Читать книгу Down And Out In Flamingo Beach - Marcia King-Gamble - Страница 8

“Too bad all of our jobs aren’t like the one on Flamingo Row,” Preston Shore, Derek’s boss, said, clinking his bottle of beer against Derek’s.

Derek took a slug of his own drink then said, “It’s nice to be doing something different, preserving rather than destroying.”

“I was talking about the fringe benefits. That Joya Hamill sure is eye candy. Just looking at her makes me horny.”

Derek grunted something unintelligible and stuck his fingers in the bowl of peanuts on the bar. He tossed a handful in his mouth and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. Joya was attractive all right but definitely full of herself. The way she’d looked down her nose at him when he’d spoken to her in the store earlier. And he hadn’t imagined it, either. He knew that look. He’d once had a woman just like her at home.

It was always, “gimme, gimme, gimme.” That kind of demanding, self-focused woman could drain the life out of you. And he’d given until he’d had nothing more to give and then she’d walked away. Women!

“Okay, she’s hot but obviously high-maintenance,” Derek responded when Preston nudged him with his elbow. “She’s also not at all what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” Preston asked.

“I’ll know her when I meet her.”

Friendship aside, Preston had agreed to take Derek on as a worker, warning him up front that he’d better hold his own. Preston’s big concern was that a trained engineer would not want to get down and dirty with the boys.

Derek had been forced to prove himself over and over. He now had the nicks, cuts, aches and pains that went with the construction business to show for it.

But he was happy. After years of corporate down-sizing and sophisticated backstabbing, he was free of meetings and kowtowing to anyone. Now he showed up when he was supposed to, put in a full day’s work and went home tired but content.

After the last restructuring at the aircraft-manufacturing company where he’d been a manager, he’d decided the stress just wasn’t worth it. He’d left, taking his bonus and stock options with him. Derek’s sights were now on owning his own construction business, and he’d decided he’d do what he needed to do to learn the job from the bottom up.

Preston was still waiting, regarding him carefully, an eyebrow hiked. “And Joya Hamill doesn’t fit the bill of what you’re looking for?”

Derek shook his head. He really didn’t want to talk about women. He was over talking about women. But Preston was expecting an answer.

“Look, I don’t want anything too hot or heavy right now. My energies need to be focused on learning all you can teach me about running a profitable construction firm.”

Preston’s index finger stabbed the air. “Gotcha! But you still gotta make time for fun. If I wasn’t already involved, I’d be hooking up with Joya Hamill, that’s for sure.”

Derek couldn’t help smiling. “Guess I’ve never been interested in trouble.”

“Something about trouble can be appealing. Any of those babes worth a second glance?”

Derek surveyed the packed Haul Out where an after-work crowd was winding down. The patrons were primarily a blue- and pink-collar group, the men still in uniforms, name tags on their chest. Some played pool or darts off to the side while women with pumped-up boobs and gold ankle bracelets sat on high banquettes yakking up a storm and checking out would-be prospects.

“No babes,” Derek said firmly. “Not until I get my own business up and running.”

“Whatever.”

They returned to their beers, and Derek indulged in a brief fantasy about a woman at the end of the bar with legs that wouldn’t stop. Unfortunately the Hamill woman kept popping into his head, screwing up his sexy little daydreams.

He stared out onto the dance floor where a brunette who hadn’t seen thirty in years and a coffee-skinned woman poured into tight capris jiggled everything they had in a desperate booty call. Except, no one was answering.

“It would be to everyone’s benefit if you could convince the granddaughter to spruce up that quilt shop,” Preston said, breaking into his thoughts. “I can’t think of anything worse than having Joya’s the only place on the Row not renovated. The place has such potential and the bank’s practically giving money away with those interest-free loans plus a delayed period to pay back. It would be more money in our pockets, and I’d have the prestige of saying my firm had the monopoly of fixing up all the buildings on the Row.”

Derek took a long pull on his beer. “True, and I’ve already put it out there. I mentioned that the centennial celebrations are bound to draw strangers to Flamingo Beach. Joya’s not stupid; she has to know it’s going to attract customers with spending power.”

“And she said?”

“That she’d talk to her grandmother when she gets out of the hospital. You’ve got a bunch of jobs lined up so this one shouldn’t make that big a difference.”

Preston shrugged. “Call it pride or just the desire to have my stamp on the entire Row. If Granny J waits until the last minute to make up her mind we might be booked.”

