Wendy Wax - The House on Mermaid Point

He held her gaze as the cameras aligned on the two of them and Jeanne Bletzer counted them down. When she pointed at Will he smiled, made sure they were close enough to fit in the shot, and began to talk to Maddie as if the camera weren’t there.

“So, are you ready to cook on all this shiny new equipment?” he asked, studying her eyes, which seemed surprisingly panic free.

“Hmm . . . I don’t know.” She cocked her head as if considering. “It depends. Just what am I going to have to do?” She raised an eyebrow—a clear How was that?—and he swallowed back a laugh.

“I don’t know. Just whatever I tell you to.” He gave her a wink.

She straightened, then surprised the hell out of him by turning directly to the camera and rolling her eyes in an exaggerated way. “I know we don’t know each other all that well. So I’m not sure whether you realize just how small a chance there is of that happening.”

This time he laughed out loud. He really couldn’t help it. Every time he started feeling sorry for Maddie or thinking she didn’t have the backbone for something she surprised the hell out of him. Like last night when he was sure she’d be phoning him or Hudson or even Roberto and begging one of them to come get them and instead she’d just passed out life jackets and told everyone to go to sleep.

“That small, huh?” He laughed again and felt like they were slipping into one of those old husband-and-wife comedy routines he’d seen at the Grand Ole Opry as a kid. Not too different from what Maddie had told him Max Golden had performed with his wife, Millie. “I can’t tell you how crushed I am to hear that.”

It was her turn to laugh. It was a light, tinkling sound that made him smile.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll get over it.”

And then somehow, it was just “game on.” “I’ll try,” Will said. “In the meantime we’re going to make my secret marinade and then grill ourselves some redfish fillets. Right here in my absolutely brand-smacking-new outdoor kitchen.”

He saw Jeanne Bletzer’s happy smile. Felt the cameras zoom in for close-ups.

“You have a secret marinade?” Maddie asked dubiously. “You, whose refrigerator echoes like the Grand Canyon?”

“I do. In fact, I’ve already got some fine-looking fillets marinating in it right now.”

She looked at him suspiciously, and he knew just how great it would play on camera. “What kind of bottle did it come in?” she asked, her brow lowering. “And does it double as a salad dressing?”

They played it just like that all the way through, neither of them needing a script. No flubs, no retakes. If there was anything she didn’t need from him it was coaching.

At the end she pulled out a little surprise of her own. “I have something I wanted to show you.” She pulled out a piece of white cardboard with names and dates written on it in black marker then held it so that he and the camera could read it.

“What’s that?”

“A cooking schedule.” She smiled innocently.

“And who is it for?” he asked.

“Why, for all of us.”

He took a minute to study it and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud again.

“Now that this is the best and most gloriously equipped kitchen on the island, I think we should all take turns cooking dinner in it.” Her smile was wide and extremely satisfied.

“And who’s going to decide who does what when?” he asked, more than prepared to play straight man.

“I will,” she said without hesitation. “I think my former career as a full-time homemaker makes me somewhat more qualified than a rock ’n’ roll icon who’s used to being cosseted and waited on. Are you with me, ladies?”

Once again she’d surprised him. And not just because he wasn’t a hundred percent sure what “cosseted” meant.

The women in the pavilion, including their Kreative Kitchens producer, whooped in agreement and woman power. And Maddie Singer chose to take his silence for agreement.

“That’s great!” she said, a huge smile lighting her perfectly made-up face. “I’ll have it ready to go when everybody gets back from the Fourth of July break.”

There was another moment of stunned silence on his end. And then a satisfied shout of “Cut!” from Jeanne Bletzer. “That’s a wrap, everyone.”

She thanked the crew and told them to go ahead and pack it up. To Will and Maddie she said, “Great job, you two. I can’t tell you how pleasantly surprised I am. You were great together—like James Garner and Mariette Hartley in those Polaroid commercials. Way more chemistry than I was expecting.”

She was shaking both of their hands with unbridled enthusiasm. “You two could definitely take that show on the road.”

As a rule Avery didn’t believe in crying. She’d spent almost her entire thirteenth year doing little else after Deirdre up and left them. When she’d finally hiccuped to a stop she’d been pale and exhausted, but the tears hadn’t brought back her mother. The same could be said for the tears she’d shed at the demise of her marriage, the death of her father, and the end of her role on a television show she’d created.

Losing her father’s hard-earned fortune to Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme had left her fighting mad, which had struck her as far more productive. But saying good-bye to Fred Strahlendorf, and even temporarily to Roberto, made her eyes go slightly damp with gratitude and affection.

In fact, as the three of them walked through the structures with Fred’s assistant Danny trailing behind, she wanted to weep with joy at all that they’d accomplished in such a short period of time.

While Roberto seemed content to let his work speak for itself, Fred handed her a folder neatly filled with paperwork. An agenda and checklist for their walk-through had been stapled to the inside flap of the folder.

“So, William’s suite, his new kitchenette, and the guest rooms are good to go,” Fred said upstairs in the main house. “I talked to your AC people and I understand they’re putting in a damper system, so I’ve wired for the individual thermostats they plan to put in each guest room.”

In the foyer he pointed up toward the beams in the vaulted ceiling. “You see that each beam is wired for the pinpoint lights Deirdre showed me. Having the upstairs floor open made it easy to access from above.” He removed a mechanical pencil from his pocket protector and checked off each item as they moved. “Your kitchen wiring is ready, based on Deirdre’s drawings. I’ve made notes for the kitchen people.” He handed her a precisely laid-out diagram of the electrical plan. “But Danny or I could probably get back for a day or two during the installation, which I assume will be sometime in early to mid August.”

