Ocean Beach (25 page)

The photo was a black-and-white that had faded to gray-on-gray; the corners were dog-eared. It showed a sturdy, dimple-armed toddler dressed in overalls and a striped T-shirt. He had a head of blond Dennis the Menace hair clearly inherited from his mother and his father’s megawatt smile. A 1950s toy fire truck was held up against his chest in a “mine” gesture.

Max laid the photo on the table and began to sort through the others. “Some of these were taken out around the pool three or four months before Aaron disappeared.” He positioned them so that Deirdre, Nikki, and Maddie could see.

Nicole looked at the first black-and-white photo. In it, Millie, who wore a sleek maillot, stood in the shallow end
of the pool holding on to the canvas ring that Aaron floated in. Max began to set the photo aside, but Maddie stopped him.

“Who’s that?” She pointed to a second woman in the photo. She was considerably taller than Millie and had an angular body without an ounce of extra flesh, but her suit was almost identical to Millie’s. She sat on the edge of the pool, her legs dipped into the water. Her pixie haircut framed a gamine face.

“Pamela Gentry,” Max replied. “She was Millie’s interior-designer friend. She and Millie worked on The Millicent together.” He hesitated for a moment. “They were good friends for a time.”

He began to pass over another pool photo, but Deirdre, who’d perked up noticeably at the mention of the interior designer asked to see it. It showed Pamela and Millie barefoot and still wet from the pool. They both wore terrycloth cover-ups and similar oversize sunglasses. Aaron stood between them. Each held one of Aaron’s chubby hands.

“We had lots of couples we were friendly with both in and out of the entertainment business, but for a while Pamela was Millie’s closest friend.” He shifted in his seat. “She was single and she sat for Aaron now and then when a babysitter didn’t show or we’d have some last-minute booking.”

He sighed as he stared down at the photos. They’d faded over the years, but the contrast between the women was still marked; the interior designer’s angular features and whip-thin body reflected a tightly leashed intensity that was absent in Millie’s warmer, curvier face and form.

“Hmm,” Deirdre said. “Maybe we should invite Pamela to the premiere party. The design people would eat it up.”

“I don’t even know if she’s still alive,” Max said. “I haven’t seen Pamela in fifty years.”

“Why not?” Maddie asked.

“Millie and Pamela had a falling-out. I…really don’t know what happened, Millie wouldn’t talk about it. I heard later that she’d moved away—to somewhere in the Midwest. Chicago, I think.”

Deirdre picked up another photo. It was of Millie and Pamela again. In this one, they were lounging in chaises by the Millicent’s pool. Both of them wore polka-dot bikinis. A concrete wall rose behind them. An old-fashioned life preserver emblazoned with the words
SS MILLICENT
hung on the wall. “I think we still have that life preserver somewhere.”

Avery wandered into the kitchen. Her hair was streaked with plaster dust. She wore a baggy T-shirt with cutoff sleeves. Her tool belt hung low on her hips. She opened the refrigerator and stood in front of it, most likely sucking up the refrigeration as opposed to contemplating its contents.

“It was Pamela who drew up the plans for the pool house and talked us into building it,” Max said. “It was far bigger than it needed to be, with a lot of amenities you don’t usually see in a pool house.” He shrugged. “But we had the property and it came in handy later when we were looking for rental income. It was really ahead of its time.”

Kyra lowered the video camera.

The comment snagged Avery’s attention and caused her to turn her back on the refrigerator, though she didn’t close the door on her temporary personal air conditioner. “What did you say?” she asked Max, hoping she hadn’t heard correctly.

“We built the pool house in ’56, or ’57 maybe. I remember Millie was pregnant with Aaron at the time and the act was doing great. Pamela made sure it looked like it went with the rest of the house, but it was pretty lavish. We first started renting it out to some of the bigger-name comedians who wanted more privacy and space than they could get at one of the big hotels. Later, in the mid-sixties, when Miami Beach took a nosedive, we were able to rent it out pretty steadily. Whatever else we gave up, we made sure to keep it up-to-date and in tiptop shape. It turned out to be a godsend.”