“Good point.”

In some ways Derek hoped the old lady did just that. He didn’t relish spending one more minute than he had to around the Hamill woman. The way she’d looked at him with those huge gray eyes had made him feel like yesterday’s leftovers.

Preston shoved a handful of peanuts in his mouth and chased them down with beer. “Aren’t your great-grandmother and the old lady friends? Can’t you ask Belle for help?”

“I suppose so,” Derek answered halfheartedly. He set down the empty beer bottle and reached for his wallet. “I gotta go. Gotta start work on my second job.”

“This is on me,” Preston said, stopping Derek before he could slap down a twenty. “It’s your tab the next time around. Do you ever give yourself a break?”

“Not until Nana’s house is finished. It might not look like much now, but by the time I’m done with it…” Derek placed curled fingers to his lips and kissed them. “See you tomorrow, Preston.”

“I’ll be there the usual time. Six.”

Derek had his hands wrapped around the doorknob when Nana Belle’s throaty voice reached him.

“Derek?” she called. “Is that you, boy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It never ceased to amaze him that his wheelchair-bound great-grandmother, with her failing eyesight and poor hearing, knew almost to the second when he came home.

He opened the front door, left his muddy construction boots at the entrance and picked his way around drywall, heading toward the back of the house where Nana Belle lived.

The old lady spent most of her days seated in an overstuffed chair looking out at the water and smoking. Derek abhorred the habit, but figured that given Nana was almost one hundred years old and it hadn’t killed her, who was he to say anything?

Nana Belle occupied the only room with an unobstructed view of the water. All of the other rooms had the boardwalk in between. Given the kind of life Nana had had, she deserved that one perk. Now she spent most of her day people-watching.

“How was your day, Nana Belle?” Derek asked dutifully kissing the old lady’s weathered cheek. “Did you give Mari hell?”

Nana Belle wrinkled her nose and stuck out her lip. “I don’t give anyone hell. Life’s too damn short for that.” She sniffed loudly. “You smell of beer. Shame on you. My Gideon never touched the stuff.”

Gideon was Nana’s third husband. She’d outlived five so far. Now with failing eyesight and bad hearing, Nana’s olfactory senses had heightened. Derek thought she was amazing for a woman who’d seen almost an entire century go by.

Nana’s aide, a long-suffering widow called Mari, took care of her. The two women fought constantly, usually because Nana was not eating and preferred to smoke. Nana Belle often told Mari to take a hike, and not in such pleasant terms.

The constant bickering made the old lady feel alive and important. She actually liked her aide, it was being dependent she hated, and it killed her not to be mobile and that she needed help to be bathed and dressed.

“How are the party plans coming?” Derek called to Mari, who was in another room.

When he’d left at the crack of dawn, the two women had been arguing over who would be on Nana’s invitation list.

“I don’t want no party,” Nana said, spitting out her bridgework that she claimed was more painful than helpful. Her hollow jaws worked as if she was chewing on catfish.

“Done deal, Nana. You’re getting a party whether you want one or not.”

The old lady snorted. Deep down, his great-grandmother was very excited about her birthday party and was an active participant in selecting who was to be on the invitation list. It was her day and as far as Derek was concerned, she could invite the entire community. How many people could say they’d lived to see as many changes as she had? How many oldest living residents of Flamingo Beach were there?

It was going to be a huge event, and Derek thought about reserving the ballroom of the new Flamingo Beach Resort and Spa, since even Mayor Solomon Rabinowitz planned on attending. Tre Monroe, Warp’s premiere radio personality was pre-recording an interview with Nana which he planned on airing on her birthday. That was another reason Derek needed to get these renovations done.

Word had gotten out about how big this event was. Now everyone and his dog were trying to wangle an invitation. Since the party was the same week as the centennial celebrations, T-shirts with the original map of Flamingo Beach with an X where Nana’s house was located were already being sold. Nana Belle’s party would go down in history and the house needed to look good.

Derek was pulling out all the stops and funding the party with money from his stock options. He didn’t give a rat’s butt about the tax implications. Nana Belle had given birth to twelve children, the results of three of her five marriages. She had fifty grandchildren, thirty-eight of whom were still alive, and twelve great-grandchildren. But Derek was the only one who’d volunteered to pay for the party. Without Nana he would not be where he was today.

