The Beach House (9 page)

Chapter 4

Saturday morning during breakfast, Chris let it drop that he'd been invited to a party that night. While he waited for the news to sink in, he added a couple of pancakes to the stack already on his plate. For almost the first time ever, he could give Tracy something she wanted—some fun. For the entire week she'd done nothing but complain about how bored she was.

Fighting to keep his voice casual, he glanced at Tracy and said, “I asked, and the guys said it would be all right if you and Janice wanted to come, too.”

Tracy abruptly brightened, sat up straight, and pushed her plate away. “If you're going out, that means Janice and I can go to the boardwalk—” She caught herself, gave Janice a “Did you hear what I almost said?” look, and put her hand to her mouth to hold in a grin.

The missing end to the sentence was obvious. She'd been about to add, “alone.” Chris wanted to die. Right there at the table. Tracy could have stuck her knife in his chest and it would have been a favor.

“I don't know, a party might be kind of fun,” Janice said lamely. “Whose is it?”

“Just some guys I met.” He cut a wedge of pancake but left it on the plate. There was no way he could get anything down without having it come right back up again.

Margaret came out of the kitchen with a fresh supply of bacon at the same time Beverly came out of the bedroom. She was still wearing her bathrobe. “Morning.” She stifled a yawn. “I can't remember the last time I slept this late.”

“You're on vacation,” Margaret said. “You can—”

“Don't plan on using the car tonight,” Tracy broke in. “Janice and I are going to need it.”

“What's up?” Beverly asked.

“We're going to the boardwalk.” She dipped her finger in her orange juice, then popped it in her mouth, as if that drop were the precise amount called for on her special diet. “I'm going to need money. Did you go by the ATM?”

Beverly looked at Chris. “Are you going, too?”

“He's been invited to a party,” Tracy answered for him.

Margaret put the bacon on the table and sat down opposite Chris. “You have?”

“It's no big deal,” Chris said. “A couple of the guys I play volleyball with have their girlfriends coming up for the weekend. Tony's throwing a party for them at his place.”

Beverly poured herself a cup of coffee. “That sounds like fun,” she said to Tracy. “Maybe you could talk Chris into letting you come along.”

“Mother.”

“I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Would you, Chris?”

There wasn't a hint of doubt in her voice. She automatically assumed he would do whatever she asked. He felt like some goddamned mongrel dog—fetch, carry, sit, stay, but don't expect to come in the house with the purebreds. He pushed his chair back and stood. “It's up to Tracy.”

“Tracy?” Beverly prompted.

“I told you, we already made plans.”

“I'm sure it's nothing that—”

Chris went outside. He didn't want to hear the rest.

He headed for the beach, saw how crowded it was, and took off down the road. He was almost to the corner when he heard his mother calling him. She'd seen and heard everything and would know what he was thinking. Undoubtedly she believed she could say something that would make him feel better, but he didn't want to hear it. He looked up and waved. After several seconds she waved back, letting him go.

He broke into a loping jog, bypassing the parking lot for the public entrance to the beach, then cutting through a eucalyptus grove. Ten minutes later he was on the frontage road that led to the highway. He heard a car come up behind him and veered off the asphalt to the shoulder to let it pass. It was a Jeep, one of the fancy kind, painted black with gold trim. The driver went about fifty yards past Chris, stopped, and shifted into reverse.

Chris slowed as he came up to the Jeep, figuring the driver was lost and needed directions.

Tony leaned out the window and hollered, “Hey, kid, can't you move any faster?”

Reaching the driver's window, Chris said, “I thought you were working today.”

“I'm on my way there now. Wanna come?”

“You want me to go to work with you?” It seemed an odd invitation.

Tony shook his head in amazement. “You don't have a clue who I am, do you?”

“Should I?”

He laughed. “My press agent thinks so.”

Finally Chris made the connection. “You're an actor. You know, I thought I recognized you that first day on the beach. What are you doing here?”

“We're on location—in Watsonville.” He looked at his watch. “And I'm running late. You coming or not?”

Since his father walked out, Chris rarely did things on impulse. Out of necessity his life had become structured, his responsibilities habitual. His first thought was that his mother might need him. But she'd made a point of insisting that this was his vacation, too. His second thought was that it would be rude to abandon Tracy and Janice, but they'd probably think he was doing them a favor.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” He went around the Jeep and got in the passenger side.

 

The movie set was nothing like Chris had thought it would be. With lights, cameras, wires, scaffolding, and people all over the place, the filmmaking process seemed chaotic and unfocused one minute and like a perfectly organized and orchestrated machine the next. While everyone was friendly, they were dead serious about what they were doing, showing low tolerance for mistakes or excuses. Chris was mesmerized by everything from the man who rushed in to repair makeup between takes to the woman who seemingly effortlessly operated a camera almost as big as she was. In one scene, shot over and over again for reasons Chris never understood, a man's sole job was to refill a beer bottle and supply a half-smoked cigarette to one of the actors.

