Wendy Wax - The House on Mermaid Point

Next to Will, tears streamed down Madeline’s cheeks. Avery covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a gasp. Nicole slumped in her chair.

“No frickin’ way!” came from the next table.

“Did that really just happen?” Hudson asked.

“Oh, God,” Deirdre whispered.

They sat like pillars of salt through the funeral scenes as Max Golden was laid to rest and through the closing credits and even the commercials that followed.

“Jesus,” Will said. “That is so fucked up.”

He’d been through a lot of shit in his time, but he’d never seen anything so intentionally awful. He did not want to think about how he was going to come across when he and Mermaid Point were laid bare next season.

He became aware of someone standing behind him—it was Kyra Singer with Dustin in her arms. Her eyes were fixed on the screen where a promo for the next season currently being filmed on an unidentified private island in the Keys was currently being shot. Images of Mermaid Point, his house, and all the other structures on the island appeared. It ended with a promise of celebrities and scandal and ended with two shots meant to deliver on that promise. The first was a slow zoom in on a grainy black-and-white photo of “a cast member in the hot tub with the island’s owner.” Only this time the pile of discarded clothing on the pool deck was clearly visible. Jesus fucking Christ.

He flinched and saw that Maddie did the same. He could only hope they’d used that photo because that was all there was.

The final shot was of Kyra Singer in a lip-lock with Daniel Deranian. They were standing on some sort of loggia with a playhouse behind them.

Everyone at their table watched the final shots in horrified silence. The only movement was Troy Matthews and his audio guy coming closer for what Will guessed would be a three-shot including Will, a tear-stained Madeline, and Madeline’s clearly horrified daughter, who was holding Daniel Deranian’s son.

The screen went black and still no one spoke. As completely salacious but unforgettable promotions went, it didn’t get any better than that.

By the time the end of July had bled into the beginning of August some might have been tempted to liken Mermaid Point to Dante’s inferno. It was hot, steamy, loud, and teeming with people. Barges packed with materials and workmen came and went, gliding across the water like Charon’s ferry delivering shades to the underworld. The island bulged and reverberated with noise until even Avery had to admit that the “private” in “private island” might need to be eliminated. No longer an oasis of calm, Mermaid Point felt more like a refugee camp for people with tool belts or possibly a circus in which performers juggled power tools and wielded screwdrivers. For Avery it smelled and sounded like heaven.

The plumber had finished running lines and installing new tankless hot water heaters, tile had been laid in all the bathrooms, and the new air-conditioning system was operational. Mirrors were being cut and as soon as the custom cabinetry was delivered and installed, the countertops could be templated. Each step completed made the next step possible. Soon the painting, landscaping, and final decorative details would be dealt with. It was a speeding locomotive, and Avery’s job was to shovel coal and make sure nothing got on the track.

The paparazzi became bolder and sneakier, hiding among the crowd of workmen. Several had made it into the main house before someone discovered that the only tools they knew how to use were cameras and digital flashes. One of them had been found in William Hightower’s master bath, taking pictures of his laundry hamper. Will, whose pool had been drained for resurfacing and whose pool deck was currently being jackhammered out of existence so another could take its place, had been about to chuck the photographer headfirst over his bedroom balcony when Hudson arrived and talked him out of it. But Will paced his home and grounds like a caged animal, unable to swim off his excess energy or escape from the invaders. Hud took him off the island whenever he wasn’t busy guiding, but Will’s temper grew shorter each day and the odds of an eruption increased with each barge that arrived and every hammer blow that was struck.

They gathered in the houseboat at lunchtime to down sandwiches and cold drinks and took turns in front of the feeble wall air-conditioner, which blew halfhearted gusts of cool air between shudders and death rattles. It wheezed as if taking its final breaths, but so far it had refused to die.

Maddie brought out a plate of cookies for dessert. They took their time passing them around. The houseboat might be too small and not particularly comfortable, but it had become the closest thing to home they had and it beat the hell out of the blazing afternoon sun that awaited them outside.

Avery sipped her Diet Coke and perused her checklist. “We’ve got just under three weeks to finish, which will leave us with about four days for furniture placement, accessorizing, and staging under Deirdre’s supervision.”

“I’ll have everything on-site by then,” Deirdre said. “We need to be up and ready for guests on Labor Day weekend—that means sheets and towels and a stocked kitchen, the whole shebang. Lisa Hogan has agreed to cater a party for our sponsors and local officials to kick off the weekend.”

“The only thing we haven’t addressed is what to do about William’s studio.” Avery looked up from her notes.

“Do? I didn’t think we were allowed to ‘do’ anything.” Nicole broke off a piece of cookie.

“Maddie’s got the path almost cleared—the garden club can trim and plant while they’re on the grounds,” Avery said. “They want to get rid of anything that’s not native, which Will seems okay with. Anyway, I thought maybe we could just kind of spruce up the exterior. It’s a bit of an eyesore, and unless we add a locked gate to the bamboo fence, guests are going to see it.”

“I don’t think we should touch the building,” Maddie said. “He’s very sensitive about his studio.”

“The network’s been pretty adamant about not leaving anything undone.” Avery set down her list and reached for a cookie. “I feel like we’ve got to deal with it in some way.”

“I’ve never seen him anywhere near it. If we’re lucky he might not even notice we touched it until we’re gone.” Nicole examined her cookie.