So, he was determined that everything would be perfect, from the reserved parking space at the brand-new resort, should he decide to hold the event there, to the flowers provided by All About Flowers. The way Derek had it figured, the guest list would top out at one thousand people. But Nana had earned that kind of tribute.

Had it not been for her he would not have seen a college door. Somehow his great-grandmother had found the money and sent it to his parents. Derek suspected she’d mortgaged the very house he was working on.

It was Belle he had to thank for helping him get that master’s degree in engineering. She’d ensured him a certain lifestyle and social status far different from his very humble upbringings. His parents had been forced to move in with relatives. He, on the other hand, had the means to live on his own. He lived with his great-grandmother because he wanted to.

“Mari, where are you?” Nana Belle called.

“Fixing you something. Be right in.”

“I don’t want nothing.”

Derek tuned out the bickering that predictably would follow and thought about where he was today. He’d willingly chucked all the material things to pursue this current goal. He’d rented his fancy apartment in Chicago and traded in the luxury car for a pickup truck. He’d turned his back on the corporate world and the superficial friends that came with it to do something he much preferred—work with his hands. Now he didn’t have to plow through a management minefield and kiss the asses of people he did not respect.

Enough of the meanderings, his second job called. Derek was not at all unrealistic. At some point Nana might have to move into an assisted-living facility and he would need a place of his own, especially if he decided to stay on in Flamingo Beach. A house this size, with all of its rambling additions, was expensive and exhausting to maintain, and definitely too big for one person.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked his grandmother.

Nana lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring in his direction. “You know Mari. She’s always forcing food down my throat.”

“And you keep saying you don’t want anything. You just prefer to pull on those cancer sticks,” Mari shouted from wherever she was.

No one, absolutely no one could force Nana Belle to do anything she didn’t want to do. Derek smothered a smile and tried to avoid the cloud of smoke hovering over Nana’s braided head. He made a U-turn and headed for the kitchen to find Mari and suggest she bring Belle a glass of the nutritional supplement she hated.

He continued into the dining area, removed his shirt and began to put up drywall. He thought that if he could make the house a showpiece in time for the centennial celebrations then Nana should be able to sell it and realize a good profit. He also thought about having her party at the house. Derek anticipated another huge fight with regard to selling her house, but the old lady could use the money for whatever she desired. She did not need to be leaving her house or hard-earned money to ungrateful relatives.

But try telling Belle that. It would take some doing, but Derek was determined to make his grandmother see things his way.

Over at Flamingo Beach General, Granny J was kicking up a considerable fuss.

“What do you mean you’re not going to discharge me, young man?” she screamed at the doctor.

A patient Dr. Benjamin reached out a comforting hand to stroke Granny J’s arm. “I’m not entirely satisfied with the results of your EKG. I’d like to run another test just to be sure.”

“I want out. Now! There’s nothing wrong with my heart.”

Dr. Benjamin, used to dealing with recalcitrant elderly people, consulted his chart. Joya stepped in, taking Granny J’s plump hand that was slapping the bed sheets in frustration as if it were Benjamin’s cheek. Joya squeezed her grandmother’s hand and spoke soothingly.

“It’s only one more day. One day with your feet up isn’t going to kill you.”

“But one more meal in this place will,” Granny J, who loved her food, mumbled. With age, her appetite hadn’t slowed down one bit.

“May I speak to you privately?” Dr. Benjamin asked Joya, inclining his head to indicate that he wanted to talk outside of the room and not in her grandmother’s hearing.

Granny J tugged her hand from Joya’s hold and folded both arms across her chest.

“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of me. I’m not dead yet.”

To Dr. Benjamin’s credit he didn’t lift so much as an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’ll be dying anytime soon, Mrs. Hamill, at least not from the sounds of you.”

Joya stifled a grin. She liked the handsome doctor’s way of handling the difficult old lady. He wasn’t talking down to her. Dr. Benjamin was solidly built and had probably played football during college. He had a thick neck and broad shoulders.

It was his smile Joya liked. That smile could melt an icicle. The doctor wore his glasses on a chain around his neck, and he occasionally put them on to squint at the chart. Joya noticed there was no ring on his left hand or a tan line that said at one time there might have been.

She remembered the nurse yesterday saying there was a girlfriend, and she supposed that would be the case. All the good ones were already taken. She’d lost a good one because of her own stupidity. Now Chere Adams would benefit from Joya’s lack of patience and foresight.

Dr. Benjamin was waiting outside. She couldn’t keep him.