Avery’s eyes were comfortably dry now. But she thought she felt her heart flutter with happiness.

The garage-turned-guesthouse was another joy to behold. The framing was complete and the rooms now easily identifiable. Roberto ran a hand over a tricky piece of carpentry here and there in the two new bathrooms and over the newly constructed pocket door frames between the downstairs sitting room and bedroom and smiled dreamily. Fred flipped to the next page in the folder and said, “The upstairs and downstairs have been treated as completely different entities even though they can be joined and rented as one large unit. I spent a good bit of time on the switching for the stairs—we don’t want a guest in one suite to accidentally turn the stair lights on and off when the units are rented to unrelated guests.” He showed her the schematics and how he’d handled this. Then he checked it off the list.

They paused at the fork in the path that led to William Hightower’s studio, the only structure none of them had been allowed to enter or touch. “It’s a travesty,” Roberto said. “Wild Will not making music is an insult to the universe. Someone needs to stage an intervention.”

“You might at least clear the path when the landscaping is done,” Fred said. “And maybe do something to the exterior. Who knows? It could be like that movie Roberto and I watched the other night—Field of Dreams. If you build or remodel it maybe he will come.”

Except of course that it was hard to build or remodel something you weren’t allowed to even look at.

“That’s totally cosmic,” Roberto said with a pleased smile. “I’m proud of you, man.”

Fred looked down as if checking his list, but Avery thought she saw him bop his head slightly before they moved on.

The boathouse and guest suites above it had been rewired, the dock lighting enhanced for cleaning fish and boats after dark. A string of low lights had been affixed near the waterline for ambience and for night fishing.

Fred checked off three more boxes and nodded smartly. Roberto clapped him heartily on the back.

They met Deirdre down by the pool, where Roberto closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the morning sun. Fred showed them the location of the junction boxes, running parallel with the swimming pool, that would power the uplights for each of the palm trees that would be delivered and planted once the new pool deck was done.

“It’s perfect!” Avery and Deirdre pronounced in unison, which made Deirdre smile while Avery ducked her head in an effort to hide the tears that were once again pricking her eyelids. “I don’t know what we would have done without you,” she said when she’d managed to blink them away.

Fred smiled modestly and double-tapped his pocket protector. Roberto threw his arms around the electrician. “I’m gonna miss you, man. But your room will be available anytime, anywhere.”

“Thank you,” Fred said. “You know I appreciate the hospitality. Your sunset house is like a Rubik’s Cube to me: an irresistible opportunity to attempt to tame chaos itself.”

Roberto hugged Fred again and then threw his arms around Avery and Deirdre just as effusively. “Traffic’s gonna be a bitch from now ’til after the holiday. I’m gonna head out to a quiet spot I know ’til everybody takes themselves back to the mainland. Send me a smoke signal when the Sheetrock’s done and you’re ready for me to start the trim work.”

“Or you could call him on his cell phone,” Fred said smoothly. “I added both our numbers to the checklist.”

“It’s all cool, man,” Roberto said. “I hope you’ll all stop and smell a couple of sea oats along the way over the break. I know I plan to.”

Fred and Danny headed to the dock and loaded the last of their gear into Danny’s motorboat. Roberto walked over to the house of the setting sun and fired up her engines.

“I just hope he doesn’t smoke too many of those sea oats while he’s at it,” Avery said as she and Deirdre watched him untie his house and putt slowly out into the channel. “Thank God, it’s environmentally protected and not available by prescription.”

Deirdre smiled. Together she and Avery waved good-bye to their favorite Odd Couple and watched both boats until they disappeared under Tea Table Bridge.

* * *

The Mini Cooper bulged with people and luggage as it inched its way south on U.S. 1 toward the Marathon Airport. It was late in the morning of July 3 and Avery’s grip was tight on the wheel as she drove in the stream of holiday weekend traffic.

“It’s a good thing we left plenty of time to get there.” Deirdre, who sat beside her and had miraculously confined herself to only one suitcase and a makeup bag for their trip down to Key West, peered into the side mirror at the long line of cars that stretched behind them.

“We could probably have gotten there faster by water.” Kyra’s arm was draped over the back of Dustin’s car seat, which they’d buckled into the backseat beside her. Mother and son now had dull dishwater blond hair and wore nondescript Keys T-shirts, flip-flops, and dark sunglasses. The disguise didn’t cover as much of their bodies as some Kyra had devised, but would hopefully allow them to blend in with the rest of the passengers on their flight to Tampa.

Every time Avery spotted them in her rearview mirror she did a double take. None of them felt comfortable with the idea of Kyra and Daniel Deranian spending an entire weekend in such close proximity, but Kyra hadn’t exactly asked for their permission.

“A water route would only be faster if we didn’t do another sleepover on a flat,” Avery said drily. “But I do kind of wish Deirdre and I were taking a boat down to Key West after we drop you off. This traffic is unbelievable.”

* * *

The Florida Keys Marathon Airport was comprised of a boxlike concrete terminal, a single runway that paralleled the Gulf, and a hangar around which small private planes were parked. A commuter plane sat on the tarmac near the terminal, its stair extended. Avery watched idly as arriving passengers crossed the tarmac and entered the terminal. Her eyes swept over a lone male who reminded her of Chase, clearly a case of wasted wishful thinking. Her eyes swept back.