Avery closed the refrigerator and walked to the table.

“What kind of shape is the pool house in now?” Kyra asked, which was exactly what Avery was wondering. They’d all heard Troy and Anthony complain about how uncomfortable it was, how much work it needed. They’d been so preoccupied with the main house and grounds that no one had bothered to so much as set foot inside it.

“Well, we did have it completely renovated before Millie got sick. So that we could keep the revenue stream coming. We never had any problem renting it out, that’s for sure. It was so much nicer than anything else around.”

A heavy silence fell. Max looked at his photos. The women looked at one another.

“I’m thinking we should go check it out,” Avery said, trying to process what Max had said.

Kyra removed Dustin’s bib and wiped off his mouth. She checked her video camera for battery.

“Max,” Maddie said, pulling Dustin out of his high chair. “Will you take us out there and give us a tour?”

“Sure.” As always, Max seemed pleased to be the center of attention. He moved slowly and all of them did their best
to hang back so that he could lead the way. Part of Avery wanted to charge ahead to see for herself what she might have missed.

Given the snail’s pace, it took them a while to get there. When they finally stepped inside the pool house, they were enveloped in marvelously cool air and more than a few unpleasant surprises.

“They have air-conditioning!” Kyra walked over to the wall and reached a hand toward the digital thermostat. It was set at seventy-two degrees.

“But where’s the condenser?” Avery asked, still not wanting to believe she’d been so obtuse. “I haven’t heard it or seen it. I may not have been inside, but I’ve walked the property more than once.” They were all staring dumbly at the digital readout.

“It’s directly behind the pool house and hidden inside a privet hedge. So that it wouldn’t create noise or be an eyesore from the main house,” Max said.

They turned and sighed as one at the sight of a stainless-steel kitchen with granite countertops.

“Is that a double oven?” Maddie asked.

“Yep,” Deirdre said. “And a gas cooktop.”

They looked around them in shock. A set of French doors led to a private back garden screened by a U-shaped hedge of hibiscus. A second set opened to another small hidden garden off a beautifully decorated master suite.

“There are three bedrooms!” Avery could hardly absorb it. Troy and Anthony had each claimed a room. The third had been turned into an editing suite with multiple monitors and full-scale audio that had Kyra salivating.

“And two bathrooms,” Maddie noted.

They barely breathed as they walked through the space,
while Deirdre cataloged the high-end finishes and amenities. Perhaps like Avery they were simply trying not to hyperventilate as they realized just how well the camera crew had been living.

“Sweet Mother of God,” Avery said. “We have been sharing beds, sweating in an un-air-conditioned space, and living with the constant threat of housewide blackouts while—”

“—they have a big-screen TV and some kind of satellite dish!” Kyra added this with a tone of sick fascination. “And a state-of-the-art editing suite.”

Max looked around him, taking in their faces, understanding dawning. “I assumed you gave them the best accommodations because they were with the network.” He cleared his throat. “I was kind of looking forward to maybe moving out here after the party. Just to get away from the mess and noise.”

There were footsteps out on the pool deck and the bark of male laughter. A moment later the front door of the pool house opened and Troy and Anthony walked in, their arms laden with grocery bags.

To put in their stainless-steel refrigerator. And cook in one of their double ovens.

Their laughter died as the twosome spotted their unexpected guests. Troy studied their faces. Anthony shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“We thought we might cook you all a meal in return for…everything.” Troy held up the grocery bags in his arms as if this was the sole reason for everything they might have bought. “I make a pretty decent arroz con pollo. That’s chicken and yellow—”

“We don’t care what you know how to cook,” Kyra said
angrily. “You…you are…you should…” She seemed to be having trouble finding the right word, but she had no problem raising her camera to her shoulder and aiming it at the network crew.