He was disappointed when they broke for lunch.

“So, what do you think?” Tony asked, strolling over to him.

Chris had been so caught up in the character Tony was playing—a hostile sixties farm laborer frustrated with the peaceful ideology of Cesar Chavez—that he was taken aback when Tony smiled and turned into the guy Chris knew from the beach.

“I love it,” he said with unabashed enthusiasm. He felt the way he had after his first state wrestling championship, lightheaded with excitement.

“Me too.” Tony nodded toward a tent set up at the end of the street. “Let's get something to eat before it's all gone.”

“Are you sure it's all right? If I come, I mean. I'm not part of—”

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

Chris expected something along the lines of bologna sandwiches and chips. What he found was a buffet even fancier than the one at the reception after his father's fancy second marriage. “Wow, this is really something. Do you guys eat like this all the time?”

“It's one of the perks.” Tony indicated Chris should get in line in front of him. “We don't have a lot of time.”

Chris grabbed a plate and started dishing up, aware that he was an unexpected guest and taking small portions to be sure there was plenty for everyone. When he held himself to two shrimp, Tony took the ladle and added half a dozen more. After that, Chris dished up what he wanted, ending with a plate loaded to overflowing.

They ate in Tony's air-conditioned trailer, joined by two of the other volleyball players. The talk drifted from gossip about people Chris didn't know to the party taking place later that night, but mostly the conversation centered around the business. Chris got so caught up in listening, he had to be reminded to eat.

When lunch was over and he and Tony were on their way back to the set, Tony commented, “You really dig all this stuff.”

“It's a world I didn't know anything about,” Chris admitted. “I don't get the chance to go to many movies anymore. When I did, I just never gave much thought to how they were made.”

“Think you might like to act?”

“Me?”

“Why not?”

“I could never do what you do. There for a while you actually had me believing you were that guy you were playing. It was really weird.”

Tony grinned. “Thanks.”

When they were on the set again, Chris climbed back up on the stool that one of the grips had given him while Tony went over to have his makeup checked. Chris watched the lighting technicians working overhead for several minutes, then looked back to where Tony had been. But he was gone.

A woman carrying a clipboard came up and asked Chris to move his stool to another location. In the process, Chris caught sight of Tony standing alone in a doorway. He was very still and had a faraway look in his eyes. As Chris watched he saw an incredible transformation take place. The Tony Chris knew was gone, the angry farm worker in his place.

Later that afternoon, on the way home, Chris asked Tony about what he'd seen and received a quick lesson on acting.

“I didn't know it was something you could learn,” Chris said. “I thought you either had it or you didn't.”

“My teacher used to tell us that a successful actor was ten percent talent and ninety percent tenacity, that you need one as much as the other.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Which part?” Tony asked, rolling down the window and letting the warm moist air mix with the air-conditioning.

“Either one.”

“Luck and timing are important, too. In this business you can't get anywhere without them.”

“You consider yourself lucky?” Chris asked.

“Hell, yes. I wouldn't be where I am now if I hadn't gotten sick and stayed home from a cruise that I'd won on a game show. As soon as I started feeling better, one of my friends called and asked if I wanted to earn some extra money bartending for a party in Malibu. I had no idea whose house it was until we got there. It was an agent from William Morris I'd been trying to get in to see for months. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Chris shook his head. “I love stories like that.”

Tony chuckled. “Me too, especially when they're about me.”

Chapter 5

Disappointment tugged at the tail of Chris's kite of excitement when he got home and found Beverly's rental car gone and the house empty. He'd called his mother from the movie set to tell her he would be late getting back, but he'd saved the news about where he was to tell her in person.

And now she wasn't there.

Frustrated, he checked the house for a clue to where she might have gone, then walked around the outside to make sure she hadn't stayed behind to work in the garden. Finally, accepting that his news was going to have to wait, he got a soda from the refrigerator and went out on the deck. But he was too excited to sit still long.

It wasn't just his mother he wanted to tell about the movie. He could hardly wait to see Tracy's reaction. She'd try to be cool about it, but there was no way she wouldn't be impressed.

The thought brought him up short. His mind was working like a little kid's whose only defense against the school bully was to say, “Someday you'll be sorry.” Well, his day had come, sooner than he'd believed possible. How many times did
that
happen in a lifetime?

When Tracy heard whose party it was, she would beg him to take her. He closed his eyes to picture them walking in together. When the image came, it left him with an odd, empty feeling. Confused that his fantasy had let him down, he went back in the house.