“Unlikely.” Maddie set her cookie aside. “He knows a lot more than he lets on.”

“I agree we can’t ignore it completely,” Deirdre said. “Especially not if the network wants it dealt with. Why don’t we just give it a bit of a face-lift and call it a day?”

“This is a really bad idea.” Maddie began to crumble her cookie into pieces.

“Sorry, Maddie,” Avery replied. “We’ll just have to be careful not to touch it too much.” She barely paused. “Do we have a volunteer?”

No one moved.

“I hate to have to draw straws when we’ve already named a Hightower Handler.” Avery looked pointedly at Maddie.

“You saw those women all over him last night.” Maddie seemed to be gritting her teeth. “I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to ‘handle’ William Hightower.”

“I think the important part there is who was all over whom,” Deirdre countered. “I also think you’ve got exactly what it takes. Even more important, I think you may have what ‘His Wildness’ actually needs. Whether he knows it or not.”

“Extremely doubtful.” Maddie stopped crumbling the cookie. “I’ll do it, but I’m going to hope like hell I can get the work done without being detected.” She pushed the paper plate away.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Maybe it’ll be like Fred’s Field of Dreams analogy. Maybe if the studio looks more approachable William will be tempted to step inside it someday.” Avery checked the item off her list, much as Fred Strahlendorf might have done. “Besides, how mad could he be over a little weed pulling and pressure washing?”

* * *

Late that afternoon Maddie found out just how mad William Hightower could get.

She’d hauled the equipment to William’s studio and managed to connect it. The first pass with the pressure washer had been moderately successful. The keystone block building was old and somewhat fragile and she’d learned the first time she’d pressure washed at Bella Flora that too little pressure was far safer than too much so she was careful not to set the psi too high and to keep the wand moving. She tried to stay alert to the sounds of anyone approaching as she sprayed the soapy mixture, but the pressure washer was loud and her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the man the building belonged to.

She’d tried repeatedly to banish her embarrassment at the way their Fourth of July had ended, but she had a feeling she’d be taking those holiday memories to her grave. The truth was that although the sex between them had been no big deal to William, his touch, his kindness, his passion as he’d made love to her, were all pretty big deals to her. She might not be able—or willing—to compete with the likes of the redhead and the blonde at Hog Heaven, but Maddie didn’t think he’d been pretending his attraction to her. Women might be able to fake it. But a man’s body was less equipped to lie.

With satisfaction, she watched decades of salt and grime wash down the stone façade to soak into the ground. She was a sodden mess but the building definitely looked cleaner, the keystone closer to its original tapioca color. The windows looked way better, too, not exactly sparkling but cleaner and less neglected. She pressed her nose to the glass after she’d washed them, curious to see what William Hightower’s studio looked like, and saw a room filled with a large, horseshoe-shaped control board and an L-shaped leather sofa and chair. On the opposite side of a glass wall were a microphone stand and a stool. The interior walls were covered in a material that resembled egg crates, and the control board had a cover snapped over it. The low hum of an air conditioner and the care taken to protect the equipment reassured her. William Hightower might not intend to set foot in the place again, but he hadn’t left his equipment to rot or mildew.

She’d begun a final pass over the building’s façade and was contemplating what color she might paint the door once it dried when an angry shout sounded behind her.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Maddie clutched at the wand and whirled at the sound of William’s voice. A spray of soapy water smacked him in the face.

“Oh!” She jerked it lower and the spray pounded him just below the stomach.

“Jesus, Maddie!” He turned his back and the pressure practically tore off his running shorts. “Shut the damned thing off!”

With a trembling hand she released the trigger but she didn’t let go of the wand. He was completely soaked. He stood stock-still as a huge soap bubble slid down one cheek and landed on his shoe. Given the set of his jaw she began to think that her nonlethal weapon might come in handy.

“I’m sorry.” She said this as sincerely as she could, but in reality spraying the shit out of William Hightower felt weirdly liberating.

“For what? For soaking me?” He stepped closer. “Or for trespassing on a piece of property that I asked—no, make that told—you to stay away from?” He came another step closer. She had to fight the urge to fall back.

“Don’t even think you’re going to skitter out of my way.”

“I don’t skitter.” Her chin jerked up.

“Oh, yes, you do. You’ve been doing it since Hud walked in on us in bed.”

“Well, whether I have a reason to skitter or not isn’t the point here. At least I don’t have sex with someone and then immediately announce that it didn’t mean anything.”

She stayed where she was as he advanced, though every part of her wanted to skitter right on out of there.

“I didn’t say it didn’t mean anything. And you’re changing the subject. You had no right to do this.”

“Do what? Pull weeds? Wash some windows? Clean a few walls?”

“You know what I mean. I know you do.” His eyes were black with condemnation.

She refused to feel sorry for him.

“I didn’t go inside your studio, though I don’t know why you care since you don’t, either.”

He opened his mouth to protest. She cut him off.

“Before I knew you, I was a huge fan. And it hurts like hell to see your studio abandoned and silent. I can’t stand to see you depriving yourself and everyone else of this gift that you have.” She had no idea what had gotten into her, but now that she’d started down this road, she couldn’t stop. “You’re the one who’s skittering. You’re the one who’s afraid. You’ve licked the drugs and alcohol. Now it’s time to man up and get back to what you do best.”