Avery hoped she was getting a close-up of their guilty faces.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” Maddie finished, holding Dustin tight against her.

“You intentionally misled us,” Nikki added, stating what had become insultingly obvious. “You knew the kind of conditions we’ve been living in…” She looked at Max. “Sorry. And you made us believe that you were even worse off.” She shook her head.

“Every time I fed you, you acted as if you were starving out here.” Maddie also shook her head in disbelief.

“We were. We do…appreciate it,” Anthony amended hastily. The round cheeks above his beard flushed red with embarrassment. “Troy’s really not that good a cook.”

“You’ve been sitting out here laughing at us,” Nikki said. “That sucks.”

“We haven’t been laughing,” Anthony said. “Well, not exactly. We just—”

“Couldn’t stay off property. Our job requires us to be here,” Troy cut in. “And as I recall, you’re the ones who put us out here.” His smile was taunting. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

“Irony is extremely unattractive when it’s being aimed right at you,” Deirdre said. “But I must say the layout and design of this space is first rate. I’d definitely like to meet Pamela Gentry.”

Max lowered himself into a club chair set into a cozy reading nook. “So. What happens now?” he asked.

Troy ended the standoff by walking past the others to put the groceries on the kitchen counter. Kyra’s camera followed and stayed on him as he began to put the groceries away.

“So, our family and friends will be arriving in two days,” Avery said. “You two will double up so that they can stay out here. After they leave, Max will move in. I assume he’ll be given the master suite since this is his house.”

“Of course,” Anthony said. Troy nodded, but less happily.

“We’ll discuss what happens after that with Lisa Hogan.” Avery turned and saw Kyra moving in for a close-up. “As far as I’m concerned, the network can either put you up nearby or pay Max rent for your accommodations.”

“Or maybe we should flip a coin to see who gets to stay out here,” Nikki said. “Or we could take turns rotating in and out. They’ve already been out here for six weeks.”

“We can definitely turn this into a communal kitchen. I can’t believe I’ve been cooking in an electric skillet when this place existed all along.” Maddie snorted in irritation; a rare thing indeed. “If you’d mentioned this kitchen, we could have all been eating a little better.”

“Well, everybody’s been keeping things to themselves,” Troy said with a jut of his jaw. “And that includes the comings and goings of a major celebrity.” He looked right into Kyra’s camera lens when he said this. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “That’s not really something that a network filming a reality-television show can afford to ignore. In fact, a network might be upset to discover that they’re missing out on a huge ratings score because its talent are protecting their privacy. Which they technically gave up when they signed a contract with the network.”

Kyra’s lips pressed into a thin line. She lowered the camera from her shoulder then glared at the cameraman for a few long moments before turning to her mother and taking the baby out of her arms.

Maddie turned to Max and offered him a hand up. The old man rose slowly then slipped his arm through Maddie’s elbow. Nicole came up on his other side.

“I suggest you enjoy your last nights alone,” Avery said before turning to join the others. “That ship has sailed.”

Maddie and the others spent the last week before the premiere party in a state of perpetual motion. Anyone who stood still for more than a few seconds was commandeered by Avery or Deirdre for some task then filmed doing it by Troy and/or Kyra, their audio recorded by the small but burly soundman. There was cleaning and straightening and as much strategic “concealment” as the limited closet space allowed.

“Is there really a reason to plump pillows when there’s barely a single wall or ceiling intact?” Avery asked Deirdre, who was in the process of frenetic staging. “Who’s going to look at your design boards and paint chips when they’re staring at exposed ductwork and wiring while standing on gouged tiles and uneven flooring?” She crossed her arms and set her jaw. Her mother did the same.

“They’ll love being in on the process,” Deirdre insisted for what might have been the hundredth time, though Maddie still wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince
them or herself. “I’m sure Michelangelo showed the pope his Sistine Chapel once or twice before it was completed. When we invite our guests back to see our finished masterpiece, they’ll feel doubly invested in the project
and
the show.”