Ten Beach Road (16 page)

Nicole closed her eyes briefly and grimaced, but she didn’t stop drinking.

“Yeah, we’re all really looking forward to that,” Avery said. “And I thought maybe we should take a look at the ‘jungle’ while we’re working outside and see if we can figure out what needs to be trimmed or removed.” She carried her empty coffee cup to the sink. “Do either of you garden?”

“No.” Nicole finally lowered the bottle; it was almost empty.

“I once got lawn of the month in our neighborhood, but that was because the real winner got disqualified for secret watering during the drought.” Madeline poured the last of the coffee into her cup and turned off the coffeemaker. “Maybe we should call John Franklin and see if he meant it when he said his wife and her garden club might be willing to help.” She said this somewhat tentatively.

“Good idea,” Nicole said.

“You’re a genius,” Avery added. “I have no desire to do any grunt work that someone else might be willing to do.”

Madeline flushed at the compliment, clearly pleased. “It’s the first rule of committee management. I learned it when I was room mom for Kyra’s kindergarten class. You can kill yourself doing everything or you can delegate.”

“Sounds good to me,” Avery said. Then deciding to try Madeline’s technique on for size, she turned to Nicole. “Would you be willing to call John Franklin and see if his wife and her garden club are actually willing to tackle the lawn and garden?”

“Sure,” the redhead said as she tossed the now-empty water bottle into the recycling bin Madeline had set up. “I’ve talked people into all kinds of things in the name of love; I’m sure I can get a couple of garden ladies to come over here for a little weed pulling and frond plucking.”

The days passed in an endless blur of floor mopping, window washing, baseboard wiping, and cobweb removing. Despite Robby the plumber’s constant presence they still had only one working bathroom, which required varying degrees of patience and bladder control and, at times, negotiation. Nicole had worked hard all of her life, but it had been almost two decades since that work had been physical. Pilates and jogging had not prepared her body for what was required of it now. Nor was she comfortable with the outward physical manifestations of hard labor; each jagged nail, each gash and scrape and bruise felt like a personal insult. She continued to put on makeup each morning, but she was pathetically grateful that the bathroom mirror was murky and that there were so few shiny surfaces in which she’d be forced to confront her reflection. Coming up with that “one good thing” during their group sunsets was already a challenge and the most grueling grunt work had not even begun.

It was a sign of just how radically her life had changed that Nicole was actually looking forward to going to the grocery store with Madeline. Until she realized that Madeline intended for them to go in the minivan.

Nicole jangled her keys to get Madeline’s attention and motioned toward the Jag. “Why don’t we take my car? It’s not like we’re planning to buy those huge cartons of . . . everything.”

Madeline stopped where she was and gave Nicole what she was beginning to think of as the “mother look.”

“My car does have a trunk, you know,” Nicole pointed out, trying not to sound too eager. “And we could put the top down.”

“It’s just easier with the van,” Madeline said, clicking the dratted doors open. “Why don’t we save your car for a fun ride somewhere?” She said this as one might when negotiating with a child, then slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Nicole to get in beside her. If she offered an ice cream on the way back, Nicole was going to give her some serious shit.

They drove off the beach to a Home Depot, where they wandered the aisles with a list from Avery in hand, finally finding the brass and chrome polish and extra tools she’d asked for. At the grocery store, Madeline wheeled the cart, pulled coupons from her alphabetized holder, and checked things off the list as Nicole retrieved them. All around them people twice their ages pushed mostly empty carts, which held them upright, or motored by on store-provided scooters. Many of those people stared at her outright.

Nicole stared back, taking in their age spots and wrinkles; the thin hair through which their scalps showed; the cloudy eyes that glimmered briefly with interest as they passed.

In New York you saw the occasional older person hobbling by on a cane or being pushed in a wheelchair, but they were easily overlooked in the jostle of the crowds. In L.A., she encountered very few older people—at least none who looked or admitted to anything near their actual age. She assumed the really elderly were holed up somewhere or had been tucked away by their families. By L.A. standards she was already well over the hill, but her persona as dating guru and matchmaker had kept her on the party circuit. Her income had allowed her to stave off the more obvious signs of aging, which were so prominently displayed here. Nicole shuddered slightly. If they didn’t get Bella Flora finished and off their hands, she’d have to live with whatever Mother Nature decided to do to her.

