annelise and Renée to the double glass door and handed them a large ceremonial scissor. Troy and Kyra shot video and stills as they cut the ceremonial ribbon and led the way inside what was now a high-ceilinged light-filled space.

Avery joined the group, eager to hear their reactions.

“Oh, my gosh, it's so perfect.”

“Just like I remember, only better.”

“Oh, look at the photos. I think that's my grandmother!”

“I can't believe they still have the old keys. We always stayed in the Happy Crab.”

The guests hurried across the newly refurbished sand-colored terrazzo with its blue and black bits that stood out in the sunlight now streaming into the room through south- and west-facing glass walls. They exclaimed over the card and game tables and pulled levers on the vintage pinball machines. Others were drawn to the seating areas that broke up the long space. They dropped down on the clean-lined sofas and love seats and admired the reproduction free-form Noguchi tables, and Arne Jacobsen–style Egg chairs, which had been upholstered in brightly colored fabrics designed to hold up under damp bathing suits and tracked-in sand.

The doors to the locker room halls stood open so that they could check out the newly refurbished wood lockers,
benches, and tiled showers. Others made a beeline for the dining room with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls and bright white Saarinen–style Tulip tables and chairs.

“If you get any closer you're going to trip someone,” Chase said.

“Shhh,” Avery said, glowing as one man lifted his young daughter onto his “favorite” stool at the soda fountain and asked if she wanted to try an ice cream sundae with a cherry on top.

“At least I'm not flirting like your father.” She nodded toward the photo wall that Ray had covered with black-and-white candids of the Handleman family and their guests. Jeff Hardin leaned on his walker as Annelise pointed to a shot of herself atop her father's shoulders at three or four years of age.

Chase smiled and puffed out his chest. “Hey, we Hardins are known for our charm.”

“And your modesty,” she said as Ray walked up to join them.

“Great job on the interiors,” Chase said, clapping the designer on the back.

“It's great,” Avery agreed, her smile slipping just a bit. “I wish Deirdre could have been a part of this.”

“In a way she is,” Ray said. “I don't think I mentioned this before. I never could figure out exactly how to bring it up. But I learned a lot of what I know from her just like you did.”

“You knew Deirdre?” She thought at first she hadn't heard him right.

“Back when I came out and my family couldn't quite deal with it, I ran away to Hollywood. You know, to be a designer to the stars.”

Avery watched his face. “At least you didn't leave a husband and child behind.” The hurt was still there, not completely dislodged by the reconciliation with her long-absent mother.

“No. I was an eighteen-year-old with a lot of dreams and almost no training. I met her when I was parking cars at a
private party.” He looked around at the chattering people, the space they'd created. “She taught me, Avery. And she mothered me as best she could, which we both know was not her strength. But she talked about you all the time. She had such regret for leaving you. I know she took me in in part to atone for leaving you. She saved my life, Avery. And you remind me of her. In all the best possible ways.”

“Oh, crap,” she muttered as her eyes teared up. “Don't you dare make me cry right now.”

“I know you'd never do that,” he said, swiping at his own eyes. “After all, everyone knows there's no crying in construction.”

There might not be crying in construction, but there was definitely sweating. Which was what Nikki was doing at that very moment. Despite the balmy seventy-four degrees, the shaded table at which she was seated, and the glasses of ice water that Joe Giraldi kept pushing on her, Nikki's personal thermometer seemed stuck on high and didn't seem like it had any intention of coming down.

“Are you sure you're okay? You look . . .” Joe began.

“Don't say it. It's not polite to point out that a woman is sweating.” She picked up a brochure and fanned her face. She'd pinned up her hair and wore the skimpiest clothing a woman who was five months pregnant could possibly leave the house in, and still she was overheated.

“Believe me, I learned that lesson the hard way.” Only last week he had made the mistake of suggesting she might want to stop coloring her hair in case the dye adversely affected the babies. “You've got to keep drinking liquids, Nikki. All the manuals say so.”