“I’ll be right back, Grandma,” Joya said.

Granny J’s plump hand covered her heart. “Lordie child, I must be dying. You never ever call me Grandma.”

It was Joya’s cue to leave before Granny J really got rolling. She made a hasty escape, her high heels tapping loudly on the white-tiled floor.

Outside she asked, “What did you want to talk to me about, Dr. Benjamin? Is Granny J’s condition something I should be worried about?”

In the room she’d put on a good face, but now that she was no longer under Granny J’s scrutiny, panic began to overtake her. Joya looked carefully at the doctor, hoping to get a hint of what he was really thinking.

“There may be some blocked arteries, all the evidence is there. I’ve ordered another EKG just to be sure.”

“What!” The walls in the hallway wavered around her.

Dr. Benjamin, incredibly in tune, squeezed Joya’s shoulder. “Take deep breaths. For a woman your grandmother’s age she’s in good shape. If the second EKG confirms what I believe, it should be a relatively simple procedure. She’ll be up, around and as good as new in no time.”

“Must be those damn pork rinds,” Joya muttered, resorting to humor because tears were clouding her vision. It was easy for the doctor to say “simple procedure,” it wasn’t his grandmother.

“We’ll wait until the results are back and we’ll talk again and come up with a plan.”

Translation: Granny J could easily be in the hospital for another few days. Gran would hate that.

Joya nodded and Dr. Benjamin squeezed her shoulder again. He was becoming a little too touchy, especially since he allegedly had a girlfriend. Joya wondered what was up with that.

“It might not have a thing to do with pork rinds,” he said gently, smiling at her.

Since visiting hours were almost over, she ducked back into the room to see if Granny J needed anything.

“I told you to bring my quilting,” the elderly woman grumbled. “I promised Elda I’d have that quilt done for her in a couple of weeks. Did that man ask you on a date?”

“What man?”

Joya knew exactly whom Granny J meant but decided to play with her.

“Dr. Ben. You’ve always wanted to marry a doctor.”

“No, he did not and I never said I wanted to marry a doctor.”

True, she’d hoped for security and had wanted to marry someone established. He didn’t necessarily have to be a pretty boy. Granny J had warned Joya there was a lot more to marriage than a physical attraction. She’d been right. Quen was bright and one helluva lover, but he’d been underemployed. She’d seen his potential but had grown sick and tired of waiting for him to see it. Who would have thought he’d have moved from his interest in personal training to become a nutritionist? Now she had no one but herself to blame for losing a good man.

“Dr Ben has a girlfriend,” Joya reminded her grandmother, not wanting to think about Quen. “When I come by tomorrow, you and I have something to talk about.”

“Girlfriends come and girlfriends go. This isn’t a wife we’re talking about.” Granny’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you and I need to talk about?”

As Joya debated how to answer the question, images of a body that looked as if it might be carved from granite flashed before her eyes. Those faded, tattered jeans were molded over some pretty intimate places. And who could forget those hard biceps and that chiseled face with eyes that burned into you?

Derek Morse was the type of guy you didn’t easily forget. Much as Joya wanted to dismiss the erotic vision of him that had surfaced, it kept coming back to her. A construction worker was not part of her plans.

An hour later, Joya sat at the bar of the Pink Flamingo waiting for her friend Emilie Woodward to show up. Mojito in hand, she stared up at the ceiling of the thatched tiki bar. Pink flamingos of various sizes fluttered from above. They were both cute and tacky and at the very least made for a good conversational topic.

Emilie was the Director of Leisure Sales for the Flamingo Beach Resort and Spa. She too lived in one of the condominiums at 411 Flamingo Place.

Where the heck was Emilie? Joya remembered she was habitually late and always blamed it on her job. Clients were running behind or simply didn’t show up. Deals seemed to get screwed up at the last minute.

Emilie was relatively new to town and had been glad to meet Joya, who was around the same age. Joya liked that Emilie had no preconceived notions about her. Her friends in Flamingo Beach were pitifully few. Most had sided with Quen when the marriage had ended because they felt he’d got the crappy end of the deal. He was still paying her alimony.

While Joya sipped on her mojito she thought about how she and Emilie had met. Both of them had been huffing and puffing on a treadmill when they’d struck up a conversation. They’d found out they were both single and living in the same building. Hooking up seemed the obvious thing to do.