After the enormous lunch he'd eaten, he wasn't hungry, but he strayed to the kitchen and started going through the cupboards. He found a bag of Oreos and was in the process of twisting one apart when his mother came in the front door.

“You're home,” she said as he came out of the kitchen.

“I got here about ten minutes ago. Where is everybody?” She had on a pair of shorts over her swimming suit but didn't look as if she'd been in the water.

“You mean everyone else?” she chided gently. “They went shopping. Tracy wanted to get something new to wear tonight.”

Chris caught a note of disapproval, unusual for his mother. “I'm glad they're not here,” he said, surprised that he meant it. “Wait till you hear where I've been today. It's so cool, Mom. You're not going to believe it.”

She smiled at his enthusiasm. “So tell me.”

He did, and just as he knew she would, she asked the right questions and showed the right amount of excitement.

“You had no idea who he was?” Margaret asked when he'd finished.

“None. I had the whole bunch of them pegged for construction workers.”

“Eric told me they were shooting a movie in Watsonville. But who would have thought a movie star would be out on the beach playing volleyball like everyone else.”

“You wouldn't recognize him if you saw him. He's got long hair and always has on sunglasses and a hat.”

She reached up and affectionately lifted his hair off his forehead and combed it back with her fingers. “Antonio Gallardo could look the exact way he did in his last movie and you still wouldn't have recognized him.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're the least starstruck person I know.”

On impulse he asked, “You want to come to the party with me tonight?”

“Thanks, but I have a date.”

“With Eric?”

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Whatever made you think that?”

“I dunno, he's single, you're single. You're both about the same age. He seems like a nice guy, and you're not bad yourself.”

“How could he resist, with all that going for me?”

“Well?”

“No, I'm not going out with Eric. After we drop Tracy and Janice off at the boardwalk, Beverly and I are going to a movie.”

“Does Tracy know you're taking the car?”

“I figure that's Beverly's problem.”

He nodded sagely. “Which is why you didn't go shopping with them.”

She laughed. “Sometimes you're too smart for your own good.”

“Hey, do me a favor?”

“Yes?” Margaret said.

“Don't tell anyone about the movie thing, okay?”

“Want to spring it on Tracy and Janice yourself?”

Actually, he'd begun to wonder if he wanted to tell them about it at all. “I don't like the idea of Tracy . . .” He shrugged. “I don't know. I just don't feel right about it.”

“She'd be impressed,” Margaret said. “She might even want to go with you tonight after all.”

“I know—that's what I mean.”

“Now
I'm
impressed.”

“Don't be. I could always change my mind.”

 

The battle over the car was still going on when Beverly and Tracy walked in the door an hour later. Janice slipped in behind them, passed through the living room with her head down, and disappeared into her and Tracy's room. She came out a short time later carrying a towel and announced she was going for a swim.

Margaret looked at Chris and said softly, “Why don't you go with her?”

He changed into his trunks and left. Tracy's and Beverly's raised voices followed him out the door. The beach was crowded, and it took Chris several minutes to find Janice. She was standing in the surf, her hands open at her sides as if trying to stop the incoming waves. In the week and a half she'd been there, Janice had picked up a tan—which wasn't surprising, considering the hours she and Tracy had lain in the sun. While her skin had darkened, her hair seemed lighter, as if some gold were now mixed in with the brown.

Chris supposed she was pretty in a cheerleader kind of way. Not the sort that usually appealed to him—in anyone but Tracy, of course. Tracy was the exception to every rule he lived by, someone so special that she wasn't held to any standards.

In the ordinary world, Chris liked girls who didn't worry what the wind would do to their hair if someone rolled down the window in the car, a girl who wore makeup to a party but didn't worry about it at the beach. He scanned Janice's near naked body and added mentally—a girl who wore suits they actually could swim in. Most important, he wanted a girl who could beat him at something besides television trivia.

Chris came up to stand beside Janice. “So now that you've been here a while, have you changed your mind?”

Janice didn't show surprise at finding him there. “About the ocean?”

The question puzzled him. What else could he have been talking about? “Yeah.”

“I love it more every day.” She rocked up on her toes when a late-breaking wave sent the water rushing up her thighs. “I'm starting to feel pretty selfish about it, though. I resent the other people hanging around
my
beach.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “I want this place all to myself.”

With Tracy he would have figured it was her way of telling him to get lost. He didn't get the same feeling with Janice. “You have to get up pretty early to—”

“I know.”

He eyed her. “You do?”

“Just before sunrise is the best time. No one is up yet, or if they are, they aren't on the beach. There isn't any music or kids screaming, or parents hollering, just the sound of the birds and waves.” She scooped up a handful of water and let it drain through her fingers.

“Do you come alone?”