“Go away,” she said. He'd been hovering nearby through the entire party, though he'd tried to pretend otherwise. “I'm working.”

“Drink up.” He pushed the fresh glass of ice water closer. “Then you can file this paperwork.” He set a completed contract in front of her.

“Why would you buy a two-bedroom cottage here? You already have a house.”

At his look she took one sip of the water and no more. If she drank another ounce she was going to have to pee again.

“I'm going to be working out of the Tampa office for a while,” he said smoothly. “And so I thought it might be a good idea to own something locally.”

“What?” Her eyes flashed but even she wasn't sure why. “Why in the . . . ?”

“Look, I know you don't want to get married,” he said quickly, his eyes pinned to her face. “So why don't we just go ahead and take that option off the table right now.”

“Oh. Okay.” She tried to look relieved. “Good.”

“I figure we can worry about that down the road if either of us ever want to. The main thing is the babies, right?”

“Right.”
Off the table?

“Nonna Sofia did suggest a shotgun wedding,” he said, still watching her. “But I told her I'm not allowed to threaten people with a firearm when I'm not on duty.”

“Right,” she said again. “Absolutely. No one would want to be forced into a marriage. Just because they were going to be a parent or . . . anything.” She dropped her eyes to the paperwork. He was committing $200,000 plus for a two-bedroom unit with all the upgrades. But he'd decided he no longer needed to commit to her.

“Things are going great and I want to be here with you and our children.” He gave her a blinding smile. “But you were right. There's no reason we have to be married when we can just enjoy each other and be hands-on parents together.”

“Right.” She searched for a smile but knew the one she came up with was nowhere near as blinding as his. She nodded her head, though, and tried to look satisfied. He was giving her the space she'd said she wanted while being supportive. She looked up and thought she saw a glint of humor steal into his dark eyes. But no, she had to be imagining
that. “Lots of people have babies without getting married,” she agreed. The man had finally given her what she'd asked for. It wasn't as if she could complain about it.

It was late by the time Maddie was able to make her way back to the stage area. She was tired, but happy. The party had far exceeded all of their expectations. Bitsy made room for her near the edge of the stage as Will struck a final chord, brought the last set to an end, and thanked the audience. Handing off his guitar, he stepped away from the microphone and shot Maddie a wink. As he began to move toward her the crowd of women surged forward and surrounded him. Soon the only part of him that was visible was the top of his dark head.

Her response was visceral and immediate. She wanted to walk over there and pull those women off of him. Wanted to stake her claim and assert her “rights.” But these women, these fans, were a part of what he did. He'd told her repeatedly that they didn't tempt him and that she was what he wanted. Somehow at some point she was going to have to find a way to believe it. In the periphery a digital flash went off; someone with a profile that reminded her of Nigel Bracken appeared off near the pool bar.

Steve materialized beside her. He was standing too close, but his attention was fixed on Will, who had left the last of his admirers behind and was moving toward her.

“You don't deserve her!” Steve shouted as Will drew near. His tone was belligerent, his manner oddly menacing.

“What in the world are you doing?” she hissed at Steve.

William kept moving toward her, his dark eyes intent, his skin burnished by the sun. His body appeared loose and languid but when he came to a stop in front of her, she could feel that post-performance energy coming off him. There was something else there, too, something she couldn't quite identify. Without acknowledging Steve or even speaking, Will
leaned down to kiss her. Despite the crowd and her ex-husband glowering beside her, she ultimately succumbed to the feel of Will's lips moving on hers. Vaguely she became aware of someone tapping on Will's shoulder. People around them murmured.

“It's okay, Maddie,” Will breathed quietly. “Not sure if anyone told you but . . .”

Another tap, harder this time. Will straightened and turned. Bitsy gasped.

“What do you think you're doing with my wife?” Steve's voice was loud and harsh. Maddie's eyes flew open. There were screams. Bitsy's was loud and shrill in her ear. Digital flashes went off.