Conversation came easily. Who better to commiserate with about the poor pickings on the beach than another single woman? Joya had given up on finding the kind of man she was looking for in Flamingo Beach. It was only a matter of time before she’d have to return to Los Angeles and her flight attendant’s job. Her leave of absence couldn’t go on forever.

“Sorry I’m late,” Emilie said, rushing in, wearing a dress with a plunging neckline and wide skirt. Green ferns were splashed across the beige material and matched her open-toed mules.

Several men swiveled on their stools to see who’d arrived. Emily’s long red hair was pulled off her face and held back by beige combs. Physically, she and Joya were complete opposites. Whereas Emilie was tall, Joya was petite. Emilie was also so light-skinned that she was often mistaken for white. She had enormous boobs, swimmer’s shoulders and the kind of face few people forgot.

She could have been a cover model for a men’s magazine; she knew exactly the effect she had on men and made it work for her. She’d been living with a lawyer in South Jersey, hoping to marry him. But he’d left for work one day then forgotten to come home. Emilie later learned he’d moved in with one of his paralegals.

Skirt rustling, Emilie swung herself onto the vacant stool Joya had been saving. Joya couldn’t help feeling underdressed and like Plain Jane next to her. Joya had barely made it back to the condo to take a quick shower and toss on a denim mini-skirt and spaghetti-strap shirt. Thank goodness she’d worn her signature high heels or she would have been a total frump.

“A cosmopolitan, please” Emilie said, smiling at the bartender before turning her attention back to Joya. “What’s new with you, hon? How’s your grandmother?”

Earlier, Joya had told Emilie about Granny J being hospitalized. Now she told her what Dr. Benjamin had said.

“Let’s hope it’s nothing serious. Doc is very good at what he does and I quite like him. He recommended me to friends. They’ve since bought time shares.”

“I heard he had a girlfriend,” Joya ventured.

Emilie looked at Joya through shuttered green eyes. “It’s a long-distance thing I hear. I don’t think the doctor wants a woman underfoot 24/7.”

“What’s with Derek Morse?” Joya asked before she could stop herself.

“Not sure I know him.”

“He’s a construction worker. Doesn’t everyone know everyone in this town?”

“Not me. I’m new, but if he’s hot I’d like to meet him.”

“He’s hot in an obvious way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Most women would probably think Derek rocked.

“Maybe I need to be introduced to this Derek Morse,” Emilie said loudly.

A deep male voice came from behind them, making both women turn.

“Anything you ladies want to know about Derek Morse you can always ask me.”

A hulk of a man wreathed in gold chains was almost on top of them. Not waiting for an invitation to enter the conversation—he just spoke up.

Joya was mortified at having been caught talking about Derek. She quickly recovered and smiled animatedly at the stranger.

“I’m thinking about having Derek Morse do some work for me. What do you know about him?” she asked.

“In that case you’ll be wanting to speak with Preston Shore. He’s the contractor Derek works for and my old partner. I sold my part of the firm to him. I’m Vince by the way.”

He stuck out a large paw and the women shook it.

“I think I’ll join you,” Vince said sliding onto the vacant seat next to Emilie. “You look thirsty, ladies, let me buy you a drink.”

“This one is about all I can handle,” Joya said after thanking him.

“I’ll have another.” Emilie pointed to her half-empty glass. Joya wondered why she was being so accommodating. She probably saw client potential in Vince.

Vince signaled to the bartender to bring a refresher. “Still interested in hearing about Derek?” he asked.

Just the sound of the construction worker’s name created a warming effect. It must be the drink.

“Of course I am,” Emilie said, leaning in close to Vince and batting her eyelashes.

“Well, he’s only been back in town a couple of months. We think he lost his job in Chicago. He moved in with his great-grandmother Belle Carter.”

“His great-grandmother?” Emilie scrunched up her nose. “What grown man lives with his great-grandmother?”

Vince sucked on his lower lip. “Derek’s somewhere around thirty-five. He and Belle have always been close. She owns an old run-down house set back a bit from the boardwalk. There’s plenty of room so that they don’t interfere with each other.”

Joya listened carefully as Vince spoke until two businessmen strolled into the bar wearing expensive suits and power ties. She found her attention wandering.

“Derek’s one of these guys who doesn’t stay with a job for any length of time,” Vince added.

Joya’s attention shifted to the businessmen who’d found a seat. She’d heard enough to confirm that Derek Morse was an irresponsible drifter.

Not that that came as a big surprise.