She laughed. “Get serious. David Beckham couldn't get Tracy out of bed at that hour.”

“You shouldn't, you know.”

“Why?”

“It just doesn't seem like a very smart thing to take off alone that way.” He was automatically repeating a warning he'd heard given to every girl and woman he knew.

“I refuse to live my life being afraid,” she said. “That doesn't mean I'm going to be stupid. There are a whole lot of places in St. Louis I wouldn't go by myself at night, but they're places my brothers wouldn't go, either.”

“Still, I'd go with you if—”

“I don't need a bodyguard, Chris. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“That's not what I meant. I like the beach when it's empty, too.”

She turned to look at him. “Then how come I never see you here?”

“I go at night. After everyone else is in bed.”

“Does your mother know?”

“No.”

“I didn't think so.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Tracy said Margaret keeps a really tight rein on you since your dad left.”

He didn't like knowing he was being talked about, even if it was Tracy doing the talking. “Well, she's wrong.”

“Come on, Chris. I've seen how your mother controls you. All it takes is a look and you're right there doing the dishes or going to the store. I'll bet she's the one who sent you down here after me.”

“So what?” What right did she have to judge him or his mother? “She cares what happens to you, that's all. What's the big deal in that?”

“If she cares so much, why didn't she come herself?”

He couldn't believe he had actually thought he might be starting to like Janice. “What's your point?”

“She needs to let go of you and get herself a man.”

The statement left Chris speechless. When he recovered, he spat out, “You're such a bitch.” He threw his arms wide in a disgusted gesture and backed away. “Drown, for all I care.”

Janice watched him start to jog toward the stairs and then veer off and head down the beach instead. She couldn't believe she'd said what she had to him. She'd opened her mouth, but it was Tracy's words that had come out. What in the hell had she been thinking? The worst part was she didn't even believe what she'd said. She'd give anything if her own mother were more like Margaret.

For weeks she'd heard what a loser Chris was; then she'd seen him for herself, and nothing Tracy had said made sense. It was obvious he had a thing for Tracy and that Tracy would rather make it with Quasimodo. At home Tracy loved it when guys fell all over themselves chasing her. With Chris it was as if it were an insult.

She waited for the next wave and dove in, not caring what it would do to her hair or how much longer it would take to get ready that night. At least she wouldn't have to listen to Tracy complain about her mother or Chris or the car while the blow dryer was running.

 

After trying on the one pair of slacks he'd brought with him, Chris put on a new white T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans. It was just a barbecue, after all, not a sit-down formal dinner. His run-in with Janice had dampened his party mood, but he'd be damned if he was going to let her or Tracy ruin the entire night.

The party was at the house Tony was renting. Rather, the house the movie people had rented for him. Chris had recognized which one it was as soon as Tony started giving directions. Everyone who lived in the neighborhood knew about the place, but Chris had never found anyone who'd actually been there. The rock-and-brick house sat on the southernmost point of the cove, its height atop the cliff and prominent location providing what had to be an uninterrupted view of the entire Monterey Bay from Santa Cruz all the way down to Pacific Grove. Curious who could afford such a place, Chris had imagined everything from Silicon Valley royalty to Mob bosses.

Once he'd tried to get a better look by taking the inland route, but an eight-foot-high fence and acres of dense forest prevented even a glimpse.

Tonight the ornate wrought-iron gate was open, but a man in uniform stood guard outside, checking names against a list attached to a clipboard. Cars were lined up on both sides of the road a good hundred yards before Chris caught sight of the house. Plainly the party was not the small gathering he had believed.

Chris parked behind a cobalt blue Viper, the first he'd seen outside a magazine. He spent a good five minutes looking it over before heading up the hill. Wait till the guys at school heard about this night. They'd never believe him. Not in a million years.

The house itself wasn't as big as he'd expected—more the size of the rich people's places in Fresno than those in Bel Air. But he'd take it. In a heartbeat. The thought brought the now familiar itch to one day own his own piece of the coast. Only he'd never dreamed of anything like this. Better to forget about it. Put it out of his mind right now. Something like that just wasn't possible.

He was just being reasonable, keeping himself from going after impossible dreams. Then why the voice that insisted,
Why not?

A woman with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other spotted him, smiled, and when he approached, handed him her empty glass. She was wearing four-inch heels and a dress made out of a material that shimmered the way peacock feathers did in the sunlight.

“Another of the same,” she said. “Vodka straight.”

“Okay,” Chris said, returning her smile. “Just point me in the direction of the bar.”

She gave him a quick once-over. “My God, you're a guest. How embarrassing.” Hooking her arm through his, she dropped her cigarette and ground it out with her foot. “Come with me. I'll introduce you to everyone.” She laughed. “Everyone you haven't already met, that is. Wait, I need to know your name first.”