In the freezer section she paused to watch a wispy-haired woman bent nearly double over her cane traverse the aisle. The woman paused for a moment to catch her breath. Before she hobbled on, she threw Nicole a pitying glance.

Turning quickly, Nicole caught a fleeting glimpse of wild hair and a dirt streaked face reflected off the freezer case. Aghast, she stared at the image while Madeline, who must have just realized that she was no longer beside her, turned and rolled the cart back to her side.

Nicole reached out toward the reflection. The mirror image reached back.

“Please tell me that isn’t me,” Nicole whispered, unable to tear her gaze away from the train wreck of red dust-streaked hair and dirt-smeared face. The black spandex running clothes were stained and bedraggled. “I did
not
go out looking like that.”

Madeline winced. “We were just running out to do some errands . . .” Her clothes were equally dirty, but at least her hair was up in a banana clip.

“Well, it may be okay for you,” Nicole said. “But I don’t go out into the world like this. Not ever.”

“Thanks.” Madeline’s tone was dry. “But it’s just a grocery store. And it’s pretty much filled with strangers. Not really enough to get all fixed up for.”

“But I . . .” Nicole pulled herself up as a guy with a beer belly stuffed into a stained Hawaiian shirt went by. Next came a woman in a snap-fronted housecoat.

Madeline was right. So a few elderly people felt sorry for her. So she could scare children. It was not the end of the world. Pretty soon they’d be back at Bella Flora where nobody cared what she looked like as long as she pulled her weight. And they never found out she was Malcolm’s sister. “Can we go now?”

Madeline looked at her list and then inside the basket, rifling through her coupons one last time. “Yes, we’re good.” She tucked the list into her purse and wheeled the cart toward the checkout. There they unloaded and pushed the cart toward the bagger. “But you need to stop worrying about your appearance. Even with the dirt accents and the windblown hair thing, you’re a very attractive woman.”

Partly mollified, Nicole pulled out her wallet and waited for the cashier, who might have been pushing ninety, to finish scanning their items. His name tag read Horace and his pace was too slow to be termed glacial. When he’d finally scanned and passed all their items down to the bagger and punched in Madeline’s coupon codes, he asked, “Do you want your senior discount with that?”

Nicole blinked. “I’m sorry,” she said, certain she’d misunderstood. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted your senior discount. It’ll save you five percent on your total bill.”

Nicole couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The blood bubbled in her veins, looking for an escape hatch. Madeline blanched beside her.

“Do I
look
like I should get a senior discount?” Nicole asked.

The cashier shrugged his bony shoulders. “Don’t get mad, now. I’m supposed to ask,” he said.

Nicole’s hands clamped on to the side of the checkout stand, which she figured was better than around Horace’s scrawny neck. “But you can’t possibly ask everyone. How old do you have to be to get the senior discount, Horace?” she asked.

“Fifty-five.” It was Horace’s turn to blink. “But if you aren’t . . .”

“Oh, my God!” She leaned closer prepared to choke the life out of him. The man actually thought she was fifty-five. “This is not happening!”

Madeline took Nicole by the arm to restrain her, then paid the now-trembling Horace. “Come on, Nicole,” she said in her mother tone as she maneuvered Nicole and the cart out of the store. “He just needs new glasses. Or maybe cataract surgery.”

The next thing Nicole knew they were in the parking lot heading toward the minivan. She felt vaguely grateful to Madeline for getting her out of there before she hurt Horace or humiliated herself completely. She was even more grateful that Madeline didn’t crack a smile.

Madeline fought back the smile as she helped Nicole into the van and tossed the groceries in the back.

On Pasadena Avenue Nicole stared mutely out the window, her face arranged in the oddest expression. She didn’t say a word when Madeline’s cell phone rang.

Madeline pulled her cell phone out of her purse. Caller ID simply said Home.

“Hello,” she said as Nicole continued to stare out the window.

“Mom?” Kyra sounded closer to three than twenty-three. There was a pronounced quiver in her voice. Madeline’s heart did the flip-flop it always did when one of her children was in distress.

“What is it, Kyra?” Madeline asked. “Are you all right?”

Nicole turned at that, pulled momentarily from her misery.

“Daniel’s publicist called me today,” Kyra said.

“His publicist?” Stopped at a red light, Madeline watched an old man in madras shorts and navy blue ankle socks hobble across the street.

Kyra sniffed. “He called to tell me that if I heard from the media in any way that I wasn’t supposed to say anything but ‘no comment’; that I was just an assistant on the movie Daniel’s making and that we only knew each other to say hello on set.”

The car behind Madeline honked. She accelerated slowly, surprised to see that a motorized wheelchair on the sidewalk was moving faster than the cars in front of her. “Why would anyone be calling you, Kyra? I thought you said no one knew”—she glanced over at Nicole, who had her head back against the headrest and her eyes closed, but who seemed to be listening—“anything.”

“Because Tonja did some interview with
People
magazine and said that there are always rumors about infidelity on movie sets, sometimes even between big stars and unimportant gofers, but that she and Daniel were in it for the long haul.” There was another loud sniff. “And that they were thinking about going to Haiti to adopt a couple of those poor, parentless children.”

Madeline drove over the Corey Causeway and turned onto Gulf Boulevard. Nicole’s eyes stayed closed.

“And what does ‘D’ say about that?”

Kyra’s voice got wobblier and more pitiful. “I don’t know. He hasn’t called me. I don’t really understand why.”

“Awww, honey,” Madeline said. “I’m sure . . .” She stopped, not actually sure of anything, least of all whether a megastar like Daniel Deranian might actually feel anything other than lust for a young girl like Kyra.

“And I can’t take it here another minute, Mom. Daddy just lies on the couch all day and lets Grandma take care of him. It’s awful. How long are you going to be gone?”

Madeline drove down Gulf Boulevard, staying in the right lane so she could enjoy the flashes of beach between hotels, comforted by the sway of the palms and the slower pace with which everything, including traffic, seemed to move.

“It looks like I could be here most of the summer, Ky. We’re trying to finish the renovation by Labor Day so that we can put it up for sale right afterward.”

Kyra didn’t speak, but Madeline could feel her misery reaching out though the airwaves. She didn’t know if there was any long-term solution other than to hunker down and do what needed to be done, but she couldn’t break this connection with her daughter without offering . . . something.

Nicole’s eyes fluttered open and she turned her gaze out the passenger window; Madeline had the sense she was trying to give her privacy, but it wasn’t like she could leave the car. Or stop listening. Avery’s suggestion about making a video of the house came to mind and Madeline said, “Why don’t you come down here and help us, Kyra? It’s beautiful and quiet. You could kind of regroup and figure out how to proceed.” Just like Madeline, who felt as if she’d run away from home. “Avery asked if you’d shoot some ‘before’ video for us anyway.”

“Who’s Avery?”

“One of the other owners. She’s half of the on-camera team on an HGTV show called
Hammer and Nail
.”

“The one Grandma watches all the time?”

“That’s the one,” Madeline said. “She’s really nice. And Nicole, our other partner, is . . .” She looked up as Nicole stopped pretending she wasn’t listening in. Their eyes met. “Nicole is interesting. She’s a professional matchmaker, but just a wee bit touchy about her age.”

Nicole returned her gaze out the window, but a small smile hovered on her lips. Madeline smiled, too, as she thought about the dynamics at Camp Bella Flora.

“If you don’t mind a mattress on the floor, there’s plenty of room.”

“But what would I do there?” Kyra asked.

“I don’t know, Kyra.” Madeline didn’t have the energy to expend on persuasion. “What are you doing there?”

“Good point,” her daughter said.

“I’m pretty sure your dad has some frequent flier miles left over that you could use. Text me and let me know when you’re coming and I’ll meet you at the Tampa airport.”

They passed the Don CeSar, which she’d already begun simply to think of as “the castle,” and continued past the warren of tiny streets until she could make the turn onto Gulf Way. The sea oats swayed atop their dunes and she knew the carpet of white sand was still warming under the afternoon sun.